Filed to story: Shhh Professor! Please Don’t Tell! Novel Free
She insisted we get dinner together. She insisted we go to Romero’s. I knew there would be a reporter there, someone who would photograph us. We’d end up on a tabloid in another couple of days: “Are Jackson and Veronica Getting Back Together for Real This Time?”
I parked the car in Romero’s parking lot, and we got out together. To get to the entrance of the restaurant, we had to leave the parking lot and walk down the sidewalk a ways. We’d just reached the front door when I looked up and saw someone on the sidewalk ahead of us, watching.
It was Ellie.
I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. She was wearing a red coat and had a white knit hat on. And mittens that matched her hat. She’d been staring at us, but as soon as she saw me notice her, she ducked into the nearest building.
I felt heavy, like lead, as Veronica and I went into the restaurant. Veronica, oblivious to my energy, was as airy as a soap bubble, continuing to talk about all sorts of things she found pleasant.
She kept prodding me with questions while we ate. She asked how teaching was going. I was quiet, my answers as short as they could be. The only thing I wanted to talk about was Ellie, and the last thing I wanted to do was tell my ex-wife that the woman I’d fallen in love with was completely off limits and not interested in me.
Veronica, however, was determined to get a conversation out of me. I think she was hoping I looked animated for the photographers.
“Have you slept with any of your students yet?” she teased, lifting a forkful of pasta to her lips.
I set my fork down.
That was the last straw.
“No, Veronica,” I said, standing up, “I haven’t.”
“Oh please,” she teased, laughing gaily like it was all a joke, even though I knew she could read me. She knew I was upset. She was denying it in case someone in a booth on the opposite side of the restaurant was taking our picture.
Let them. Let them print a story about what our post-marriage relationship was really like.
“You’re such an attractive man,” she said. “I’m sure lots of girls are dying to try it.”
“Try it?” I said. My tone was flat, but inside, my heart was pounding. “Try it? Like I’m some fad to try on? A meal to taste? Something to be experienced, and then moved on from?”
“Jacky, please,” she whispered, glancing to the side. Even though my voice hadn’t been raised, people were staring.
“Goodbye, Veronica,” I said. “You can take a taxi to your hotel.”
I pulled out my wallet, tossed a hundred-dollar bill onto the table, and walked out of the restaurant.
I felt bad. I knew Veronica would feel humiliated. I didn’t want her to feel humiliated.
But she’d humiliated me first.
I wandered the streets for a while. The air was chilly. I wished I’d worn a thicker jacket.
After about an hour, I found myself in a bar. It was less about the alcohol and more about the company. I wanted to go somewhere where some other people might know what it was like to feel alone, and in need of some sort of comfort.
I sat at the bar, carefully nursing a scotch, when a woman slid onto the stool next to me.
“Hey, cowboy,” she said, winking at me.
Oh boy, cowboy. Women don’t call a man cowboy unless they want to be ridden.
I smiled politely at her. She had long black hair, and her lips were painted a dark red. She was older, probably around my age. She looked like a real person, not a magazine cover, like Veronica did. She looked like someone who wasn’t off limits someone who was interested in the same things I was right now: company, and comfort.
We sat and talked for a while. Her name was Janet. She was in town visiting her cousin, who had come down with food sickness and “wasn’t any fun that night.”
Half an hour later, I decided I might as well be the fun she was looking for. She could be the comfort I was looking for.
“Would you like to come home with me?” I asked point-blank.
“I thought you’d never ask,” she said eagerly and stood up.
We walked out into the night. I felt a little uncomfortable. What drives people to commit the most intimate act imaginable with complete strangers?
As we walked down the street, a few people stepped out of one of the bars ahead of us. It was a group of girls. One of them was wearing a red coat and a white hat with matching mittens.
Damn.
Ellie stared at me, her eyes unblinking. It wasn’t a question; it was an assessment.
“Oh hey, Professor Steele!” called Cynthia. “What brings you out here?”
Wow, Cynthia. Thank you for that.
“You didn’t tell me you were a professor,” Janet cooed, her hands on my arm. “What of?”
“Hi Cynthia, Annie, Jasmin, Ellie,” I said. I swallowed. “This is my cousin, Janet.”
Janet turned to me, leaning sidewalks a little in her tipsiness. “Your what?” she spat.
I had never felt so embarrassed in my life. It was a repugnant lie and an obvious one. No one would be fooled by it, and I had just shown myself to be a coward in front my students and the woman I loved and insulted a very nice woman who didn’t deserve to be my dirty little secret.
My lips parted, but it was too late.
“I’m not your cousin,” she said. “Why don’t you take one of your students home instead?”
She turned around and started walking back up the sidewalk. I stared at her, not knowing what to do or say.
“Well,” Jasmin said cheerfully. “That was awkward.”
I looked at her, smiling vaguely, grateful for her attempt to lighten the mood.
“Unless you want to sleep with any of us, we’ll catch you later, Professor,” said Cynthia. She winked.