“She is, she is,” Mandy said, jumping up and down before I could say anything.
“Trina,” the woman said, calling her friend over, “it’s Candy Sloane.”
“Sorry about all the yelling,” I said, looking at Mandy.
“No, we’re glad she let us know who you were,” the woman said. “There are so many people at these things, I wouldn’t know who my favorite authors were if they didn’t have a neon sign above their heads. I’m Julie.”
“Hi,” I said. “That’s Mandy, my neon sign.”
“We loved your book,” Trina said. “Are you writing another one?”
“She is,” Mandy said.
“I am,” I answered, smiling the kind of a smile that looks like your face has been carved from ear to ear to make room for all the happy.
“It’s so cool to meet you,” Julie said. “Can we take a picture?”
“Of course,” I replied with more than pride, with something bigger than contentment or acceptance. “As long as you promise not to post it anywhere,” I added just to be safe.
As they arranged themselves around me, I felt a glow burning out from the center of my chest and down into each limb. Like nothing I had ever experienced. Candy was alive.
I was alive.
“Yes, this is just for us,” Julie said, putting her arm around my shoulder. Trina put her arm around the other side while Mandy took the photo.
“Thanks so much,” Trina said as they walked away. “We’ll look for your new book.”
“We’re dying for your new book,” Julie added.
“I told you, you are famous.” Mandy smiled.
“I don’t know about famous,” I said, feeling a glow fill each cheek as they turned pink. “Thanks for doing this, Mandy.”
“Don’t get all gushy,” she said. “I just thought you needed someone else besides me to tell you to your face how great you are.”
“You’re pretty damn great, too.”
“I’m fucking great,” Mandy said. “Damn is not even close.” She laughed and grabbed my arm. “Come on,” she said, looking at her program, “I plan on winning this dildo-centerpiece contest.”
I guess we both had found our calling that day.
After a mini-whirlwind of pictures and autograph requests, and a major-whirlwind of fan-girling over some favorite authors of my own and the dildo-centerpiece contest, we walked outside to take a break and have a drink at a bar across the street called the Regent.
“Coming here was a good idea,” I said, taking off my wig and putting it in my bag. It had been itching for hours, but I hadn’t really noticed, because I felt high. Almost like I was drunk, but better; that glow in my chest and limbs humming through each cell in my body.
“I told you that you didn’t have anything to worry about.”
It was true. I hadn’t. The day had been perfect.
At least it had been, until I looked across the street and noticed Professor Dylan in front of the Regent squinting in our direction, his hand over his eyes to block the sun.
“Oh crap,” I said, my stomach tumbling down so far it felt like it was in the sewers below the city. I didn’t want to run. It was too suspicious. I put the wig back on quickly, not like it would take back Professor Dylan having possibly seen me.
“What?” Mandy asked.
“That’s Professor Dylan across the street,” I said, barely moving my mouth. It was silly. He was far enough away that he couldn’t read my lips; far enough away he might not even have recognized me in the wig and the sexy getup.
But what if he’d seen me in the moment my wig was off?
“Oh crap,” Mandy said. “What the hell is he doing here?”
“Busting me,” I said. The heat filling my limbs was freezing with the realization that my time as Candy might be through. My veins turned to skinny icicles. Who was I kidding, thinking I could get away with this?
“How would he even know you’d be here?”
“He wouldn’t. Maybe he just frequents the Regent.”
Stupid me for not knowing that…but how could I have?
“Maybe he’s just trying to catch a glimpse of how the exotic people live,” she said. I could tell she was gearing up to yell something.
“Don’t say a word,” I warned.
“What? I was just going to ask the little perv if he got enough of an eyeful.”
I watched as he ran his hand through his hair and walked inside the bar. I guess he had.
“He saw me,” I said. “He totally saw me, and I’m screwed.”
“What, does he have supersonic sight? You’re paranoid. He saw the sign that read Eroticon and was hoping to catch a glimpse of a titty. What a newb.”
“I saw him,” I said.
“Good point,” she responded, her mouth downturned.
“Way to ease my nerves.”
“If he really saw you, don’t you think he would have come over here, or at least yelled out your name?”
“I guess.” I sighed.
“There’s one of him and hundreds of us. That was why you noticed him. I’m telling you straight-up Peeping-Tom action was what you saw there.”
“I hope that’s true,” I said. “Or my life is over.”
“Stop being so dramatic,” she said. “What have I been wrong about so far today?”
Maybe she was right. If he had seen me, wouldn’t he have said something? Aside from a moment that might not mean anything, the day had been incredible. Mandy was the reason.
I hooked my arm in hers, “Absolutely nothing, except using all flesh-colored dildos for your centerpiece. That was why you came in second place.”
“How could I have known the judges were looking for something abstract?” she asked seriously.
“Next weekend we go to the aquarium,” I said. “I want you to be around some of your fans, too.”
“You mean some of my ‘fins,’” she said. “Sorry, bad marine biologist’s joke.”
“You’re too good to me, Mandy,” I said.
“Someone needs to be,” she responded.
