Not My Type

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Not My Type Page 6

by Anna Zarlenga


  ‘I’m not asking you to fill my head with science,’ I explain. ‘Just let me pass the exam.’

  ‘Are you trying to bribe me? You do know I could report this?’

  I wag a warning finger at her. ‘I don’t think you want to do that, doctor hot lips.’

  The joke hits the mark, because she whitens visibly and shudders at the memory of when she kissed me at the wedding.

  ‘That was just a stupid bet! And you weren’t my student, then,’ she says defensively, but I can hear a tremor in her voice. The stakes must be high.

  ‘But I am now. People don’t care about details! It would be juicy gossip… “university professor propositions student in exchange for grades…” because that’s how I’d tell it, just watch! And you know everyone would believe me, too. I can do a really convincing innocent face. Here, I’ll show you.’

  Faced with my perfectly constructed angelic look, all her composure flies out of the window, and I can see her getting more and more furious. The feeling of power is almost erotic, I must admit. Even if she and eroticism are polar opposites.

  ‘You’re an arsehole!’ she exclaims loudly. Some passers-by in the corridor turn around, shocked.

  ‘I know. And I’m smart too. And just so you know… doesn’t my surname remind you of anything?

  She seems to think about it, but the light bulb doesn’t come on.

  ‘Pagani Productions?’ I suggest, and the penny drops.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re…’

  ‘… Massimo Pagani’s son. Do you know the production studio? Do you know how big our turnover is? It’s huge, just like my…’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m familiar with the company, thank you. The university does apprenticeship courses there. I’ve never been, but I know of them.’

  ‘Well then, now you know why you shouldn’t make an enemy of me.’

  ‘Mr Pagani, what you’re suggesting is fraud, and it’s a serious crime,’ she reminds me.

  Ok. I’m about to do something that repels me, but if you have a talent, you should exploit it, right?

  I take her by the hand and lead her into an empty classroom, pulling her close to me.

  ‘Perhaps we could come to another type of agreement?’ I suggest. ‘What if my accusations… weren’t just accusations. At least we’d have some fun, don’t you think?’

  I must have an iron stomach to even think about what I’m about to do, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

  She looks up at me. I still wish she didn’t wear glasses, and… wait… is that a smile I see? I knew it! No one can resist my charms. To emphasise the point I move my hips slightly against her. I’m not excited, but my member is remarkable even at rest. She’s capitulating, I feel it. Of course, if I have to show her my talents, it will be necessary to scrape together quite a bit of courage, but to pass the exam it will have been worth it.

  ‘What do you have in mind?’ she asks, lowering her voice. When she isn’t shrieking like a crow, I have to admit that she has a warm and velvety voice. One knee rubs against my leg and, for pity’s sake, something below my waist moves! What is this novelty? She is not the type to get me hard, even in her wildest dreams!

  ‘Well, I…’ I begin, stunned by the treachery of my body. ‘I thought I could introduce you to my depraved world.’

  ‘Interesting. So you like deviant things? ‘

  ‘I like to experiment…’

  She seems to think about it, as she runs a finger over my forearm, tracing it all the way up to touch my earlobe. Fuck! She has a light touch and knows almost like magic where I’m most sensitive. I feel my groin pounding and I’m really starting to worry.

  ‘I like to try new games too, Teo. I’m a world champion at kneeball.’

  Kneeball?

  The blow lands with swift and cruel accuracy. It takes my breath away, and I see stars and little cartoon birds. I crumple to the floor in agony, while a stream of curses, mixed in with appeals to God, pour from my mouth.

  ‘Don’t fuck with me, Teo Pagani,’ she warns, one hand on the door handle. ‘You’re no one in here, and you do not want to make me angry. You want to take the exam? Have a seat. But you will have to follow the course and study just like everyone else. I don’t give discounts. And it’s no use whatsoever using your flaccid attributes in an attempt to corrupt me. I’m not interested.’

  Still gasping, I raise my head to glare at her in defiance.

  ‘I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with.’

