Teacher's Pet

by Andrew Neiderman

At first she thought it was someone else, someone who had come to see Charlie. She was about to send him to the lumberyard when he introduced himself. She thought she must have had a comical look of surprise on her face because he smiled so widely. But she couldn’t help it; he was so much younger than she expected.

  He had wavy black hair and deep dark brown eyes that caught her hypnotically. She thought, this is what my mother must have meant when she talked about the power of Rudolph Valentino’s looks on the screen. She had always wondered how an actor could be so magnetic in a silent movie, but in this moment she saw why sound wasn’t always so important. It felt as though they had just spoken pages of dialogue to each other anyway.

  “May I come in?”

  “Oh, yes, please,” she said stepping back. As he moved by, she held her breath. He was so tall and so broad-shouldered. He looked more like one of Charlie’s yardmen than a school tutor. It stimulated her interest in the man. What was his past? What brought him to Centerville? How in hell did he become a tutor?

  “Thank you. What a beautiful house. You must be very proud of it.”

  “Oh yes, I am.” What’s wrong with me? she wondered. I sound like a kid.

  She led him into the sitting room across from the living room. It was a room they rarely used, little more than a show room. There the thick light blue nylon rug was so soft it showed footprints. Once in a while, Charlie would kid her about it and come running to say he spotted a footprint, proving someone was in that room recently. The room contained a baby grand piano which no one knew how to play and a marble fireplace, which never saw a fire. She had furnished it in French provincial, the two chairs and love seat running four thousand dollars alone. He stopped in the doorway as though it required special permission to enter such a room.

  “Please, have a seat,” she said.

  “Thank you. You have excellent taste. This is a magnificent copy of a Renoir,” he said, pointing to the painting above the mantel.

  “Oh, it’s not a copy,” she said nonchalantly. His eyes danced with appreciation. This is a man of quality, she thought, the kind of man she had dreamt of marrying. To this day Charlie didn’t know who Renoir was or why the painting was so valuable. All he talked about was the quality of the frame.

  “I am afraid to ask you what your husband does for a living,” he said jokingly. She thought the laughter around his eyes was contagious. She smiled warmly and sat back on the love seat.

  “My husband is Charlie Rosen. We own a lumber company, the biggest one in the tri-county area.” There was no way to say it modestly, she thought, and then thought, this man wouldn’t appreciate false modesty anyway. He would see right through it.

  He looked about at some of knickknacks, the jade figures they had brought back from the Orient, the Waterford crystal they had purchased in the Virgin Islands, and the hand-carved, ivory chess set they bought during the cruise last year. It was all there on display. No one ever touched anything except for Cheryl Williams, her cleaning girl. No one even knew how to play chess.

  Then his attention centered on her. For a long moment, long enough to embarrass her, they simply stared at each another. He looked at her so intently he made her feel as if she were another one of the expensive objects in the room. Maybe she was, she thought, maybe that is the way Charlie sees me.

  Almost by reflex, she folded her arms across her breasts and sat back. But as soon as she touched the velvet cushion behind her, she leaned forward, reaching nervously for a cigarette in the gold case.

  “Cigarette?” she offered.

  “No, thank you.”

  She lit hers quickly, impatient with the seconds it took to do so and inhale and exhale.

  “I should tell you a little about Gary before you meet him,” she said. “He can be a difficult child.”

  “You mean, he doesn’t want to be tutored?”

  She laughed. It was a relief to do so.

  “Exactly. I see you have dealt with difficult children before.”

  “Let’s face it, Mrs. Rosen…”

  “Barbara, please.”

  “Barbara. I’m needed because these children have certain problems, individual problems, whether these problems cause them to do poorly or not to do what they’re capable of doing. I’ve tutored many a good student who should be an excellent student.”

  “That’s exactly Gary’s situation,” she said quickly. “He’s passing everything, but he hardly works. He’s got a brilliant mind when he wants to use it. He should be at the top of his class. In two years he’ll be going to college. I want him to do the best he can and go to a school that meets his exceptional needs.”