I wondered if one day I’d be able to let it be someone who wasn’t my best friend.
Chapter Fourteen
I woke up to a text from Professor Dylan.
Office hours at my house today.
Oh crap, I thought. Oh Eroticon Ever-Loving Crap.
So much for Mandy’s theory. I guess he had seen me. He had seen me and been so disappointed he didn’t want me to step foot on campus ever again.
Was this really it? Had my career as Candice ended before it had even begun?
On my walk over to his house I tried to think up excuses as to why I would have been dressed that way in front of the convention center.
I work off campus as a corset model.
I was there protesting, he just didn’t seen my sign.
I am, in fact, one of Robin Thicke’s back-up dancers.
The only excuse he might believe was that I had been there for Mandy. Unfortunately, I also knew to him, being there for any reason was inexcusable. As a literary writer, I shouldn’t have wanted to be within a hundred feet of a place like Eroticon.
Literary or no, the truth was it had been the most comfortable I’d felt around other writers since I’d been in Miami.
Professor Dylan lived in a small, white pueblo-style ranch right off campus. His yard was one of those immaculate and perfectly put together rock gardens. I took what might be my last breath as an MFA student and knocked on the door. The wood was so light it reminded me of the sun that was just starting to fill the blue Miami sky.
Professor Dylan answered in an apron, a plain white apron. While I was surprised to see him wearing it, I was not at all surprised it was just white. He was definitely not the type of guy to have cutesy sayings splayed over his chest. He did not do cutesy.
“Am I early?” I asked, even though I knew I wasn’t, that was what you asked someone when you found him in a way you weren’t expecting, when he was expecting
you.
“Nope, right on time,” he said, letting me in. “I have everything set up for us in the kitchen.”
What the hell? Does he have the evidence to bust me in his refrigerator?
“This is a beautiful house,” I said, making conversation, saying anything so he couldn’t say, What were you doing at that place yesterday?
I followed him through rooms and rooms of light wood floors, tons of windows, palm-leaf ceiling fans spinning.
“Thanks, but I can’t take any credit,” he said, “It’s a rental.”
What is he waiting for?
I walked in the kitchen to a table set with linen napkins and orange juice in jeweled glass tumblers.
I guess he’s waiting for breakfast.
“One of the perks of Florida, the fresh orange juice,” he said, indicating I should sit down.
I thought about the breakfast James had wanted to make for me but I had run away from. I wished I were there now instead of getting fattened up so Professor Dylan could roast me on a spit and devour me.
“What’s all this?” I asked, though I probably shouldn’t have. Especially because I wasn’t using a high lilt to my voice like someone who was excited about the surprise would, I probably sounded more like someone when she was shown an overflowing storage locker someone else was expecting her to clean out.
“Pancakes,” he said. “Blueberry, my specialty.”
“But why?” I asked, lodging my foot even further into my mouth. Actually, forget about it being in my mouth—saying that had sent it down my intestinal tract.
“I felt bad about the way things have been going between us,” he said.
Did he mean when he caught me completely defying everything he was trying to teach me? Or had he really not seen me and we were talking about completely different things?
“Sit, sit, it will get cold,” he said, taking his place at the table.
It was a side of Professor Dylan I hadn’t seen before: sweet, doting, almost husband-like. It was completely inappropriate. Not like I could talk.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I said, joining him at my seat. I guess he really hadn’t seen me, or if he had he wasn’t ready to let me know just yet.
“No,” he said, “I did.” He took a bite of his pancakes, shiny syrup dripping from his fork.
“I’ve been unfair,” he said between bites. “Your syllabus, interrupting your class, everything with James,” he said.
“What ‘everything with James’?” I asked quickly, defensively, my heart spinning in my chest, matching the whop, whop, whop of the fan above us. Maybe Candy wasn’t even the secret I needed to be worried about.
“I feel like I’ve been unduly hard on you,” he said, ignoring my question.
“You’re my professor,” I said, my hands in my lap. “It’s expected.”
“It’s not,” he said, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t be wondering if I’ll see you at my bookstore reading this week. You should want to come, and the way I’ve been acting, I can’t imagine why you would.”
I’d forgotten about his reading this week. I was glad he reminded me, even if it was in such a strange way. “You’re not so bad. It’s not like you’re Julia,” I said, regretting it as soon as I did. How people felt about Julia usually went unsaid.
“I am a new professor,” he said, brandishing his fork as he spoke. “I’m learning,” he continued, “and, well, I just want to spin this boat around before it sinks, if that makes sense.”
“I guess it does,” I said. I could feel the steam coming off the pancakes, the same sweet heat you felt any day walking around in Miami.
“I don’t want us to turn into you being resentful and me punishing you for it.” He shrugged.
“Agreed,” I said.
“Finally!” He sighed. “That’s what I like to see.” He took a gulp from his orange juice. “I’m glad we can go back to getting along now, Candice,” he said. “I was worried.”
I wanted to say, We’d be getting along fine if you hadn’t tried to stick your tongue down my throat. I wanted to say, We probably wouldn’t be if you had actually seen me. But I couldn’t so I said, “Thank you.”
