by J. S. Cooper
“‘Le dejeuner sur l’herbe’ means ‘the luncheon on the grass,’ so you can see that the title of the painting is quite literal.”
“So she’s not a ho?” the guy at the back of the class called out again, and everyone, including Xavier, laughed.
“But what is a whore?” Xavier smiled. “Many believe the park depicted in the painting is the Bois de Boulogne, a large park in the western outskirts of gay Paris. A park that is well known for illicit sex and prostitution.” His tongue darted out of his mouth again and he looked at me. “So what is to be believed? Is she a whore or is she not?”
“Why do we think she’s a whore?” I shouted out. “Why are we judging her when we don’t even know her?”
“She’s naked,” someone cried out. “She wants to get some.”
“Maybe she is just comfortable with her body, with her femininity. Why should she be ashamed of that? Even if she wanted to have sex with one or both of the guys, why would that make her a whore? Don’t guys do that all the time? If it were a naked guy with two girls, no one would be calling him a gigolo.” I huffed out.
“Such a visceral reaction, Lola.” Xavier’s expression changed to one of humor. “You talk as if you know the lady in the painting. You defend her as if she were family.”
“Maybe Lola just wants to have a threesome,” Justin called out and laughed.
I stared at him with disgust. “I don’t want to have a threesome, not that it’s any of your business. But look at the painting carefully. Her pose isn’t provocative. The men don’t look aroused or in lust. They all look as if they are they’re just enjoying a picnic and she just happens to be naked. She is beautiful and unashamed.”
Xavier nodded and then started talking. “She is so unashamed that she stares at the viewer as if to say, ‘And? And so what of my nakedness?’ But for many, it was not just the subject matter that turned them off of the painting. It was also the technique that Manet used. A technique that differed from the customary Neoclassicist lines. A technique that other artists admired. And Manet became their leader and carried them through the Impressionist revolution.”
“So Impressionism means that whores are no longer whores in paintings?” the boy at the back of the class called out again, and I could feel myself growing annoyed with him.
“Impressionism means that not only did we see a shift in the art that was created, we also saw a shift in the way we saw the world. Art is not just something to admire. It is something to breathe and learn from. It is our history and our future. It is our very essence captured and contained for the world and our ancestors to see.” Xavier’s eyes closed as his words flowed easily like a fine wine down the throat.
“As you can tell, he’s really into art,” Sebastian whispered to me.
“Yeah, he seems to be really into art.” I smiled back at him, noticing now that they did have the same green eyes, though Sebastian’s were open and happy while Xavier’s were closed off and full of distrust.
“Class, today I want you to think about what art means to you, what it has taught you. I want you all to present and talk about your favorite piece of art tomorrow. It doesn’t have to be Impressionist. Tomorrow, I want us all to get to know each other.” He smiled. “And now, you may go. This is the only day you will get to leave early.”
Students jumped up eagerly, and I saw one boy leaving the room before Xavier had even finished talking.
Sebastian packed up his things and looked down at me. “What are you up to now, Lola?”
“I’m probably going to go to the library.” I shrugged. “I’m meeting Anna for lunch so I need to stay around the building.”
“Perhaps we can go and get a coffee?”
“That sounds like it would be very nice.” I nodded at him.
“What would be very nice?” Xavier’s voice was right next to my ear, and I shivered.
“Lola and I are going to go for a coffee,” Sebastian said, answering his brother. “And how are you today, Xavier?”
“Fine.” His tone was clipped. “I’m afraid coffee is out. I need to talk to Lola.”
“About what?” I looked up at him finally, and his green eyes were full of mystery, revealing nothing to me about what he was feeling.
“You inquired about an assistant position?”
“I did?” I shook my head at him in denial. “I think you have the wrong person.”
“The admissions department forwarded me a list of names of students who were interested in becoming assistants to help save on tuition.”
“Oh, yeah.” I bit my lower lip as I remembered. “What about it?”
“I want to talk to you about becoming my assistant. See if you are suitable.”
“Suitable?” I made a face at him, and I saw Sebastian rolling his eyes.
“Yes, suitable.”
“Do you want to interview me or something?”
“Yes.” He stepped back. “I will be waiting.” He walked back to the front of the class, and Sebastian laughed.
“Sorry. He doesn’t really have a way with people.”
“You can say that again.”
“It’s what comes of having everything handed to you.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” he laughed. “Though I can’t really talk.”
“I guess you are brothers.” I stood up and grabbed my bag. “I guess I better go before he threatens to fail me already or something.”
“Don’t worry too much. He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. His bark is worse than his bite.”
“If you say so.”
“Trust me. He is very smooth. He wouldn’t get half the women he does if he didn’t know when to pour on the charm.”
“Oh, he has a lot of women?” A surge of disappointment ran through me and I wanted to slap myself.
“It depends what you call a lot.” He laughed heartily. “Let’s just say that our mother is very worried that he will never get married and produce an heir to carry on the family name.”
