Chapter Three

 

Veronica

 

I didn't bother to look up from where my head was resting in my hands, my elbows propped on the dining room table, when I heard the door open. I could hear faint music and then Javi's voice joined in, humming along with the tune. A loud thud finally brought my head up and I looked toward the living room that stretched off the dining area. It was advertised as a flowing layout, but it really just looked like the kitchen had accidentally been made too small and the living room had been stretched out to fill the space. I saw Javi in the middle of the living room and realized that the loud thud must have been him jumping up to hit the position he was now in. He stood with his feet far apart, his hands on his knees as he bent forward, his head swirling and his hips swiveling and bouncing to the music that was streaming through the headset he was wearing.

"Javi?" I said. He didn't stop. "Javi," I said a little louder. Still no reaction. "Javi!" I shouted.

He whirled around to face me. He was wearing a black suit, a shimmering black silk shirt, black Chanel sunglasses, and a headset similar to the one the guards were wearing the night before at the party. He looked like a member of the Gay Secret Service. He smiled and I smiled back.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," I said. "What are you doing?"

"Dancing."

"I see that. Why are you dancing?" I gestured at his outfit. "What's this look you've got going on here?"

He glanced down and ran his hands over his chest and hips.

"It's good, right?" he asked. "I got a job acting as security at a party tonight."

"You? You're going to do security?"

He nodded, running his fingers along the microphone to the headset.

"Look at this. Isn't it so Janet Jackson circa 'Control'?"

"I love it when you reference revolutionary moments in music history that happened before you were born."

"It's in my blood."

"This may be true, but it brings me back to...you? You're going to do security?"

"Oh!" he scurried a few steps toward me. "Yes. So last night after the incident, I had a conversation with a very nice security guard named Lamar and he told me that there is a little invitation-only soiree tonight on Fraternity Row and his team was in need of an extra set of hands to keep the boys under control. So, I agreed. But I figured that if it's a frat party that means that there's going to be music, so I need to make sure that I have selected an appropriate outfit to look fearsome and deter misbehavior, but also to allow me to dance." He jumped back into his previous dance position. "So, I'll be working and twerking."

I didn't much have the heart to tell him that despite the daydreams that were probably going through his mind, his extra set of hands probably weren't going to be used the way that he wanted them to be and that nothing short of dressing him in a suit of armor studded with poison-dipped nails and arming him with a mace was going to make him look fearsome. I tried to nod encouragingly but felt a twinge of pain in my temples. I massaged into them and turned back to lean on the table again.

"What's wrong?" Javi asked, the sparkle gone from his voice.

"Just a headache," I said.

He walked up beside me and I glanced up to see him looking at the papers that were spread out across the table in front of me.

"No wonder. What in the living hell is all this?" he asked.

"My class schedules, rehearsal schedules, and performances from the next year, plus bills and cost projections. I'm trying to figure out how much money I need to make and how I'm going to fit all of that into the time that I'm going to have."

He reached forward and picked up a piece of paper.

"This says 'long-term physical therapy and rehabilitation'. Are you planning on throwing yourself out of a window in the near future?"

"No," I said. "But I might hurt myself dancing. That is a serious reality I have to face. I've been building myself up for years for a dance career, but what if that doesn't pan out? What if none of the companies choose me? What if there aren't even any teaching positions available for the season? What if I hurt myself training or performing and can't dance for a few weeks or even months? All I'll have is my English degree to fall back on, but I would have to actually find something that I could do based on that, and that could take some time. So now I'm hurt and can't dance, and I've lost everything I've been working for my entire life, I don't have a job, I have no way of making any money, you're off being successful and I'm going to end up getting evicted and living in a shoebox because I didn't plan ahead."

I let out a breath and looked up at Javi, who was still holding the paper but looking at me with slightly widened eyes.

"Honey, you know that you are still sitting here at the table, right? You just went on a dark journey in your mind. We're doing just fine twerking and talking about Janet and suddenly you have yourself tucked all up in some cardboard under the overpass where the world just exploded all around you."

"I know. It escalated pretty quickly."

"You know, a shoebox probably wasn't the best choice for your post-financial apocalyptic housing selection. Unless you can get your hands on some Pretty Woman Vivian Ward thigh-high boot situation, you're not going to have much room to work with."

"I would make sure that I found a boot box for an addition so that you could visit."

