Sarah's Education

by Madeline Moore

  It was uncomfortable, taking that first sip of bubbly and declaring it delightful, when it was too sweet and just about the last thing in the world she wanted in her mouth after last night. Sarah hated lying and she was lousy at it, or, at least, she’d always considered herself lousy at it. But everyone seemed to buy her lies, so perhaps it was just something that required a little effort, or perhaps it was because, for the first time, the truth she was protecting was worthwhile.

  ‘Did you open your gifts yet?’ Sarah’s mom was smiling but her bright blue eyes weren’t. ‘It wasn’t easy getting them here but as we were only invited for the weekend, I knew there’d be no time to shop.’

  ‘I haven’t opened them. You’re welcome to stay longer if you like.’ Sarah should be placating her parents after last night’s no-show, but she wasn’t in the mood.

  ‘We can’t. We dare not leave Donna for more than a day.’

  Mr Meadows jumped in. ‘She’s probably already turned the place into a flophouse.’ He turned his palms up on the table in a gesture of helplessness.

  ‘What’s her latest illness?’ Sarah glanced at David. ‘Donna’s a cyberchondriac.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Mr Meadows looked from Sarah to David.

  ‘A hypochondriac who searches the web for diseases,’ said David. Sarah was relieved that he didn’t mention that he knew this because that’s what she sometimes called him.

  ‘She thinks she has Alzheimer’s,’ said Mrs Meadows.

  ‘Surely not! She must know she’s too young –’

  ‘Not Alzheimer’s,’ said Mr Meadows. ‘Asperger’s syndrome.’

  ‘Right,’ said Mrs Meadows. ‘Well, they both start with an “A”. What difference does it make? It’s not like she really has it, any more than she had chronic fatigue or Fibromyalgia or any of the other syndromes de jour she finds online.’

  ‘Is Donna working?’

  ‘She’s filling the house with junk for “found art”,’ said Mr Meadows. He laughed. His cheeks were flushed, likely from the wine.

  ‘Some of that sort of stuff does get into the art galleries,’ said David.

  ‘You’re very sweet,’ said Mrs Meadows. She covered David’s hand with her bony ones. ‘A keeper.’ She gave Sarah a meaningful look.

  Sarah bit back sharp words. Mrs Meadows, after spending most of her life an ardent feminist, had become, overnight it seemed, a proponent of tradition. She, who’d once said, ‘Never marry, never have children,’ to her little girls, now sought new roles to play – specifically, Mother of the Bride and Grandmother.

  ‘Oh, I’m not going anywhere,’ said David.

  David and Sarah’s dads were alike, both dedicated to keeping things pleasant. Why had she never seen it before?

  Her dad came through with a birthday cheque for $200. This, on top of the gifts her mother had likely chosen and the air fare and hotel bill, made their visit to Toledo an expensive attempt to make her happy. She pasted a happy smile on her face and ate a big piece of cake, choking it down with more of the dreadful wine.

  The trip to the airport took for ever. Sarah was in the back seat of David’s Astra, beside her mother, so her dad could sit in the front and point out places he recognised.

  Mrs Meadows fanned her face as she flushed beet red, the metamorphosis as startling for the speed in which it took place as it was for the depth of its hue.

  ‘David, please –’

  David glanced back at Sarah. ‘What?’

  ‘She needs air.’ Mr Meadows cranked up the air conditioning to maximum. ‘Menopause,’ he added.

  Mrs Meadows said, ‘I just have to speak up. I’m proud of you, sweetheart. I am. But when you graduate in the spring, well, a degree in philosophy isn’t going to get you much of a job, is it? Look at the economy. Look at –’

  ‘The big picture. I will, I promise.’

  ‘Just make sure to cover your bases, that’s all I’m saying. Don’t squander the opportunities so many women paid so dearly for. For the first time ever, a girl like you really can have it all.’ She glanced meaningfully at the back of David’s head.

  ‘I know. I’m grateful, I really am.’ Sarah kept her voice carefully sarcasm free. ‘I’ll try.’

