I don’t have any classes with Suzanne, but we try to go out and hit the Buccaneer pub, the local college hangout, at least once a week and catch up on what’s happening in our lives. By the middle of the first semester we were Thursday night regulars. It was always Suzanne and me, but often we’d be joined by whoever she was dating at the time, other art school friends. Sometimes Evan would join us. We’d meet up in one of the wood-paneled booths, someone would sneak a fake-ID pitcher, and we’d rehash the week and update each other on what was in store for the weekend.
“I’m completely hopeless at Raku pottery!” I wailed that particular Thursday.
“Impossible,” Suzanne said, pouring drinks for everyone.
“No, she’s really hopeless,” Evan laughed.
“That’s just mean,” I pouted, causing him to laugh more.
“What’s the problem? You’re so good at everything else,” Suzanne said.
“I don’t know! It’s like I’ve got a mental block or something. I can get the pieces all the way to the end, and then when I have to apply the metal finish, they always shatter. Evan! How come it never happens to you?”
He winked and pushed his light-brown hair back. “Because I’m an artistic genius.”
“Seriously,” I frowned. “I’ve never seen you break a piece. Not once.”
“I took Raku in high school. There was a studio near my house, and the owner was a friend of my mom’s.”
“See? That’s totally not fair!” I wailed. “What am I going to do? I really love the class, but I’m going to fail.”
“You’re not going to fail,” Suzanne said. “Half of the grade is effort. I mean, you can’t help it if you’re a bull in the china class.”
“Some friend,” I said, taking a sip of the draft beer Evan had just poured us.
“So, what are you doing tomorrow?” Evan said to me.
He’d been asking me out for weeks, but I’d managed to avoid him. I was hoping to stay on the market in case Mr. Parker made a move. He’d been giving me a lot of extra attention in class lately, and maybe I was just setting myself up for disappointment. But a girl could dream.
“Oh, well,” I tried to think fast. “I’ve made a study date with a girl in my painting class. We’re supposed to be working on this project…”
“Uh huh. I get it. Bug off, Evan?” He was teasing, but I caught the edge in his voice.
“I’m sorry. Maybe we can do lunch after the break?”
“Maybe.” He turned back to his beer.
We went on visiting and catching up on the week. Suzanne was learning to use some new design software, and her current project was to create a marketing campaign for a line of men’s deodorant. We had fun coming up with different catch phrases until it was time to call it a night. Evan walked us back to our apartment and said good-night.
“You’re going to put him off if you keep saying no,” Suzanne said as we walked up the stairs.
“I know, but I don’t want to date Evan right now.” I dug around in my small bag for our key.
“So just go out with him once,” she said, leaning against the wall. “Get him off your back.”
“It won’t be like that. He’s asked too many times.” I found the key and fumbled with the lock.
“Well, I haven’t noticed you checking anyone else out. What’s the deal? Who are you waiting for?”
“Nobody,” I said, but I had to press my lips together to keep from smiling.
“Really?” Suzanne leaned in close, eyes narrowed. “Then what’s that all about?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.
“The smile?”
“I’m not smiling.” I got the door unlocked and we both pushed into the living room.
“And blushing!” she cried. “Who is it?”
“Shut up! I am not blushing. It’s nobody.” I threw my keys on the counter and hung my coat on a peg.
“You can be cagey if you want, but we live together. I’m going to find out.”
“Then you’ll find out when there’s something to know.”
Suzanne shook her head and went to her room. I was already imagining what I would wear tomorrow to painting class.
So much happens in college so fast! I love being independent and meeting new people, and I love being immersed in art. Savannah is my favorite place in the world. It’s all going exactly as I planned.
Oct. 20, 19--
I’m a bad girl, and I love it!
My first (real) college date, and it’s with my professor. Yes! It all happened this week. I was working on my painting of the large anchor down on Butler Street, and Mr. Parker came by to critique my work.
“I like your use of color, Miss LaSalle,” he said, and he placed his hand on my lower back again. Zing!
“Thanks,” I managed to whisper.
“You’ve got real talent,” he said in that low voice of his. My arches literally tingled. “Can you stay after class to discuss a few options I think you might find interesting?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, unsure if it could mean anything more but definitely hoping.
His office was in the very back of the room behind glass windows, and when I went in and sat down, I noticed several nudes stacked against the back wall. He saw me looking at them, and I felt my cheeks warm.
“I share my office with Ms. Finch, the figures instructor,” he said, waving at them.
“Oh, yes. I’ll take that next year.” I pushed my hair behind my ear.
“I think your work shows distinction,” he said, leaning in front of me against his desk. “You have a unique approach that’s fresh and vibrant. Have you considered apprenticeships?”
I glanced quickly up at him. “No, sir. I mean, I’m just a freshman. I was thinking I’d get through this year and then see what’s next.”
“You shouldn’t wait. Strike while the iron’s hot.” Then he looked up. “My next class is coming in. What are you doing Friday?”
“Friday? I have class—”
“Friday evening? Are you dating anyone?”
