“Wisely and slow. They stumble that run fast.”
~William Shakespeare
“Think things through before you commit to something you’ll regret, dumb ass.”
~Romeo Bradley
“The school year keeps starting earlier and earlier. It’s still summer for crying out loud and my grandkids are starting back to school in a few days,” said an older gentleman sitting at the table beside mine at Books and Brew. Hidden behind the pages of the Blissville Daily News as I was, the guy had no idea the superintendent of schools was in earshot of his rant.
“The buildings are air-conditioned these days, Howie,” his table mate countered wryly. “It’s not like back when we were in school.”
“You make it sound like we went to a one-room school like Little House on the Prairie, Irv,” Howie countered. “I just don’t understand why they’re starting earlier if they’re going to school for the same number of days. I think the teachers are lazy and want to start their summers early.”
“Teachers aren’t lazy, and they aren’t the ones setting the calendars or curriculum. Take your concerns to the school board, but don’t blame the teachers.”
“Sorry,” Howie grumbled. “I didn’t mean your daughter.”
“It’s not an easy job, you know? Some of those kids don’t have a great home life, and their parents don’t really care if they eat properly or get a good education. My Cindy practically lives at that school when classes start up. There’s always some event taking place where the teachers try to foster good relationships with the parents and community. Back in our day, they didn’t even do parent-teacher conferences, and now, they have three of those a year, plus the fundraising events, music, band and theater productions, and—”
“I get it, Irv. I’m sorry.”
“Their pay is total shit too,” Irv said vehemently. He wasn’t wrong. “I just hate it when people blame the teachers for everything they see going wrong. It’s like blaming the foot soldier for losing a battle that was poorly planned by a general. They do as they’re told and so do teachers, Howie.” Irv was my kind of people.
“They don’t mind paying big money for a big city superintendent,” Howie said. “Mr. Fancy Pants Doctor of Education.”
Fancy pants? I slowly lowered the newspaper and cleared my throat, giving the gents a fair warning that the Fancy Pants in question had overheard them. One man colored immediately while the other grinned. Howie at least had the good fortune to look embarrassed, while Irv found the situation amusing.
“Your analogy comparing teachers to soldiers and the school board to generals was impressive, Mr.…” My voice trailed off, inviting him to share his last name.
“Rosenblum,” he said, getting to his feet to firmly shake my hand. “Irvin Rosenblum, but please call me Irv. My daughter teaches at Blissville Elementary, sir. She loves her job, so please don’t confuse my concern as her father with dissatisfaction on her part, Dr. Bradley.”
“Call me Rome,” I told him. “Cynthia Wilson is your daughter, right? She has identical dimples to yours.”
“That’s my baby girl,” he said proudly.
“My Doctorate in Education means it’s my job to solve problems in the education system. Teachers like your daughter are what’s right about our system, and it’s my job to give them the best tools and resources available. I encourage anyone who has concerns or issues about our school district to attend the board meetings and voice their opinions.”
Howie mumbled something beneath his breath.
“Excuse me, sir?” I asked patiently. “I didn’t quite make out what you said.”
“I said it would be a complete waste of anyone’s time,” Howie said stubbornly. “Our cares and concerns fall on deaf ears.”
“Howie,” Irv chastised.
“Sir, I can assure you the school board, district staff, and I do care what parents and grandparents think about our schools. We do listen when concerns are brought up at the meetings.”
“Since when?” Howie challenged.
“Since the residents voted in a new school board and hired a new superintendent of schools,” Irv said, shaking his head. “Maybe pay attention to what’s going on around you before you grumble about things.”
“I’m late for golf,” Howie said, rising from his chair and walking out of the café without so much as saying goodbye to his friend.
“I’m sorry if I ruined your chat with your friend over coffee.”
Irv shrugged. “He’s not really my friend. Our kids are married to one another, but we don’t see eye-to-eye on much.”
“I could tell.”
“It’s gotten progressively worse since his wife died. She used to temper his grouchiness by injecting positivity into his life. I’m trying to be a friend to him, but it feels like I’m losing the battle.”
“I’m truly sorry for his loss,” I said, feeling my irritation fading on the spot.
“He’s not coping well,” Irv admitted, glancing at his watch. “I must be going too. I’m taking Cindy’s kids to Kings Island for the day so she can have a day of pampering at the Curl Up and Dye salon before the big day. It was very nice meeting you, Rome.”
