Chapter 47
CHAPTER
Within minutes of meeting Charles Pendleton Little, Gary Soneji pegged him as one of those scrubbed, preening, and entitled guys he used to see walking around Princeton when he was growing up, young men of practiced cheer and false camaraderie, the sort who threw around references to their pedigrees, education, and wealth as proof of their innate superiority.
“My ancestors were among the first Jamestown colonists,” the headmaster of the Washington Day School told Soneji, settling into a leather chair behind a neatly organized desk in his office.
“Six generations of my family have attended William and Mary, my alma mater. I’m blessed to have that kind of tradition and history behind me, despite not following my father or brother into the family banking business.
I believe, however, that my background has given me a unique perspective on the value of constancy, rigor, and growth, all of which are at the heart of the Washington Day School experience and tradition. ”
Soneji had sailed through an initial interview with a vice principal, reveling in openly using his Gary Soneji pseudonym for the first time while honing a somewhat nerdy but affable persona, like Peter O’Toole’s beloved Mr. Chips from the old film.
Wearing the toupee with the bald spot, the facial prosthetics, the green contact lenses, and the English-schoolboy glasses—a look that aged him by at least ten years—Soneji brightened.
“Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Little. And this school is remarkable. I would be thrilled to be a part of the faculty here,” he said.
After purposely hesitating, he added, “Though it’s only fair for me to let you know that I’m also interviewing at other high-caliber schools in the area. ”
Soneji saw the light of competition spark in Little’s eyes. Gotcha. He demurred politely when the headmaster pressed for more details, feigning embarrassment for even bringing up the specter of a counteroffer.
A trim man in his fifties with a full head of silver hair slicked back, Little reminded Soneji of one of those bronzed Ralph Lauren male models of a certain age, instantly at home on a golf course or on a tennis court or in Bimini, the kind of guy who breezes through life with nary a whisper of effort.
He was unused to being denied once he decided to acquire something.
After some persuasive back-and-forth—in which Soneji manipulated the headmaster into increasing his pay and decreasing his hours—they came to an agreement, with Soneji agreeing to decline his other (fictitious) offers.
“Excellent,” Little said, pushing a piece of paper across the desk. “Now, I’m sure you are aware that among our student body are children whose parents are politically powerful, titans of finance, or celebrities.”
“I am,” Soneji said, feeling a little rush.
“That’s a nondisclosure agreement barring you from ever talking publicly about the students, with significant penalties if the contract is broken.
Please date and sign, and I’ll take you on a little tour and introduce you to Mrs. Ravisky, whom you’ll be substituting for when she goes on maternity leave. ”
Soneji scanned the document and signed it. He had no issue with keeping the students’ private lives private.
“Well, Mr. Soneji,” Little said, taking the paper and extending his hand, “welcome to the Washington Day family. You’ll be here Tuesdays and Thursdays starting this Thursday, with a full schedule of classes.”
With his best country-club grin, Soneji pumped the headmaster’s hand. “I’m delighted.”
Little led him on a tour of the facilities, which covered almost four acres in Georgetown, a campus of brick buildings, green lawns, and stately elms. As they walked, Headmaster Little praised Washington Day’s excellent academics, athletics, art, and theater.
A bell rang as they entered one of the larger buildings that Little said held classrooms for grades nine through twelve.
With the sea of students suddenly surging around them, Soneji tried to pay attention to all that Little was saying, but he found himself glancing at various teens, wondering who their parents were and whether they were famous.
Soneji had long been fascinated by fame. His mother and grandmother always had issues of People magazine around the house, and they talked about celebrities and royalty as if they were all on a first-name basis.
He thought about the Lindbergh case again and felt a thrill surge inside him.
He remembered feeling like this after snatching Joyce Adams and bringing her to the old cabin in the Pine Barrens.
He remembered how he felt when he overheard Conrad Talbot’s plans in a school hallway and formulated his own.
Committing murder was often short and sweet, Soneji thought as he trailed Little up a staircase. But taking a captive—well, that was different, especially if you could grab a child of a high-profile parent. That would be the stuff of legend. That would mean fame of his own.
“Mr. Soneji?”
Soneji startled at the casual sound of his assumed name and realized they’d stopped outside a classroom.
“Right here, sir,” he said and grinned at the headmaster, who was frowning.
“This will be your classroom,” Little said. “Let’s meet Mrs. Ravisky, then I’ll leave you two to sort out your transition into Washington Day life.”
Soneji increased the wattage on his smile one more time. “Nothing could make me happier, Mr. Little. Nothing.”