"Thank you," he said, kissing me in the middle of the head. "But you know I wouldn't ever let that happen to you. I can't be seen under the overpass."

"I'm aware."

"Besides, you seem to forget that you do own a house."

I had hoped he wouldn't mention that. I didn't want to think about the house that was sitting untouched. I hadn't been in it in longer than I wanted to think about and had little to no intention of being in it again anytime soon, if ever. That couldn't be a part of the plan that I had for myself going forward. I would rather just pretend that it didn't exist.

"I just need to get serious about my future," I said.

"You're always serious about your future," he said. "You always have been. You are the most serious person I have ever known. All you ever do is think about what you are going to do when you're done with college and study and rehearse. You're like a really flexible stuffy old lady with an awesome skincare routine that has kept you devoid of wrinkles. You don't even do anything fun."

"I went out with you last night."

"That was an absolute anomaly and you know it. You never go out. You don't have any social life. Do you even know the names of more than three guys who go to this school?"

"Is three some kind of magic number?" I asked.

"Yes. Schoolhouse Rock taught us so. But that's not the point. You need to stop worrying so much about what's going to happen after you graduate and think more about the rest of the time that you have here. This is supposed to be the time of your life. You should be thinking less about the possibility of something going wrong and instead think about making things go really, really right."

He was giving me that look. That look that he had been giving me since an ill-fated game of Truth or Dare that might or might not have involved us piercing mini marshmallows on chopsticks and holding them over a candle in the living room trying to make s'mores during our first year living together. That was when he discovered that not only had I only gone on a handful and a half of dates in my entire life, but that I was still a virgin. That hadn't changed much since. I might be all the way up to two handfuls of dates. Not for lack of trying on Javi's part. He had given me that look when he committed himself to becoming my own personal sex coach, determined that he was going to help me solve whatever it was that was keeping me hitting the books rather than the sheets.

"Javi, I love you, but still no. I will get around to the whole dating thing at some point, but for right now I just don't have time to think about anything but making sure that I get in all of the rehearsals and classes I can, keep my grades up, and start saving more money. I can't compromise what I want for my future just to party. I'm sorry."

"I still reserve the right to look at you judgmentally and try to drag you out into the world of the living occasionally, just so you know, but I have an idea."

"Does it involve a different type of dancing than I've been training for my whole life, not that there's a problem with it, but I don't think that I'm really cut out for all that?"

"Wow. You sure do cover your ass quickly. Have you ever considered transitioning into a political career after the whole dancing thing peters out?"

"I don't like you very much."

"Yes, you do. But that's not the point. Why don't you look into being a TA?"

"A TA?" I asked. "As in a Teaching Assistant?"

"Yes."

"No."

"What? Why?"

"I'm trying to do well in my own classes. I don't have time to babysit underclassmen through their own."

"But that's the thing. You don't have to try to do well in your own classes. You always do well in them. You're good with people. People think you're supportive and encouraging for some reason that I haven't yet landed on. You'd be perfect."

"It would look good on my resume," I said.

"It would. People love a helper. Look how well the Girl Scouts do. They've taken over the world with cookies. Why? Helpers."

"Alright. I'll go to the department office tomorrow and look for a position. Hopefully, a procrastinating professor will still be looking for someone."

"Good." He leaned down and kissed my head again, pausing to mutter against my hair. "I love you. You use up most of your supportiveness and encouragement on me and I know it."

He pressed a button on the side of his headset and I could hear the music blasting through again as he made his way down the hallway toward his bedroom. I checked the time. He probably only had enough time to swish some mouthwash around, put a little more strategic spackle on his hair, and then make his way to Fraternity Row to not make anything more secure in any way.

I looked back at the papers spread across the table and let out a sigh. Maybe he was right. At least assisting a professor would keep me on campus and save me the need to try to find a job in our already-saturated community.

 

The next morning, I was feeling more optimistic about the thought of being a TA. I had visions of striding into a classroom of fresh young faces and getting the privilege of watching the professor find the kernel of interest in each of them and spark it into learning and passion. I might have also hummed a few bars of "To Sir, With Love" as I made my way to the office to look for that position I just knew was waiting for me.

That all went to hell fairly quickly.

"They don't pay at all?" I asked.

The woman at the desk shook her head at me, each sweep back and forth brushing away some of the music out of my mind.

"No," she said. "These are strictly volunteer positions. The selected student is compensated in the form of experience and credits as applies to their particular situation."

