Work for Hire (21 page)

The class of a hundred had gone absolutely still, the hum of laptops the only sound in the room. Professor Johnson had leaned on the lectern and smiled, apparently satisfied with the effect his words had on the audience.

“Now,” he’d said, straightening up, twirling a gold cuff link for the hundredth time and pulling at his sleeve, “for the topic. A Work for Hire scenario is being hung outside this room by my assistant as we speak. So is a list of all of you; half of you are to be pro, and half con. Please find your name on the appropriate list and have the brief in my hands in two weeks or less. Good day.”

Work for Hire? What the hell was Work for Hire?

Everyone in the class had grabbed their textbooks and flipped through the pages in a mad dash for the answer. I couldn’t recall studying the doctrine. It obviously had something to do with copyrights, but …

“Page 263,” someone had called out from the back of the room, and pages had flipped even faster. I had skimmed the text: “A ‘work made for hire’ is a work prepared by an employee within the scope of his or her employment.”

I’d glanced up from the page.
What fact scenario could Professor Johnson possibly have come up with to complicate this simple concept?

The answer would be hanging on the wall beyond the classroom. Almost as one, my classmates and I all had shot our books closed; in a swarm we’d flown for the door, with me smack in the middle.

“Miss Reznar, a moment please.”

I had stopped midstride. Bodies had brushed past and bumped into me as I turned towards Professor Johnson, still standing by the lectern. Somehow, his request hadn’t really surprised me: after all, these after class tête-à-têtes were becoming very regular.

I had approached Professor Johnson like an acrophobic approaches a hundred foot drop.

“Miss Reznar, it has come to my attention that you are falling behind in your
Law Review
responsibilities.”

I’d gawked. What? How?
Law Review
was a wholly run student entity. We edited faculty work, usually from outside the immediate NYU Law School, but—for the sake of academic integrity—the professors had no say in the process. So what could Professor Johnson possibly have to do with the
Review
and my assigned article?

“Please remember what an honor it is to be selected to the editorial staff and how much others rely on you meeting your obligations. Imagine how the author of your article will feel when it doesn’t get published because you fail to do your part in time.”

I’d sputtered, searching for words that would bail me out of this conversation. “I’m just a little behind … ”
Lie
. I hadn’t even started. The Lamonts had made that impossible.
Mostly
. There was also my laziness. “Err, I was planning on going to the library straight after class to finish.”

Well, I could at least make that part reality. So as soon as I’d slipped out of Professor Johnson’s sight, I’d headed for the library and its legal stacks.

But I just couldn’t make it happen. No amount of good intentions or fear of Professor Johnson could make the cite checking palatable. Nor did they help with the brief.

So I stared at the blank computer screen some more. The snorer had since abandoned his post on the sofa, yet my writing was going no better. I had to argue against the expansion of the Work for Hire doctrine, but couldn’t formulate a single sentence, not even to summarize the facts, even though they had been provided by Professor Johnson. They were straightforward, really: An imaginary teacher in an imaginary elementary school wrote an imaginary children’s book to help her students learn to read, and that imaginary book eventually became an imaginary bestseller that made imaginary millions. The teacher claimed the money was hers, but the school disagreed because she wrote the book on its dime.
Who’s right?
I had to defend her.

“How’s it going?”

Markus tapped me on the shoulder. I hadn’t seen him in the library earlier, though I assumed, like everyone else in the class, he had holed himself up to create a legal masterpiece. He had to argue for the school.

“It’s not,” I sighed, sitting back in my chair. “Neither the
Law Review
article nor my brief. And what’s up with this Work for Hire crap? Like there aren’t a hundred other more interesting Constitutional topics that Johnson could have picked.”

“You still haven’t done the
Law Review
assignment?” Markus gasped.

If he were a girl, I’d call it a shriek.

“Shhh,” a woman occupying the next desk spat out at us.

“Nope,” I responded, lowering my voice. Markus hadn’t been picked for
Law Review
—a fact that still shocked—but he got his
International Law Journal
assignments completed ahead of time. He was that journal’s star editor, the first-rank man in a second-rank periodical. “And it seems like I’m not getting it done today because … ” I said, glancing at my watch, “ … shit! I’m late for work.”

