Becoming His Muse, Part Three

by KC Martin

  On the way out I see the unplugged cords by the wall near where Logan was just standing. I don’t see him anywhere now.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Warren takes me back to my dorm room but the door is locked and I left my purse, with my phone in it, back at the gallery.

  He tells me he’ll go back to get it, and he’ll smooth things over with our mothers, and he says not to worry, and it’s only when I try to say ‘Sorry’ and ‘Thank you’ and ‘How did that happen?’, do I realize that I’ve been blubbering the whole time and my cheeks are wet with tears and my throat is sore with sobbing.

  Warren holds me tight one last time and says he’ll be right back, but I don’t want to let go. I want to climb back into the old story of our possible future. I cling to him. And in the moment I’m least proud of, I try to press my lips to his. He pulls away and strokes my hair. “Don’t,” he says gently.

  I say ‘Sorry’ over and over again. I feel crazy. What just happened? How could Derrick and Casey have done that? How could I have been so stupid? How could I have known?

  And now everyone knows! And they don’t just know. They’ve seen it with their own eyes. With Our Own Eyes… I am filled with seething hatred for Derrick and Casey, for their parasitic attempts to make art. Who do they think they are?! How could they take such advantage?

  I’m sitting on the faded carpet of the empty dorm hallway. I’m sobbing, seething, and searching for some kind of sense in all of this. I wipe away the snot tricking from my nose. I smell my own sweat and the scent of sex between my legs. I wonder what happened to Logan… ? Where did he go?

  I drag myself up to my feet. I stumble down the hall and out of the dorm.

  I can’t call him or text him since I don’t have my phone. I go to the faculty apartments. I walk right through the front door and take the elevator to his floor. I knock violently, but there is no answer.

  I leave the apartments and make my way to the English department offices. He’ll be there… He’ll be there waiting for me…

  His door is open but he’s not there. I look around at the desk, the books, and the leather chair for some sign, or a note, or some evidence that he’s been there and has left me a trail of bread crumbs to find him. I notice that his laptop is gone. And his hat. I survey the shelves. The family photos are gone. His grandfather’s pipe has disappeared. And the book.

  I collapse into the leather chair and cry for an entirely different reason.

  ***

  Ruby finds me in Logan’s office sometime later that evening. I’d fallen asleep in the leather chair. My neck is stiff and sore. My eyes and throat hurt. She has my purse, which she says Warren had entrusted to her.

  “Your mom and them are staying at the inn,” says Ruby guiding me back toward my dorm room. “They want me to call to tell them you’re all right.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You’re still breathing, and that’s good enough for now.”

  “He’s gone, Ruby. He just abandoned me.”

  “He must have a reason. The whole thing is a shock to everyone, not just you. I can’t believe DnC. They ruined a whole lotta stuff yesterday. Dean Ascott confiscated their video.”

  This does not make me feel any better. Especially when I picture the Dean and Dr. T going over the evidence.

  “They’re claiming freedom of speech and the rights of artistic expression and all that. For a couple of quiet eccentrics they sure stirred up a lot of attention.”

  “They did it all on purpose. To gather material.” I spit out the word, a word that all artists tend to respect and rely on when life gets challenging and confusing. “Chalk it up to material,” we all say as a way of acknowledging that everything serves to feed the artistic process. But DnC went too far. They actually sought out and set up situations that they could exploit for their project. But it was cheap showmanship, and it would have serious repercussions for me and Logan.

  “It will all blow over eventually,” says Ruby, trying to cheer me up.

  But what kind of hell will I have to go through first?

  And then I remember the clip with Jonathan.

  “What about you, Ruby? What about Jonathan?”

  She sighs. “I cried. Then yelled. We talked. He did that after he heard about Dale.”

  “I didn’t say anything about that, promise.”

  “I know. We’ve decided to try to put the past behind us and start fresh after graduation. He told me he applied to Princeton for architecture. I thought I might find some inspiration there.”

  In the midst of my misery I feel an inkling of hope for them.

  Tucking me in, she adds, “And I figured New Jersey would be close to you in New York.”

  I feel another wave of despair come over me. “I might not be there.”

  She pats my covers. “Just deal with one thing at a time, Ava. You’ll have to face your mom and the Dean tomorrow, but for now, just rest.”

  I try to, after Ruby leaves, but my mind is a swarm of regrets.

  I ruminate on all my conversations with Logan. Could we have avoided all this? Maybe if we’d never gone to DnC’s loft. Maybe if I hadn’t said yes to his first kiss… Or if he’d never taken the teaching position in the first place. But I can’t imagine never experiencing all the precious moments since then. My painting would have turned out differently. I would have, too.

  But maybe we should have left when he first suggested it weeks ago. Gone back to New York when he wanted to, without my degree, which I won’t get now anyway.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  The next morning I’m suffering an emotional hangover when I hear loud banging on my dorm door the next morning.

  “Ava, let me in!” booms my father.

  Oh no. My mom called him? He drove down?

  I drag my snotty nose and puffy eyes to the door. My father stand on the threshold. After a quick look at me, he peers past me into my dorm room.

