Even though Kiki had grown up within half a mile of the famous, architecturally-significant Administration Building that dominated the entrance to the College, she had never been inside before. Townie boys and girls never went to school at the College -- they only worked there and made deliveries and pick-ups. The differences in class and wealth were just too great and no townie kid wanted to be looked down on by the rich kids who made up the student body at the College. So they went to State, way over in the city, an inconveniently long drive away and maybe lacking in prestige but State gave them a good education almost for free and without attitude.
Now Kiki was walking into the inner sanctum, the palace (or should that be "temple"?) of administration of one of the most prestigious institutions of higher education in the country, of the biggest employer for miles around, of the political force that pulled the strings in that part of the state and that ran the town like it ran its food and custodial services.
The Administration Building was old and looked as historic as it was. The carpet was just a little threadbare and the furniture was elegant but not new. It was just worn enough to make the alumni feel like they should support the place so it shouldn't get too run-down. She saw a sign at the base of the elegant stair case: President's Office, Room 210. She mounted the stairs and walked down a long corridor with oil portraits of the 17 Presidents who had led the College during its long history. The older the President, the more distinguished he looked, Kiki noticed, even though the College had been pretty mediocre for the first century of its now-distinguished history. It used to be a place where rich fathers sent their untalented sons to become gentlemen. For the last several decades, since a small number of donors had given it big bucks in an effort to get bragging rights, it had become a genuinely good school.
The secretary scowled at her as she walked into the President's office suite. What was that about??? Kiki wondered. She hadn't even opened her mouth!
Kiki didn't look trashy today, although she could not conceal her curves if she dressed in a flour sack. Still, her blouse and skirt were modest, her figure was slim and her boobs were in a bra for once, she was wearing low heels, and she was trying very hard not to sway her hips as she walked. Kiki decided that it was because the secretary, even though she was a nice-looking, mature woman herself, was a stuck-up bitch at heart and looked down on her youth and attractiveness.
Actually, it was because the secretary thought she was a student and always tried to protect her boss from student walk-ins because they took up so much time. Students would just walk on in, thinking that their enormous tuition gave them a right to speak to the President as if they owned the place and he was working for them. Which, in fact, was close to the truth.
The secretary was befuddled for a moment when Kiki said her name and it corresponded to the President's scheduled 2:00 appointment.
"Oh, Kiki! Come right in!" said the handsome, tall, balding, distinguished-looking older man who came out the door when she was announced. "How good of you to come! I appreciate that you made the time for us! Please come in and sit down."
Now the secretary was thoroughly confused. Who was this girl? Why was the College's President kowtowing to her?
The large office was furnished with bookcases with a collection of globes and leather-bound books. The walls were hung with antique maps. Before becoming an administrator, the President had been a world-famous geographer and had been among the world's leading professors of cartography -- the study of maps. In one corner sat an impressive-looking desk and at the far end was a conference table with seven or eight chairs around it, but closer to the door, in the middle, was a seating arrangement that looked like a living room. The President sat there. Sunlight flooded the impressive room.
Kiki took a seat on the sofa. They exchanged pleasantries, without reminding each other that they had met before once, at the home of one of the economics faculty, where he had fucked her. She smiled, her peculiar little smile where the corners of her mouth turned up.
"You know, Kiki, you are one of the most popular people with the Department of Economics. All our econ faculty seem to know you and they all love you. They recommended that I speak to you."
Kiki didn't say anything. Perhaps the President did not remember fucking her once, at one of Henderson's famous dinner parties. Then again, it was hard to forget having sex with Kiki. She figured he was just pretending not to know her.
"We have a serious problem. The Department of Philosophy has invited some European philosopher to spend some time as scholar in residence. He is from Moravia and his name is Vick Dickatyou. His field is Freudian psychology." His eyes were fixed on the buttons of Kiki's blouse, as if expecting them to pop open by themselves at any moment, as well they might have.
Kiki gasped. "I think you mean Viku Dicae. He is from Moldova and he famous! He works in comparative epistemological neurolinguistics and you may have him confused with the great Stavoj Zizek, from Slovenia, who works in Lacanian psychoanalysis. That's different. But Dicae is such a famous intellectual! What an honor for the College!"