  “Of course. That’s only reasonable.”

  “But with his marks and the way he treats those important tests…even with money, he might not get into a decent school.”

  “I quite understand.”

  “He’s stubborn,” she said taking a long drag on her cigarette. The more she talked about her son the angrier she got. “He’s headstrong, like me.”

  “All strong individuals are. We have just to give him direction, show him the way, and he’ll take it from there. You’ll see.”

  “Yes,” she said. She liked the way he put it. “Exactly. I’ve been saying something like that for quite a while, but the people over at the school…”

  “They have so many problems to deal with, Barbara. You can’t expect to get the kind of individualized treatment a boy like Gary needs. I know, I’ve seen your school system. It doesn’t take long to see what those teachers and students with good potential are up against.”

  She nodded. Why would such a brilliant man want only to tutor? He had the looks, the intelligence, and the demeanor to run an entire school.

  “I’ll go get him,” she said, standing. “But I must warn you. He can be so impolite at times.”

  “So many of his generation can be,” Mr. Lucy said. “But we’ll survive it.” He winked. She chuckled and put her cigarette out as gracefully as she could. Never was she so conscious of her every move. It was important not only to be the mistress of such a house, but to look like the mistress of such a house. This man would appreciate that, she thought. “I’ll only be a minute.”

  “Don’t rush. It’s delightful sitting in so beautiful a room.”

  She lingered a moment, trying to think of something to say as an exit line. He made her feel as though she were in a movie. Unable to come up with anything suitable, however, she moved softly through the door, thinking of a line she read in one of her romance novels; “She left him behind, frozen in the moment until she would return.”

  Her description of Gary was an understatement. The boy wasn’t just impolite; he was downright sullen and belligerent. She practically pulled him into the room. Mr. Lucy heard her pleading with him in the hallway. Finally, he entered, but he stood there with his hands on his hips, looking away and down.

  “This is Mr. Lucy, Gary. Say hello,” she said.

  “Mr. Lucy?” He turned with the intention to laugh at the tutor’s name, but when his eyes met Mr. Lucy’s, his smile faded.

  “Hello, Gary.”

  “Hello.”

  “Your mother tells me you’re having some difficulty with your schoolwork.”

  “Yeah, some,” he said. He relaxed his arms and stood a little straighter. Barbara Rosen went to the love seat again and bit down on her lower lip nervously.

  “Have you been working as hard as you should?” Mr. Lucy asked. Gary shrugged. “Haven’t been paying much attention in class either, have you?”

  “I guess not. But it’s not entirely my fault,” he added quickly. “Most of my teachers are nerds.”

  “Gary!”

  “That’s all right, Barbara. I think I know how Gary feels,” Mr. Lucy said. Gary looked skeptical, but interested.

  “School’s a drag,” he said.

  “Maybe it is, but it doesn’t have to be. At least, not for you,” Mr. Lucy said.

  “You listen to him, Gary. He kno
ws what he’s talking about.”

  “How do you know?” Gary snapped.

  “Don’t talk to me like that,” Barbara Rosen said, her face reddening. “You see what I have to put up with?” she asked, appealing to Mr. Lucy for his sympathy. He closed and opened his eyes gently, but he turned a sterner gaze at Gary, who seemed to feel something.

  “What kind of a teacher are you?” he asked.

  “Not a nerd, I hope.” Mr. Lucy smiled at Barbara Rosen, who laughed and started to reach for another cigarette.

  “I thought you were giving up smoking,” Gary snapped. Her hand froze over the gold cigarette case.

  “I want to, but you make me so nervous.”

  “You weren’t nervous before he came.”

  “Gary! Do you see?” she asked Mr. Lucy. He kept his eyes on Gary. The boy began to fidget.

  “So? What subjects can you teach?”

  “I can teach any subject matter.”

  “Any?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “What are ya, some kind of genius?”