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  I step back so he can come in if he wants to. It’s a bit of a test. At home, he stopped coming into my bedroom when I turned sixteen. He hasn’t stepped foot in my private space in years. At least not my private physical space. He’s had no problem barging into all the other parts of my life.

  I head back to my bed. He lingers in the doorframe for a minute and then he marches in.

  “Your mother told me. Is it true?” he demands, standing at the foot of my bed.

  “That I had an affair with a professor? Yes.”

  He probably wants me to deny it, apologize for it, or regret, but I don’t have the energy for any of that. Enough lying. Enough pretending.

  “Listen to me, Ava. You have a meeting with Dean Ascott in one hour. When you see him, you tell him that the worldly writer seduced you and you didn’t know what you were doing. The blame’s on him. They’ll fire him anyway, but you may still have a chance to finish up your degree. Tell him you didn’t know what you were doing, that he manipulated you.”

  “He didn’t.”

  He clenches fists.

  “Of course, he did. And you’ll tell the Dean he did.”

  I shake my head.

  “Listen to me, Ava. You have a degree to finish, a reputation to uphold.”

  “A reputation as what? Your daughter? A good student?”

  He pushes his shoulders back as he looks down at me. “A good girl.”

  I laugh. “After last night, you think that’s an option?”

  “Now is not the time to be stubborn and cheeky, young lady.”

  My father, who is a tall man, paces the span of my dorm room in two strides. He looks like a toy soldier going back and forth.

  “We’ll make that vile video disappear. No one will ever see it.”

  “Mom saw it. My teachers saw it. My friends saw it.”

  In a small way, I guess I’m glad my father wasn’t at the opening last night. I really don’t want him to see that video.

  “We’ll m
ake it all go away, Ava. It will be like he never existed.”

  I sit up in my bed. “What are you saying? Who won’t exist?”

  “That creep!” my father sputters. “That writer, O’Shane.” He sneers.

  “You can’t do that. He’s famous. You can’t make him disappear.”

  “From your life, I can.”

  I look my father in the eye. “I love him.”

  “No you don’t.”

  My father’s jaw clenches along with his fists. He’s shaking his head, denying my words, my feelings, and my pretty big, messy, embarrassing mistake.

  “Yes, I do.” It’s finally clear to me, not that it matters now that Logan’s run off.

  A vein begins to bulge in my father’s forehead and he’s going rather red.

  “You know nothing of love, or life. You’re still too young and foolish.”

  This is becoming unbearable. He can’t stand to see me growing up. I see now that he will never change. He’ll always see me as a child, never an adult. Not until I take my life in my own hands, and maybe not even then. He sees his role as my protector, and that means I will always be weak and small to him. I see how he treats my mother. He loves her, yes. He loves me, too. But my mother is not autonomous in his eyes. She needs him, can’t function without him, or so she thinks. I am not going to end up like that.

  I stand up then, wishing I were showered and dressed and in much better shape to stand up to my father.

  “Are you finished now?” I say.

  We happen to be in my dorm room, where he looks as out of place as an oak tree in an aquarium, but in my mind I imagine us in his home office, the place where I used to hide out and read as a little girl, a place I felt privileged to be invited into, a safe sanctuary, where I always felt protected — as I stand and face my father, I feel myself turning away from my childhood, from my father’s veil of protection and his limited perspective on what my life should be.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To shower and get ready to meet Dean Ascott.”

  “I’m not finished yet. Tell him you were too weak to stand up to this writer’s ploys. Tell him you’re sorry, that you respect the rules, and that won’t make the same mistake again.”

  But I know I would. Over and over again.

  I shut the door to the bathroom. I notice I’m shaking.

  Before I turn on the water for the shower, I hear my dorm door open and close. My father has left.

  ***

  As I head over to the Faculty Building for my meeting, the words,“Sorry, please forgive me, Dean Ascott,” are not foremost on my mind.

  At the appointed hour, he invites me into his office, and asks me to sit down in a chair across from his desk, which sits in front of floor to ceiling windows. The long drapes are open and I stare out at the narrow balcony. My mind floods with memories of the first night I kissed Logan.

  Dean Ascott sits down behind his imposing desk. He is polite yet firm and gets straight to the point.

  “Allegedly, you’ve broken a serious code of conduct, Miss Nichols. You’ve breached the College Board’s policy governing relationships between students and professors. A decision has to be made about whether or not to expel you and what you say here today will have an influence on that decision and its consequences.”

  I nod. He pauses. Perhaps he wants me to say I’m sorry. I’m not going to. I wait for him to proceed. He shuffles the papers on his desk then looks up at me and asks,

  “Is it true or not true that you conducted an affair with a professor at this university?”

  I’m surprised he’s even asking. “You saw the video footage last night. Aren’t you—”

  He holds up a hand to silence me. “Derrick Mackey and Casey Aston are on probation for breaking various other policies. At this point, their outlandish art project is not considered evidence. Please just answer the question.”

  “Yes. It’s true. I had an affair with Logan O’Shane, a visiting professor, or a temporary one, since he was officially the writer-in-residence for the English department.”

