Part 11 (2/2)
Another thought: maybe Frances wasn't as cruel as I first thought. Maybe she was divorcing me to save me from this horror show. It could've been that it had reached the point that I was no longer able to be kept in the dark. Rather than drag me into something that would destroy both of our lives, she was handing me absolute freedom!
But then, what about the house?'
While I was thinking it through, Stephanie had snuggled into my embrace, her cheek resting on my shoulder, her body warm against mine.
”So, Ashton is looking for a job because the Provost told him to?”
”Yes. Yes he is.” It came out with a sigh of relief. I was the first outsider to whom she had told the truth.
”And you and him? You're leaving together?”
Her fingers tightened around mine. ”For now, yes. But I don't know if I can stay. He says he really loves Fran, and this has torn him up inside worse than any fights we've ever had. How can I stay with someone who has fallen out of love with me? He's trying to keep me, I can tell. We're still friends, G.o.d, don't ask me why. He's willing to work at it, but I don't think it will ever feel the same.”
I cleared my throat. ”And down here, in the bas.e.m.e.nt? It's the only place you feel safe anymore?”
When Stephanie lifted her face to me, we both knew what had to happen next. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. She leaned in for a kiss, small nips at first, then harder, wetter, hungrier. She grabbed the back of my neck, sc.r.a.ped her nails across. I pulled her closer. When she finally broke away, I had lost all sense of time. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath, then reached down and quickly pulled her s.h.i.+rt over her head and threw it to the floor. Underneath, a white bra. Average-sized b.r.e.a.s.t.s and bikini lines. She looked ready to charge me like a pit bull.
I wanted to just as much as she did. I was dying for it. But she had the same idea at the same exact moment. Her face went from f.u.c.k me now like an animal to Let's all take it slow in a matter of three breaths.
I was about to say it first when she said, ”I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”
”No, it's me. I'm sorry. I started this.”
”I'm sure I did. I stepped over the line. I...listen, I really would love to, Mick. I'm not some wh.o.r.e, I swear. It really felt right just then.”
”I know, I know, same here. Don't let it drag you down. Bad timing that's all. There's so much swirling around, and I have to take care of some things.”
She nodded. She didn't seem self-conscious about talking to me in her bra. I was trying hard not to look. ”Mick, I'll need to talk to Ashton, and I'm sure we're going to leave together, but after that, maybe, you know? Or is it bad? Would we just be doing it because of them?”
”Probably.” I sighed. ”You know, I'm exhausted from thinking about it.”
”Wait, I'm being so forward here. It's not fair.” She bent over and snagged her s.h.i.+rt from the floor, then slid back into it. ”I like you, I really do, but I need to talk to Ashton, and you need to talk to Fran, and we need to get all of this behind us first.”
”Right, right.” I stood and shoved my hands in my pockets. I was tempted to cup her face with my palms and kiss her gently. But she was right. We both knew better. ”You don't follow a stomach ache with more of whatever caused it in the first place.”
”That's why you're the poet.”
”But after the air is clear, say, dinner? A concert?”
Her hands together in her lap. A grin I knew would turn to tears later. That's just the way things worked anymore. But for now, happy and in control, she said, ”I'd like that. Thank you. Call me.”
”I will.”
As she followed me up the steps and to the front door, our fingers mingling, but aware of the possible cameras, nearly curling around each other, then breaking away again, we talked about restaurants, where we might like to go on our ”date”. I steered her away from the Jazz Club-bad memories. Then we hugged goodbye, I stepped out onto the front walkway, and the door closed behind me.
I had forgotten what I was supposed to tell her, my entire reason for coming, to ask her if she would be willing to testify on my behalf concerning the Provost and Frances. I started to turn for the door again when I caught a glimpse of a car on the curb across the street, about three houses down. It was a hybrid Camry, brand-spanking new. Of course it was easy to get a new hybrid every other year if you were this particular owner, who was leaning against it, arms crossed, looking square at me. He waved.
Our Provost, Carl Timmerman. A tall, strong, but uncomfortable-looking man, as if clothes had trouble fitting him. The women loved his manner, his beard, and his charm. I'd always found him off-putting, like he was barely listening to you, always roaming the room for better options. Which, I now realized, was exactly what he was doing.
Today he wore khakis, boat shoes without socks, and a blue plaid s.h.i.+rt, tucked. Sleeves rolled. The only time he'd ever conveyed authority in dress, as far as I could tell, was at the graduation ceremonies in his formal robe. Mostly, he was this schlub.
He waved again, this time beckoning.
Well, what the h.e.l.l? It had to happen sooner or later. As I took my time down the steps and walkway, making him wait, I thought I must have struck close to home for Carl to come searching for me. But how did he know? Did he still have a camera in Stephanie's house, broadcasting live? Or was I being followed?
”Carl,” I said, now a few feet away. I kept my hands deep in my pockets. Not that it mattered, since he didn't even move. Unflappable, I would call him.
”Mick. How about a chat?”
”How about we go back in time, let's say a year, and you apologize to me.”
One of his grins, the kind that tried expressing friendliness but actually spoke volumes about his contempt for me, or anyone who challenged his superiority.
He said, ”That's not the way it works. Adults can make their own decisions. You're being somewhat immature about all this, aren't you?”
”Not at all. 'Immature' to me, the English professor, is defined more along the lines of 'f.u.c.king a man's wife and hiding it from her husband'. That's a d.i.c.k move, Carl. Something I would expect from a child trying to steal another kid's toy.”
”Just like you, Mick. Pa.s.sive-aggressive. It's never pretty.”
”You think?”
”I'm the one with the degree in psychology.”
”Yeah. A shame you never did anything with it.”
He laughed. So did I. It was silly, the way academics had fistfights. Punch him? The thought never crossed my mind. I wondered why not.
I said, ”How did you know I was here?”
”That's not what we need to talk about.”
”Then what?”
”You've got to stop what you're doing. Talking to Stephanie and Ashton, talking to Alice-”
”She broke into my house!”
”-wait, that's easy to dispute, listen. We know you talked to David. And I'm telling you to stop.”
I was stunned. This really was childish. Like he'd flicked me in the ear, but before I got a shot back at him, he'd said, ”Quit or I'll tell.”
He said, ”Stop or Frances will file for an order of protection.”
”That's ridiculous.”
”Stalking. I've got enough eyewitness reports to make sure you spend a few weeks in jail and have a radius so wide, you won't be able to live in the same city. And that sort of behavior can lose a man his tenure. You understand?”
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