“Oh.” That’s weird, I wanted to say, but I kept my mouth shut. Who was I to talk about crazy families? Maybe they were from a family or country where it was important to have people carry on their names. Maybe they were still stuck in the olden days? It did seem like they were rich if Sebastian had grown up with masterpieces in his home.
“But I will see you tomorrow, yes? I will save you a seat.”
“You’re not English or French, are you?” I blurted out.
“How did you guess?” His eyes twinkled at me as we walked to the front of the class.
“I think I kind of knew when we met the other night. Your mannerisms and your speech ... There’s just something a bit different.”
“You’re correct, of course. I did go to school here, but I still carry the tint of accent from my country.” I wondered if he remembered telling me that the other night and I cringed at how obvious I was being.
“What is the name of your country?”
“Sebastian, don’t you have things to be getting on with?” Xavier walked up to us and gave his brother a look. “Mother would be disappointed to know that you aren’t concentrating one hundred percent on your studies.”
“I’m just talking to a new friend, Xavier. It’s allowed, you know.”
“Maybe you should think about what is best for your country and not what is best for your bed, dear brother.”
“Xavier!” Sebastian’s voice was outraged, and I felt my heart sink into my stomach. This was it. Xavier was going to tell his brother that he knew me and then Sebastian was going to look at me in distaste.
“Run along, Sebastian. I don’t have all day and I do believe that Lola would like to get this interview out of the way as well.”
“Good luck, Lola. I apologize for my brother. This is his first time as a professor. I think he’s letting it go to his head.”
“That’s okay.” I smiled at him warmly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait.” He smiled at me one l
ast time before glaring at his brother and walking out of the room.
I stood there watching him and didn’t stop staring at the door, even after he had walked through it. I felt my heart rate increasing rapidly as I stood there waiting for Xavier to say something. But he remained as silent as I did. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer and turned to look at him. He was watching me with hawk eyes and pursed lips.
“What’s your problem?” I couldn’t resist saying the words that were in my mind. “You’re such an asshole. Do you know that?” I glared at him and noticed his lips twitching. “Are you going to answer me or not?”
“What do you want me to say, Lolita?” he finally spoke and raised an eyebrow at me. My stomach did flip-flops as I stared at him, unable to forget and ignore how attracted I was to him.
“My name is Lola, not Lolita.”
“And I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re not a prostitute either?”
“You’re a fucking asshole.” I grabbed my bag. “I’m out of here.”
“Running away again?” His voice was tight as he grabbed my shoulders to stop me.
“Don’t touch me.” I shook him off me, ignoring the tingles that ran through my body.
“Leave my brother alone.”
“Excuse me?”
“He’s young and impressionable, and I won’t let a gold-digger get her hooks into him.”
“A gold-digger?” My mouth fell open in shock. “Are you joking? You’re really going to stand there and start insulting me again?”
“I’m not insulting you. I’m just letting you know that I have your number.”
“You have my number?” I repeated, dumbfounded.
“I know what sort of girl you are, Lola Franklin,” he sneered, and he moved his face closer to mine. “I’ve got your number all right.”
“There is no way in hell I’m staying around to listen to you insult me, Professor Van Romerius.” I quickly turned around again and walked towards the door.
“Wait.” His voice was commanding, and I stopped involuntarily, a part of me hoping that he was about to apologize.
“What?” I watched as he walked up to me casually. He looked like a lion about to attack his prey. I swallowed hard as I realized I was the prey.
“I just wanted to do this.”
He stopped in front of me, and before I knew what was happening, his lips were crushing down on mine and his hands were on my lower back, bringing me into him. My breasts crushed against his chest and I felt as if my soul were leaving my body as his tongue consumed me roughly, as his hands caressed my back. My hands found their way to his head and I ran my fingers through his silky tresses, allowing myself to forget how much I hated him as my hunger took over.
He tasted so goddamn delicious—even better than I had remembered. His lips were sweeter somehow, plump and sweet like ripe grapes. My brain was screaming at me to pull away, to stop his invasion of my mouth, but I couldn’t. My body didn’t want to run away from his touch, even though my mind did. But Xavier did it for me. He broke off the kiss slowly and pulled away from me. I waited for him to say something scathing, something that would make me hate him again, but instead he lightly touched my lips with his fingers and stared at me consideringly.
“You really shouldn’t let strange men kiss you.”
“I don’t think I let you. You didn’t really ask.”
“No. You are right. I didn’t.” He nodded slightly and a harried expression crossed his face. “I do suppose you are right.”
“You shouldn’t be kissing your students.” I started getting angry, wanting to show him that I had some power as well. “I’m sure it could get you fired.”
“Perhaps.” He nodded and the humor was back in his eyes. “But I’d rather kiss you than have you try to trap my brother.”
“How do you know I wouldn’t be trying to trap you?” I snapped, annoyed again.