I wanted to ask her if she was reciting from a laminated form hanging on the desk in front of her, but I told myself that my disappointment wasn't her fault. I gave a nod, knowing that arguing wasn't going to make her suddenly change the policy for me, and walked out of the office. I had started the day so optimistic, feeling like I had finally found something that was going to allow me to focus on the things that I needed to and create a little cushion in my savings account to keep me floating during this last year of school. I was very aware that the figure on my statements had been dwindling after three years of school without a job and now it was time to stop coasting. I needed to start refilling the account if I was going to be able to keep surviving through this year and my fledgling months out in the real world. This morning that thought had been exciting. Now I felt like I was about to be shoved out of a nest without the proper wings to carry me.

Jude

 

I stepped out of the office seconds after Veronica disappeared through the door. She hadn't noticed me standing there, but I had seen her the moment she walked in and had kept my eyes on her as she stood at the desk and signed up for any possible TA positions. I knew that the chances of her actually getting a position were very slim considering the majority of professors who utilized such assistants either maintained them year to year until they were no longer available, or had long-since chosen them for this semester. The fact that she had expected to be paid if chosen was only another mark against her. Some universities offered payment for their TA positions, but it had always been the tradition of this institution not to, something that I would think that she would know if she was interested in that type of work.

I walked up to the desk and asked to see the list.

"There aren't many options, I'm afraid," the receptionist said. "Most have already been chosen."

I nodded and took the list from her. Veronica hadn't taken her name off the list and I looked down at it, tracing the curve of her handwriting spreading in a combination of frenetic strokes and smooth sweeps like coffee spilling across the page.

"Did Ms. Parrish give you contact information?" I asked.

"Oh," the receptionist said. "I forgot to cross off her name. I don't think that she's interested in a position."

"Why would you say that?"

"She was looking for something paid."

She said it in a slightly whispery voice as if the thought of being paid for working as a professor's assistant was offensive to the very fabric of the university's existence.

"Did she leave contact information?" I asked again.

"Just her email address."

"Thank you," I said.

I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket and withdrew a pen. Crossing off Veronica's name, I handed the list back to the receptionist. She stared at me as I put the pen back into my pocket and walked out of the office without another word. I hadn't asked her for Veronica's email address. I didn't need to. I still had it from the semester that I taught her. It was just the generic convention given to students by the school, but it was enough to contact her and let her know that I would like for her to be my TA.

The thought had burst into my mind fully formed. There was no hesitation or sense that this might not be the right next move. For all the questioning that I had put myself through the night before, the compulsion felt irresistible now. Having her as my TA was the ideal opportunity to spend more time with her, to get closer to her, and to begin the seduction that had been on my mind since I first saw her. That was all I wanted from her. To seduce her. To possess her.

The only even semblance of hesitation that I felt had nothing to do with Veronica or my intentions for her. Instead, it was about the idea of having a TA at all. I had never had one and had never intended to. In fact, I had always been deeply critical of the professors who always had them and pawned off so much of their work on the validation-desperate students rather than handling it for themselves. In my eyes it had been the worst kind of academic monarchy, encouraging people to deem the professors worthy of praise and admiration when they were truly little more than figureheads in their own classrooms. I knew that I would have to balance making her feel as though she were actually doing something of value and still maintaining what I thought of as my integrity as a professor, handling my own work and involving myself directly in all aspects of the course. I knew that I would find that balance if it meant having her in the classroom with me.

I went to my office and emailed Veronica, explaining to her that I had a TA position available and learned that she was interested in such a position. I wasn't lying to her. I just didn't feel the need to elaborate that the timing of finding out that she was interested in a TA position and me having one come available was conveniently the same moment.

I spent the next hour finalizing the plans for the first week of class for each of my courses. I had always been the type of professor who was very aware of the add/drop period and the impact that a poorly chosen course could make on a student's entire semester, if not college career. Choosing one class that they weren't suited for or that they didn't really need because they thought that it looked easy and then failing could send them spiraling, taking away opportunities and making it difficult for them to recover. This was why I was never one to spend the first few classes on exhaustively reviewing the syllabus and easing into the course. Getting to know you games were for children. I wanted my students to learn about me through my lessons and assignments, and for me to learn about them through the work that they put into them. Those assignments came immediately and intensely, forcing the line between the students that filled my lecture halls and classrooms. Either they picked up quickly and learned to thrive, or they rapidly recognized that they were going to fail and decided to leave. By the third class every semester my numbers had dwindled, and I was down to mostly those students capable and willing to take on the challenge. Inevitably there would be a few scattered in there who thought that they could handle it but ended up still proving that they should have been amongst the early exodus, but that was something that happened in virtually every class in every university.

