“You’re enjoying this, you ruthless blighter,” Desdemona was whispering. “Grist to your copper’s mill.”
“Yep,” he said amiably, lifted her hand and kissed it, eyes glowing. “None of them can hold a candle to you.”
She blushed. “Flattery will get you permission to massage my back later tonight, otherwise I’ll be a cot case tomorrow.”
“Deal,” he said, and grinned at Patrick and Nessie, down between Horrie Pinnerton and Dave Zuckerman, the head of Social Services. Derek Daiman and his wife, Annabelle, had just come in too; he had gone from Principal of Travis High to Director of Education. It felt good to have a black couple on the Town table — more than Chubb could boast.
“Generous width of seating,” Derek said, sitting opposite Carmine. “If the meat’s tough, I can fly my elbows.”
“Don’t hesitate to put them on the table when they’re not flying,” Carmine said. “This is your first banquet, you and Fernando, but it’s my skeedy-eighth.”
“Will the meat be tough?” Fernando asked anxiously.
“Put it this way, guys: if the meat is tough, then the next banquet will serve roast caterer for the main course. M.M. is a stickler for good food at these functions.” He raised his glass of amontillado. “Cheers! Here’s to many more Chubb banquets.”
“Speaking as a cop, may they all be boring,” Fernando said, and sipped. “Hey, this is good sherry!”
“Chubb is well endowed, gentlemen.”
“Who’s at the first table below the high one?” Derek asked.
“Chubb U. dignitaries. The rest of the Governors — Dean Bob Highman as senior dean — three specimens of Parson in Roger III, Henry III, and he of the loose mouth, Richard Spaight. But don’t feel sorry for Doug Thwaites, he’ll make mincemeat of them all.”
Thomas Tarleton Tinkerman, now Head Scholar of the Chubb University Press, was holding forth to the Parson brothers while the entire high table listened, some politely, some happily, some incredulously.
“C.U.P. will return to the spirit of its charter,” he was saying, “and leave scientific publishing to those academic institutions with the interest and resources to do it properly. C.U.P.’s niche under my care of the Imprimatur will be in those neglected fields whose students may be few, but whose ideas are so vital to Western philosophy that they have shaped it. In our present climate of worship for the technocrat and the machine, no one publishes them any more. But I will, gentlemen, I will!”
“I’m not sure how the technocrat and the machine fit in, but I take it you dismiss twentieth-century philosophy?” Hank Howard asked, wondering if he could be baited.
The haughty face sneered. “Pah! One may as well call Darwin and Copernicus philosophers! The kind medical students read!”
“I think it’s great that medical students read anything not connected to medicine,” Jim Hunter said mildly.
Tinkerman’s face said “You would!” but his mouth said, “Not so, Dr. Hunter. Better they should confine themselves to medicine than read metaphysics for monkeys!”
A small, startled silence fell: Tinkerman had sounded too personal, and several of his auditors resolved to deflect him.
“I’ve known medical students who read Augustine, Machiavelli and Federico Garcia Lorca,” said M.M., smiling easily.
“Perhaps they’re a little off the track of this discussion, Tom, but if novelists like Norman Mailer and Philip Roth were offered to you, surely you’d publish them?” Bursar Townsend asked.
“No, I would not! Never!” Tinkerman snapped. “Disgusting, filthy, pornographic trash! The only philosophy they can offer is in the gutter!” His chest heaved, his eyes flashed.
“Ah!” M.M. exclaimed. “Food! Tom, your blood sugar seems a trifle low. We are shamefully neglecting Roger and Henry, not to mention the ladies. My apologies.”
“The man’s a Dominican in modern academic robes,” said the outgoing Head Scholar to Secretary Hank Howard, not bothering to keep his voice down.
Academic robes were also absorbing Solidad Vasquez, Annabelle Daiman and Desdemona. The two first-timers were overawed at the fantastic array.
“Is there anyone not in academic robes?” Solidad asked.
“By tradition, the only ladies have Chubb posts, like Dr. Millie Hunter. The Town men wear theirs not to be entirely outclassed,” said Desdemona, looking at her generous plate of smoked salmon with brown bread-and-butter enthusiastically. “Carmine has a Master’s from Chubb, and I see Fernando is in Master’s robes from — where?”