  ‘Oh, I know exactly what you are! And if you don’t want me to go straight to your father and tell him what you tried to do, you will be a good little student. Get ready for your own private hell, playboy worm!’

  With that, she slams the door behind her, leaving me aching on the floor trying to think of ways to make her pay.

  Because I will avenge myself, oh yes! If you want a war, Doctor Doria, you’ve got one.

  10

  Sara

  I explode back into the classroom like a force of nature. I must have a truly terrifying look on my face, because the students flinch when I turn around to face them. Eleonora puts her hand on her heart, frightened, perhaps, by the noise I make furiously reorganising papers and notes.

  That moron! The misogynist! The arrogant bastard! Does he think I will just give in to anyone with a pair of well-defined biceps? That he can bribe me with the promise of cosmic orgasms?

  Though god knows, I actually would like an orgasm right now. How long has it been? Months? Years? Centuries? I need to cool down, before I go back to the empty classroom and stab him with the scissors.

  I take the microphone firmly and look at the audience. I get the feeling someone is doing the devil horn gesture to ward off bad luck, but I can’t be sure. I take a couple of deep breaths. I can’t present myself as a monster to these kids, or they’ll all run away and never come back.

  ‘I apologise for the earlier setback. I hope that everything so far is clear. Have you understood broadly how the course will take place?’

  One hundred and fifty heads nod in unison. Apparently I will not be haunting their nightmares, at least not tonight.

  I take my leave, signalling to Eleonora to conclude the lesson, and then head like a lightning bolt towards the department. I have to go to my office to reflect and calm down.

  I don’t turn or look around me. All I need is to meet Teo in the hallway. Any more bullshit from him is likely to send me over the edge.

  My heels strike the marble floor with violence, as I think of new and original insults to dedicate to my new student: I will make his life so difficult that he will beg to change faculty.

  Absorbed in devising ever more elaborate tortures, I fail to notice where I’m putting my feet, until I find myself colliding with another person.

  ‘Oh, look where you’re going!,’ I say rudely, and then fall silent, mortified, at the sight of Professor Costa. He is wearing his usual expression of someone who looks at you without quite recognising you. Despite the fact we’ve been working together for five years.

  Still, geniuses are always a little distracted.

  ‘Oh! Excuse me, Professor,’ I stammer, mortified. It’s true that I want to fall into his arms, but I’d prefer to do it with a touch more grace, and ideally not in the middle of the corridor.

  ‘Sara! Difficult day?’ he asks me with his intellectual smile. Thank goodness he remembers who I am, at least!

  Instinctively I throw my chest forward.

  I feel like a stupid teenager, but today, like never before, I’m sick of being timid. Maybe it’s time to test just how strong my walnut desk actually is.

  ‘I was just thinking. I’m on my way to my office to draft the article. Do you… do you want to get a coffee? ‘

  There, I did it. The little devil on my left shoulder is dancing with glee, but the angel on the right shakes his head disapprovingly. Shut your face, little spoilsport, I just want to have some fun!

  I accompany the prop
osal with a look that, to me, quite clearly says ‘throw me down and stamp me like a protocol sheet.’ He returns my smile ‘Good idea. Bring it to my office in about ten minutes, along with the drafts of your article,’ he says, apparently oblivious to my seductive wiles. What’s wrong with me? The professor walks away placidly, leaving me standing like a lemon in the corridor.

  ‘Shot down!’ a voice exclaims behind me. I don’t need to turn around. I already know who it is. Enjoying my embarrassment, no doubt.

  ‘I don’t understand the reason for your presence here. Students are only allowed in the faculty for appointments on lecturers’ reception days’ I tell him, remaining motionless in my ridiculous conquest position.

  ‘What day is it?’ he asks.

  ‘What? Wednesday.’

  ‘Well, according to the bulletin board, Wednesday is the day you see your students. And I would like to be received.’

  I turn and glower. I wish I could disintegrate him with my eyes.

