Acrobat

by Mary Calmes

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Duncan.”

  “Okay, now wait, I loved Duncan. I wanted him to move in. I wanted to do everything with him.”

  “And yet—” She took a breath. “—you let him say what that relationship was going to be. I watched you skulk around for two years, be the Nate I knew when Duncan wasn’t around and turn into this freaky Stepford wife when he was. I hated you with him, and you being like that was just another way that you didn’t rock the boat. You went along like you always do so it’s easy and comfortable, and you eventually grow so bored that you run for the hills.”

  “I do not!” I snapped at her.

  “You do too! I have yet to see you actually, madly, head-over-heels, what-the-hell-am-I-gonna-do in love.”

  “I loved Duncan,” I assured her, because I had.

  “Cared for him, you mean?”

  “Don’t be snide.”

  “I’m not, love. You’re the one who thinks the words are interchangeable.”

  I sighed deeply. “I don’t, not really.”

  “I know you don’t, not really,” she said playfully, giving my words right back to me. “You just like to sound like you do.”

  “Which is kind of arrogant.”

  There was quick nodding.

  “I did love Duncan.”

  “I know you did, but you weren’t in love with him.”

  “Another clarification?”

  “Yes.” She chuckled. “Like I said, I’ve never seen you in love. Not yet.”

  “Well, it hurt when he was walking out the door.”

  “But that was your choice, Nate. You could have stayed in the closet with him.”

  “So if I had continued to live in the closet with him, that would have proved to you that I really loved him?”

  “No, what would have proved you loved him was you finding a way, some way, to make it work. You’re a very smart man, and when you want to do something, I mean really want it…. I’ve seen your willpower in action, and you can do anything.”

  “You have more faith in me than I do in myself.”

  “Which is what friends are for.”

  I nodded.

  “You look very nice today, by the way.”

  I was wearing a thick, brown crewneck fisherman sweater under my peacoat, with jeans. “I look like a frat boy.”

  “You look yummy.” She smiled. “Let’s walk to the bookstore after this. I miss doing that with you. We used to go all the time.”

  “You’re busy being a docent now.”

  “I’m never too busy for you.”

  I had time, on a Friday, to hang out with my ex-wife between my first class and the late-afternoon one. By the time I got back, Ashton was leaving, telling me that yes, he agreed, he did indeed have plot holes in his novel that needed to be addressed, so I had to cease reading immediately.

  “But I finished it already,” I told him. “I just have to write up my notes.”

  “Well, hold off until I send you the revisions.”

  “I bet Stephen King doesn’t treat his beta readers like this.”

  “What do you want?”

  “The pumpkin brownies Levi makes.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Since when are my boyfriend’s cooking skills part of the ‘you read what I write’ deal?”

  “Since now.” I grinned.

  He grunted and walked away.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “That’s a yes!”

  Winning was fun.

  I saw Sanderson waiting by my office door, so I turned before he saw me, or thought I did, but when I heard him yell my name, I bolted. I went down the back stairs to Tylah Grey’s office—she was one of three new assistant professors that had just joined the department—walked in, and shut the door.

  Big brown eyes surveyed me. “Do I even want to know?”

  “I’m hiding from Vaughn,” I whispered, walking around her desk and ducking down behind it next to her legs, my hands on her thighs.

  “Ohmygod!” she squealed. “Nate, you can’t—”

  The sharp knock on the piece of frosted glass at her door cut her off, and I heard the door bang open a second later.

  “Sanderson,” she gasped, more because of my beard on her thigh than the fact that he had come barging in.

  “Did you see Nate? I saw him duck down the stairs a second ago, and I figured he’d come in here.”

  “No.” She laughed as I blew air up her skirt, then flicked me in the forehead. “Why are you chasing Nate?”

  “What’s so funny?” he barked at her.

  “You? Playing like the jealous husband looking for his cheating wife, throwing open doors and yelling. What’s going on?”

  “I need to talk to him about the Medieval Feast, and he’s not answering my e-mails. We’re supposed to meet with this event planner tomorrow morning, and I’m not sure if Saturday is good for him or not.”

  I traced “no” on her knee with my fingertip.

  “I think he has plans on Saturday, so I’d push it to Sunday if I were you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We’re tight like that,” she teased and then added, “yo.”

  “Yo?”

  “Word,” she said, lowering her voice.

  “Oh God,” he groaned, and I heard the door close behind him as she dissolved into throaty laughter.

  “You’re not supposed to laugh,” I told her. “God, remind me to never hide from Nazis with you.”

  “You’re giving me goose bumps with your breath on my thighs! Jesus Christ, Nate, are you trying to kill me?”

  I waggled my eyebrows up at her. “Remember in The Breakfast Club—wait, how old are you?”

  “I remember Judd Nelson in The Breakfast Club under the desk, and you’re very cute.” She smiled down at me, hand sliding over my jaw, over my beard. “Now get the hell up and get out of my office!”

  “What if he comes back?”