Yes-woman who needed her fellowship said thank you.
I’d been saying thank you so much lately the words were starting to make me ill. Thank you was the expression of someone who was too scared and weak to know what else to say. It was a term of submission, and I was starting to get tired of giving in.
About everything.
I peered at him over the syrup bottle in the center of the table. “I’m not that resentful.”
“Then maybe I haven’t been hard enough on you,” he replied with a smile.
I heard Mandy’s voice, But he’s definitely hard for you. I started coughing to keep myself from laughing, but steadied myself before I hacked all over our breakfast. I didn’t know if that was true, but we were flirting. It felt better than being angry at him, than feeling like I was a disappointment to him, than being worried about being caught by him, but it also felt wrong. And not Candy good-wrong, either; wrong because he wasn’t first on my list to flirt with anymore.
“Anyway,” he said, bringing me back to the room with him, “I want us to start over.”
I wondered at what point he meant—before we almost kissed or after, or even more perplexing, right after. Perhaps he was talking about yesterday. That he had seen me but was willing to forget about it for the greater good of our relationship. But did that mean he was expecting me to leave Candy behind? There was no way in hell that was going to happen, but it wasn’t like I could tell him.
“Sounds good to me,” I said, so diligently I almost gagged. I forced myself to eat. I cut into the pancakes and took a big bite. They were sweet and buttery.
“I’m glad that’s settled,” he said, putting down his fork and holding out his hand for me to shake. “Friends?” he asked, shaking slowly.
He hadn’t acknowledged our almost kiss, but it was clear it was sitting in one of the empty seats at the table with us, upset it didn’t have any pancakes.
“Friends,” I repeated, trying not to focus on his eyes, trying instead to look at my pancakes, even though the blueberries in them did make me think about his eyes and how I had seen them close for the brief moment when we were together on the beach.
Could breakfast and a handshake change things back?
“Does that mean I don’t have to come to office hours anymore?” I asked hopefully.
“No.” He frowned. “Nice try, though.”
Chapter Fifteen
I couldn’t help walking past Buzzers on my way home from campus the following evening. Okay, that’s a lie. I could have helped it, but I didn’t want to.
When James and I were together good things happened—as far as Candy was concerned. Candice was another story. Candice was starting to like James, which wouldn’t have mattered ordinarily, except for the fact that she didn’t want to end up not being able to ever trust any guy again.
I was starting to feel a lot better just doing what one of Candy’s characters would have done. It was a lot less complicated than worrying about everything all the time like Candice did.
I guess I was about to find out if I really could be like one of them—if I had the metaphorical balls to walk inside Buzzers, take James by the collar, and tell him he needed to go on break. Needed to go break me in half.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to find out, because he was getting on his motorcycle as I
walked by.
“Does this mean it’s another time?” he asked, reminding me of our conversation in the pool.
Maybe another time.
He didn’t need to. It was why I was there. Why I had chosen this route when I figured he would be getting off work. Why I was risking Candice kicking the crap out of Candy for the rest of the night for whatever was about to happen.
“What?” I lied, playing it way cooler than I had a right to, considering I was as close as
I could get to chasing him for once. Sure, I was ready to admit I wanted to “get physical” with him, but unlike one of Candy’s characters, I wasn’t ready to just blurt it out.
“Still pretending there’s nothing going on, huh?” he asked, tilting his head. He leaned against the motorcycle, all six taut, terrible feet of him.
“Some things might have happened,” I said, holding tight to the strap of my messenger bag, “and more things can,” I said. “But there can’t be anything going on.” It was a bewildering sentence, to be sure. Maybe I just didn’t want to come out and admit I was willing to risk my academic achievements for a guy who made me forget to breathe.
“What the hell does that mean?” he asked.
“We can have sex, but that’s it,” I replied.
His eyes widened. “You want to pick out the specific positions we’re allowed to use, too?”
“No emotional stuff,” I insisted. “Just sex, okay? And no one can ever know,” I added, capping the rule I wasn’t even sure if I’d be able to follow. He was a guy, so I figured he would go along with it, but he was also James. I could feel by the way he looked at me, kissed me—he wanted a hell of a lot more than that.
Hopefully the guy in him would just agree.
“You came here to tell me that?” he asked skeptically.
“It’s on my way home,” I said.
“So are ten other streets,” he replied.
“Are you making stalker-maps to my apartment or something?” I had no right to ask. If anyone was stalking right now, it was me.
“Any more guidelines you want to share?” he asked, hanging his helmet on the handlebar of the motorcycle. Letting me know he was settling in.
“Do you agree or not?” I asked.
“I’d be stupid to say no,” he said, his face quizzically considering, “but this all feels a little clinical. Don’t you think?”
“I like you. You like me. As adults we can express our like in a physical way.” That was what I said, but what I thought was, I want you to kiss me again. Now. Later. Always. A lot. I want you to do what you wanted to do the other night in the pool.
“So you admit you like me?”
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