  “Jesus,” Barbara Rosen said and lit her new cigarette.

  “That’s all right, Barbara. Gary’s asking a sensible question. No, I suppose I’m not what might be termed a genius, but I am a pretty smart guy.” They stared at each other a moment and then Gary laughed. Mr. Lucy smiled knowingly. Barbara Rosen looked from one to the other. She felt as though some crisis had just passed, even though she didn’t know what Mr. Lucy had done to get by it.

  “See, Gary, I told you this man was special. When does he start with you, Mr. Lucy?”

  “How about tomorrow? Nothing like right away, huh, Gary?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You damn well better care,” Barbara Rosen said. “He’ll be there tomorrow, Mr. Lucy.”

  “Fine.” The tutor stood up and Barbara Rosen started to follow. “That’s all right, Barbara. Gary will see me to the door.” Gary looked up with surprise. He turned toward his mother, but she said nothing. Mr. Lucy went to him, put his hand on his shoulder, and turned him to the door. They headed out. “You’ll bring your textbooks and your assignments.”

  “Yeah, if I show.”

  “Oh, you’ll show,” the tutor said. He turned Gary into him more and Gary was unable to look away. “It’ll be good for both of us, right?”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.” He reached for the door and opened it. Then he turned back. “Oh, and Gary…”

  “Yeah?”

  “When you come to my house tomorrow…”

  “So?”

  “Make sure you don’t have any joints beforehand, huh.” He slapped him gently on the cheek and left. Gary looked back quickly to see if his mother had overheard the last comment. She hadn’t; he could tell.

  “Quite an interesting man, isn’t he?”

  “He’s all right. Probably a waste of money, though.”

  “You leave that up to me, Gary Rosen. You just make sure you listen to him and give him a chance. Understand?”

  “Sure, Ma, I’ll do everything he says,” Gary replied and quickly returned to his room. He had left the half-smoked joint on the outside sill of his bedroom window, and he hoped that the wind hadn’t blown it away.

  Ellen Lorner was frustrated. For three days now, she had kept an eye out to see who would come out of the Taylor house. The house was lit up every night, but she saw no one at the windows. Either the house was now inhabited by ghosts or the inhabitants left very early in the morning.

  “You don’t watch the house all day long, Ellen,” Barton told her. “Do you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “So? You just haven’t caught sight of him yet.”

  “Him? What do you mean, him? You know something, don’t you, Bart?”

  Barton Lorner smiled gleefully. He snapped the Centerville Watchman before him and pretended to be involved in the local news. Ellen couldn’t see the twinkle in his eyes, but she knew how much he enjoyed teasing her. She thought it was juvenile of him. It didn’t fit the kind of a man he was and the kind of a man he looked like. Actually, Barton had aged too quickly. At forty-four, the soft, balding, pudgy man looked like a man in his early sixties, and she was quite conscious of the contrast they presented when they were out together.

  “Barton!”

  He lowered the paper and smiled. Barton had been an insurance agent for most of his life. He and Ellen had been high school sweethearts. They had been married for twenty years now. They were a childless couple whose lives were wrapped around each other. From time to time they toyed with the idea of adopting a child, but had never gone further than talking about it.

  The truth was they had both grown afraid of having children. It seemed to them that not a day passed without one of their friends complaining about their own kids. So many couples they knew, couples who had pre-teens and teenage children, were overwhelmed by the problems. Barton often made home visits, and when he returned, one of his favorite refrains was, “With a kid like that, this guy’s going to need all the life insurance we can get him.”

  “I’m really surprised at you, Ellen,” he said with an expression of mock-seriousness.

  “Why?”

  “Letting me find out something new on this block before you or Toby Feldman found out.” He laughed.

  “Come on, Bart.”

  “I don’t know that much because Ruth Krepsky didn’t know that much.”

  “Oh, I should have thought about her. She never sells or rents a property without learning the prospective client’s entire genealogy.”

