by Susan Finlay
“Not a problem,” Steve said. “I figured you were busy.”
“I’m always in some meeting,” Claire said. “Never a moment to spare.”
“I hear you. Same with me. When I stopped by the other day, I was on my way to a meeting. Couldn’t have stayed more than a few minutes anyway.”
Steve fell silent and Claire waited. He cleared his throat but still didn’t speak. Was there a problem? she wondered.
“Hey,” he said finally, “the other reason I’m calling is to ask you out to dinner tomorrow night. As a casual get-acquainted meeting.”
Alarm bells went off in her head.
“I normally do those over lunch. Unfortunately, as I said, my days have been crazy busy. I eat on the run most days.”
She looked at the half-eaten sandwich on her desk. Until now, she had no idea how demanding public educators’ jobs were. Apparently, it wasn’t only Midland, judging from what Steve had just said. Life working at University hadn’t always been easy, but it was a country club by comparison.
“Are you still there?” he asked, sounding concerned.
“Oh, sorry. I—uh, well . . . .”
“We could meet Saturday night instead if that works better for you.”
She’d gone to lunch with Frank without any qualms. So why the hesitation with Steve? Of course the moment she asked herself that question she already knew the answer: Frank was married and had two children. He’d even talked about them during lunch. Frank was safe.
He’d also mentioned that Steve was divorced and childless.
And she was attracted to Steve.
Apparently, she waited too long to answer, because he said, “If you’re uncomfortable with that, we could maybe meet at my office for an early morning coffee. I’m afraid it would have to be really early, though.”
She shook her head, then felt ridiculous since he couldn’t see her. Then, going against her better judgment, she found herself saying, “I guess dinner would be all right. Friday night.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up at your home around six-thirty.”
“Uh, well, I’d rather meet you at the restaurant if you don’t mind.”
“Okay. Guess we have to decide where. How about the Applebee’s restaurant near Central Administration? Do you know the place?”
“Sure. I mean, I haven’t eaten there, but I’ve driven past it.”
After she hung up the phone, she took a deep breath and blew it out. What was she thinking? She knew she shouldn’t have agreed.
She’d worked for some men whom she wouldn’t have dared go out to dinner with no matter what you called it. Covering her face with her hands, she tried to work out her reasoning. Frank had told her that he and Steve were best friends, and instinct told her Frank was a decent guy. Didn’t that mean she could assume Steve was, too?
Resigned, deciding the damage was already done, she put shopping for something to wear on her list. Must make time this afternoon to go to the mall.
After school on Friday, Claire ordered a pizza for Marcus and Nanny Kate, who had agreed to stay late and watch Marcus while Claire went out.
While they ate, Claire brushed her hair, dressed in the new form-fitting black dress with a low-cut neckline and dozens of sparkles she’d bought for this occasion. Assessing herself in the mirror, she bit her lip. The dress that had seemed right when she’d tried it on in the store—she’d always been told you can’t go wrong with black—now seemed too sexy. She went back to her wardrobe and pushed clothes around, desperately searching for something else. Unfortunately, other than her business suits and everyday clothes, this was it. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she sighed and put on her shoes. She grabbed her handbag from a chair and swept into the living room, plopped down on the sofa, and flipped through the TV channels to watch the news while Marcus and Kate finished pizza in the kitchen, talking and laughing. At six o’clock, she went into the kitchen and told Kate, “Please don’t open the door to anyone. I’m not expecting visitors. Call me if anything comes up. I expect to be home by half past eight.” Claire decided that Kate was a wise young woman, for not reminding her that they had gone over this more than once before.
When Claire arrived at the restaurant, the parking lot was full. As she was deciding what to do, a car pulled out of a space, saving her more frustration. Entering the restaurant, she spotted Steve right away. He grinned at her, and taking his lead, they took off coats and sat down in the waiting area.
After the query formalities regarding how each was doing, Steve said, “I put our names on the waiting list. They said it shouldn’t take long to get a table. You look lovely, by the way.”