  ‘Well, I don’t want to receive you. If I were you I would leave, unless you’re here to help me out with some kneeball practise?’

  He sags at the waist a little, remembering.

  ‘It was a good shot, I admit it. But you know I don’t give up until I get what I want.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad you’re feeling tenacious, because you’re going to have to wait for me to die before you pass this examination.’

  ‘Perhaps you’ll die of a broken heart,’ he replies, nodding towards the door where the professor is hiding.

  ‘That’s none of your business,’ I say, fists clenched, while he advances with his hands raised in mock surrender.

  ‘I come in peace.’

  ‘Tell that to someone else.’

  ‘Really, I come in peace. And I have a proposal for you. A proposal that you cannot refuse,’ he whispers, earning himself a slap. He’s lucky he’s too tall for me to reach his face.

  ‘I have already rejected your proposal, get used to it,’ I reply, starting to walk away.

  ‘But this one will be acceptable to you too. Unmissable, I might also say. I’m proposing a fair exchange.’

  ‘Sex in exchange for grades? You already know my answer. I don’t want it.’

  He shakes his head. ‘Assistance in exchange for assistance.’

  Eh? What the hell is he plotting?

  ‘What assistance could you ever give me?’

  ‘Well… I will come on a Wednesday and ask you to help me with what I don’t understand about the course, and in exchange I will teach you all the things you don’t understand about men. That’s all.’

  The nerve of him!

  ‘I understand men perfectly well!’ I reply, offended.

  I certainly don’t need his help to get one.

  ‘Allow me to contradict you. You didn’t understand that one just now at all.’

  Ok. On this point he is right. But that’s only because my professor is too busy improving himself with intellectual pursuits. He has no time to waste on frivolities.

  ‘You don’t understand anything about this world, we’re not like you.’

  ‘That’s for sure,’ he agrees, looking me from head to toe. I remember that expression. Evaluating how much I suck from one to ten.

  Well, for the record, he sucks twelve.

  ‘Have you finished staring at my tits?’ I ask him, catching his eyes lingering for too long on that particular point.

  ‘You can’t look at what you can’t see,’ he retorts, reaching out and unbuttoning a couple of buttons on my blouse.

  ‘What the hell?’ I grab his hands roughly and hold them away. And no, I don’t like feeling them against my palms, warm and smooth, big, and well-proportioned. It has no effect on me whatsoever.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not trying to undress you in the corridor. But I have just increased your sex appeal by a few points. I mean, I’m not a miracle-worker, but I’m guessing this guy isn’t too picky. He’s so far off in the clouds that he probably wouldn’t even notice something when it was right under his nose …’

  Meanwhile, I’m still holding his hands, and in a corner of my mind I am aware I should drop them as soon as possible. But somehow, mind and body don’t seem to be connected. Because I’m concentrating on his words, of course. Not because I can’t let him go.

  He catches my troubled expression first, then lowers

  His eyes to look at our hands. He quickly retracts them,

  shaking them as if to get rid of a persistent insect.

  ‘So, do you want to give me a chance?’ he asks, taking a couple of steps backwards.

  I sigh, thinking carefully. Technically, I could not refuse to receive a student. And unfortunately, he is my student, at least on paper. I could make sweat through every page. I can’t deny I would enjoy making him squirm. I could make him re-sit the exam three or four times, and finally squeak him through with a weak third. In these terms, the prospect seems more appetising.

  On the other hand, his offer to help me understand men offends me and I don’t understand the point of it. It is true that I don’t go out much, but I interact perfectly well with the other sex and I really don’t see that I have any need of his help.

  I observe my would-be Pygmalion and all I can think is how embarrassing his proposal is. It’s one thing to be aware of your own disastrous social life, but I don’t want him to remind me of it.

  ‘It’s not a good idea,’ I say, convinced. Because it’s definitely not a good idea and I have no desire to have him constantly in my office. Why can’t he get a private tutor? With all the money he has…

  ‘If you don’t say yes, I’ll start singing “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning” in the middle of the corridor until you accept.’

