“If everybody minded their own business, the world would go around a great deal faster than it does.”
―Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
Alice
“Who’s going to tell her?”
“Her advisor should do it, not another student.”
“If it were me, I would die of embarrassment.”
“Why? She’s done nothing wrong. She’s expressing her sexuality without worrying about the male gaze.”
“True, but who’s going to take her seriously in academia after that?”
Those were just some of the whisperings I heard as I was walking in between classes. Frankly, I was dying to ask who they were talking about, but I didn’t know any of them well enough. Besides, as soon as they saw me, they shut their traps and dispersed like waterbugs getting caught with the lights on.
If I was the paranoid type, I’d be worried.
“Not my circus, not my monkeys,” I muttered under my breath, on my way to my last lecture of the day-a three-hour seminar on gender and sexuality.
But what I was really thinking about was my elevator ‘ride’. I know that, for
many, doing it in an elevator was no big thing, but for me it was. A younger me would have thought my more experimental, bolder approach was because of Dare. It certainly helped to have an open partner, instead of someone, like Chad, who had the same three moves and felt threatened at the mere suggestion of anything else.
But that elevator ride was my idea, a fantasy I didn’t even know I had until the opportunity presented itself. Maybe someday, I’d want hot wax poured all over my breasts or feel a need to dress up like baby doll and beg daddy to spank me. Didn’t feel like either would ever be my thing, but who knows?
Man plans and God laughs.
What I did know was that I’d been so afraid of my own sexuality that I had never given myself permission to let my body and mind dream in its own language. How could they? I’d been too busy looking over my shoulder, trying to rise above the whisperings about my mama. When someone you love has a bad reputation, especially in a small town, everyone thinks that’s your story, too. I couldn’t begin to count how many guys thought they were entitled to a piece of me, how many I had to fight off.
They may not have had me in the biblical sense, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t get their pound of flesh by stealing a piece of my soul.
Well, as of now, I was taking them all back.
Rihanna sang in my head: baby, this is what you came for.
So true, Ri-Ri, so true.
I was just about to walk into my seminar when my advisor’s assistant, Jennifer, snagged my arm. She was usually bouncy and all smiles, like a new puppy, but not today.
“What’s wrong? You look like you just found out Chevy stopped making trucks or something.”
She didn’t laugh, and Jen always laughed at my Southern funnies.
“Alice, the professor needs to speak with you, right away,” she said, wringing her hands.
“But I have a class ‘bout now,” I said, pointing my thumb towards the faculty lounge where my seminar met. “Can’t it wait?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. She wants to see you right away,” she said, eyeing the people in the lounge. “I’ll have a word with Professor Tisdale and let her know why you’re missing today.”
I stared, dumbfounded.
“Go on. She’s waiting for you in her office.”
I nodded and started walking, trying to imagine what could possibly have happened. I took my phone out of my pocket, turning it back on, so I could call my sister. I needed to make sure she was okay, because that’s the only reason I could imagine I’d be summoned like this.
As soon as I got a signal, I saw a bunch of texts from Dare, telling me he was on his way to campus and that he needed to talk right away.
Okay, now I thought I might throw up. If anything happened to her . . . no, I couldn’t even conceive of a world without my sister. She was my family, my best friend, my mentor, and frankly, a second mama.
I ignored his texts and called Caroline. She picked up on the second ring.
“What’s up, buttercup?” she said, all cheery and bright.
I couldn’t breathe. I leaned my weight against one of the building, crouching down, trying to calm myself.
“Alice? Alice!” She was freaking out now. “Talk to me, honey. What’s wrong?”
I was still panting. “I’m fine,” I eked out. “I thought . . . something had happened to you.”
“To me? No, sister. I’m right as rain. Why would you think such a thing?”
I coughed into my hand. “Because I’ve been summoned to my advisor’s office and Dare’s been texting, saying he needs to talk to me right away . . . I thought they were prepping me for bad news.”
I heard her breathe a sigh of relief. “I’m sure one has nothing to do with the other.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I said, feeling better already. “Had to check though.”
“Aren’t you the one always telling me that professors are the most obtuse, entitled creatures on the planet?” She didn’t wait for my answer. “I betcha she’s just impatient and thinks you should stop everything when she calls. She probably needs some help and expects you on it, right quick.”
“Yeah, okay. I better get over there then. I’ll talk to you later.”
We said our goodbyes and I headed to my advisor’s office.
I barely had to knock before she called me in.
My advisor was one of those professors who insisted you call her by her first name. Of course, being a Southerner, using the Christian name of an authority figure felt as wrong as wearing a mini skirt to church.
“Hi Alice, come in, come in,” she said, gesturing towards the chair in front of her desk. “Thank you for coming so quickly. Oh, and would you shut the door?”
“Sure, Ms. Joan,” I said, doing what she asked and taking a seat.
She smiled. “You’re the only student I’ve ever had who called me ‘Ms.’ Joan.”
I shrugged. “If I didn’t show some kind of deference, the ghosts of all my ancestors would roll over in their graves, but not before they popped in and slap me on the side of my head, for showing such disrespect,” I teased.
She gave a half-hearted laugh.