“It was nice meeting you too, Irv. I hope Cindy has a wonderful day.”
Once he was gone, I entered a note into my phone to seek Cindy out after the first week of school. I’d made it clear to the board and the district staff that I would have an open-door policy and they were welcome to bring issues to my attention. I wanted to foster a healthy relationship to encourage the best possible atmosphere for our district. Everyone had nodded and said the right things, but I could see in their eyes they had no intention of knocking on my door. Fine. I’d go to them, starting with Cindy.
I settled back in my chair and resumed reading the paper. I sat there grinning while I caught up on small-town gossip, learned how to get mustard stains out of my clothes, and perused the fall sports preview insert for the junior high and high school teams. Of course, the order of teams wasn’t lost on me. Football was the most popular high school sport and therefore took up the biggest portion of the preview with soccer and volleyball tied for second place in popularity, leaving only a few pages to cover the rest of the activities. It was like the kids who participated in golf, cross-country running, or tennis didn’t matter as much since they were crammed onto the same page, and the marching band and flag corps weren’t listed at all.
I’d heard the arguments time and time again in every district I’d ever worked. Football made more money for the school than almost all other sports combined, including the winter and spring sports. That’s why so much of the budget was allotted toward football equipment and advertising in the papers. I understood all about budgets and the necessity of bringing in as much revenue as we could to keep the stadium lights on and the grass trimmed. I also remembered what it was like to play sports that weren’t as respected and pouring my heart and soul into a role for the school play that hardly anyone attended. I knew there had to be a compromise that made everyone happy.
My eyes were drawn to the photo of the handsome advanced chemistry teacher who also coached the tennis team. Julius Shepherd was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. His medium-brown skin with bronze undertones and jet black hair made a delicious contrast to his tawny hazel-brown eyes that sparkled with intelligence and good humor. The school board had hired us both on the same day in the spring. I’d introduced myself to him as the new superintendent then shook the hand he’d offered me. The engaging smile on his face made it impossible for me to look away from his lips. Butterflies took flight in my stomach the second his warm skin touched mine. It wasn’t a foreign feeling, but it had been a very long time since I’d experienced anything like it. It felt so damn good that my hand automatically tightened around his. Julius’s eyes had widened, and the smile faded from his lips, but he didn’t make a move to pull back from me. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and studied me intently, making me feel like a specimen beneath a microscope. He must not have liked what he saw because he stiffened and removed his hand from my grip.
“Um, sorry about that,” I stammered. My reaction to the younger man left me feeling unsettled. It was just as obvious how uncomfortable I’d made him.
“I need to get going,” he told me, taking steps backward to put distance between us. “I need to check out some places to rent before I return to Philly.”
“You’re not sticking around?”
“I need to finish out the school year, and then I’ll move,” he replied. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
“You will,” I assured him, hoping I didn’t sound predatory.
I expected it would be months before I saw him again, but I ran into him the next day when I got my hair cut at the same salon Irv mentioned. The adorable receptionist, Dare, turned out to be Julius’s new landlord, and he’d stopped by to finalize the paperwork so he could get on the road. Wren, the barber who cut my hair, looked like a younger, sexier version of Fabio, and he made it clear Dare was off-limits by explaining he previously rented the same apartment from Dare. It was only available for Julius to lease because the beauty and the barber had recently moved in together.
My exchange with Julius in the salon was brief and mostly one-sided, but I didn’t miss the way he nervously licked his lower lip when I approached or how his pen trembled when a deep chuckle rumbled out of me over something Dare said when I paid him for my haircut. Maybe he wasn’t as immune to me as I had first thought. I had worried about accepting a job in a small school district because returning to the closet wasn’t something I was willing to do at forty-five years old.
It turned out the newly elected school board didn’t care a bit about my personal life; they only cared about my professional credentials and whether I was the best candidate for the job. Once I accepted the position, I looked around the quaint town and realized just how happy Dolly, my five-year-old Dachshund, and I would be strolling down the picturesque streets. Then I learned there were several gay couples already living in Blissville, including the salon owner and his detective-turned-police-captain husband. While I couldn’t say that Blissville was Palm Springs, it was close enough for this guy and his four-legged best friend.