  Dean Ascott frowns, as if he’s disappointed by my confession, as if he actually wants me to deny what he clearly saw with his own eyes last night.

  “Miss Nichols, are you saying you weren’t clear on whether Mr. O’Shane was considered a professor or not?”

  Is he trying to find some way to lighten the charge?My father wants me to feign innocence and ignorance but I know I’m neither of those things. I knew perfectly well the risk I was taking.

  “I was pretty sure he was considered a professor and the policy applied to him.”

  Dean Ascott frowns again but presses on.

  “Mr. O’Shane has taken all the blame.”

  I lean forward. “You’ve talked to him? When?”

  He looks up from his papers. “He called me this morning. He left campus last night, which I think was appropriate.”

  “Oh.” Appropriate for what, I wonder. Not my troubled heart.

  “He’s trying to convince me it was all his doing, that he seduced you against your better judgment, that you protested, and that he convinced you not to report him. That you would have reported him if he hadn’t used his power of persuasion and the authority of his position.”

  So Logan’s trying to protect me, too. But I don’t want his protection.

  “It always takes two to tango, Dean Ascott. I was reluctant for a short while, it’s true…”

  Dean Ascott raises an eyebrow hopefully as I continue.

  “But I knew what I was getting myself into.” Actually, I didn’t realize fully what I was getting into with Logan, but… “I mean I was aware I was breaking the school’s rules.”

  Dean Ascott sighs heavily. I am not taking the tack he was expecting. My guess is that he and my father have already had a lengthy discussion. Turns out I’m right.

  “Your father’s been in here pleading a blue streak on your behalf, despite his shock and disappointment in your actions. He wants to see you graduate, Ava. These allegations that have come to light, and your admission of their veracity, threaten that possibility. You do know that, don’t you?”

  “I do. And I imagine my father does too.”

  “Of course he doesn’t want that to happen. Off the record, neither do I. You’ve always been a good student. So if you could just phrase things in such a way as to—”

  “—My father put you up to this, didn’t he?”

  He stops short, searching for words. Finally, he sighs. “He carries a lot of weight on our board, as you know, and he’s a generous supporter of this school.”

  I lean forward. “My father is a bully. I know he’s trying his best to protect me and he’s willing to step on toes to do it. But it’s not fair. Expel me if you have to. I’ll redo my fourth year somewhere else. Or maybe I’ll just not finish my degree. I don’t know what I’ll do…”

  He pauses thoughtfully for a few moments before he says,

  “I’ve also heard a heartfelt argument on your behalf from Dr Tennenbaum. He believes the creative work you’ve accomplished must be taken into consideration.”

  Dr. T who looked so stricken when he discovered us? He spoke up on my behalf? I feel another wave of shame wash over me for having disappointed him.

  Dean Ascott continues, “He admits he practically drove you and Professor O’Shane together. Unwittingly, of course. Nonetheless, even he is trying to bear some of the responsibility on your behalf. You must at least be impressed with the number of people rushing to your rescue? I haven’t even addressed the list of students who’ve insisted on speaking to me.”

  He shakes his head as he looks down at a list in front of him. I’m guessing Ruby’s on that list, and Jonathan. Probably Ronnie and Owen as well.

  “Most compelling, however, is Professor Hare’s argument against the policy itself.”

  “Madeleine?”

  “Technically, that isn’t part of your case, but Professor Hare has been oppos
ed to the policy since it’s inception. She’s using this situation to fight it again. She has shared her personal experience this time. You’d think she of all people would be for the policy. It might have protected her in her day.”

  “Policies like this don’t protect people,” I say. “Not when emotional chemistry is in play. The forbidden nature of it even adds to its appeal.”

  Dean Ascott raises his eyebrows.

  I add, “I’m not saying that teachers and students should be getting it on, not at all. We’re here to study, that’s the main point. But people connect in all kinds of ways. Ways that policies can’t predict or enforce.”

  “You don’t regret your actions?”

  “Not the actions you’re thinking of. Though I do regret some things. It just isn’t what you’d think.”

  He leans forward, listening, as I try to explain.

  “I learned more from Logan O’Shane in these past seven months than I have in all my years of study here, because what I learned wasn’t stuff from books, it had to do with what’s really inside of me — the good, the bad, and the ugly. I regret that I’ve embarrassed myself, disappointed certain people, hurt others I care about, gotten someone fired, and will likely get expelled, but I certainly don’t regret discovering parts of myself I never knew existed. Because of that my creative work has evolved, and how I see the world has changed, and I feel, finally, like I’ve grown up in a way I never have before. Which is why I don’t want to say ‘I’m sorry’, or pretend Logan was in control and made me do his bidding, or plead with you to let me finish my degree. I’m finally grown up enough to take responsibility for my actions, to stand by my choices, and to trust that, eventually, I’ll get where I need to go even if the path deviates from the conventional route. I arrived at this school an art student but I’m leaving, with or without my degree, as an artist. I may be a bit wobbly on my feet but at least my feet are under me and they know the path they are following.”