by Lee Alan
“No need to explain,” he raised his hand, cutting her off. “I respect you.”
A wave of relief washed over her. She didn’t want to drive this attractive man away.
After their anti–climactic tussle, the remaining ride was a quiet one, with only the hypnotic sound of the limo wheels to accompany their confused emotions. Anna watched the lights of the Phoenix skyline sail by, oblivious to her passions. When she did glance at Jim, he seemed equally lost in his own unreadable thoughts, while staring at the now quiet city. In truth, she wanted him, but, deep down, she wondered if it was him she craved, or to commit a physical act which would finally separate her from Tony. The answer was a mystery that only time could reveal.
They kissed one last time after arriving outside Julia’s, but the passion was more tentative, this time. She made a promise to call him, and, a moment later, stood alone with her soaring hopes for the future.
Chapter 8
As soon as Thanksgiving was over, the two sisters launched operation Santa’s Grotto. This demanded the most extravagant decorations for the little house. No bauble could be too large, and no yuletide sing–along tune too cheesy. The credit card flowed with sweet abandon while its ill–gotten gains piled beneath the over–laden spruce tree occupying pride of place in the lounge. Likewise, the porch greeted the scorching Arizona sun, festooned with twinkling snow drop lights. A large inflatable representation of father C, himself, had taken residence next to the ugly, old cactus in the front yard. They delighted at the way their particular Mr. Clause looked worried by the prospect of being impaled on the needles of the prickly plant. Both agreed: they’d created a winter oasis.
The days spent together that month turned into some of the happiest of Anna’s life. They would bake all afternoon and stay up late with mugs of warm cocoa, watching old movies. When the big day arrived, they ran into the front room like children, ripping open gifts in sheer excitement. Anna squealed with delight at the laptop that her big sis had purchased for the start of college in the new–year. Julia, in turn, shed more than a few nostalgic tears while unwrapping an engraved picture of the two of them as girls, hugging during a long–forgotten summer at camp.
It represented such an amazing change for Anna. December had been the worst time for as long as she could remember—until now. She’d always done her best to make the holidays bearable with Tony, but he’d made no pretence of sharing her love of Christmas. It would become an inevitable ordeal with his excessive drinking punctuated by her loneliness. She’d lost count of the Christmas dinners she’d spent without another human being to share the experience. Of course, he’d never allowed her time with family. That was the past, though, and Julia had appeared hell–bent on making up for every single one of those years apart.
Later, they’d speculated on what the new year could bring while lazing on the porch swing sipping hot chocolate. They let out the occasional groan at being so full after the colossal turkey dinner they’d both tried and failed to defeat. The conversation led to the subject of Jim Peterson.
“So, have you guys… ?” Julia asked, giving her sister an exaggerated comic wink. Anna shook her head, cheeks coloring.
“Jesus, Anna! Do we have to have the birds and bees conversation again?”
“You can talk, smart–ass. When was the last time you had any midnight action?” Anna retorted, a little more defensively than she intended. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” she added.
“Don’t ever apologise to me, kiddo.” They smiled at each other, sipping more of the sugary drink.
“Anyhow, as I recall, that talk went something like, ‘Hey, Little B, guess what? Men can put their tally–wackers in yer and make a brat!’” Anna joked, complementing the impression with an ignorant–sounding accent. This made Julia laugh so hard that she spilled the hot liquid down the front of her Rudolf, the reindeer, tee shirt.
In reality, since the first tantalizing night at the Pink Coconut, Anna had met the congressman a few times. Each date had been great, but they’d still not consummated their relationship. After asking herself why many times, she’d always come up with a blank. Some voice within her told her she shouldn’t commit. The problem was that she’d come to trust that voice, however inconvenient it was—Tony had ensured it. But they’d continued to learn about each other, which was a start, at least.
Jim was obviously passionate about his job—to the point that Anna worried she’d traded a control freak for a workaholic. He loved to talk about law and his plans to revolutionise cheap energy in the state. More than that, he seemed to care. This was clearly shown by his close interest in Bill Moyer’s representation of the mysterious client. To her alarm, Anna had learned that, if her employer lost the crucial environmental case, it could open up the Tonto forest—one of Arizona’s most loved natural habitats—to exploitation by a company with a reputation for sloppy standards.
When Anna related her secret observations, the situation appeared even worse than Jim feared. A quick scan of the relevant computer files showed little evidence that the lawyer had even begun to build a case on behalf of his client, the forest trust. Jim voiced his frustration at the ‘pathetic excuse for a man’ on more than one occasion. But despite this, he wasn’t sure what to do about it, due to the murky nature of the politics surrounding the issue. He did promise to find a way—a statement she didn’t doubt for a moment. It felt gratifying to be reassured of how important the case was to the state, and it made her feel like a sexy female spy in an old movie.
Despite Jim’s patient approach, she could sense him becoming frustrated at their lack of intimacy. Not only this, but she found it increasingly difficult to invent excuses for her reluctance.
Hell, you don’t understand it, yourself, she thought.
