Chapter 7 #2
Me: Yes. Stayed with Shiro last night then had a two-hour meeting with my chairs.
Alex: You had fun last night.
Me: Too much I just read you’ll be having fun this weekend.
Alex: All weekend
Me: I want to be like you when I grow up.
Alex: You already are We need to do lunch before I leave though.
Me: Of course. I’ll tell Lexie to get with Dontae and get on your calendar.
Alex: Perfect.
My girls Alex and Giselle are the most sexually liberated women I know and I love it.
Conventional sex roles and rules do not apply to them.
Giselle owns and operates a whole high-end escort service and she and Alex both belong to this top-secret sex club in Vegas, Seduction Suites.
They take trips there a few times each year.
Alex calls her suite in the club her playground.
When she’s there, the outside world is completely cut off.
Her phones are off and she’s unreachable.
I love everything about my body and my sexual appetite is great, but I’m nowhere near their level.
A ping from an IM on my laptop screen pulls me from my cell.
It’s from Lexie. Dr. Tre Evans is here to see me.
His visits are frequent but I’m trying not to read too much into them.
He’s a visiting professor, not only new to the university but new to the city and teaching, so I give him grace.
However, he stays flirting and his visits aren’t always warranted.
Just last week he came to me because he was locked out of his laptop.
We have an entire IT department who handles that, not me.
Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I message Lexie to allow him to enter. Seconds later, my door opens and he strolls in.
“Good morning, Dr. Morris,” he greets as he steps toward me.
“Morning. How can I help you?”
Without an invitation, he sits in one of the chairs directly across from me. “I just found out you are a member of DAZ,” he begins.
“All the purple and white and my cup,” I say, then turn my tumbler so he can clearly see my sorority letters on it. “Did that give it away?” I ask with a smirk. Clearly, he already ascertained I’m a proud member. My office screams it as well as the pillows in my seating area.
“My bad. I never even peeped that,” he lies with a huge smile.
Why is he here now?
“Well, I’m an OAK man,” he says, referring to our brother fraternity. “And I was wondering if I could be of service while I’m here.”
“We already have a faculty advisor, Dr.—"
“Emmanuel Redmond,” he says, finishing my sentence. I hate that shit. “I talked to him already.”
“Then, good. You sound like you are all set. Just make sure you don’t overwhelm yourself this first semester.”
“I think I can handle it. I’m pretty good at handling a lot on my plate.” His eyes dart toward my breasts and I want to roll my damn eyes but I don’t reveal my true annoyance with him. I just blow him off and pretend I don’t see his inappropriateness.
“Well, as long as my classes are taken care of and my students are learning, you’re good,” I say, then stand. “It’s almost time for your class this morning. I would hate for you to be late.”
“Oh,” he says, then stands. “Maybe we can sit down soon so I can share some ideas I have for OAK.”
“That wouldn’t make sense. As you mentioned, you are aware that Dr. Redmond is their advisor, not me. Just speak to him. Have a great day and class,” I say, then sit back down and pick up my desk phone. When he stares two seconds too long, I add, “You can leave my door open.”
He finally takes the hint and walks out. I shake my damn head. I don’t know what bothers me the most, his objectifying behavior or his arrogance and audacity that leads him to believe I like it.
As if his impromptu visit wasn’t enough, as soon as I place my phone back on the receiver, it rings.
The minute I hear the person on the line, my chest tightens.
It’s my mom. I haven’t talked to her since she called three weeks ago with her daughter’s news.
I love my mother with everything in me, but after that call, admittedly, I have been ignoring her.
When she calls my cell, I send it to voicemail.
I guess that’s why she called my office phone.
“So, you are alive and breathing,” she says sarcastically, but I also hear a tinge of hurt in her tone. However, I’m hurt too. That call should never have been made to me, but nevertheless, I love and respect my mom so I keep my tone even, emotionless.
“I am. How are you, Momma?”
“Just calling to see if you paid my bills.”
“They are all paid and I transferred your money for incidentals.”
When I divorced Raquan’s cheating ass, Mireya referred me to the best divorce attorney.
With Crescent Falls being an at-fault jurisdiction, Raquan’s ass had to pay.
Although I didn’t want shit from him, my attorney told me to pursue and take alimony.
