The fact that two salesmen were approaching made hisface flame. “Let’s review this. You’re suggesting I buy a … how much is it, anyway?”
She pretended to squint at the sticker. “A lot.”
“What do you think would happen if I get stopped by a police officer, with a one-of-a-kind court-issued specialty license, driving this?”
She waved that aside. “With this car, you’ll outrun them, silly.”
“Mira, please, no. Let’s go, okay?”
She pouted the entire way back to the Buick dealership, then slouched against the side door. “I’ll just wait out here and mope, thank you very much.”
They had exactly what Colin wanted. He knew because he had searched their website, then phoned three days earlier and put down a cash reserve on this very car. The Encore was the smallest version of the car Celeste had been driving all those eons ago. It was silver with faux pale-doeskin interior and a modest 1.4-liter four-cylinder engine. Colin thought it was perfect. Mira declared it ideal for her aged grandmother and then complained when she was drawn inside because the purchase required her direct involvement. The salespeople wanted her confirmation that the buyer’s court-issued license was indeed valid, and the insurance documents he had already obtained through Roland’s office were not bogus.
Mira followed him back to the academy, beeping her horn and waving one arm out the window at how slow he took the streets. She then joined him and slouched down far enough to keep anyone she might know from ever seeing her in what she had already named a snoozefest on wheels. They ate Italian at one of the Mayfaire restaurant’s outdoor tables and talked about nothing of importance. For the return journey Mira flipped her sweater over her head, knotted it under her chin, and declared that only a babushka would be happy the way Colin drove.
It was the happiest outing he had experienced in a very long time.
Three weeks later, Colin entered the UNCW academic dean’s office. “Professor Fremdt said you wanted to see me?”
“Come sit down.” But Dean Sykes didn’t wait for him to settle into the chair to demand, “What’s this about your wanting to audit music classes at Chapel Hill?”
“I need a better understanding of structure.”
“You mean music theory.”
“I guess.”
“Where are you going with this?”
Fremdt had asked him the same thing. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Are you interested in composing?”
“No. Definitely not.” When the dean sat there observing him with that crystal grey gaze of hers, he went on, “I’ve done a little studying on my own. The Cartesian system of graphs was used to represent music before it was introduced into geometry. There are a lot of possible areas of overlap.”
“Math applied to music.”
“More like calculus. Logic systems and their relationship to harmonics.” Colin had struggled the same way in his discussion with Fremdt. “Sorry. I’m just getting started. I don’t have anything completely formulated yet.”
She inspected handwritten notes on her desk. “He also mentioned your wanting to attend their graduate-level classes in software design.”
Colin nodded. “Looking at how artificial intelligence systems might be applied to musical structures.”
Dean Sykes’s smile did not actually reach her lips. But it was clearly there just the same. “I see. Or rather, I understand enough.”
“Is something funny?”
She lined up her pen in parallel to the page holding her notes. “In a way. Professor Fremdt called me because he wanted to becertain you were assigned to him as a doctoral candidate. Now that I’ve heard your proposal, I can well understand Fremdt’s sense of urgency.”
“I’m nowhere near ready to present a thesis proposal.”
“Young man, it may interest you to know that previously I served as assistant academic dean at Chapel Hill. I have interviewed any number of would-be grad students whose thesis concepts were less well formulated.” She leaned back, steepled her fingers. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I will speak with my former associates in Chapel Hill. You will of course need to be interviewed. … How will you travel?”
“I have a driver’s license. And a car.” When Dean Sykes frowned over his records, he added, “The court made an exception.”
“So you have been planning on this step for some time.”
“Hoping, more like.”