Joan Hess: Dear Miss Demeanor

“Tell me about Mr. Weiss,” I suggested. If for no other reason, I needed to know the enemy.”

“Herbert Weiss,” Sherwood said, “is a martinet of the worst ilk. The man has the charm of a veritable anguis in herba ,”

“Sherwood,” Evelyn began ominously, “you-”

“A snake in the grass,” he translated, a pitying smile twitching the tip of his goatee. “In any case, Farberville High has survived more than ten years of his reign of terror, but this year he has become noticeably non compos mentis -to the maximus .”

“That’s true,” Evelyn added. “I’ve been here four years, and I have noticed a change for the worse this fall. In the past, Weiss has remained behind his office door, doing God knows what but at least avoiding the staff. Now he roams the hail like Hamlet’s daddy, peering into classrooms, interfering with established procedure, and generally paying attention to things he has never before bothered with.”

“Perhaps he’s up for a promotion,” I said. “Often that produces an attempt at efficiency.”

“We’ve toyed with that theory,” Sherwood said. “Of course that means we’d have Miss Dort as the captain of our ship. In any case, I shall escape through my muse.”

“Sherwood is writing the definitive work on parallels between the primitive forest deities and the Bible,” Evelyn said. “If he can get it published, he hopes to scurry into an ivy tower and teach those who strive for a modicum of academic pretentions.”

The author stiffened. “I’ve had some interest shown by several university presses. My manuscript is well over a thousand pages now, but I hope to complete it for formal submission before the end of this semester. It is, and I speak modestly, srsi generis . In a class by itself.”

When Sherwood the infant had lisped his first word, it hadn’t been modestly. However, I found the two amusing and civilized, especially in comparison to the others. I inquired about the woman whose coffee cup I had stolen.

“So you’ve met the Furies on your travels,” Sherwood said gleefully. “Alecto, Tisiphone and Megaera apply their stings to those who have escaped public retribution. Guardians of the FHS code of morality, our dear Eumenides.”

“They don’t like Sherwood,” Evelyn said with a shrug. “They suspect him of saying rude things, but none of them understands Latin. They’re right, of course.”

On that note, the Furies trooped into the lounge in a precise vee formation. The coffee cup was presumably sterile, its owner assured that my germs would not mingle with her own. But from their expressions (cold and leery), they were not sure that I wouldn’t pull another vile prank in the immediate future.

Evelyn said, “This is Claire Malloy, who is subbing for Emily. Claire, this is Mrs. Platchett, chairman of the business department. On her left, Miss Bagby, who teaches sophomore biology, and on her right, Miss Zuckerman, who teaches business.”

I stood up in an attempt to elicit forgiveness. “I’m pleased to meet you, and I’m truly sorry about using the coffee cup.”

Mrs. Platchett remained unmoved by my gesture. “As Mae can tell you, certain microbes can cause great distress for those of us with delicate constitutions, although the carrier can remain unaffected. Will you be able to bring a cup from home, or shall I use our little lounge fund to purchase one for you?”

“I’ll bring one tomorrow.” It seemed time for a new subject. “So you teach with Paula Hart? I met her here during the homeroom period.”

“Miss Hart’s class was unusually rowdy this morning,” Mrs. Platchett said in an icy voice. “I should have realized she was remiss in her homeroom obligations. It is hardly surprising to learn she was not even there.”

The thin woman flared her nostrils in sympathy. “I noticed the noise across the hall, Alexandria, but I assumed Miss Hart was doing her inept best to control the class. It is often impossible to teach over the uproarious laughter from her room.”

Typing wasn’t all that much fun, but I didn’t point that out. Nor did I mention the lovers’ tryst that was obviously scheduled in advance for optimum privacy.

Sherwood stood up and straightened his tie. “Pitts said you were on his case, Alexandria. Did you follow through or was it an idle threat?”

“I shall presume, Mr. Timmons, that you are asking if I spoke to Mr. Weiss about Pitts’s shameful neglect of the basement classrooms. I did, although Mr. Weiss seemed unimpressed. He did agree to have a word with the man, but I doubt we shall see a substantial improvement in the future.”

Evelyn joined Sherwood in the doorway. “The only word that might help would be ‘fired.’ In the meantime, I have a portable vacuum cleaner that I’ll gladly share.”

Sherwood bowed. “In any case, ladies, carpe diem. Or to translate loosely in accordance with the current debasement of the English language, have a nice day.” With a wink, he strolled out of the lounge.

For the next fifty minutes, I huddled on the mauve-and-green sofa, trying to provoke appendicitis or something equally time-consuming. The best I could do was a sneeze, hardly worthy of hospitalization.

The Furies took plastic containers from the refrigerator and settled around the formica table. Mrs. Platchett opened hers warily, as if suspecting it had been booby-trapped to explode.

“It seems to be untouched,” she sniffed after a lengthy examination. “If Pitts has been poking in it, he left no fingerprints.”

The diminutive one gave the contents of her container the same careful scrutiny. “Mine appears intact, also, but I doubt that carrot sticks and broccoli spears might take fingerprints. The idea is enough to induce nausea, Alexandria. I’m not at all sure I can eat today.”

“Nonsense, Tessa! You must eat, and you know it. Your doctor was most precise in the dietary orders.” Mrs. Platchett picked up a sandwich, and they all began to chew the precise number of times for optimum digestibility. Termites do the same thing, I understand, but more quietly.

Paula Hart came by and offered to share her salad with me. Preferring to remain the martyr to the very end-and unsure if lettuce took fingerprints-I declined, and she left to munch greens in more congenial surroundings, or to peel grapes for the assistant coach with the dimples. Chomping steadily, the Furies failed to acknowledge her brief appearance.

I finally decided to return to the cave to sulk without sound effects. As I rose, Miss Dort darted into the lounge. “Here you are, Mrs. Malloy. I went by the journalism room, but you were not there.”

I certainly couldn’t argue with that. “I was on my way there,” I said. “The daily unit delineation book is more thrilling than a gothic romance, and I wanted to settle down with it for a few minutes before the next class.”

Miss Don perched her glasses on her nose to peer at me. “Indeed, Mrs. Malloy. I wanted to remind you to turn in your blue slips with your attendance slips each period. They are vital.” She went into the kitchenette and came out with a square plastic box. “So sorry I can’t eat with you ladies today. The paperwork is piled sky-high on my desk, and of course I must prepare for the arrival of the auditors from the state Department of Education.”

Mrs. Platchett washed down a masticated mouthful. “Bernice, I want you to realize how distressed I am by this sordid affair. Emily is quite innocent; she would never touch a penny of the school’s money. The idea is preposterous.”

The one I thought was Mae Bagby nodded. “Emily Parchester has served the students of Farberville High School for forty years, and her reputation remained unblemished until yesterday.”