  “Ordinarily, yes. But she didn’t learn that much about this guy and it’s killing her.”

  “Who is he?” Ellen’s eyes widened. She leaned forward. This was better than she expected—a mystery.

  “His name is Adam Lucy and he’s a tutor. He tutors high school students in practically any subject. That, my dear, is about all she knew.”

  “How mysterious. Maybe he’s a fugitive of some kind.”

  “Why? Maybe he’s only someone who enjoys his privacy.”

  “So he’s a bachelor?” Barton nodded. “How old?”

  “She’s not sure. She thinks about thirty-five.”

  “Oh.” Ellen brought her hand to her cheek and sat back. She had just finished reading a novel about a bachelor who moved into a suburban development and had romantic affairs with two different married women, causing a break-up of each of their marriages. In the end one of the husbands killed him, but both women came to the funeral.

  “So,” Barton said, snapping his paper up again, “it looks like you and your spies have your work cut out for you.” He chuckled behind the newspaper.

  The next day Ellen was more determined than ever to catch sight of the man. She did see the Rosen boy go into the house late in the afternoon. After he left the Taylor house, she went outside and raked some leaves. She put on one of Barton’s old thick pullover sweaters and a pair of designer jeans. At forty-two she still had a nice figure. Always conscious of exercise, she had recently purchased the Jane Fonda Workout video tape. Long ago she had Barton fix up their back room so she could use it as a gym.

  She was about to give up again when the tutor appeared. She tried not to stare. He was as tall and as dark as an Arab prince. Her fantasies went wild. When he paused in front of her, her heart began to beat madly.

  Later, when Barton came home, he found her daydreaming in the living room.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Wrong?”

  “Well, I see you haven’t started on supper and you look kind of dazed.”

  “Oh. Oh! What time is it?”

  “A little after six. I got tied up with Sam Cohen. You know how those insurance directors can get. I think we must have gone over thirty files. So, what’s up?”

  “I just lost track of time,” she said. He looked at her blankly and she felt guilty. “I met him,” she said finally.

  “Him? Oh. You mean the tutor. So
? Come on, let’s hear it. How old is he? Where was he born? Why isn’t he married or was he? What’s he usually eat for breakfast?”

  “Oh Bart.”

  “So, what did you learn?”

  “Not that much. I mean, he talked, but he didn’t say that much about himself.”

  “You must be slipping, Ellen. Well, he must’ve said something. You must have some impressions.”

  “I asked him why he took the Taylor house. He said he thought it was a beautiful house. The way he described it, I began to wonder myself.”

  “I told you it was a well-built house. At least we know the guy recognizes quality. What else?”

  “Well…he was different. It’s hard to explain. I’m sure he’s very intelligent. He speaks with a clear, resonant voice, and he asks a lot of questions.”

  “He asks a lot of questions? Isn’t that something of a reversal here?”

  “He acts as though he has money. He looks like someone who has money.”

  “A guy who tutors for a living?”

  “I know. That’s why I say he seems different.”

  “Very disappointing, Ellen. Very disappointing. Do you think the guy might have some interest in getting insurance?”

  “How would I know that, Bart?” she said, and then she smiled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I think if you went over there to sell him some insurance, he’d end up selling you something.”

  “Is that so? I’m still the leader in my sector, for your information.” She stood there smiling at him, but he felt as though she wasn’t really seeing him. “Well, now that we’ve met the mysterious stranger, maybe we can think of ways to solve the mystery of supper.”

  “Huh? Oh.” She went into the kitchen. He shook his head.

  He found her very quiet at supper and very moody afterward, so he decided to catch up on some bookwork in the den. He heard her go up to the bedroom early.

  But she didn’t go directly to bed. She changed into her nightgown and sat by the vanity table brushing her hair mechanically over her light brown strands as she remembered a time when her hair was longer, brighter. She regretted the appearance of some tiny wrinkles by her eyes, and she mourned the way her chin drooped as it joined with her neck.