My heart literally stopped. “No.” I tried not to let my voice tremble.
“Good, then I’ll pick you up around seven. We can have dinner and discuss it. And call me Nick. Mr. Parker’s my dad.”
“Okay… Nick.”
He got up and swiftly left his office to start his next class. I followed slowly, my head in a cloud. Nick Parker was so hot. I couldn’t believe he was taking me to dinner Friday. I wouldn’t be able to eat a thing.
Suzanne thinks it’s a mistake. She thinks I’ll get in trouble since I’m enrolled in his class and he’s grading my work and all. I don’t care. I’ll gladly transfer classes or even take this one over if I have to. I am so doing Friday and hopefully more.
Oct. 21, 19--
I am going out with my professor.
Look—I just put it in writing. It’s official!
I am officially breaking some rule. I guess. Is dating a professor a written rule or is it just frowned upon? Who cares, I’m doing it, and it’s going to be fantastic!
The hardest part is figuring out what to wear. Naturally, I called in the most fashion-forward person I know. Meg.
“I’m so happy to hear your voice,” she sighed after answering.
“You must be about to bust,” I said. “What do you have? A month to go?”
“Yep. And I am. It’s amazing how big I’m getting. I have no idea what my feet look like, but Mom and I are going for pedicures next week. Apparently once you get in the three-week window, labor can start at any time, and I’ll be damned if I have my baby with chipped polish and scaly feet up in the air.”
“You really are too much,” I laughed. “But that’s exactly why I’m calling!”
I could hear her frown. “You always had such nice feet. I chalked it up to all that walking in the sand.”
“I am strangely not surprised that you’ve checked out my feet. But no! I’ve got a date!”
“Mmm!” she made a noise. I could only assume she was drinking something. “With who?”
“Well…” I closed my eyes and just said it. “My professor. Nick Parker.”
“Your professor?” she shrieked. “Isn’t that illegal?”
I snorted, dropping my head on the bed. “It’s not illegal. But it is frowned upon. And I’m having the hardest time figuring out what to wear. I really like him. He’s older and more mature. And I don’t want to look like a kid.”
“You always look beautiful,” she said crunching on what sounded like popcorn. “Just wear what you would any time.”
“That won’t work.” I sat up and stared at my open closet. “You know what I wear any time.”
“And so does he, and he asked you out. So he must like it!”
“Your logic is sound, but we’re not going to class.” I stood and walked over to the hanging garments. “We’re going to a restaurant in the Victorian District.”
“Sounds very proper indeed,” she said in a fake British accent.
“Good God, I hope not!” We both giggled again. “Oh, Meg, I’m so excited. Help me!”
She sighed. “What did you take with you? What are you looking at?”
I pulled two hangers apart. “I’ve got my maroon velvet top, and I was thinking about a long, flowy brown and maroon patterned skirt.”
“That sounds very elegant!”
“It’s something I’d wear to mass.”
“Nope.” She crunched again in my ear. “What’s next?”
I kept flipping hangers aside. “I have a black shirt and jeans?”
“Too movie night. What about that blue sweater and your brown short skirt?”
I quickly swiped hangers to find it. “My blue sweater’s a cardigan.”
“So button it up! It’ll give him something to think about unbuttoning later.”
“You are so pregnant!” I laughed. “Are you just one big hormone now?”
“Practically. And the heartburn’s killing me.” She breathed deeply again, and it sounded like an effort. “You don’t have to let him undo your cardigan, but it never hurts to have him thinking about it.”
I shook my head. “Who ever knew you were so conniving?”
“How do you think I kept Billy Kyser on the hook for so long?”
“Clearly by being a total tease!”
She crunched again. “As my current condition proves, I was not teasing. So you’re going to dinner and then what?”
“Then I don’t know.” I walked back to sit on my bed again, my knees crossed under me. “That’s all he said.”
“How old is he?” I could hear her frown.
“Not sure, but he looks young. He can’t be over thirty.”
“That sounds tres risqué. And he’s handsome?”
I stretched out on my side across the bed. “Very. Dark hair, green eyes, killer smile.”
“Um-hm,” I heard her smile. “I expect all the details.”
I sighed after we hung up. Meg was great at boosting my confidence, and I’d been meaning to check in with her anyway. I’d lost track of time since school started, and she’d be giving birth before long.
I’d hoped to visit her again before then, but it seemed our lives were diverging. I shook my head. No time for that.
Oct. 23, 19--
It happened… and it was even better than I imagined it would be!
I was swept off my feet the moment Nick arrived to pick me up with one long-stemmed red rose in his hand. We chatted all through dinner about art and getting established in the field. It was a dream come true dating a man who’s also an artist like me.
Being a professor, he’s very in the know, and he told me all about new techniques and trends he sees coming. And we discussed colors and textures and ways of looking at the world. Even Suzanne isn’t that tuned into the medium. She’s all lines and pixels.