  Sarah considered the mass of contradictions that was her mother. One minute burning her bra, the next stuffing her breasts into a push-up to please her man. That thought led to another – the way she’d compressed her breasts with her hands to push them up to Jack. Christ. She felt her own cheeks start to flush. What would her mom have to say about that?

  ‘You could use a little make-up,’ said Mrs Meadows. She was patting powder on her face and now she dabbed Sarah’s nose with her orange-streaked puff. ‘Maybe buy some with your birthday money.’

  ‘I guess,’ said Sarah.

  Her mother tapped Sarah’s bare knee. ‘You need pantyhose, too, it seems. Although your father wants you to buy a cellphone with that money.’

  ‘He didn’t say so.’

  ‘He wouldn’t, would he? But that’s what he wants. We’d like to know that you’re safe.’

  ‘You do anything you want with that money.’ Mr Meadows twisted in his seat to look at Sarah and her mother. ‘Treat yourself, baby. OK?’

  ‘OK, Dad,’ said Sarah.

  ‘I ate there once,’ said her dad, pointing out a steak joint.

  The airport was too bright and too hectic. Sarah recalled the joy she’d felt when she’d watched a plane take off from the penthouse suite of the Royal. It had seemed so peaceful without sound. She preferred a long-distance view of busy places, maybe even of life itself. She’d have to think about that later, when she was finally alone. It might mean something.

  Hugs, kisses, waves. After the interminable car ride, the send-off went fast. Sarah’s eyes filled with tears as she watched her parents clear security. As usual, her dad had to go through twice, setting off the alarm the first time because, as usual, he’d forgotten to empty the coins from his pocket. Mrs Meadows waited for him on the other side. She shook her head at her forgetful husband, but there was a smile on her lips. She took his arm. Then they were gone.

  ‘They’re getting older,’ Sarah murmured to David. She felt the need to explain the tears in her eyes.

  ‘They’re pretty cool, for parents.’

  Sarah let him hold her hand. She felt a rush of affection. Maybe David really was a ‘keeper’.

  On the way back, David rested his hand on Sarah’s bare knee. She let him leave it there until it began to wander up her thigh.

  ‘Don’t!’ she said.

  ‘I thought …?’

  ‘Did you?’

  He looked so downhearted she almost relented, but she steeled herself against pity. Sex wasn’t supposed to be about pity. It was supposed to be about being carried away by a masterful man, like Jack.

  David parked a little way from her door, under a towering Crimson King maple that blocked most of the light from the street lamps. That was where he’d stopped in the early days of dating, before he’d earned the privilege of being invited in. Good. It showed that David understood that their relationship had backtracked several months.

  He half turned and reached back into the rear of his Astra. ‘I got you a present.’

  ‘My birthday was yesterday, remember?’

  ‘I wanted us to be alone when I gave it to you.’ He handed her a big box wrapped in golden paper.

  Alone? Why? Had he bought her something sexy to wear, that he didn’t want her folks to see? If so, how should she react?

  David asked, ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’

  ‘Sure.’ Sarah’s fingers trembled as she ripped the paper away. When she lifted the lid, she discovered a pale-green sweater that her touch told her had to be pure cashmere.

  She loved cashmere. And the cost! Poor David, what with the expensive meal and this lovely gift, he must have spent close to a thousand dollars on her birthday. For him, that was a fortune. How could she stay angry with him?

&nbs
p; How could she not? She’d pretty much decided to dump him as soon as, or maybe even before, Jack tracked her down. Being mad at David would make that easy. Reconciling with him and then dumping him would be both hard to do and cruel. Maybe she could make it up to him by fucking him first? That seemed fair. It was what he wanted the most from her, wasn’t it? She wouldn’t have to tell Jack. But Jack thought she was a whore, so he wouldn’t care. But Jack would soon find out that her act had been genuine, so he might care. But …

  It was all so damned complicated.

  For now, she half decided, she’d make out with David but not go all the way till she’d thought things through.

  Not looking at her, David asked, ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘Love it.’

  ‘Going to try it on?’

  ‘Here, in the car?’