Okay, I’m guessing the idle chit-chat portion of our scheduled program is done. Now onto business.
“I’ve called you in today, to discuss a delicate matter,” she said, leaning back in her leather chair. “And it’s delicate because, well frankly, we’ve never had to address a matter like this before, at least not with a student.”
I was utterly confused, but I was hoping to catch her gist soon.
“There is some precedence,” she continued. “We have one professor who made a series of pornographic films back in the seventies under a pseudonym. We have another who writes erotica, again under a pseudonym. But your case is quite different.”
“I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Her mouth gaped, but she recovered fast enough. She adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “Well then . . .” She opened one of her drawers and took out a folded newspaper. She handed it to me.
I felt my forehead wrinkle.
“Go on,” she said. “Read it.”
I unfolded the paper, only to find myself on the cover.
With Dare and his bare ass.
In the elevator.
Fucking.
With my ‘O’ face, mouth wide, mid-orgasm.
The headline read: Art World’s Bad Boy on a Wild Ride with Mystery Woman.
My ears started ringing.
My hands started to shake.
“I-I-I . . . how did this happen?” I asked, but not really asking.
Then, I remembered, the flash of white I felt behind my eyelids.
I thought it had been my body’s release, but it was the camera flash, from those two guys waiting for the elevator.
I glanced up to find her looking quite uncomfortable.
Oh shit. Please don’t let this be for the reason I think it is.
“Are you kicking me out of school?”
She grimaced. “There will be a hearing in two weeks. A decision will be made then.”
My stomach lurched and tears welled in my eyes.
“This was printed without my knowledge nor my consent,” I said.
She gave a sweet smile. “I assumed. That will count for something.
Ms. Joan walked over to the mini fridge she kept in her office, taking out a bottle of water and handing it to me.
“Thanks,” I scratched out.
She placed her hand on my shoulder. “Jennifer will email you all the information about the hearing. You are allowed one faculty member to speak on your behalf. I would be honored if you chose me.”
I grabbed a tissue off her desk and nodded. “Yes, thank you. Of course.”
I blew my nose.
“I’ll give you some privacy.”
She walked out of her office and closed the door behind her.
And that’s when I let out the real, ugly cry.
My whole body shook. I went through one tissue, then three, then five.
Everything I had worked for was going to wash away.
I tried to stop crying, but the sobs kept coming, as if this bad news had uncorked some secret well of tears I had inside. I was drowning in self-pity.
If you hadn’t been with someone famous, you would’ve never ended up on the cover of some rag.
I knew it wasn’t Dare’s fault. My guess was that he was livid and trying to get to me to make sure I was okay. But I wasn’t okay. Not even close.
Below the picture, there was an article, but since they had no idea who I was, they used their column inches to discuss Chloe and the footsteps I was walking in.
His former dancer-turned-photographer girlfriend of three years, the daughter of a prominent New York family. There were rumors she suffered from a variety of mental health issues. Dare was commended for standing by her, even after two psychiatric stays.
In fact, everyone thought she had been through the worst of it. She seemed happy, making plans to teach dance to little girls in a studio on the Upper East Side.
So, imagine their surprise when one day she went to the top of her parents’ building and jumped out the window.
No warning.
No note.
They couldn’t even use dental records to identify her, the damage was so bad.
She was twenty-four years old.
The family went on a crusade, blaming him for her instability, saying she had been a happy person until they got together. But her former classmates and teachers and other relatives were quoted saying that Chloe had always been emotionally fragile.
Dare hadn’t been seen in the press until the photo of us came to light.
Bet those morons got a good price for it, too.
They ran two small photos under the fold line, one of Chloe by herself and another with the two of them, walking arm-in-arm, in Central Park.
She had long, brown hair and big eyes, with one of those tiny, dancer bodies. She was beautiful, but delicate, like you could break her in half. In the photo, she was looking up at him, as if he was her whole world.
I’d seen enough. I folded the paper back up and stuck it in my bag, and left a note for Ms. Joan.
I took out a compact and cleaned myself up as best I could. My eyes were bloodshot and the tip of my nose was bright red. I was a mess, but I didn’t really care.
I left the office and walked across campus to hop on the subway. Thank goodness, I didn’t bump into anyone. Then, I recalled all the gossip I heard earlier that morning.
“Who’s going to tell her?”
“Her advisor should do it, not another student.”
“If it were me, I would die of embarrassment.”
“Why? She’s done nothing wrong. She’s expressing her sexuality without worrying about the male gaze.”
“True, but who’s going to take her seriously in academia after that?”
They were talking about me the whole time and I was too dumb to know it.
I am a rube, a moron, a country-bumpkin simpleton.
Dear Lord, I was over five hundred miles away from home and I was still being called a whore. Only this time, I couldn’t blame my mama. This was all on me.
“Alice?” I heard behind me.
I knew that voice. Just this morning, that voice both stirred and soothed me.
I turned around.
Still as beautiful, probably even more famous.
“Jesus, Dixie, are you okay?”
There will be a hearing next week.
I may be kicked out of school.
“No, Dare, I’m not okay. I don’t know if anything’s going to be okay again.”