After dinner we took a carriage ride through Forsythe Park, and he put his arm around my shoulders. My heart was flying, and I could barely breathe wondering if he might kiss me. He didn’t in the carriage, but he did ask if I would keep it quiet that we were seeing each other. That way, he said, I won’t have to worry about anyone questioning my grade.
Not that he thinks I need assistance, of course. He said I’ve got a lot of potential to go far in the art world. I could’ve told him that.
Outside my apartment, he gave me the most innocent kiss on the cheek. I was almost disappointed until he said something about next time and even hinted at us spending a weekend together on Tybee Island. I didn’t want to seem immature and unsophisticated, so I was very blasé about the whole thing. I pretended it was all very old hat to me, but the truth was I was wigging out inside.
I’ve never spent a weekend alone with a guy, and I’m a little embarrassed to say I’ve never even done that with a guy.
Give me a break, Journal! It’s not like there were so many options back home. I always figured it would happen when it happened, which until now hasn’t happened.
I will definitely have to call Meg again before I see him.
Of course, Suzanne was waiting up to hear the whole thing start to finish. I had to make her swear not to tell anyone. Not that I mind if she does, but after he asked me to keep it quiet, I couldn’t tell him I’d already blabbed to my roommate. That would definitely be unsophisticated. She still says I’m making a big mistake, but I’m ignoring her. What’s college if you don’t try new things? We’re just getting started, and I want to see where this adventure leads.
Jan. 10, 19--
Christmas break’s over, and I’m back at school. It couldn’t get here fast enough! Sorry I left you here in Savannah, Journal, but I can quickly fill in what you missed.
Of course, I had to go home to see Meg and her precious little Will. What a doll he is. I never realized how small new babies are! I spent almost every day at her house holding him and talking to her about being a new mommy and about Nick.
Before I left for the break, he again mentioned us spending a weekend on Tybee Island together, and I’m so nervous. At least Meg has some experience in that department.
“How do I know if I’m doing it right?” I whispered, looking around to be sure no one overheard me.
“Lexy, you’re almost twenty years old,” she scolded. “If you have to ask that, he is not massaging the right button. It should come naturally.”
“But what if it doesn’t?” I looked down at little Will lying asleep in my arms. “I’m scared, Meg. I don’t know what I’m doing, and… Ugh!” I shook my head. “The sisters at Little Flower would have a cow if they knew I was even thinking of this.”
“If the sisters at Little Flower have a cow, I’d be more concerned about what they’re doing than what you’re doing.”
We both burst into giggles.
I played with Will’s baby foot while Meg leaned back on the couch. “He’s so handsome,” I sighed. “He’s the first guy I’ve ever cared for who gets it when I talk about sensory experience and how it influences the way you create images.”
Meg lifted a long strand of her hair and started braiding it. “Sounds right up your alley.”
“I’ve been dying for him to touch me since our first date, but you know…”
“I know.” She said the words through her breath. “You’ve never done it before, and you’re scared.”
“And he doesn’t know I’ve never done it before. It might freak him out.”
“I certainly don’t know why.” She rolled to her side to look at me. “At least he’ll know you’re clean.”
“Oh, god. Don’t even bring that up! I’ve already been guessing all the terrible things that are going to happen to me if I do it.”
“Stop psyching yourself out,” she fussed. “Use protection, and it should be a lovely experience for you.”
“Should be?” My brow creased, and tension filled my shoulders again.
“Well, I’ve never met the guy. I trust you that he�
��s dreamy and romantic, but it helps if I’ve seen him and talked to him myself. Then I could give you a more confident assessment.”
She was right. It wasn’t fair to put her on the spot and expect her to know anything about him. Instead, I opted for Suzanne once we were back, having our reunion night at the Buccaneer. Naturally, she went all broken record on me.
“No!” she cried. “No, no, no. You should not by any means have sex with your professor!”
“You’re so blunt.” I groaned, taking a big sip of my beer.
“Why are we sugar-coating it? Do you know how much trouble you could get in?”
“I’m of age. It’s not like we’re doing anything illegal.”
“Still. What will you say when your entire academic career is called into question over one weekend of passion?”
“Mmm,” I smiled, running my finger up and down the side of my frosty mug. “When you put it like that, I say who cares!”
Suzanne rolled her eyes, but that settled it. A weekend on Tybee Island it was.
Feb. 1, 19--
So my weekend on Tybee Island was… informative. But not at all what I was expecting.
We arrived late in the afternoon, so we strolled on the beach a bit, talked about art and ideas for paintings, then when it got darker, we went back to the house Nick had rented.
He opened a bottle of champagne, and I joined him on the large pillows he’d placed on the floor in front of the fireplace. A few sips, and he was sliding toward me, kissing my neck, my shoulder, sliding my hair away from my face and tracing a line with his tongue behind my ear. That part was very good. My body was humming, and my breath came quickly. I tried to put my glass down when his hands fumbled their way under my shirt and quickly to my breasts. A little noise slipped from my throat as he caressed and pinched lightly. I’d never been touched that way by anyone.
Undertow (Dragonfly) Page 11