I was reviewing the prompt for the writing assignment I intended to give in the second class when I heard a light knock on my office door. I looked up and saw Veronica standing in the doorway, her hand still hovering near the open door. I smiled and stood.

"Hello, Veronica," I said. "Come on in."

She stepped inside and closed the door almost automatically. Rather than sitting down, though, she took a few steps toward me and clasped her hands in front of her, letting out a sigh as if preparing to give a speech.

"Professor Ford, I got your email offering me a position as your TA and I wanted to thank you. But I came here to let you know that I won't be able to accept it."

I looked at her quizzically.

"You won't?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"I should have taken my name off the list before I even left the office. The truth is that the only reason I was looking into becoming a TA is that I need a job for this semester. I need something that will allow me the flexibility to go to my courses and all my training and rehearsing, and that will also pay enough to sustain me. The receptionist let me know that the positions are on a strictly volunteer basis so it's not an option for me."

"Would you want to be my TA?" I asked.

"I think that it could be interesting," she said, "but I can't commit my time to something else when I will barely be able to fit a paying job into my schedule. I have a few courses that I should have taken earlier that I need to do, which has made my load very heavy for this semester, and I'm working on my senior pieces for the dance department so that I can hopefully catch the attention of a company. I wouldn't have the time to devote to assisting you and working anywhere for enough hours that I would make the money that I need."

Her cheeks had become slightly pink and she had glanced away as if she were embarrassed to even be discussing something like this with me. I remained still, my arms across my chest.

"And if I made sure that you could do all of that?"

She looked up at me, questions in her eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"If I ensured that you had the time that you needed to take care of all of those things, gave you credits so that you didn't have to take those basic courses, and paid you the rate that you want, would you want to be my TA?"

She shook her head slightly.

"But the receptionist said…"

"Forget about what she said. Just answer me."

"Yes," she said, sounding breathless.

I gave a single nod.

"Then that's settled," I said, walking back around to my chair and sitting down. "Be in the Harrison Lecture Hall at three Monday afternoon. Actually, you should probably make it fifteen minutes early to make sure that you are ready for the students." She stood there staring at me, not responding. "Is there something wrong? Does that conflict with another of your classes?"

"No," she said.

"Good. Then I will see you then."

"I don't understand," she said. "How can you do that?"

I rested my hands on the desk, looking directly into the hypnotic blue of her eyes and feeling the pull in my chest intensify to an almost unbearable strength. I had to have her and I would do anything necessary to make sure that she took this position and was there with me when the classes started.

"I can do anything I want," I said simply. "Who will defy me?"

"But if the University doesn't allow paid TAs…"

"There might not be any budget that would allow for TAs to be paid directly through the school, but they can't stop me from providing my own financial compensation for a student who shows exemplary commitment and does an exceptional job in her position." She seemed to think about this for a moment, unsure of how to respond. "Veronica, you were very good in my class. You had to have been for me to remember you now. I teach hundreds of students each semester and most of them I wouldn't be able to tell you that I had ever seen them if you showed me a picture of them. It's not that way with you. You made an impression on me then and I know that you would be fantastic in this position. It would be a very easy experience for you, and it could offer you far more than what any other job you could find would. I know that this is an important decision for you, so I don't want to pressure you into it. Take some time to think about it and consider your other options. If you decide that this is the right decision for you, come to class on Monday."

She nodded.

"I'll think about it," she agreed.

"Good. Thank you for coming in."

Dismissed, she turned and walked out of the office, closing the door behind her again. I waited until she was gone to lean back in my chair, folding my hands over my lap and smiling. I knew that she would be there when the class started on Monday. I could see the look in her eyes. I was offering her far too much to simply pass up. There was just too much benefit in what I was offering to her for her to be able to resist it. The image of my wife flashed briefly through my mind, but I didn't dwell. I let it fade. This wasn't about her. Veronica would never reach the place in my heart and my mind where I still cradled her. This wasn't about love or even a relationship. I wanted Veronica for a simple purpose, and soon I would begin to convince her that that was what she wanted, too.