“I don’t know why we haven’t. I really can’t explain it.” Anna confided. “He’s kind, thoughtful…”
“Have you discussed the bastard with him?” Julia refused to utter the name of Anna’s ex. Anna shook her head again, clamming up at the mention of Tony. “I don’t pretend to be Doctor Ruth, hon, but maybe that’s why you can’t be with Jim, yet.” Julia speculated.
“Maybe.” Of course, this made perfect sense, but the same inner voice of caution, which took over whenever she and Jim started to become close, nagged at her.
“Hey, listen: you’re worth waiting for, kiddo,” Julia concluded. “If he’s even half a man, he’ll wait until you’re ready.”
***
Anna fretted in the long, snaking freshman’s queue at the Scottsville Community College, feeling both aged and more than a little intimidated by the youthful people surrounding her. Depressingly, she realized that, at almost thirty, she was one of the oldest students passing through the college gates.
The campus was an impressive architectural achievement of glass and steel, and each building had its own theme. At present, she stood in a large dome made to mimic a giant aircraft–hangar, decorated with stencilled representations of passenger planes. It’d been given the lofty title of the Theodore Wing. The huge site crawled with fresh–faced teenagers, many looking like they belonged at a high school, rather than at college. As if to emphasize the point, she watched as a curly–haired boy shuffled past, clutching a backpack with an expression of horror on his face.
I know how you feel, kid, she thought.
Stewards handed out maps at every intersection, but when Anna tried to make sense of the colorful pictures of rockets and trains, she found it difficult to navigate her way around.
Could I just have a normal map, for goodness sake? She thought in exasperation, without any idea of where to find her class.
Walking into a NASCAR–themed cafe, she found a group of emo students lounging around in subdued contrast to their chirpy surroundings. They sipped energy drinks and munched on what looked like a perplex
ing mix of pizza and burritos. Hesitantly, she picked out a black–haired girl with battleship–grey lipstick and spiked, orange eyelashes.
‘Uh, excuse me?’ Anna asked, which, to her own ear, sounded like a parent trying to ‘get down with the kids.’
The kid responded by looking her up and down, her grey lips pursing. “No cigarettes and no money. Go away, grandma,” she said.
Anna was in no mood for games. Her anger flared, and she threw the map in front of the startled teen. “Show me where my class is. Now, kid.”
The girl’s tough demeanor crumbled instantly. “Where are you going?” She asked, her tone far less confident than before.
“Woodrow Building, two J.”
The girl reluctantly pointed at a location on the other side of the sprawling complex.
Twenty minutes after the official start time, Anna snuck into the large lecture hall. As soon as her rear end touched the seat of the swivel desk at the back of the room, she breathed a sigh of relief.
“As I was saying, before this young lady rudely interrupted, submit your introductory piece this Friday. Nothing heavy—a thousand words is plenty,” a blonde–haired man with a short, trimmed beard stated from the front podium. With a sinking sensation, Anna realized she’d just been chastised by the lecturer. In response, the entire room turned in her direction to get a look at the rogue among them. Worse, she’d missed the description of the first assignment. The thought of asking the short–tempered tutor risked further embarrassment. She looked around to find that he’d already handed out paper copies of the assignment to the other students. All except her. With her discomfort rising, Anna tried the white board for information, only to find the name of the professor written in neat text: Professor Young.
Great. Five minutes in, and you’ve already fucked up, she thought.
But, to her surprise, Professor Young came up the wooden steps and stopped beside her. She braced for a further reprimand. “I need one thousand words on what inspires you to write,” he whispered in her ear. A pleasant scent of expensive cologne drifted toward her.
Anna issued a quick “thanks,” and then glanced in his direction. The beard made him look older than he probably was—no more than twenty–five or twenty–six. She suspected that the fresh–faced young man had grown the facial hair to project experience. His youthful appearance looked further tempered by a scar above his left eyebrow. Somehow, the slight disfigurement complemented a strangely endearing look.
She removed her laptop from a brown, leather bag, relieved that he wasn’t quite as unsympathetic as the first impression led her to believe.
“What inspires me to write?” She typed after loading the notepad.
What, indeed? She thought. Perhaps money? Or fame? The immediate answer eluded her.
As the introductory session continued, Anna noticed that Professor Young’s keen brown gaze rested on her more than once, while he looked around the room, asking various questions of the class about their differing writing experiences. The way he kept glancing her way left Anna wondering what else she’d done wrong.
Great—he hates me. Way to go Anna, she pondered.
When proceedings neared the mid–way point, it occurred to her that their new professor wasn’t the most confident speaker. He often had to backtrack on points and occasionally developed a mild stutter. So, by the time he began to cover the required reading list for the course, half the kids seemed engrossed in their smart phones. A few even sniggered at the clumsy delivery. Anna observed one chubby girl wearing a curious pink all–in–one body suit start to nod forward before falling asleep with a chewed stick of gum hanging from her mouth. The lecturer clearly wasn’t having the best day. Despite their terse introduction, Anna couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
The lesson ticked on, as did Professor Young’s obvious discomfort.