“Thank you.” She turned her head and glanced at the crowded dining room. Then, when she faced him again, she breathed a sigh of relief that he was looking at her face and smiling, instead of staring at her breasts or leering at her like so many men did.
A couple of minutes later, the hostess seated them in a cozy booth with a red and purple flowery tiffany lamp hanging overhead, gave them menus, and disappeared.
Claire gazed around the dining room and settled on two large photographs of a mountain. “I like those photos,” Claire said. “They’re lovely.”
“That’s Pike’s Peak near Colorado Springs,” Steve said. “You can drive your car up to the top of the mountain. It’s more fun, though, to take the cog railway up.”
“A cog railway?”
“Yeah, the track goes practically straight up, so it’s a really steep ride to the top. A bit scary, to be honest. But a spectacular view. If you go on a clear day, you can even see Denver’s skyline.”
“Oh, that’s sounds like fun. I must try it sometime.”
They talked a bit about the sights around Denver, then during a lull in the conversation, Claire flipped through the menu. She decided on blackened fish, which Steve told her was a good choice. After they ordered their meals and an onion blossom to munch on, the waitress asked, “Can I get you some wine?”
Claire thought a glass of wine might help her relax. On second thought, this was supposed to be a business meeting, not a date. Wine probably isn’t a good idea.
She opened her mouth to say no, but before she had a chance, Steve ordered a glass of Chardonnay for each of them.
After the waitress left, he said, “I hope that was okay with you? I probably should have asked first.”
“That’s okay.” Claire bit her lip and looked away.
“How are you adjusting to Denver?”
“I’m getting used to it.”
“Where did you move from?”
“Albuquerque, New Mexico.”
“I’ve been there once. It was after a big rain storm. I remember mud everywhere.”
She laughed.
“So, how are things going at work?” Steve asked.
“Busy. Always busy.” She hesitated, then said, “I did want to ask you about something?”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“I’m still concerned about security in the school. I talked to Frank about it. He said I should talk to you.” Steve nodded assent. “First, I really think we need to have controlled access,” she said, “such as locked doors after the start of the school day, security personnel assigned to monitor doors, and sign-in sheets for visitors. Also, is there any chance of getting cameras and metal detectors?”
Steve grimaced. “Tall order. But I am working on it. You wouldn’t believe the red tape and hoops I have to jump through to get anything non-standard.”
“Non-standard? You mean other schools in the metro don’t have those things?”
“Not in our district. Even the Denver Public School District doesn’t have metal detectors or cameras though they do have security guards and police liaison officers. Districts in other states take a tougher stance. Chicago and Palm Beach, for instance, have guards and cameras and metal detectors in all their schools.” He scratched his head. “Our school board believes that if we installed those things, we’d be admitti
ng to the public we have problems, like it wasn’t already obvious.”
They talked for a few minutes about the school and the district, and when that subject petered out, no one spoke. Claire hated awkward silences. She toyed with the cloth napkin resting on her lap and focused her attention on the song playing through the overhead speakers, but the noise level in the crowded restaurant made it difficult to hear the lyrics.
To her relief, Steve broke the silence. “What are you interested in outside of work? Do you have any hobbies? Special things you like to do?”
Should she tell him what she really liked to do, or should she make up something the way she’d been instructed to do? She’d read plenty of books on assorted topics, so she could fake interest in something she didn’t like, couldn’t she? But could she act? Better play it safe. “I guess I’m kind of boring, really,” she said. “I’m an avid reader. Sometimes I feel like I’ve read every book ever written.” She smiled and took a sip of wine. “I also play musical instruments.”
Steve raised his eyebrows. “Really? So do I. Piano, for one. My mother forced me to play when I was a kid. I’m more of a guitar man now, though.”
Claire smiled at that. “I play both also. And electronic keyboard and synthesizer.”
“Do you sing?” Steve asked.