  “Then deck him.” She beamed as I uncoiled and stood up beside her.

  “Let’s go eat dinner.”

  “No pity party table for two. I don’t need your charity.”

  “It’s not charity; I kind of like you.”

  She shook her head. “Yeah, and I kind of like you too, even though you’re a pain in the ass and all my students keep saying ‘Dr. Qells says’ this and ‘Dr. Qells says’ that—really frickin’ tired of it, gotta say.”

  “Just tell them to shut up.”

  “Seriously? You think that’s good advice, since I’d really like to get tenure someday?”

  I shrugged.

  “And some of us actually need grad students since our class load is heavy, but they all want to work with you.”

  “I only have Ashton.”

  “Yes, I know, and they all keep hoping he falls into Lake Michigan so they can take his place.”

  But it wasn’t true. “C’mon,” I pleaded. “Have dinner.”

  “No.” She chuckled. “And besides, I have a date. I found him on It’s Just Dinner.”

  “It’s just what,” I questioned.

  “It’s an online dating service like eHarmony and places like that, but this is just for the first two dates. You go to dinner twice and see if there’s enough chemistry there to go on.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. You want to do it with me?” She looked very hopeful.

  “Sounds like you already started.”

  “Yes, but you could still apply, and then we could double-date.”

  “No, thank you.” I made a face at her.

  “I just don’t want to date any more college professors.”

  “Why not? We’re lovely people.”

  “Most of you guys are married, too freaky for cable, or gay.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And Sanderson?”

  “Are you kidding? I bet his girlfriend is a dominatrix or someth
ing.”

  “Or his boyfriend.”

  “No, he’s so not cool enough to be gay.”

  She was very funny.

  “Now go away.” She shooed me out. “I have a hot Friday night date to get ready for, so I need to get the hell out of here.”

  “And you’ll report back on Monday?”

  “If you tell me how the meeting with Sanderson and the event planner goes on Sunday.”

  “Deal.”

  She pointed at the door.

  “Going, God.”

  As I was crossing the quad, I heard my name called, and when I turned, I saw Sanderson Vaughn walking fast toward me. I had a very juvenile urge to run, knowing that I could outdistance him, but held my ground and waited.

  “You’re such a shit!” he yelled when he was close enough to be heard.

  I grunted.

  “And it’s not just me that thinks so. You have just as many detractors in our department as people who love you.”

  I believed him. I was not the universally liked guy. I tended to be a bit of a boat-rocker.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “I did.”

  He almost growled. “So, Sunday, can we meet with the event planner or not?”

  “We can,” I assured him. “Where and what time?”

  “At the Four Seasons at eleven. We’re having brunch.”

  “Okay.”

  He was glowering. “Do you want me to pick you up?”

  “I’ll show up,” I said irritably. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’ll see you at eleven.”

  “Fine,” he snapped before he wheeled around to stalk away. He never made it.

  “Dr. Qells!”

  I looked over his shoulder and saw Gwen Barnaby, one of my favorite undergrad students, jogging up to us. There was no missing the look of utter infatuation on Sanderson’s face as he looked at her. The man was entranced, but he should have been. The girl was a goddess, plain and simple, with her long blonde tresses, huge blue eyes, and curvy Botticelli physique.

  “Hey, Gwen.” I smiled at her as she reached me and took hold of my jacket like she always did when she spoke to me. It was her way.

  “Uhm.” She took a breath, biting her bottom lip. “I’ve decided to attend grad school here, and so I wanted to know if you’d be my, uhm… my—”

  “Of course.” I grinned at her.

  “Oh.” Her blue eyes softened. “Thank you, Dr. Qells.” She sighed deeply. “Now I know I’ll be okay. My mom was worried because of the—you know.”

  “I know,” I soothed her.

  Her eyes studied me, my face, really looking at me. “Thank you for forgiving me.”

  “Nothing to forgive.”

  She shook her head. “There was.”

  I chucked. “My ego is not that fragile.”

  She nodded. “I know, but… my first quarter, when I had you for intro and then again for Shakespeare, I used to tell everyone that you were the worst teacher ever.”

  I knew she had.

  “I gave you a really bad assessment—two, I think.”

  I knew that too.

  “But then when I had other professors, I was, like, why are they berating me and telling me what to do, and it hit me.” She smiled suddenly. “You did this weird thing where you suggested something that would help me learn whatever it was, build on it, but without ever coming right out and saying that that’s what you wanted me to do. You have this whole sleight of hand misdirection, indirection thing you do. It’s very clever and very sneaky.”

  I waggled my eyebrows at her.

  “You taught me things without me knowing.”

  “Smoke and mirrors.”

  “Except that it’s not a trick. I learned shit—stuff. I meant stuff.”

  “I know you did.”

  Her breath caught like she was excited, like everything was settled. “So, okay, then, I’ll see you Monday during your office hours?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Her fingers tightened on my coat, squeezing as she exhaled, her eyes searching mine for a moment. “You mean… a lot.”

  I smiled as her hand dropped away.

