“Thank you for agreeing to drive me at nearly the last minute, Doctor. I would have taken a cab but since I don’t have an allowance, I’m afraid I’m broke.”
Dorning grinned briefly but didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Even if you did have money, Professor, I couldn’t let you go alone. Besides the usual safety concerns, without an adult chaperone there would be no reason for them to even let you through the door. Even with my presence, I’m still not convinced they’re going to allow you to participate in the event. Unfortunately, I’m sure there will be plenty of drinking and all the rowdy behavior that goes with it.”
“I hope so. That is, if they learned anything at all from me.”
Dorning grinned again as he turned the Mercedes into the already crowded restaurant parking lot and parked.
“How many were invited?” Dorning asked as they got out and headed to the front entrance.
“I’m not sure. All the invitation said was it was going to be a ‘big bash.’ Both words are relative, I suppose. I’ll tell you one thing, though—I’m sure glad I finished going through all my old mail this morning. Otherwise I would have missed my own party.”
“And you’re absolutely sure they’re going to go through with this even though they think you’re dead?”
“Absolutely. I called the number on the invitation and was told that instead of a birthday celebration, it would be a celebration of the Percival’s life. Sort of an Irish Wake, I imagine.” He smiled in anticipation as he hurried his pace. Then his smile disappeared, and he slowed down as his expression turned faintly desperate. “I need a celebration after last week, Doctor. At least these people truly appreciate me even if few others do.”
Dorning scoffed. “What are you talking about? Lots of people not only appreciate you, they greatly admire you for all you’ve accomplished.”
Marlowe looked unconvinced. “Not everybody, Doctor. That’s for sure.”
They arrived at the front doors. As Dorning held one open for the professor, he had a sudden thought. “Wait a minute. If the only ones attending this ‘big bash’ are your former graduate students, just how many of them are there?”
Marlowe stopped and laughed lightly. He stared straight at Dorning, bemused by the question. “Why, after more than forty years of teaching, they’re legion, Doctor.”
He went in and Dorning followed.
The professor pulled the invitation out of his back pocket and glanced at it. “The party is in the King’s Chamber, whatever that’s supposed to be. Ah!” He saw the sign above the arched entranceway and pointed at it. “Here’s my room,” he said, with an excited grin.
The professor and Dorning entered together.
The room was decorated like an English pub, with dark paneling and booths, dartboards on every wall and a green slate floor. A few dozen people were milling around in the front by the bar, shaking hands and talking excitedly.
The professor nodded, pleased, and his smile returned. “An appropriate place, don’t you think?” he said to Dorning over the oldies music pouring from an antique jukebox in the corner.
A few more people came bustling in, brushing right by them in their haste.
“Come on, Doctor. We’re missing all the fun,” Marlowe said, and went to join the burgeoning crowd.
Dorning frowned at the blaring jukebox, then slowly followed the professor.
A woman with long brown hair who seemed nearly Dorning’s age came up to him and blocked his path. She looked puzzled. “Excuse me sir, but who are you?”
“I’m Carl Dorning. Dr. Carl Dorning. I was the professor’s personal physician and a close friend.”
“Did you receive an invitation, Doctor?”
“Well, not exactly, but . . .”
The professor appeared at her side and wordlessly held out his invitation to her.
The woman took it. “Where did you get this?” she asked when she realized what it was.
“It was Percival’s invitation,” Dorning answered for the professor. “He wanted us to come if he couldn’t. Unfortunately, you know the rest.”
The woman’s eyes widened as she brought the invitation up for a closer look. “This was Marlowe’s invitation? Oh. Well, okay then, I guess.” She smiled kindly down at the boy. “And is this your son?”
“Yes, he is. He idolized the professor, too. I hope you don’t mind he tagged along.”
She suddenly looked unsure. “Well, things might get a little bawdy, you know. I don’t know if our language is going to be too appropriate for him.”
A little smile flashed across the professor’s face and his eyes twinkled.
Dorning nodded. “I warned him of that, yet he still insisted on coming.”
Now it was the woman’s turn to nod. “Oh, what the heck. The more the merrier, I guess. Let’s go.” She took the boy by the hand and guided him toward the noisy crowd.
Clutching the woman’s hand tightly, the professor looked back at Dorning and raised his eyebrows twice in quick succession then winked. A wide, lopsided grin appeared on his face.
Dorning slowly shook his head to make his disapproval clear.
The woman soon abandoned the professor to join in a conversation a few steps away. Dorning stood awkwardly next to him, arms folded and frowning again.
“I think I remember her,” Marlowe said confidentially, tapping his chin. “She wasn’t one of my stellar students—pun fully intended—yet if I’m not mistaken, I believe she’s teaching somewhere. And I see Raymond, who’s done some valuable neutrino work at Fermilab, and over there is Victor, who said in a letter I opened recently was on his way to CERN in Switzerland. I can’t wait to talk to all of them, although I’m going to have to bite my tongue hard not to reveal who I really am. This is wonderful, Doctor, just wonderful I tell you.” He sighed. “This is very rewarding, seeing so many of my former students and knowing that I played no small part in their success.” He raised an index finger, shook it proudly. Then the faint desperation appeared again on his face as he looked around at the boisterous group.
“Of course you did,” Dorning replied, his tone dry and matter-of-fact. “They should be very grateful indeed for all you’ve done for them.”
The brown-haired woman who had held the professor’s hand suddenly raised both of hers into the air.
“Okay, ladies and germs, it’s time to get this party started!”
The chatty crowd gathered around a long table set with plates, forks, and napkins but nothing yet to eat.