Mercifully for some, the class was short, but he’d managed to cover an overview of topics ranging from literature to journalism. It all sounded interesting to Anna, even if her opinion didn’t seem to be shared by her fellow students. To emphasize the discontent, sounds of relief mixed with mockery sprang out across the hall as Professor Young declared the end of the class. Anna couldn’t help but overhear some of the crueler jibes and winced at the casual meanness expressed. She looked toward the front of the auditorium and noticed that the professor had retreated to a study desk, where he sat, reading a thick textbook in front of him, doing his best to look lost in thought. In marked contrast, however, his cheeks burned red with shame.
Sensing an opportunity to rectify their shaky beginning together, Anna clutched the laptop and made her way toward him. She tried to think of an approach to convey reassurance without making matters worse. The rest of the students left, leaving the auditorium silent, other than her footfall on the polished boards. Mr. Young appeared oblivious of his surroundings, looking like the loneliest man on the planet.
“Kids—they’re a pain in the ass,” she ventured. His brow furrowed in response. It suddenly occurred to Anna, too late, that people didn’t always appreciate their insecurities being exposed, regardless of the intention.
“A tardy approach to timekeeping is more annoying,” he replied.
“I’m sorry. It’s my first day, and I couldn’t find—”
The flustered tutor raised his hand and cut her off. “Look—miss?”
“Price,” she replied, tight lipped with suppressed irritation. “I prefer being called Anna—actually.”
“Miss Price, do you require any assistance with your…” He started, finally tearing his gaze from the book.
“How do you know I’m a Miss?” She asked, widening her expression to show he was being rude.
To her secret amusement, Mr. Young’s cheeks reddened again. It seemed that even a minor social rebuke was more than he could cope with. At the same moment she happened to notice the content on the pages he’d been blindly pretending to study.
“Tell me, Professor Young,” she asked, bringing her hands to her hips. “Do you often relax after class by reading about the female reproductive system?” Immediately after the words left her mouth, Anna realized she’d taken the taunt a step too far.
The effect on the poor man was dramatic. He suddenly looked at the pages as if for the first time, his eyes bulging in utter panic. She could tell he’d selected the first book from the nearby shelf to spare himself from having to face the mockery of the class directly. The awkward error added to what must have been an intolerable situation for him.
“I—I, do—don’t,” he stuttered a protest.
Anna felt awful. He’d obviously had a terrible morning, and she’d just made it worse by petty point scoring. Under the circumstances, she opted to beat a hasty retreat.
“No need to explain. I understand,” she interjected, trying her best to calm him. “Nice meeting you, Professor Young. Erm… I look forward to the next lesson.” With that, she turned on her heel and marched out of the auditorium.
Chapter 9
He slept on hard pavement using the same rancid–smelling bag for a pillow he’d carried since being discharged from Saint Joseph’s. The days had become a blur of alcohol and pain, wandering along unnamed street after unknown alleyway. Above all, he nursed a raw, vibrant hatred, which coursed through his veins, along with the agony. It forced him to exist each countless day, until, little by little, the pain lessened to become a pale twin of his rage.
They say big cities don’t sleep, and he’d discovered it to be the truth. His days and nights were a procession of dimly–remembered encounters with every low life this rotten hole threw his way: pimps, dealers, and hookers, for the most part. He’d come to imagine his new neighbors as a rodent infestation deserving of extermination. But his feelings toward the local rats were nothing compared to his thoughts for her.
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Of course, he could have gone back to the apartment. As soon as the thought entered his mind, however, hatred for Anna would overwhelm him and leave him unable to function. Over the years, he’d learned to spot the signs when the urge began to grow out of control. Now was such a time; the pressure was building inside, like a volcano demanding relief.
Oh, and isn’t it so sweet when you finally do give in, he thought. But, take care. Tony nodded to himself in agreement. He knew a release would entail huge risks. For her, any risk is worth it old boy.
“Oh, yes, for that fucking bitch,” he said out loud.
But the craving had already become unbearable. He needed relief. Something—anything—would do until the time came, and it had to be tonight. Unfortunately, the complications of his situation threatened to intrude on his plans. The vodka he’d stolen earlier was long gone, only to leave the poisonous after–effects seeping into his skull and writhing around his bowels. Bitter experience told him the inevitable withdrawal had already begun and would only worsen. The shakes would soon follow, and then a longing, which would burn almost as bright as his other calling. Pressed under the discomfort of both needs, he knew he must satisfy one to be able to carry out the other.
Tony emerged from the fetid sanctuary of the alley and stumbled to the convenience store across the busy street.
The people of Phoenix continued their daily lives, just as ignorant of him as he of them. Mothers picked their kids up from school, workmen passed in white vans, and thousands of others completed their own daily routines. Those passing the blonde–haired bum did so without giving him a second glance.
He crossed the main avenue, narrowly missed by a souped–up Chrysler. As the car swerved, a tattooed, bald head stuck out from the driver’s side and hurled abuse before disappearing back into the stream of traffic. Tony ignored the danger and entered through the faded green door of the liquor store. His arrival gained the attention of a bored–looking young Asian man standing behind the sales counter. The boy observed his latest customer as if he was something he would find stuck to the bottom of his sneakers.