“You could never trap me.” He laughed, a slow, long, dry laugh. But there was no humor in his eyes. “I’m older and smarter than Sebastian. That is why I need to protect him.”
“And when you fucked me the other day, who were you protecting then?” I tried to keep my voice strong as hurt course through me.
“I fucked you because I wanted to feel myself inside of your sweet body,” he murmurred as he looked me over slowly. “No other reason.”
Our eyes stayed locked for a few minutes as we just stood there staring at each other, and I felt my knees start to tremble. It was almost too much. He was too much.
“I’ll leave your class.” I took a step back.
“And go where?”
“I can join the literature program.” I swallowed. “My friend Anna is in it. She told me they need more people.”
“You didn’t even know who Nabokov is,” he sneered. “I don’t think the literature program will be a good fit for you.”
“I can’t stay in this class if you’re going to insult me.” I shook my head to clear my thoughts. My brain was starting to get cloudy from being so close to him.
“I didn’t know I had insulted you.”
“What?” I looked at him in disbelief. “You’ve basically called me a whore and a gold-digger, and you don’t know that you’ve insulted me?”
“Your skin is too thin.”
“Can I go?” I sighed and waited for his response. I didn’t want to deal with him. I needed time to think.
“I haven’t interviewed you for the position as yet.”
“Forget it.” I shrugged. “I don’t want it anymore.”
“Come, now. Surely that’s not true.”
“I don’t want to work for or with you.”
“I should be hurt.” He laughed, but his eyes were blank. “But I’m not.”
“I’m sure you’re not.”
“You start tomorrow at eight.”
“What?” I frowned, wondering if I had heard correctly. “What do you mean?”
“Was I not clear? You should come to my office tomorrow at eight a.m.”
“You haven’t even interviewed me yet.”
“You were the only applicant, so you win.”
“I didn’t win anything. I told you, I don’t want the position.”
“Are you scared, little Lolita?”
“Scared of what?” I took another step back as he took a step forward. I couldn’t allow him to touch me again. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from responding if he touched me again.
“Scared because I know who you are.”
“I don’t know what you think you know.” I looked him in the eye. “And I’d never be scared of an asshole like you. I accept the position.”
“Good.” He smiled and walked back to his desk as if nothing had just happened. He picked up his briefcase and pulled out his cell phone. “What’s your phone number?”
“Why do you want my number?”
“So I can text you my address.”
“Why do I need your address?”
“Because that is where my office is.”
“What? It’s not here?”
“No.” He shook his head. “It’s in Knightsbridge.”
“Can’t I just meet you here?”
“No.”
I frowned. “But why were you in a hotel the other night—”
“What is your number, Lola?” He cut me off and handed me his phone. “Input it here, I’ll text you my address, and I’ll expect you in the morning. Don’t be late.”
“I don’t even know what to say,” I mumbled as I put my number into his phone.
“No need to say anything.” He took the phone back from me and put it in his pocket.
“What am I going to be doing for you?”
“We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”
“Oh God, you don’t expect me to be your assistant-slash-lover, do you?” I blurted out. “I’ve read books about this, you know. Man in power hires poor, innocent girl to be his assistant, but really she’s his sex toy to have sex at hi
s whim. Just because I slept with you once doesn’t mean you can bend me over a desk at your will. Contrary to what you may think, I’m not a slut and I can’t be bought.” I took a deep breath and continued, ignoring the sudden light shining in his eyes. “You’re my professor. You can’t do this. I can get you fired. This is sexual harassment.”
“See, Lola,” he spoke quietly, “this is why you shouldn’t study literature.”
“What?” I frowned at him. That was his response to my entire diatribe?
“What kind of books are you reading?” He laughed. “I’ve never heard of any great literature with the premise of ‘easy girl becomes sex slave to powerful man.’ Put down the Harlequins and learn about real life, Lola. I neither want nor need you to do any sexual favors for me.”
“I ...” I mumbled, flabbergasted at his words. “I don’t read Harlequins.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want you to go getting any dreams in your head about this situation. I know how you girls are. You will never have a relationship with me or my brother.” His eyes flashed at me. “And while I admit you were good for a night, I’ve no need to repeat it.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I’ll see you in the morning, Lolita.”
And with that, he sauntered out of the room, leaving me standing there, wondering what the hell was going on.
***
His View
I was excited for the first day of class. I wanted to see her face when she realized I was going to be her professor. Would her face go red? Would she run out of the room? Maybe she’d pull me out of the classroom and argue with me. Maybe I’d push her against the wall and lift her up and press myself into her, so she could feel how much I’d missed her.
“Don’t be crazy, Xavier,” I lectured myself. I knew I was treading in murky waters. Lola was going to be my student. I was her professor. It was already pretty scandalous that we’d slept together. I’d be crazy to sleep with her again as her professor—but then, I liked crazy. I had only taken this job as a favor to the president of the university. And it was a study abroad program. I was sure that the rules weren’t as strict about professors and students dating. And it wasn’t like I was in it for the dating part anyways.