The woman cleared her throat, seemed barely able to contain her glee. “As you know, poor old Percival Marlowe passed on to another dimension recently, a few weeks after this birthday party for him had been planned. And I think we all know which dimension he went to.” She pretended to fan herself as the crowd chortled. “After some discussion about what to do, we decided to go ahead with the celebration. But since the birthday boy’s dead, we’ve turned it into a farewell and so-long party for the professor to give him an appropriate send-off. And since we had already paid for the cake, we decided to change that too, to better reflect the new theme for today.” She finally laughed out loud, as did two other members of the party as they brought out a massive single-layer cake from behind the bar where the liquor was flowing freely into outstretched glasses.
“And here it is,” the woman announced. “Our tribute to Percival Marlowe!”
The two cake presenters held the cake high and everyone raised their glasses in salute. Then, still laughing, the presenters brought the cake down with a flourish to the table where everyone waited to see it.
The crowd doubled over and roared.
The professor stood in the back, hopping up and down in a hopeless attempt to see over the considerably taller guests. “Come on, it’s my turn,” he said, and tried to force his way in.
A former student who Marlowe only vaguely remembered looked down at him.
“I’m not sure you’re old enough for this, little buddy,” the man said, the weepy amusement in his eyes now tinged with concern.
“Why not?” the professor demanded to know as he squeezed his way to the front.
He stared down at the cake as the crowd continued to laugh, his eager, happy anticipation replaced at once with shock and horror.
There, in garish frosting colors, was a crude caricature of his former self, wearing only shoes and a mortar board cap, chasing a scantily clad young woman. In the background, a telescope poking out of an observatory was examining the young woman intently with a single enormous, quivering eyeball at its end, and above that were the words:
Goodbye, And Thanks For All The Lessons, Professor!
“No,” he whispered with a gasp, his eyes round and frozen in disbelief. “Please, not them, too.”
The brown-haired woman raised her glass into the air again. “Here’s to the late, great Professor Marlowe, who—if he were still teaching today—would be sued six ways to Sunday for harassment and probably end up in jail!”
The crowd roared again. “Hear, hear!” they cried.
“And here’s to the most brilliant, arrogant jackass to ever win a Nobel Prize!” someone else toasted.
“Hear, hear!” the crowd replied again in kind.
“Ah, but he was our arrogant jackass,” still someone else said.
The glasses went towards the ceiling simultaneously once more. “Hear, hear!”
And the laugher continued unabated.
The professor suddenly felt his head spinning and grabbed the edge of the table for support, not sure what was happening. “No! Not now,” he said to himself. “You can’t see this, Miguel. You can’t.”
The queasy feeling slowly passed.
The brown-haired woman finally noticed him and quickly lost her bright smile. She set her drink on the table to tend to him.
“Oh, doggone it. Sorry, little guy. I thought this might be a little too intense for you. I guess we shouldn’t have let you see this. That’s my fault, I’m afraid.” She patted him on the shoulder and gently turned him away from the cake.
Dorning, red with outrage, immediately confronted her. “What’s the meaning of this? Don’t you realize was a great man Percival Marlowe was? How dare you, all of you.” He glanced angrily to either side.
The crowd fell mostly silent.
Now the woman’s expression reddened. “We know how brilliant he was, mister. You don’t have to tell us that. But we also know he had a huge, trampling ego that wasn’t very flattering or easy to live with. Sorry if that bursts your bubble about him, but that’s the way it goes. I’m afraid you didn’t know him nearly as well as you’d like to believe.” She handed the professor over to Dorning. “Maybe you should both just leave.” The woman looked down at the boy in sympathy then bent down to talk to him. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to upset you. We really didn’t.” She patted his shoulder again. “Sometimes people like Percival Marlowe aren’t what they seem or pretend to be, you know. We’re just having some fun pointing that out as we remember him today, that’s all. Understand?”
The professor nodded but said nothing. He avoided looking her in the eyes, too ashamed now to do so and distressingly reminded of Miguel. And he was humiliated to be lectured in front of his former students by one of them in such a condescending tone even if they didn’t know his true identity.
“This is still an outrageous affront to the memory of the professor,” Dorning protested. “He made more contributions to society than all of you put together ever will!” He glanced around the room defiantly, his chin lifted in accusation.
The woman gave him a weary look. “Just go, will you?”
Dorning turned away and guided the professor out the room as a fresh round of laughter started behind them from another sarcastic toast the professor couldn’t quite hear.
They left the restaurant and made their way across the warm parking lot towards Dorning’s car. Marlowe’s knees suddenly felt weak and his forehead grew clammy.
“Wait . . .” The professor broke away from Dorning, hurrying to a drainage ditch nearby.
He bent over and threw up. Twice.
“Oh, my God,” Dorning said softly, and looked away.
Marlowe slowly straightened and caught his breath, his eyes closed.
“Feel better now, Professor? Would you like to go back and get a drink of water?” Dorning tried to sound merely helpful instead of overly concerned.
“No to both questions,” he replied, eyes still shut. “I just want to go home.” He finally looked at the doctor, his expression drawn, his face pale. “Funny how our little excursions lately all seem to end in disaster, isn’t it, Doctor?”
They made it the rest of the way to the car without incident, got in, and drove off. The professor settled back in his seat, then closed his eyes again and covered them with a hand as if in pain.
Dorning finally broke the uncomfortable silence. “That horrible, vulgar party was extremely unfortunate and totally uncalled for, Professor. You would think your former students would have outgrown such childishness by now, especially considering some of them looked almost as old as I am. They’ll regret this someday, Percival, I’m sure of it. You didn’t deserve such crass, disrespectful treatment, didn’t deserve it at all.”
Marlowe lowered his hand and opened his eyes. He raised his head slightly and stared at the road, his gaze uncertain.
“Didn’t I?” he questioned.