The room laughs. He's enjoying himself. Now, before any of you graduate students get excited, he says, I don't mean you. The Putnam winners can sit down. I mean anyone. The undergrad auditing in the back, the visiting scholar who flew in last night. His eyes drift to the back of the hall. The maintenance staff. He gestures, smiling, toward Whitney who has just rolled her cart into the side aisle. Yes, Ashford says, even the woman with the mop. And I'm a man of my word. Two minutes. Marriage proposal included.
He clicks the stopwatch theatrically. Don't all rush at once. The laughter sharpens. Three people don't laugh. Audrey Whitfield in row three sets her pen down a second time. Henrik in the front row mutters, "Oh, no." under his breath. Eleanor Vance does not move a muscle on the panel. Whitney does not look up. She wipes the marker on her sleeve.
She finishes the row of tiles she was working on. She straightens up. She walks down the side aisle, slowly. The camera operator on the live stream, on instinct, swings to follow her. She stops next to Eleanor Vance at the panel table. She speaks low, just for Eleanor. Professor Vance, may I borrow the floor for the two minutes he's offering?
Eleanor looks at her. A long look. Their eyes lock for almost 3 seconds. Something passes between them that no one else in the room sees. Then Eleanor nods once. By all means, Ms. Brooks. Ms. Brooks. Phones come up across the audience. Someone in the back stands up to record. Ashford turns around at the sound and sees Whitney walking toward the stage. He laughs out loud.
"This is fantastic. By all means. By all means. 2 minutes starting" He clicks the stopwatch with a flourish. "Now." Whitney walks past him. She does not take the marker he holds out. She walks to the tray and picks up a fresh one. She turns to face the board. Behind her, Ashford is grinning at the audience and shaking his head. In front of her, his life's work is glowing on a 12-foot screen.