“T
EKLA, THANK
G
OD
you’re here!”

Lisa yanked open the Lamont front door, grabbed my arm and pulled me inside.

I gaped. I never imagined Lisa would be thankful to see me. Ever.

“Help me,” she said, and kept pulling on my arm.

The gasps coming from the dining room clued me in that maybe, indeed, she was right; my help might be necessary. So I let her shove me into the room without protest.

“Oh my God!” I shrugged off Lisa’s grip and sprang towards the dining table.

Gemma lay sprawled on the floor, next to the table, an upturned chair still underneath her, Xander on top of her. His knees were on her chest, and his hands were around her neck like two gold bands of a choker.

Gemma was wheezing; her left hand flailed in the air, the other clawed at Xander’s face. Her own face was turning a telling shade of purple, the veins in her temple popping in warning.

“Xander!” I grabbed Xander’s shoulders and tried to jerk him off her. “Get off!”

He wouldn’t budge, just kept pressing harder.

“Xander!” I screamed and kept yanking. “You’ll kill her.”

Had the boy gone completely insane?

Lisa materialized by my side, reached for Xander’s hands and tried to pry his fingers open.

“Xander, stop!” she cried. “She can’t breathe.”

I abandoned my station by Xander’s back and joined Lisa’s efforts. We worked on his fingers one by one until all ten opened.

Xander slid off Gemma’s limp body and said nothing. Gemma simply gasped for air like a fish out of water. Lisa and I stared at the two, panting. The room was otherwise silent. Unfortunately, the lull didn’t last. Gemma took three more breaths and pounced on Xander.

“You fucking asshole,” she shrieked and aimed a fist at his face. It connected with his chin. “I hate you!” A second blow landed squarely in his eye.

I winced. That had to hurt. Bad.

Xander seemed momentarily paralyzed by the attack. Sadly, this immobility too didn’t last. He curled his hands into fists and popped two punches—one after the other, bam, bam—into Gemma’s stomach. She squealed and rolled into a ball, clutching her abdomen, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Xander,” I exclaimed, startled. The violence of this latter assault somehow seemed more vicious than his first. “Xander!”

I grabbed his arm when he raised the fists again and shook him. “Xander, can you hear me?” He looked right through me. “Xander!” I landed my own punch, on his arm. For attention. What was a little more violence anyway?

Xander’s eyes finally focused on my face.

“Xander, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.

He stared at me some more. Then his face crumbled.

“She started it,” he whined. “She poured soda all over my pizza. On purpose.”

“
Liar!
” Gemma screeched from her corner. “You started it. You called me a drunken ho. You asshole!”

I looked at the two of them like they were alien children, all green and otherworldly.

“Enough,” Lisa interjected. She raised herself from the floor where Xander, Gemma and I were still sprawled, dusted off her slacks and straightened her shirt. Her stilettos were on, a marvel since my flats had long come off. “The two of you are hooligans! Barbarians! Animals! What will your father think about this?”

“What happened?” I scrambled up, not really expecting Lisa to answer. She surprised me.

“These two idiots,” she spat, pointing at Gemma and Xander, “insisted on having pizza for dinner. Then when the delivery came, they insisted on fighting over the same slice EVEN THOUGH THEY HAD THE WHOLE PIE.” Lisa shook. Literally shook. “Somewhere in there, Xander called Gemma you-know-what, and she decided to retaliate by pouring a whole bottle of Coke over the pie, thereby ruining dinner for us all. And Xander, in his brilliance, thought choking her was the best resolution. You saw the rest. Now, I’m going to call Stephen and let him know what wonderful children Monique has. And you,” she pointed a red-tipped finger at me, “can deal with them. Luckily that’s no longer my job. And by the way, you’re late.”

She left the room in a huff.
Yeah
, I wanted to shout after her,
if it’s no longer your job, what are you doing here, Miss Personal Assistant? Oh, and FYI, it isn’t my job either. I am a tutor. T-u-t-o-r. Here to help with homework, not discipline. And, excuse me, but five minutes isn’t really late.