  ‘We could go in, like always.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Stripping her top off, alone with David in the privacy of her room, where there was a bed, could only lead to one thing. Sarah compromised. She took hold of the hem of her top and lifted it up above her head. David’s gulp when she revealed her breasts, nestled prettily in their gauzy half-cups, was most satisfactory. Sarah paused for a moment to give him the full effect.

  He lay a tentative palm on her midriff. She quickly discarded her top and pulled the dreamy cashmere over her head. Smoothing it down dislodged his hand. He sighed.

  Sarah twisted towards him, wrapping an arm around him and making sure that her elbow ‘accidentally’ brushed across his straining erection. ‘You deserve a thank-you kiss.’

  Her lips stayed closed to his tongue until he turned in his seat and pushed her back against hers. Sarah was still determined to make him earn every inch of progress. She almost giggled. Her night with Jack had proved she wasn’t cheap and now, with David, she wasn’t going to be easy, either.

  His arm reached passed her and down to the seat control. It dropped her back, with him half sprawled on top of her. That was more like it. Sarah parted her lips for him. Her tongue met his. He still tasted of coriander, but then so must she.

  She loved to kiss. Once she started, she could never get enough. As David’s kisses stoked her passion, she became voracious, licking him, giving him her tongue to suck, each of them breathing the other’s heated breath. His hand slipped up under her sweater, caressed her ribcage and slithered higher. Her nipples tightened in anticipation. When he finally reached and then gently rolled her right nipple, she almost yelped, but swallowed it. Only Jack was welcome to make her squeal.

  David was moaning into her mouth. Where he was pressed against her hip, she could feel the hardness of his erection. Should she break it off now, before his, and her, excitement took them all the way? Should she take him up to her room and into her bed after all? As usual, when undecided, she chose neither course. Besides, the kisses were intoxicating.

  David’s hand withdrew. Sarah knew what that meant. He’d decided that she was excited enough that she’d allow him to touch her between her legs. Yes, his hand slid up under her skirt. Even though she’d expected that caress, she still hadn’t made her mind up if she was going to let him or not. Her thighs parted, making her decision for her.

  ‘You’re not wearing any …’ David whispered when his fingers reached their goal.

  ‘Yes I am.’

  ‘Oh?’ He fumbled at the delicate fabric of her new thong. ‘New?’ he asked.

  ‘A birthday present.’

  He froze. ‘From …?’

  ‘From me to myself.’

  He relaxed. ‘To wear for me?’

  ‘Like I said, for myself.’

  He kissed her again, with renewed passion. David always did that when he was about to touch her there. Maybe he thought his lips and tongue would distract her from what his fingers were doing. Dumb. Perhaps she wasn’t good at multitasking but she wasn’t such a ditz that she couldn’t pay attention to a probing tongue and an exploring finger at the same time.

  The lips of her sex had engorged and parted. She was already wet. His finger slid up into her. Sarah allowed herself a quick gasp.

  ‘Nice?’ he asked, smugly.

  She didn’t answer. Her thoughts were in turmoil again. The last time David had penetrated her with a finger, she’d been a virgin. What if she felt different now that she was a woman?

  ‘You twitched – inside.’

  ‘Girls do.’ She wasn’t going to explain that the sudden contraction had been for fear he’d be able to tell she’d been fucked, hard and deep and for a long time, just the night before. The memory of the things that her Jack had done to her excited Sarah. ‘Do me like I like it,’ she said.

  He found the nub of her clit and rubbed it. Sarah slumped down further and strained her thighs apart. David didn’t know it, but for a few moments, if he’d rolled fully on top of her and entered her, she wouldn’t have been able to resist. Nor would she have wanted to.

  Then he was rubbing in the wrong place at the wrong angle and too hard, so she was able to take back her self-control. It’d been a close thing. Sarah had a defence that had become a reflex. She squirmed a hand between their bodies, found the tab of his zipper and pulled it down.

  David gasped, ‘Oh Sarah! I love you so much.’

  He always declared his love for her when her hand got close to his cock. She’d have preferred an honest, ‘Jerk me off, please.’ That’s what he really meant.

  She said, ‘Lie back.’