  I shake my head, laughing. ‘You’re ridiculous.’

  I begin to walk away, but evidently Teo is a man of his word, because I’ve hardly gone two paces before I hear singing,

  ‘Oh, what a beautiful morrrrrninnnng, Oh what a beautiful dayyyyy…’

  Heads emerge from office doors. Security appear in the corridor.

  ‘Any problems, doctor?’ they ask me. I watch, horrified, as Teo makes fools of both of us, as if the whole thing were perfectly normal.

  ‘Oh, what a beautiful doctorrrrrrr. Why won’t she come out and playyyyyyyy?’

  I give up. The man’s a lunatic.

  ‘Wednesday at twelve. You have at most half an hour for your questions,’ I say, dragging the words as if I were pronouncing my own doom. And maybe I am, because I’m sure that this uneasy truce won’t lead to anything good.

  11

  Teo

  I have a plan. A perfect plan. The best plan in the world.

  And I will not fail.

  No one has ever ridiculed me like she did. No one has ever tolerated me with such condescension. No-one. I have only ever been idolised and admired and I don’t see why she should be any different from all the others.

  I want her at my feet. I want her to beg me. And not because I like her, no. Because I really don’t like her.

  How could I, with her thick glasses, her generous curves and her terrible taste in clothes. She is absolutely not my type, but I can’t stand being rejected. Especially not by someone like her.

  She has insulted me, humiliated me, beaten me, even. And she thinks she can get away, scot-free? She doesn’t know who she’s dealing with.

  What was I saying? Ah, yes. The plan.

  I don’t give a shit about her, I just want to pass that exam and I will use all of my energy to get what I want. Not by studying, but by making her give in. With the excuse of meeting for advice, I’ll make her fall in love with me.

  She will be cooked like a spit-roast chicken ready for skewering, although obviously I won’t be sticking it to her. I wouldn’t want to get too close.

  I will deceive her, I will take from her what I want. And then I will forget her. That will be her punishment.

  I am lost in these agitated thoughts as I arrive
at the production studios. These days I am required to attend board meetings. In short, my father is trying to kill me.

  Before I’m halfway across the carpark, I realise that I’m heading straight towards my nightmare, my personal stalker: Gennaro.

  I make a desperate dash for the entrance, but Gennaro, despite his fifteen stone bulk, is somehow quicker than me.

  ‘Afternoon, Chief, looking more handsome than ever! Just like a famous producer!’

  I mean, in theory I am a producer. As for famous, I wouldn’t swear to it. My father is famous. I live on reflected glory and that’s the way I like it.

  ‘Gennaro, what a tremendous pleasure,’ I reply, with a bucketful of sarcasm. I’d almost escaped him!

  ‘You didn’t forget me, did you?’

  Ok. Step back. I could never forget Gennaro. He’s here every day!

  One day he’ll try and sell me ‘designer’ socks of dubious provenance, and the next it will be perfumes that smell like bug spray. But every day without fail, he asks me to help with his master plan. A request with no chance on this earth.

  ‘I can’t get you an audition, Gennaro. I am not a record producer,’ I repeat, for the umpteenth time.

  ‘Come on, Chief, with all your contacts, you must know someone. See if you can sort it out for me, ask around. I’ve got a family to support, you know. Here, look,’ he commands, pulling his out his wallet and showing me a series of passport photos. ‘Nunziatina, Concettina, Salvatore, Gaetano. And here is the living saint that is my wife Giuseppina. I have to look after them all, Chief. I have two girls to marry off! Two!’

  I roll my eyes. ‘This is why I’m an advocate of contraception. I’m sorry, I can’t help you.’

  ‘You can! Ask your friends, you can do it. I know you are an angel sent to help me!’

  ‘I’ve been called a thousand things in my life, but never a saint. And I am very much not. Stop asking.’ I try to get away, starting with a firm step towards the building. But my steps are stopped by fifteen stone of man, who appears to have decided to cling to my legs. He must be more desperate than usual.

 

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