Chapter Twenty-Five Cash #2
“Barnard Brown is bribing our classmates to trash my movie in critiques. He’s offering them paid internships with his dad’s company if they pan my movie, stop it from being considered for our annual senior awards.
” The way she was wringing her gloves made me think they weren’t going to remain intact for long.
“How do you know?”
“One of my crew overheard a couple people talking about it in the bathroom during a break today.”
I wasn’t completely sure, but I thought I heard cloth tearing.
“Did he find out about the sexual harassment complaint you filed?”
Her hands stilled. “I don’t know. Every time I’ve checked with the dean’s office about it, they’ve assured me they’re still gathering evidence.”
“They interviewed me before Thanksgiving. I thought you knew.”
She deflated into the cushions. “I didn’t know.” Turning her head, she gazed at me through sad eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“They told me I couldn’t for the integrity of the investigation.”
“Or because someone in the dean’s office wants to cover Barry’s ass.”
Sliding my arm across the back of the cushions, I angled myself closer to her. “Is there any way you can find proof of the bribery?”
For a long minute, she stared out at the snow falling on the dead grass beyond the windows. Then she stopped wringing her gloves and sat up straighter, facing me.
“When I was stuck on his team last semester, he liked to use an app rather than just texting in a group chat like normal people. As soon as my purgatory with him was over, I deleted the app, but I bet I could get in again.” She pulled her phone out and typed out a text. “But if I open it, he might see that.”
“So—?”
“I just texted Esme. She was the makeup and special effects person on that movie. She’s now my makeup and special effects person because she’s awesome, and she despises Barry as much as I do.
” Saylor stared at her phone as though willing her friend to respond.
“She also kind of fears Barry’s possible connections.
No doubt she kept the app active.” Saylor’s phone pinged, and she grinned. “Bingo.” She tapped in another text.
A minute later she was gripping her phone so hard I feared she might crush it Hulk-style or shatter it against the wall.
Gently, I pried her fingers off it and looked at the screen.
What I saw there made me want to throw Barry Brown through a wall.
Instead, I screenshotted the text and handed her phone back to her.
“Do you want me to go with you to the dean’s office this time? I won’t say anything. I’ll just stand there and look menacing.”
After checking the time, she said, “The dean has office hours right now.” She sent another text. A second later, her phone pinged again. After checking the message, she stood and shoved her phone into the pocket of her jeans. “You have a few minutes?”
“For you, I have all day.”
“Dammit. You can’t say things like that to me in that voice when I need to keep my mad on.”
Cupping her face between my hands, I stared hard into her eyes. “Babe, save your mad for later. Right now you’re the assertive badass who knows exactly what her goals are.”
Wrapping her hands around my wrists, she gave me a squeeze. “Thank you.”
Rather than dragging me by the arm across campus, she held my hand as we walked purposefully back to the Film building.
We passed the secretary’s desk without slowing down, even when the guy called after her that the dean was speaking to another student.
When we reached his office, we saw another girl sitting in the chair opposite his desk.
Saylor didn’t ask. She took the chair beside the other student.
I stood behind Saylor as the dean blinked owlishly up at us.
“Mr. Donovan, that was a great game you played against the Golden Bears, but exactly what are you doing in my office?” Dean Pullman asked.
“I’m here as a witness to the sexual harassment Barnard Brown has been subjecting these women to since at least last spring.”
The dean blinked again—only, this time his thick glasses couldn’t hide the fear that flashed in his eyes.
“We won’t sleep with him, so now he’s trying to sabotage our project,” Saylor said.
She pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans and checked it.
“Your office has sandbagged my sexual harassment complaint since I lodged it early this fall. But you’re not going to be able to ignore all of us. ”
“All of you?” the dean echoed, his eyes darting back to me.
A commotion outside the door tumbled inside as several students crowded in around us.
“This is my team for our senior project,” Saylor said.
“Joel, Esme, and I all worked on Barry’s junior project last semester, and when we found out he was signed up for Film 401 in the spring, we all signed on for fall.
He demanded we switch sections, and when we didn’t, he somehow managed to make a schedule change after the deadline. ”
Color leached from the dean’s face for a second before red blotches popped up on his cheekbones. “Now see here, you can’t come in accusing me—”
“I didn’t accuse you of anything. After the panning Barry’s junior film received last spring, your rules dictated he take a secondary role in the next film he worked on. Yet he’s directing his group’s senior project.”
The dean’s Adam’s apple bobbed, but he remained silent.
“From the teasers he’s shared, it’s another disaster, but that’s not the problem,” Saylor continued.
“The problem is because I said no to his sexual advances, and he couldn’t scare me with threats from his dad, he’s embarked on a campaign to sabotage our project.
” She glanced around at the other students filling the office. “We have proof.”
As a unit everyone pulled out their phones and held them out up for the dean’s perusal, every screen open to the same page.
After a long minute where the dean scrolled through several devices, he sat back in his chair, pushed his glasses onto his forehead, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
When at last he spoke, oddly, it was to me.
“You witnessed the exchange between Miss Davis and Mr. Brown in front of this building?”
“I did, sir. Saylor had to push me back when I wanted to teach that asshole a lesson on how to speak to a woman.”
The dean stood and paced behind his desk, turning his back on all of us as he stared out the window.
“What does Barry have on you?” one of the guys standing beside me asked.
As though speaking from a great distance, the dean said, “Gerard Brown promised to finance a film I’ve wanted to make for years if I made sure Barry finally finished the program.”
Even though the dean wasn’t looking at her, Saylor sat up taller. “Is this film worth losing your academic standing and your reputation? At the risk of pissing you off, Gerard Brown isn’t a producer.”
“Despite the best efforts of this faculty, Barry Brown is never going to be a filmmaker.” The dean sighed as he faced us once again. “When it was only one complaint, we thought we could drag it out until graduation when it wouldn’t matter anymore.”
I dropped my hands on Saylor’s shoulders as she started to shoot from her chair, a silent reminder to hold in her anger.
“But this”—he indicated the row of phones open to the damning evidence of the app—“and all of you”—he made eye contact with each person in the room—“is impossible to ignore.” He sat heavily back in his plush black leather chair.
“I’ll address your class when you meet again.
Your film will be critiqued fairly, Miss Davis, and to make double-sure of the fairness of the process, we’ll do the screenings in the little theater in the Union and invite graduate students to critique it as well. ”
Everyone picked up their phones and waited.
“Sir, your idea will only be fair if Barry and his team have no clue about it until it happens. So I respectfully ask that you do not address this issue until we’re all in the screening room, at which time we draw straws to determine the order of the films.” Saylor glanced around at her teammates. “Does that sound good to you guys?”
A chorus of nods and “good idea” and “great plan” and “yes” answered her question.
“Am I to assume this entire conversation has been taped?” the dean asked.
“Yes, sir,” a skinny kid beside me said as he nodded in the direction of a tiny camera whose red record light blinked from a bookshelf behind him.
“As it should be, I suppose,” the dean said. “May I speak with Miss Davis in private, please?”