CHAPTER TEN
"Speech"
"Anthropology!" Liggett boomed in a surprisingly deep voice. "The science of humans and their works!"
Betty elbowed Beadles in the ribs.
"I have always considered it the noblest of professions save for perhaps medicine. I am thrilled and honored to welcome you to our annual dinner. As I gaze out among you I see so many of you who have become more than colleagues, you are my friends and together we share not only a passion for learning, but a burning passion for justice and a better tomorrow, for it is only through understanding the past that we can endure the present and confront the future."
Teaching assistant Ben whispered in his friend's ear and they giggled. Beadles knew just how they felt.
"It has been an astonishing year by any measurement," Liggett continued. "From the discovery of a Mayan pyramid in Georgia to new evidence that South Sea islanders may have settled South America, the revelations have been unrelenting. As you all know, Mr. Jepson Hayes of Cross Creek, Arizona has chosen Creighton to be the recipient of the Azuma Collection, a treasure trove of what many believe to be a heretofore unknown tribe. This was due in no small part to the ongoing research of our distinguished Professor of Anthropology, Vaughan Beadles! Stand up, Vaughan."
Smiling good-naturedly Beadles stood to enthusiastic applause. None clapped harder than Liggett although Betty was close. Vaughan did a formal little bow in three directions and sat.
"As many of you know, Vaughan's 2011 paper, "Lost Tribe of the Southwest," appeared in the February issue of Modern Anthropology and inspired a Discovery Channel Special."
They'd filmed it in the desert. It had been 110 degrees.
"It is this type of research that brings credit to our college and fills the seats with students. Anthropology has been doubly blessed this year. As some of you already know, Mr. Daniel Potts, Class of '57, has generously endowed our department to the tune of two million dollars! Stand up, Dan."
Liggett already had him scoped. Beadles followed Liggett's gaze and saw the tall man shaking his head no and waving off the suggestion but his tablemates thought otherwise. Reluctantly he stood, essayed a chilly smile and sat.
There was more boilerplate and a couple of deans spoke. It was nine by the time the Beadles finally pulled themselves free and drove home. Lights glowed softly from the little house on Maple St. They parked the Ford in the drive and entered through the front door so as not to wake Lars. They could see Stephanie Byrd watching Game of Thrones on the flat screen TV through the big front window.
She got up to greet them as they opened the door.
"Hello. How was your evening?"
"Very nice, Stephanie. Thank you. How's Lars?"
"He's a little sweetheart. We played with some of his toys for awhile, I gave him the warm milk and he fell right asleep."
Betty checked the kitchen. Everything ship-shape. Beadles pulled out his wallet and paid Stephanie forty bucks. "Thank you very much."
"Thank you, Professor. And if you need me again please call."
Betty went to check on Lars. Beadles waited until Stephanie had taken her bike down to the street and left before turning off the outside lights and locking the door. He went into the bedroom and took off his sports jacket. The disconnect between Liggett's effusive praise and their personal chemistry bothered him. The department head didn't like him. There had been nothing overt. A few disparaging comments about their own "GQ celebrity," an instant of undisguised lust directed at Betty.
Mrs. Liggett was bigger than her husband and had a sour expression. Beadles had no doubt their home life was less than ideal.
Betty swept into the room. "Lars is down for the count! Give me a minute to slip into something more interesting…"
Bam. Just like that he had a stiffy. Beadles peeled off his shirt and trou. Betty came out of the bathroom wearing a filmy black baby doll. As they made love he couldn't help thinking does it get any better?
"Did you see Doris Liggett?" Betty said lying in his arms after. "She looked like she was training for a pie-eating contest."
"Now Betty. Be nice."
"The Haverhills are going to have us over for dinner."
"Who's that again?"
Betty stretched languidly. "Ollie Haverhill runs Madwire Media. I ran into him at the bar. His wife Lois heads the Illinois Women of Influence. They've asked me to join them."
"That's great, Bet!"
"So all of a sudden you're an Indian?"
Beadles felt a ripple of shame. "I thought you knew that."
"Let me guess. Cherokee."
"Yes, that's right. I knew I told you."
"No you didn't tell me. I guessed Cherokee because every white American who claims Indian blood says Cherokee. Don't ask me why. Maybe it's that long march. Maybe they impregnated every farmer's daughter along the way."
"My mother told me I had Indian blood," Beadles said in a slightly defensive tone. "It's part of our family history. I think my great, great grandmother on my mother's side was a full-blooded Cherokee."
"Show me the papers."
"I don't got to show you no stinkin' papers!" Beadles said.
Heavy pounding on the door.
Beadles and Betty looked at each other in astonishment. Who could it be at that hour of the night?
The pounding resumed. A muffled shout.
Betty looked at Beadles with bafflement. "Did he just say it was the police?"
Beadles pulled his trousers on and threw on a Catamount T-shirt. He padded through the darkened house. The living room danced gaily with red and blue strobes through the front window. Beadles looked out the front door. Two police cars had pulled up, one in front and one in the drive. Three police officers stood on the porch waiting to be let in.
***