My best friends agreed with my attorney, so I did.
Raquan was ordered to pay alimony for ten years or until I remarry.
The first year, I didn’t touch it. Then I decided to finally get my mom out of The Manor.
I put a down payment on a home for her in Crescent Pointe, and now, I use the money to pay her mortgage, utility bills, and incidentals.
It would be so easy to just give her the money outright, but my mother has a slight lottery addiction, scratch-offs and the number drawing ones.
Instead, after I pay her bills and give her an allowance, I have about eight hundred left.
That goes right into my investment account Alex handles.
That was the best decision of my life because the account is sitting very nicely at six figures.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she says, then there’s a long ass pause.
“What’s up, Momma?” I ask, because anytime she can’t gather her words, something is up. “Did you spend it already?”
“No. No, I didn’t,” she says defensively. “You can see my account activity anyway, so I know you know I haven’t.”
“Then, what is it?”
“Can you come over after work?”
“Momma, I’m not coming over there if it’s got anything to do with your other child,” I say adamantly.
“It’s not, Rah-Rah. I promise. Just come over so I can show and tell you,” she says cryptically.
“You’re scaring me, Momma. I’m just going to come over. I have a student meeting at noon. As soon as it’s over, I’m coming to you.”
“Okay. I’ll fix lunch.”
“You don’t have to.”
“It’ll be something easy. I’ll make tuna,” she insists.
“Alright. I’ll text when I’m on my way.”
“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll see you when you get here.”
We end the call and I sigh. What the hell does she need to show and tell me? My mind is all over the damn place as my anxiousness builds. Because my meeting is in twenty minutes, I get up to try and shake it off. As soon as I walk out of my office, Lexie stops me.
“Kierra Williamson should be here shortly,” she says as a reminder.
“Yeah. At noon. I’m just going for a quick walk. I need to get my steps in. I’ll be right back,” I assure her.
I take a quick stroll through the cubicles then the main foyer on the first floor. As I pass through, I’m greeted by several people and I hear my name in the distance.
“Dean Morris.”
“Dr. Morris.”
“Miss Dean Lady.”
“Miss Dean.”
I answer and respond to all respectful variations of my name. What’s interesting is that most of the undergraduate male students call me Miss Dean Lady. I don’t know how the moniker started but it’s stuck and I hear that more often.
My stroll is short and quick but does the job.
My mind is temporarily clear and my anxiousness has subsided when I make it back to my office.
Kierra is sitting in the waiting area looking how I was just feeling and it’s warranted.
She is facing academic dismissal due to not meeting satisfactory academic progress standards three semesters in a row.
It’s a little before noon but I greet her and wave her into my office.
This is the hardest part of my job, tough love on an academic level.
As suspected, she starts crying the moment we are both seated.
While I let her cry, I print her transcripts and circle the terms she was on warning and probation.
I also print her attendance records that show she has been absent for thirty-two percent of her time here as a student.
I’m understanding and fair, but at the same time, college is about educating the whole student, so I always bring the issue back to personal accountability.
“Please. What can I do? I can’t go home, Dr. Morris,” she pleads after I highlight each term’s grades and attendance.
“We’ve told you what you needed to do for the past three terms but nothing changed. You made two Ds and missed twenty-seven percent of your classes last semester. If you can’t make it to class, how do you expect to pass?”
“I guess… I don’t… Dean, I don’t know. I try but it’s hard. I can’t do those early morning classes.”
“Kierra, you picked that schedule.”
“Ugh! I know. I registered late and that’s all that was left.”
“It sounds like you have a lot of outside forces preventing you from registering on time, getting to class, and completing assignments, even after we have offered and provided you a mentor and tutoring. Your last meeting with your mentor was in April and you had summer courses. At this point, sitting out a year, going back home to reevaluate things and getting yourself together, is the best option. Take this dismissal as a lesson and learn from it,” I say and she starts wailing.
After passing her my tissue box, I add, “You can definitely reapply after a year and we will carefully review your readmittance application.”
“What about my classes this term?”
“The registrar will withdraw you today and you will not be charged. I spoke with housing and they will give you two weeks to vacate your dorm. And you won’t be charged for that unless there’s damage to your single,” I tell her because some students don’t take dismissal well and damage their dorms before leaving.