Who’s Afraid of Stan Snodgrass?

Sondra and Gunther Strang stood at one of the cottage’s living room windows looking out onto the street and watched Dillon and Madge drive away. Gunther had an arm around Sondra’s waist, which is as close as he’d gotten to her in several days and was as close as he would get to her for several more. Both were smiling, their eyes were blazing, and they were humming the same tune softly.

“Did you enjoy him?” Sondra asked.

“Yes, of course. He’s quite a luscious piece. And he must have enjoyed it too. He said he’d be happy to do it again anytime we could arrange it. And you. Did you get into Madge’s panties?”

“You know I did. Probably not as enjoyable an encounter as you had—she was stiff at first and held back until I spelled out the tenure issue with her. Then she was fine. Moody afterward, as you could see when you returned.”

“So, are you going to support her for tenure with your father? It continues to amaze me that these faculty people don’t understand the control you have over your father—and that neither Madge nor Stan Snodgrass seem to realize that the route to currying favor for tenure here doesn’t arrive at me—that it’s in the hands of Clifton McMillan and goes through you.”