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The Guest of Honor
When I was teaching at Muskingum College that one ill-fated year, I socialized primarily with younger faculty like myself – that is, when I wasn't with my student-amour Marsha.
One fellow I got to know a bit was John Coates. Coates was an Englishman about ten years my senior (I was 24 at the time) who taught in the English department (I think he was there on a one-year exchange.) He had a scraggly beard, and a seedy-musty air about him. Coates didn't talk; he effused, he gushed, he emoted. (I was reminded of him recently when, in the film 'Carrington,' I saw Jonathan Pryce's portrayal of the writer Lytton Strachey: after being mugged, he remarks, 'Well, that was thrilling!') He also had something of a degenerate satyr about him, right down to the arched puckian eyebrows.
It was late Spring, as I recall. Marsha and I were involved in rehearsals for a Schubert opera based on Lysistrata (we were playing a special four-hand accompaniment) being put on by the Music Department.
One day Coates asked me whether I'd like to join a small party from the English Department for a picnic. I was flattered that I, a member of the Math Department, should be asked to such an august gathering. I readily assented, and asked what I could bring. He said nothing, that the whole thing was his treat. I only asked that I get back for an opera rehearsal that afternoon.
There were five of us altogether. Besides Coates and myself, there was a young married couple, and a thirtyish spinster. We all traveled in one car to a suitably sylvan locale.
I don't recall what Coates brought for the food – assorted delicacies, no doubt. I do remember that he brought Marrons Glaces (candied chestnuts), and chocolates filled with Grand Marnier. And he had bought us each a bottle of champagne. (If I didn't know better, I would have thought he was deliberately trying to get us all drunk!) These Europeans really know how to throw a party, said I to myself.
The only other thing I recall about the picnic itself was an inebriated Coates deriding the single woman with pointed barbs and sarcasm. (The married couple and I maintained an embarrassed silence.) That and the fact that, despite taking reasonable care, I got pretty drunk anyway.
We finally returned barely in time for the opera rehearsal. They dropped the spinster first. Next they pulled up at my apartment. I thanked them and got out. Then I heard Coates say abruptly, 'Let me off here too!' He got out and followed me into my studio apartment. I sat down in an easy chair, and he took another across the room.
I was hopelessly drunk. The room was spinning. Coates was effusing, but his voice seemed very far away. Through the haze I could just barely make out the words, 'Would you mind terribly if I propositioned you?' Finally I heard this quaint (and inimitably British) expression: 'Strip off with me, Ted!'
It suddenly occurred to me that the opera rehearsal had already begun and that I had to get there immediately. Without a word I lurched out the door onto the road as Coates continued to plead and babble. And by doing that I had, for the first and last time in my life, left a guest alone in my apartment.
I staggered across Main Street and up onto the campus. In a few minutes, hand on head, I was at the rehearsal. I apologized for being late, pleading that I was 'ill.' Indeed, Marsha (who soon learned the truth) carried most of the burden that day; while everyone else, patting me solicitously, told me that they 'hope you feel better soon.'
When I ran into Coates on Monday, he was flustered and apologetic. He said he hoped I wouldn't tell his friend in the English Department about what happened, and I assured him I wouldn't.
In fact, I was able to take a humorous view of the situation: I felt flattered that someone should go to so much elaborate trouble and expense just in order to attempt to seduce me!
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