Slow Surrender Read Online Free PDF Page B

sweatshirt, and baseball cap were also not acceptable in his eyes.
    I couldn’t really argue with him, though. I had lied, and had gotten caught. What I didn’t know was what to do about it.
    Then he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a folder. He laid it on the desk and opened it, and I could see the title of my thesis on the first page in large letters. It was the printout of the latest draft I’d given him to read. The thing we were supposed to talk about last night. I relaxed a little, thinking the lecture and scolding portion of the meeting was over and that now we’d talk about the actual work. When it came down to it, I didn’t give a damn what Professor Theobald Renault thought about me as a woman. His job was to judge me as a scholar.
    He picked up the pages by the corner, as if he didn’t want to handle them any more than necessary. He moved it to the side, until he was holding it over a round wastebasket.
    “What are you doing?”
    He let the pages drop into the trash. “You are not fit to graduate.”
    “Are you kidding me? Nobody knows more about pre-Raphaelite art in the city than me!”
    “Is that so? And what were you planning to do with your degree anyway, Karina? Why are you here? Don’t tell me the pre-Raphaelites are your burning passion in life.”
    I shifted from foot to foot on the carpet. “I like the pre-Raphaelites,” I said, but it sounded weak. Very weak. The truth was I had only gone to graduate school because I hadn’t figured out what to do with myself otherwise. I’d qualified for the loans, so I figured why not? It would give me time to figure things out, I’d thought. But I’d pursued my studies so single-mindedly, even my hobbies had been neglected. I didn’t know what was next for me after graduation, but that made it all the more important, in my mind, to get the degree and get going. My previous advisor hadn’t really cared one way or the other what I did, but his failing health had forced him to retire suddenly. That was how I ended up with hard-nosed Renault. “Did you even read it?”
    He didn’t answer. He exhaled slowly through his nose. “You should’ve dressed better. You’re supposed to be trying to impress me. You’re supposed to be making me think you’re not a total fuck-up.”
    “This is about my clothes? If you wanted me to look like I didn’t just roll out of bed, don’t make meetings at eight o’clock in the morning!”
    “You dress like a lesbian. Do you want people to think you’re a lesbian?”
    “What?” I wasn’t a lesbian, but I failed to see how that could be relevant. “Are lesbians not allowed to graduate?”
    “Every advisor has his own standards that must be met,” he continued. “Mine are a bit more stringent than your previous advisor’s.”
    “What is this really about, Professor?”
    “I take my job as a mentor to you women students very seriously. It says right in the university handbook that judging a student’s readiness to participate and compete in the world outside the university is my job and that I shouldn’t allow any student to pass who is not ready.” He looked around the office, for what, I didn’t know. His face became increasingly red, as if I was embarrassing him. “You have not shown the proper accommodation to the situation.”
    “Proper accommodation? Would my apology have been stronger if I’d gotten my hair done and dressed up?”
    “Yes, very much so,” he said, clearing his throat. “A floral skirt would have been best and would have signaled your receptivity. You have utterly failed to mitigate the situation. You are a disappointment.”
    “So…I was supposed to dress up in a completely fake manner to prove that my apology was sincere ? That makes no sense.”
    “Certain things are going to be…” He cleared his throat. “Certain things are pleasing, and if you showed proper deference and receptivity, we could put your egregious lapse behind us.”
    “Speak plain English,