I’d only seen Julius a few times once he moved to Blissville until all the required pre-planning meetings for the school year started. Each time I was near him, I managed to stumble, spill something, or do something equally as embarrassing. I hadn’t realized he was also hired as the tennis coach because he’d only been introduced as the newest chemistry teacher. I nearly drove into a parked car when I saw him on the tennis courts. The man had sexy, toned legs that stretched for miles. Luckily, the chirping of a car alarm caught my attention before I made a fool of myself or hurt someone. Julius mostly dodged me whenever he could and spoke the least amount required when avoiding me wasn’t possible. It was frustrating as hell, but it didn’t stop me from fantasizing about the two of us tangled together, kissing, touching, and making love. I knew he was much too young for me, but I didn’t see how dreaming about something that would never happen could hurt anyone but myself.
I don’t know how long I sat there staring at his smiling photo before new voices from the table beside me caught my attention.
“Clara, calm down. It’s not Mrs. Frazier’s fault that she went into labor early. We’ll find someone else to direct the school play. We should be more worried about little Max right now. He only weighs two pounds.”
“I am worried about Max, Ellie. I can worry about more than one thing at a time. It’s called multitasking.”
“How can you guys even be excited about going back to school?” a teenaged boy asked. “You two look to join everything you can, while I look for excuses to cut class and sm—”
I lowered my paper and cleared my throat before he could finish, saving him from confessing to smoking cigarettes or weed. “Hello,” I said. The three of them reminded me of Veronica, Betty, and Jughead from the Archie comic series.
“Oh, Dr. Bradley,” the Veronica lookalike said. “I’m Clara Simpson, and these are my friends Ellie Pedersen and Curtis Langston.”
“Hiya,” Ellie said, wiggling her fingers in a wave.
“Hey,” Curtis said like he’d rather be anywhere else than talking to a boring adult.
“Guys, this is the superintendent of Blissville Schools,” Clara said, beaming. That got Curtis sitting up straighter.
“Your mom is Caitlyn Simpson, right?” I asked her. Caitlyn was the president of the school board, and Clara looked just like her.
“Yep, that’s my mom. Have you heard the news about Mrs. Frazier and little Max?”
“I have. It sounds like Max is little but mighty. So, you’re worried about the school play?” I asked her.
“Yes,” she admitted hesitantly.
“No, we’re not,” Ellie replied, giving Clara a reproachful look. “I’m sure Mrs. Frazier will be back in plenty of time.”
I knew that wasn’t true but didn’t think it was my place to make that announcement yet. Tammy Frazier had just talked to the board earlier that morning and requested a leave of absence for the school year.
“Ellie, she’s not coming back until next year. We’ll have graduated by then.”
“I’m sure there’s someone qualified to direct the school play,” Curtis said drolly. “How hard can it be?”
“Harder than you think,” I told him. “There’s a lot more to it than holding auditions and telling people where to stand.”
“Yes, there is,” Ellie agreed, studying me closely. “You sound like you have theater experience.”
“Some,” I acknowledged with a slight tilt of my head. I had decades of experience, but I played it cool. “Had Mrs. Frazier picked out a play for this year already?”
Ellie and Clara smiled at one another while Curtis groaned miserably. I suspected he was sick of hearing the theater talk.
“We wrote our own play, Dr. Bradley,” Clara said. “It’s kind of like a modern version of The Outsiders, but it delves deeper than just the differences between income brackets.”
“Right,” Ellie added. “We looked at things like gender, race, and sexual orientation too.” She leaned over and patted Curtis on the shoulder. “Curtis wrote the music.” Ellie smiled at her friend and added, “They’re the most beautiful lyrics I’ve ever heard.”
“That’s amazing,” I said. “I’ve worked in several school districts, and never once have I seen a group of kids write their own production.”
“We’ve been working on this since eighth grade when Curtis came out,” Clara told me. “We’ve tweaked and fine-tuned it until we felt it was perfect.”
“We even got the school board to approve the production,” Curtis told me. “And now…”
The three kids wore matching looks of disappointment on their faces. They were so close to seeing their dreams realized and felt that Mrs. Frazier’s leave of absence would prevent it from happening.
“Surely there is someone else qualified to direct the play,” I said. “What about the music teacher, Mrs. Hoffenburger?”
“She’s like seventy or something,” Curtis said with a slight sneer.
“She doesn’t need to be able to do backflips to direct a play,” I replied mildly.
“Her taste in plays concerns me more than her age,” Ellie injected. “If she takes over the theater department this year, we’ll be stuck doing an old play that no one our age can relate to or will want to see.” I hated that her positivity from earlier had disappeared.
