Meg asked if Nancy was telling her, in effect, that there was no future in a relationship with Don. Nancy said this depended on Meg, and how much she was prepared to adapt.
“You mean I have to study the ways of the Peahen?” Meg asked, smiling.
“Exactly that,” said Nancy, totally serious. The Peahen accepts her status as the undemonstrative half of the species, but in reality she is not pitiable. She knows she is the Peacock’s turn-on. She professes only sporadic interest in his shimmering display, which spurs him to prolong the exhibition and promenade more conspicuously. Out of this, each of them derives fulfilment. No Peahen, Nancy pointedly declared, stands goggle-eyed at her mate’s magnificence. Or chases him around the park.
Meg found Nancy’s thesis engaging, if not totally convincing. As her relationship with Don seemed to have reached a hiatus anyway, she decided she had nothing to lose by treating him as a Peacock.
Monday, at lunch, when she generally made a point of taking her tray to his table, she went to a seat two tables down, near enough for him to see, far enough to establish that she was figuratively pecking at the ground in serene disregard.
On Tuesday it produced a result.
“Hi,” he said, coming to her table after he had eaten. “Something the matter, Meg?”
“How do you mean?”
“Eating apart. This is the second day you’ve avoided me.”
“That’s putting it a shade paranoiacally, Don. Just because I happened to find another table—”
He was trying to keep calm, and the effort showed. “Hey, what is it with you, Meg? I thought we had something going between us.”
“I thought people were crowding you too much. You want to talk?”
“I’ll get you a coffee.”
She waited in suppressed elation, blessing Nancy for pointing out that Don was Category Four. She was careful not to gaze in his direction. She just registered with satisfaction that he turned his head twice in the self-service line to check that she was still waiting. The ways of the Peahen had advantages she had never appreciated till now.
When he returned, she waited for him to pick up the conversation.
“Tell me something. Would you describe me as inhibited?”
“That sounds like a leading question.”
“Jerry Berlin did last week. He called me some other things, too.”
“Whatever for?”
“I told you about my lunch date last week with the TV director? He is making this series about fear.” He outlined what Laz had told him. “The department is being asked to assist with the segment on phobias.”
A prickly sensation began near the base of Meg’s spine and sneaked upward. “If you want to talk about spiders, forget it. I told you before — I can’t abide them.”
“Have I mentioned the word? They asked me to appear on this program.”
“That’s nice — but why? You don’t have a problem with a phobia, do you?”
“Not that I’m aware of. No, I’m the guy they bring on to tell people there’s no reason to feel afraid. That’s okay, but Laz has this stunt he wants me to do, to give it dramatic force, he says. Did you ever, by any chance, see the James Bond film Dr. No?”
“Did I?” She was a mass of gooseflesh. “Don’t! That was the most terrifying experience I can remember at the movies. Nobody told me what to expect. When I saw that shape moving under the silk sheet, I nearly died.”
“He wants to restage the scene, with me playing the part of Bond.”
“Don, you couldn’t! The man must be out of his head.”
“Actually, Laz is no fool. He may not be an original, but he’s smart enough to find a fresh twist for a winning idea. The reason I said I don’t like it is that I’m a serious scientist, or I try to be. This is a showbiz stunt.”
“It’s grotesque!”
“Jerry Berlin doesn’t think so. After Laz had gone, he really laid into me for playing hard to get. I’ve never seen him so mad. He told me if I want to carry on as a research student in his department, I do the stunt. He laid it on the line, Meg.”
“But why?”
“He sees the program as a commercial for his department. I told him I don’t mind taking part in a serious discussion. He says you don’t act the prima donna with a man as big as Laz. If I won’t do the scene, they’ll go someplace else, and the department will lose the nationwide publicity on account of one pain-in-the-ass graduate student.”
“So, did you agree to do it?”
“You see, my objections aren’t the same as yours. I don’t feel any revulsion at the idea. I just feel cheapened at the prospect of doing this thing, taking part in a stunt and then being interviewed about my work sitting in bed without a shirt. People aren’t going to listen to what I say. They’ll be thinking this guy doesn’t look one bit like Sean Connery.”
Remembering Nancy’s advice, Meg resisted the impulse to flatter him. “Jerry Berlin can’t chuck you for this, can he? You could appeal to the student council.”
“He doesn’t need to chuck me. If I don’t have his active support, my Ph.D. will curl up and die inside a month. He has the contacts I need; he controls the technical back-up, and he’s my supervisor.”
“Don, don’t sacrifice your Ph.D. for this. It isn’t worth it.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself.”
“But you’re not convinced?”
“I don’t like being used. If I had more respect for Laz, it might be different. But I haven’t seen his work, and I don’t particularly like the guy.”
“He’s an accredited TV director, Don. His program must be responsible if it’s being screened by NBC.”
“That’s what I keep coming back to. Laz is a professional, and he knows how to communicate. To me, this scene is crap, but I guess it makes a point. If I can’t fault it on grounds of integrity, then I have to admit that what’s bugging me is my own self-esteem, my image of myself as a researcher in a white coat. For that, I’m not prepared to pull the plug on my Ph.D.”
“If you did,” said Meg, “you’d lose your white coat anyway.”
They smiled, stood, and walked to the door.
Meg studiously avoided asking when she would see him next.
It worked.
“Something I wanted to ask you,” Don said as if as an afterthought. “You said you had lessons in dance when you were younger.”
“Plenty of girls do.”
“Did you keep them up?”
“I did three or four years.”
“Ballet?”
“And modern.”
“Would you care to learn flamenco? I’ll tell you why. The International Club is getting up another concert at the end of this semester to aid Amnesty International. They asked me to dance. I want to perform a seguidilla. It’s a beautiful dance — for two. I’d like you to be my partner, Meg. I’ll teach you the moves. It’s very simple, and the effect is riveting.”
“I couldn’t.”
“But your eyes say you will.”
3
Sarah’s Ford Pinto zipped along State Highway 208 toward New York City. Traffic was light at six in the morning, and she could make the forty-mile run from Bear Crossing, New Jersey, in little more than an hour, even allowing for mountain roads at the start and the toll at the George Washington Bridge as the commuter traffic into Manhattan began to build. A bonus of being a graduate student was that you could take days off when other people were at work. So this Wednesday, as usual, she had driven alone to the small town on the shores of Lake Pinecliff that was known to a select few as one of the best locations on the East Coast for hang-gliding.