  “Bye.”

  I watched her walk away.

  “Why would her mother be worried?”

  I had forgotten that Sanderson was even there. I turned and frowned at him. “I am not at liberty to discuss a student’s personal affairs that she has shared with me.”

  “You’re such an ass.”

  “Yep,” I agreed, walking away from him.

  The girl in question had an addiction to prescription pain pills that she had kicked the year before, but she had had a relapse three months ago. After choosing outpatient rehab, she was back on track again. Her parents, who had initially not wanted to pay for her education even though they could more than afford it, had decided that if school was what kept her focused and drug-free, then that was what they were going to help her do. It had been the working two jobs to pay for school and an accident at work that had put her and pain medication together to begin with. She had shared the story when she had to withdraw for one quarter. But she had come back, looking better, and now was asking me to be her mentor and guardian all in one. I was more than happy to help with that challenge.

  LATER, as I was walking from the platform where the L let me off, my phone rang.

  “Hi.” I smiled into my phone.

  “I, uhm,” Michael hedged on the other end, “wanted to know where you are.”

  “I’m almost home. Where are you?”

  “I’m at Tony Strada’s house in Northbrook.”

  “Okay.”

  “How was your date with the doctor?”

  “He got called away.”

  “Did you reschedule?”

  “What is this, twenty questions with my love life?”

  “No, I just—I wanted to know is all.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “No, why would I be mad at you?”

  “I dunno.”

  He was the one who sounded weird.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Is it bad that I don’t feel like shit?”

  I had to catch up. “You mean about Mr. Romelli and your uncle’s friends?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why would it be bad?”

  “Everybody keeps saying how sad it is.”

  “But you didn’t really know them, right? I mean, even Dreo’s friends, you guys weren’t close.”

  “No.”

  I was suddenly sad, thinking about Frank’s mother, and that it was Friday, and that I was never going to get the forgotten carbonara we had talked about in my apartment. And it wasn’t the food, of course, but the man’s good intentions that would never be followed through on.

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything.”

  “How am I supposed to feel?”

  “You can feel that it’s all terribly regrettable, but you’re not going to be torn up like Dreo is, or Sal. They were there. That’s the difference.”

  “I would have been sad about Sal. He comes by sometimes, but he was the only one.”

  It made sense. They had been Dreo’s friends. He had grown up with them, but they were not good enough influences, except Sal, apparently, for Dreo to allow them to be around Michael. There were double standards. It had been the same for me after Jared was born. People you never judged unworthy were suddenly not allowed near your kid or the life you shared with your child.

  “I understand,” I assured him. “You’re not falling apart, and that’s what people are expecting, so you feel like you’re sticking out.”

  “Yeah. Everybody’s looking at me like because Dreo’s all torn up that I should be too, and I’m like fuck you, I ain’t sad.”

  But he was something, probably angry. “Are you thinking about your mother’s funeral?”

  “No,” he snapped, which told me that of course he was
.

  “Are you thinking you don’t remember all those people being that upset when your mom died?”

  “What?” His voice went way up. “Why would you even think that?”

  Bravado. I understood. I had been sixteen a hundred years ago too. “I don’t know what I’m even talking about. Sorry.”

  He was quiet on the other end, so I waited. After a long minute he cleared his throat. “What’re you gonna do now?”

  “I’m going to the gym, then home and shower and change and meet friends out for drinks and dinner.”

  “Oh.”

  He sounded very disappointed. “Or I can come there if you want.”

  “No, that’s not what I want.” He scoffed.

  I was so glad I would never have to be sixteen again. Just thinking about it was exhausting. “Okay, then I’ll see you.”

  “Sure,” he said and hung up.

  I had just put my messenger bag down and unpacked my laptop when my phone rang again.

  “Yes, Michael.”

  “You don’t hafta say it like that.” He was so indignant.

  “Sorry.” I chuckled. “Yes, Michael?”

  “Dreo says he doesn’t want me to go home alone until we figure out who that guy was on your fire escape.”

  It was like coming into the middle of a conversation with him sometimes. “Pardon?”

  “The guy, on your fire escape.”

  “Yes, that part I got, but the rest is muddy.”

  “I wanna come home, but Dreo doesn’t want me to be by myself.”

  “Well, I’m home, so you can come.”

  “No, he doesn’t want you to be alone either.”

  “Really, since when?”

  “Since all of this.”

  “I was alone last night.”

  “Yeah, but Dreo said he had guys trailing you.”

  “That sounds scary, not comforting.”

  “I told him that’s what you’d say.”

  I laughed, and I heard him sigh.

  “But anyway, Dreo’s all worried, and he doesn’t want me outta his sight.”

  “That will make school difficult.”

  “I think he’s gonna talk to you about me maybe walking over there to you after school for a while. I mean for sure next week.”

  “That’s not a problem.” I smiled into the phone. “But tell him I’m home now, so if someone wants to drive you—”

  “Can you come get me?”

  I knew it was coming. “Sure, where am I going?”