“The woman hates me,” Curtis whispered.
“Who will be Mrs. Frazier’s substitute?” Ellie asked hopefully. “English teachers make excellent directors. They understand the nuances hidden in words.”
“Mr. Weatherby.” Clara answered her friend. “That’s not going to work either.”
“Oh, hell no,” Curtis said. “Anyone who sounds like Ben Stein doesn’t inspire young actors to get into character.”
“It’s a lost cause,” Clara said.
“I’ll direct the play.” I should’ve thought more before I spoke, but the temptation of directing a play written by them was more than I could resist. I had both the skills and time to devote to the project. It felt like it was meant to be.
The three of them looked at me silently for a few heartbeats while they tried to determine if I was teasing them. Once they decided I was serious, the girls jumped up and hugged each other while squealing happily. Curtis leaned forward, offering his fist for a bump.
“You won’t regret this, Dr. Bradley,” Clara said once she settled down. “I promise you.”
“We need to go create casting sheets for auditions. Let’s set up a Facebook group once we pick a cast so we can share all the information in one place,” Ellie said.
“Great idea!” Clara exclaimed.
“I need to find a few more musicians who can help me create melodies to go with some of the songs.”
“What about Mr. Shepherd?” Clara asked. My ears perked right up.
“Your tennis coach?” Curtis asked.
“He’s also our chemistry teacher,” Ellie told him.
“And a classically trained musician who was accepted at Juilliard but chose chemistry and science over music,” Clara told them.
No one asked how she knew. Her mother had read Julius’s resume then apparently shared the details with people in her life, including her teenage daughter. It wasn’t like she could use something so innocent against Julius in class, but what other kinds of school business did her mom discuss in front of her?
“Dr. Bradley,” Ellie said, interrupting my thoughts. She smiled when she gained my attention. “How soon can we come to your office to begin working out a schedule?”
“How about five o’clock this evening before we have the mandatory fall sports meeting with coaches, parents, and players?”
“That sounds perfect. Come on, guys,” she said to her friends. “Let’s see if we can catch Mr. Shepherd at the school. He said he would be setting up his classroom this afternoon.”
The three of them darted out the door without saying goodbye. Two thoughts slammed into me as I watched them walk toward the high school: What the hell were you thinking? and Please let Julius Shepherd agree to help them—us.
I picked up my phone and dialed my secretary, Priscilla. If there was one thing I knew for certain, she didn’t like it when I forgot to update her with any changes to the calendar she kept for my daily commitments. And by calendar, I meant one of those big desk calendars where she could pencil in my appointments. Priscilla was old school. She didn’t do electronic calendars, email, or even voicemail. My calls went through her rather than to me on a direct line. Her message system consisted of those pink “While You Were Out” message pads. I thought it was odd at first and worried I’d have a hard time adjusting, but she filtered out the bullshit calls and redirected them when needed. Priscilla might not have been tech-savvy, but her fifty years of experience working for the school district was invaluable.
“Hello, you’ve reached The Dragon’s desk,” she answered, making me snort. She must’ve seen my number on her caller ID because that wasn’t her usual greeting. Priscilla Marshal was the epitome of little but mighty. She was only five feet tall and probably weighed ninety pounds, but the woman was fierce. She guarded my door like a dragon, and no one got in to see me without an appointment. “How may I help you?”
“Dr. Fancy Pants calling. I need to add an appointment to my calendar for this evening.”
“You already have the sports meeting,” she reminded me. “What’s this Dr. Fancy Pants bullshit?”
“It’s just a name I overheard someone call me. I’ve been called much worse. Anyway, I know I have the fall sports meeting, but this will be a brief gathering at five to go over some production plans for the school play I’ve agreed to direct.”
“You? When did this happen?”
“Thirty seconds before I called you,” I answered patiently. “I know this is your night to play bridge with the ladies, so don’t worry about staying late.”
“You’re damn right I’m not staying. Beatrice Abernathy is going down tonight. I have your appointment marked on your calendar. I’ll see you tomorrow, Dr. Fancy Pants.”
“You bet, Dragon.”
I loved my new town with its quiet, tree-lined streets more than I could ever have imagined, but the best part by far was the quirky residents. One particular resident was my favorite, and my heart raced at the prospect of working closely with him on the school play.
Please say yes, Julius.