I turned to Gemma and Xander. Xander had made his way up from the floor and was trying to help Gemma up. She swiped at his efforts.

“Get away from me,” she yelled. “I hate you. I hate all of you!” She vaulted off the floor. “And I’m not a drunk!” She stormed out of the room.

“Nice.” I looked over at Xander. A shiner was already visible around his eye, as were a few scratch marks. “What possessed you? Strangling your sister. Punching her.”

Xander pouted.

“Well, she is a
drunk
,” he proclaimed, his voice heated. “Do you know how freaked out I was that night? I called all her friends looking for her. I thought she was
dead
!”

I stared. So
this
was what the fight was really about. The parents hadn’t done the disciplining so he’d decided to do it for them.

“Xander … ”

But Lisa’s voice cut me off.

“Xander, Gemma!” she shouted from the living room. “Get in here. Your father’s on the phone and wants to speak to both of you. Now. He’s on conference.”

Xander grimaced, but did as ordered. So did Gemma. She sulked back into the room. I followed. What else was there to do? Certainly not tutoring.

“What in the bloody hell are you two doing?!” Mr. Lamont’s voice boomed from the telephone. “Gemma, provoking your brother. And Xander, a gentleman never hits a woman, especially if she’s his sister. Now go to your rooms, both of you, and think about what you have done. Miss Reznar, are you there?”

“Ah, yes,” I squeaked, startled. What did I do?

“Make sure they stay there. And what’s this I hear about you being late?”

W
HEN MY CELL PHONE RANG
, I was ten blocks away from the dorm. After the two hours with Xander and Gemma, I’d needed a stroll, for the fresh air, clear head and all. The day was warm, so I had decided to walk home. And I was tempted to ignore the call, but I checked the caller’s identity.

Ms. Jacobs.

How fortuitous. The one call I actually wanted to receive, from the one person who could intervene with the Lamonts on my behalf.

“Tekla!” Ms. Jacobs’s gravelly voice assaulted my ear. “Just calling to hear how things are going.”

“Well … ” Where to start? With the drinking, the fighting, or just the fact that I didn’t seem to tutor but was actually
doing
all the homework? “The twins have been a little … crazy.”

“Oh,” Ms. Jacobs cackled, “I’m sure it’s nothing. You’re so smart and bright, you can handle anything. You’re one of my best tutors, you know. I knew I could trust Lauren. And it’s good to hear you’re doing so well. Call me whenever you need anything.”

“Wait! No, really!” I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “They
are
crazy, and I don’t know what to do. Like today,” I rushed on, lest Ms. Jacobs get off, “Gemma and Xander almost killed each other. Really. I’m talking choking and punching. How do I handle something like that?”

“Oh, that’s nothing.”

I could just visualize Ms. Jacobs waving a dismissive hand as she articulated these words.

“Don’t worry yourself with little stuff like that. That’s just horseplay. Kids will be kids, you know. I have to run. Another appointment. A kooky Upper East Side mother thinks she can get her C-minus son into Harvard with my help. Now
that’s
crazy. But what can I do? These parents don’t understand how difficult my job really is. Anyways, call me whenever you need anything. I’m always here for you. I don’t just write the checks, you know. But you’re doing such a fine job, I might as well ask
you
for advice.”

She chuckled and disconnected.

Yeah
, I though as I dropped the phone back in my bag,
I was doing
really
well.

CHAPTER 16

“
O
H MY GOSH
, Tekla, I’m, like, having a house party this Saturday, and you should soooooo come.”

I looked at Gemma, searching her face for any signs of trauma from her fight with Xander or her drinking binge, but found none. She was as perky and upbeat as a cheerleader at a pep rally.

I returned my attention to Gemma’s biology textbook and flipped through the pages for the answers to her first real homework assignment in what felt like weeks.

“Thanks, but I’m staying in all weekend working on my
own
schoolwork.”

And I would. I would work on my brief
and
the
Law Review
article. Really.

“Hey, Gemma, shouldn’t you look at this yourself?” I pushed the book towards her. “It
is
biology. The subject’s kind of important.”