Finding out about the piece wasn’t easy—there was precious little on the internet about it—but there were a few Medici books in the library I thought might have what I needed, so I wandered through the bookcases, finding them by memory.
I cracked open the books and got to work, skimming the indexes for clues. And within a few minutes I was lost in work, happily researching. It’s weird, I know. Who has two thumbs and loves citations and bibliographies? This girl. And when I was digging in the indexes, my heart skipped when I saw rooster.
I flipped to the page and began to read, and the more I read, the harder it was not to laugh.
See, the Medicis were the most powerful family in Italy, and were largely regarded as the harbingers of the Renaissance through their investment in the arts, education, founded colleges, ran a very, very successful bank. The Medicis had this rival—the Pazzis— who were constantly trying to assassinate them, and succeeded a few times.
Now, Guiliano Medici was a renowned party hound who would throw a rager at the drop of a hat, so the Pazzis had someone suggest a party in a village, and Guiliano was, of course, down. The plan was this—wait until everyone was tanked, then sneak the assassins in to pull a Game of Thrones style Red Wedding on the Medicis.
Except to get to Guiliano, the assassins had to cross a yard of roosters. The birds went ballistic crowing and cawing, and everyone woke up at the ruckus, thus busting the assassins and leading them to the chopping block. Guiliano was so grateful, he had ceramic rooster wine pitchers made for everyone in the village as thanks, a symbol to bring them luck and protect them from danger.
Saved by the cock.
A laugh slipped out of me, imagining it as the title for an article. And my brain skipped away, writing cock citations, forming a parody piece that was too loud. So loud, I couldn’t think about the actual work I needed to do. So, I typed it out in an effort to get it out of my head, snickering and smiling and all too amused with myself.
Medici’s pearl-encrusted cock is well known for its stately, erect appearance. This cock is as brave as he is handsome—note the shine on the cock, the gleam on its tip, the way he holds his head up high and the stiffness of his neck. It’s an Italian tradition to give cocks to friends and family—everyone loves a good cock, especially when wine is involved. Even today, people have cocks all around their homes as a ward against evil and for good luck. Because cocks are loud, proud, and cannot be ignored.
I paused for a small fit of giggling.
And so the cock became the symbol of the Medicis, a symbol of power. A symbol of good fortune. A symbol of strength and vitality. Guiliano Medici would tell you that cocks can save lives, if placed just right. The assassins were caught off guard by all those cocks, and it led to their deaths. So remember—respect the cock, or the cock will ruin you.
I swiped at an errant tear that had fallen in my hysteria and blew out a breath before typing up an email to my roommates, not wanting to be the only one to experience it in all its glory.
And with that done, I got to work on the actual piece I was supposed to be working on, interrupted intermittently by my phone with texts from my roommates.
Amelia: That cock is regal AF.
Val: Seriously, it deserves a crown. Or a medal. Or a pearl necklace.
Katherine: A cock would give a pearl necklace, not wear one.
Val: Killjoy.
Katherine: Cocks really do save lives though. They fill a void on farms. Who else would fertilize all those eggs?
Amelia: BWAHAHA
Val: And I mean, who doesn’t want to get woken up by some cock?
Me: Some aggressive cock.
Katherine: Aggressive cock—sounds like a garage band.
Val: I would go see that show.
Katherine: Free gonorrhea with every ticket!
Amelia: Cock saves lives! I want that on a T-shirt.
Val: I’m on it.
And with imaginings of what Val would put on a T-shirt—because if I knew her at all, she absolutely would—I muted my phone so I could actually get some work done.
A few hours later, I’d actually written and cited enough information for Dr. Lyons, so I opened my email and popped off the message with the attachment, my mind already on my dissertation, which was the only thing I had left to do today.
Thirty seconds. Thirty seconds of blissful ignorance before my email pinged with a message from him.
I need to see you in my office in five minutes, Ms. Van de Meer.
Adrenaline zinged through me, my fingers instantly freezing as I looked down the email, realizing with absolute terror that I hadn’t sent him my research.
I’d sent him Medici’s cock.
Panic swept over me, and I picked up my phone with shaking hands.
Me: OH MY GOD I SENT IT TO MY BOSS BY ACCIDENT
Messages popped up like fireworks.
Amelia: NO.
Val: YOU ARE KIDDING. PLEASE SAY YOU’RE KIDDING.
Amelia: NO. NO, NO, NO.
Katherine: Okay, don’t panic. Maybe he’ll think it’s funny.
Amelia: NOOOOOOO!!!
Val: Oh my God. OH MY GOD, RIN. Are you freaking out?
Me: Of course I’m fucking freaking out!! It’s like I’m trying to get fired. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something. This job has been on disaster after another since I walked through the door. I should just clean out my desk. I AM NOT MEANT FOR THIS WORLD.
Katherine: Send him the right file and be super ambiguous when you email him back.
Me: He wants me to come to his office. Like, RIGHT NOW.
Katherine: Fuck. Fuck!!
Amelia: What are you going to do?!
I swallowed so hard, my throat clicked, and resignation washed over me.
Me: I have to go up there. I have to face the music. Be home in an hour lol.
Val: Don’t say that. It’s gonna be okay, Rin. Just smile and try to make a joke out of it.
My face flattened.
Me: It’s like you’ve never met me.
Val: Seriously. It was just a joke. He’s not going to fire you.
Katherine: I mean, he might fire you but it’s unlikely.
Val: UGH, KILLJOY.
Katherine: Seriously, he’ll probably just dress you down, but he’s not going to fire you for a joke.
I groaned. Me: I have to go. He’s expecting me.
Val: Face the head of the cock. Look him in the eye. Show him who’s boss.
Amelia: Please text us as soon as it’s over. I can’t handle this. I think I might have a heart attack.
Katherine: He’s not going to fire you.
Katherine: But maybe send him the new piece, just in case.
I did, firing off a quick email that explained I’d sent the wrong thing with the correct attachment, checked three times, just to be sure. I shoved my phone and laptop into my bag, hurrying to straighten up the library as my mind fired a dozen scenarios like a horror reel. And a few minutes later, I was in the elevator, trying not to hyperventilate.
By the time I was walking up to his office, I thought my heart might actually be trying to hammer through my sternum. And when I stepped in, I found him sitting on the edge of his desk, dark and brooding, hard and sharp in an impeccable suit, his hand resting in his pocket as if he were relaxed.
He was most definitely not relaxed.
“Y-you wanted to see me?” I asked stupidly, unable to bear the silence.
“I thought you took this job seriously, Miss Van de Meer,” he said with disappointment thick in his voice.
To my credit, I kept my spine straight and my eyes up. “I do, sir.”
He reached for a paper on his desk and began to read. “Medici’s pearl-encrusted cock is well known for its stately, erect posture. This cock is as brave as he is handsome. Should I go on?”
“Oh my God,” I said under my breath, simultaneously mortified and turned on by the word cock from his lips. “Dr. Lyons, I am so sorry. I just…I read the story about the roosters saving Guiliano from assassins and I just…I couldn’t stop laughing, so I wrote that as a joke but sent it to my friends—did you get my research? My real research?”
He nodded, frowning, his face tight. “This department, this job, is not a joke for you to make with your friends. This cockup cannot go unaddressed.”
I watched him, trying to determine if he’d made a cock joke or if he was unaware.
Surely he couldn’t be unaware.