“A little. Mostly I compose.”
“Now that’s intriguing. And you said you were boring.” He was grinning again, and Claire bit her lip. Maybe she should have made up a story. Telling him too much about herself could be a mistake.
“What about you?” she asked, turning the focus on him and hoping she might get him wrapped up in talking about himself.
“Believe it or not, I like to read, too. I suspect most educators started out as avid readers. As for music, I started playing guitar in high school. Frank Lawrence and I went to school together in Palo Alto, California. Did he tell you?”
She nodded.
“We’ve actually known each other all our lives. Anyway, he and I formed a rock band with some friends years ago. We played at parties for a while.”
The waitress stopped at the table and told them their food would be out shortly; Steve thanked her, then looked back at Claire. “Now where was I? Oh, yeah. I also played football. Later, I got involved to snow skiing, water skiing, boating, fishing, dancing, and hiking. I like going to movies and plays, and the occasional monster truck show. Oh, and last but not least, I’ve been taking flying lessons. Got my pilot’s license a few weeks ago.”
“Flying lessons? A license to fly? Wow. No one could ever call you boring.”
Conversation halted when the waitress reappeared, carrying a large tray. The conversation idled for a while as they ate, and then Claire returned to an earlier topic. “Tell me about your flying. Will you buy your own airplane?
“Oh, I’d love to do that. Maybe someday. I’m a real sucker for planes; even collected model planes and remote control planes for years. Of course owning a real plane takes a lot of time and money, neither of which is in abundance right now.” He shrugged, gave a melancholy smile, and sipped his chardonnay.
She studied his face, the way the light and shadows played on his features and accentuated his eyes, warm and expressive blue eyes, a lovely kind of blue that reminded her of a Caribbean-sky on a summer day. “That’s fascinating,” she said. “I don’t know if I could ever ride in a small airplane, let alone fly one. I’m impressed that you can do that. It must be exciting.”
“It really is. There’s freedom in the clouds. Maybe sometime you’ll give it a try—as a passenger at least.” He smiled and his smile was contagious.
Although there was a brief silence, it didn’t bother her this time.
“What kind of music do you like?” Steve asked, taking her by surprise.
“Oh, uh, I like a variety: classical, pop, rock, electronic, oldies. My grandfather was a musician, so I went to many classical music concerts when I was young.”
“Really? A famous musician?”
Claire felt her face grow hot. Oh bloody hell! She definitely should have tried to make up something. She’d been so worried she would make a mistake and get caught in a lie, and instead let down her guard and let her mouth flap. “Uh, no. He was just a local musician, one who never really made a name for himself in the business. I thought he was wonderful all the same.”
“I’ll bet he was,” Steve said. “Who needs fame when you’ve got a good family? I’m sure his children and grandchildren are his pride and joy.”
Claire smiled, and touched the rim of her wine glass. Her grandfather wasn’t ever proud of his son, Claire’s father. She wouldn’t go into that subject tonight.
They went on to talk about politics, history, and science. Even when their points of view differed, they didn’t argue, refreshingly, but discussed rationally. It was such interesting conversation. When she got home, after Nanny Kate left, she checked on Marcus. He was fast asleep. She went to her bedroom, undressed, and then went into the bathroom. In the mirror, she was smiling broadly. She touched her lips. It was then that she realized she’d been smiling for much of the evening, and that for the first time in a very long time she didn’t look or feel fatigued and stressed. This—engaging conversation with an intelligent and handsome man—was what she’d been missing. Her smile slowly faded. This was something that she couldn’t afford.
CHAPTER FIVE
CLAIRE SHOWERED, GRADUALLY feeling the tightness in her muscles ease under the caress of warm water. She dried herself off, then wiped the steam from her bathroom mirror so she could survey herself. Slight bags under her eyes betrayed her lack of sleep and uneasiness. Not good on a normal work day, and more problematic today, Wednesday, when she wanted to make a good impression at her first Superintendent’s Round Table Luncheon meeting.