  He rolled away, lowered the back of his seat and went down with it. Sarah leant over him, put her hand inside the fly of his jeans, found his burning shaft and pulled it out.

  ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said. She translated that as, ‘Please don’t stop.’

  Businesslike, she spat into her palm and wrapped her fingers around him. It did feel good in her hand, she had to admit, but it was no comparison to Jack’s. What she really wanted was to be alone in her bed in her room, going over her date with Jack in minute detail and maybe masturbating, if she liked. She wanted to whisper his name, as she had that afternoon, until she went to sleep. Well, she’d get there soon enough. With her fingers loose, she stroked David’s foreskin up and down, going faster than he probably wanted. His hand settled on the top of her head and pressed down lightly. She resisted. No way, David. My mouth belongs to another. She gripped him tighter and pumped faster. He began to groan. His hips jerked up at her. Any minute now …

  He erupted. Warm cream flowed down over her fingers and the back of her hand. She wiped them off on his denim-clad thigh, retrieved her old top, opened her door and was out of his car before he recovered from his climax.

  ‘Goodnight, David, and thanks again for the sweater.’

  3

  THE NEXT MORNING, between lectures, she managed to squeeze in a trip to her bank to deposit her funds, legitimate and otherwise, and pay off her current debts. Sarah had lived with debt for so long she’d become used to it. She floated on the freedom she felt, no longer hung-over and no longer in arrears on payments.

  Sarah was in her last year of an honours degree in philosophy. Now that they were well into September, her classes were taking shape and her professors were adequate to wonderful, with the exception of her maniacal existentialism professor. She was taking an improvisation class as a final credit towards her minor, drama, and it looked like it would be fun, at least, if not actually useful as a means of bridging the gap she perceived between herself and everybody else.

  Indian summer still held Toledo in its stultifying grip, but most of her classes were in air-conditioned rooms and now that she had wheels again, there’d be no more pavement stomping for Sarah Meadows. Soon, autumn would nudge the heatwave aside and paint the campus with the rich red and gold hues that always raised her spirits.

  It was only while lingering over an apple pie and coffee in a McDonald’s that she acknowledged her reluctance to go home. Sarah wanted a call to have come in for her while she was gone – a call from Jack. Somewhere during th
eir decadent night together, she’d fallen in love with him. If he hadn’t called by the time she got home she knew she’d run a serious risk of sliding into despair. It was stupid, plain and simple, and she was not a stupid girl. But she knew herself well enough to know that once she’d painted a picture in her mind it was pointless to try to erase it. Ignore it, avoid it, rationalise it? Sure. But she’d yet to develop the skill set not to let it happen and, once it did, she could not so much as dilute it with reason, let alone eliminate it. She left the coffee half-drunk and headed to her car.

  There was a yellow Post-it note on her door when she got upstairs. ‘Call them’, and a local number. Sarah’s heart leapt with joy. Yes! She was so used to having her hopes dashed she’d forgotten that sometimes dreams come true. Sarah didn’t recognise the number so it had to be Jack’s. He’d found her, just as she’d known he would.

  She ran back downstairs and dropped fifty cents into the payphone before she stopped to think about how late it was. She’d managed to waste so much time not coming home that it was after ten, and her mother had drummed into her the folly of phoning folks past that hour. But this was Jack, her lover. He wouldn’t mind her waking him, even if he was asleep. Maybe he was dreaming of her and, like her, he’d be surprised and overjoyed to have his dream come true.

  An answering machine picked up with, ‘Classique – leave a message.’ Confused, Sarah hung up. Classique? That didn’t sound like the name of a dot-com company; it sounded more like the name of an escort agency.

  She’d half expected something like this, though she’d successfully ignored the possibility until now. She had a pretty good idea what they wanted. A cut of the profit she’d unwittingly earned by going to bed with Jack. Was she in some kind of trouble? Or would she be, once she confessed she’d spent every penny of it? Damn. On the other hand, maybe their clients paid up front. That’d mean the money in the envelope had all been meant for her, in which case she was in the clear. Perhaps, no, obviously, Jack had contacted them to find her. That made sense.