She dabbed make-up on her face, and then blew-dry her shoulder-length golden-brown hair into a pile of natural curls. When she’d first entered the program, Brad had insisted she cut her waist-length hair, declaring that her extra-long hair made her stand out like a ‘palm tree in a pine forest’, and that was unacceptable for someone in witness protection. That was the first time he’d told her she needed to be a chameleon and blend-in. ‘You’re my responsibility,’ he’d said. ‘One of my chameleon projects, as I like to call them. I can teach you the ropes, but you’ve gotta be willing to learn and play the game.’ She sighed once again at the loss of her beautiful hair. Grabbing her straightening wand, she straightened her hair and then picked up her curling iron and began curling the ends at her shoulders. While doing so, she thought about her dilemma for the umpteenth time and again couldn’t decide which was worse: feeling like a fictitious character or feeling like an impostor principal. Probably not a lot of difference between the two.
Did it really matter? She missed her old life, dearly missed teaching college students who truly wanted to learn, and most of all, she missed being happy.
Claire opened her wardrobe, pushing aside her casual clothes, and selected a dark blue business suit and a light gray blouse from the back of her closet where she’d stowed them on her fourth day of work.
She grabbed a pair of scissors from a drawer and cut-off the price tags, not because she was a shopaholic, but because she and her son had been whisked out of Albuquerque with nothing more than the clothes on their backs.
She shook her head. Buying clothes used to be fun. Funny how that changes when you’re forced to shop, especially when you have no idea what to buy for a new identity and a new job. After her first day at Midland, she’d bought five more of these suits. Then, a couple days later, she’d overheard faculty whispering behind her back, saying things like ‘she looks all hoity-toity in her snooty suits’ or ‘she thinks she’s better than the rest of us’. And so back to the mall she’d gone. Of course she’d also had to go again to buy that black dress she’d worn when she went out to dinner with Steve.
The morning at school raced by. When she glanced at her watch and saw how late it w
as, Claire gasped. Being late for the meeting was something she couldn’t afford. She dashed out the building, jumped into her car, and sped to Cameron High School, arriving only five minutes before the round-table meeting was scheduled to begin.
She walked into the school and then stopped in her tracks. The difference between this school and hers was jaw dropping. Cameron was like a fairy tale castle full of well-dressed students carrying books, looking eager to learn, while Midland was like Dracula’s castle full of dark and dangerous students who, for the most part, seemed to come to school to buy or sell drugs.
Shaking off her shock, she hunted for the conference room Steve had mentioned in the email. She found an empty chair at a ten-person conference table and sat down. Porcupine came by and handed each attendee a bag lunch, after which Steve opened the meeting. He started out with a few droll opening comments and then asked Porcupine—oops, she must stop thinking of her as that, and use her name, Helen Jackson—to read the minutes from the previous Round-Table Meeting. When she finished, Steve had everyone introduce themselves since this was Claire’s first meeting.
As they ate lunch, one high school principal after another gave verbal reports of issues, accomplishments, updates on items from the previous meeting, etc.
Some of the reports and discussions nearly put Claire to sleep, especially since she hadn’t fallen asleep until two o’clock in the morning because Marcus had been hyperactive. The last two reports had captured her full attention, though, because they had garnered criticism that seemed to her unwarranted.
The current speaker, Manuel Rodriguez, the principal of Cooper High School, was reporting on their science fair competition that one of his school’s star students had won. The student’s project was to be featured on the local news tomorrow.
The Vice-President of the Board, Edward Malone, who was a heavy-set man with salt and pepper hair, said, “That’s what we need to see. This district needs more star students and teachers. Good job, Manuel. Don’t you agree, John?”
While John Richmond, the President of the Board, sipped his coffee and seemed to be pondering his answer, someone stood up and poured herself a fresh cup of coffee. Two people appeared to be checking for messages on their mobile phones, and another person was flipping through pages in a notebook.