Teacher's Pet

by Andrew Neiderman

  But his efforts were rewarded. His firm was said to be one of the most successful in the county. All Johnny knew about his father’s wealth was he had so much invested in so many things, it was nearly impossible to determine exactly how much he really had.

  “I’m driving you to school today,” he said when Johnny showed surprise he was still there.

  “Where’s Denise?” he asked. His sister was always ahead of him.

  “She’s not feeling well this morning,” his mother said. “She’s still in her room. I’ll call the guidance office and you’ll pick up her homework at the end of the day.”

  “What’s…”

  “Let me know when you’re ready to go,” his father said and went off to work and to wait.

  Johnny ate slowly, taking the opportunity to think and to anticipate. It was a technique Mr. Lucy taught him.

  “Youth is impulsive,” he said. “That’s why errors are made. Whenever you can, pull back for a few moments and consider before you take action.”

  Johnny wondered if his parents realized what he had done, how he had set up everything. On Saturday, Denise hadn’t been given much of a chance to explain, and she was too hysterical herself to make any sense anyway. Gary played his part well. The only excuse he offered Johnny’s parents was that Denise invited him over. He kept repeating it. “She invited me because you were going to your own party,” he added. They recalled seeing him sneaking around in front of the house, waiting for them to leave. So they believed him.

  Mary said little. She dressed quickly and left. Johnny’s mother threatened to call her mother and tell her all about it, but Johnny knew she wouldn’t. Phyllis Masterson would rather contain the embarrassment. Of course, both Gary and Mary were forbidden to return to the house, and Denise was told never to associate with either of them.

  Thomas Masterson could barely control himself. He threatened all kinds of legal action should Gary so much as set foot on their block. He said he would speak to Gary’s father privately. That, Johnny believed, but he knew Gary’s father and he knew the way father and son behaved toward each other. It would come to nothing. Gary wasn’t the least bit concerned or intimidated.

  Johnny knew his father had spoken to Denise yesterday and become even angrier and more frustrated because she continued to remain silent, almost in shock. Still, Johnny thought as he ate his breakfast, his father was a clever man; he might have figured it all out by now. That could be why he was waiting to drive him to school this morning. What else could it be? He never had done it before. If only he could get a chance to speak to Mr. Lucy before he got into that car with his father, Johnny thought. He considered calling him, but decided it was too risky. He would have to handle it himself.

  “I’m ready,” he said, standing in his father’s home office doorway.

  “Good,” his father said and closed a folder he was reading. He put it into his briefcase and they headed out of the house. Johnny said nothing. He thought it best not to ask questions, but to wait and to think. He was already devising a strategy when he closed the car door. His father started the engine and they pulled away.

  “All right,” his father said. “The reason I wanted to drive you to school this morning is I wanted to have this important conversation with you before the situation degenerates any further.”

  “Situation?”

  “I’m talking about your sister,” he snapped. He slowed down some when he turned to Johnny. “Now listen, son, it’s not my style to beat around the bush. You know that. It’s just part of who I am. I don’t like wasting time. Time is…”

  “Money. I know.”

  “Exactly. Especially in my business. And it should be the same for you. Waste is waste. Anyway, things haven’t been exactly hunky-dory between us, I know. I’ve never been a phony when it comes to my own kids. A lot of parents are blind to their own kids. I don’t believe in it. Up until now,” he continued, “you’ve been pretty much of a mess. You barely got by in school; you’ve been unenthusiastic about your own future; you’ve had no energy and no drive and you’ve been in trouble far too much. Sometimes, I thought you were a blob of protoplasm living in my house. Understand?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I came to the conclusion, perhaps unfairly, that you were hopeless. Frankly, I was thinking of suggesting you enlist in the armed services. I was hoping you might develop some self-discipline there and maybe become capable of holding down some responsibility. At least enough to get by and make a living. Now…”

  “Now?”

  “Now.” He smiled. “Now, I think I owe you an apology, son. I don’t know how this guy got to you or how he did it. I’m not sure what has exactly taken place inside you, but you’ve turned a corner. It’s not just your grades and the good things I’ve been hearing about you at school, but there’s a difference in your attitude at home as well. You’re developing self-respect. I see it and I’m happy about it.”

  “Thanks,” Johnny said, but he didn’t relax. He was too used to compliments before bombs. Teachers, especially, had that style. They would praise him, tell him how well he could be doing, how much ability he had, and then come down hard on him for his failures. Was his father using the same approach?

  “Now, we come to your sister. I’m afraid I’ve been a little blind there. I recognize that some of this, maybe all of it, is my fault—your past failure and her…whatever we want to call it. I suppose I could place a lot of the failure on my work. It consumes me. It’s a fault, I know, but it’s one of those good faults, if you can understand what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I think I do. Mr. Lucy explained it to me once.”

  “Mr. Lucy? Oh, the tutor. Good. Anyway, I want to be dead honest about this. I don’t foresee any dramatic changes in my style, and your mother…well, just between you and me, Johnny, your mother isn’t strong enough for some things.”

  “I realize that,” he said in a tone of voice that made it seem as if it had always been an obvious conclusion.

  “You do?” His father considered him. “Yes, I think you do. You’ve got a lot more perception than I was willing to give you credit for, Johnny. Anyway, what it boils down to is I’m going to ask you to take on some responsibility. What you did Saturday night was good. Although it was the right thing to do, I know it took guts because Gary Rosen and Mary Warren will probably tell all your friends about it and other kids will know you snitched. I realize what that can do to your relationship at school but…”

  “I don’t care about other kids,” he said quickly. “I don’t let other people tell me how to behave and what to think. I’m not susceptible to peer pressure the way most of my friends are,” he added, his eyes small and determined.

  Thomas Masterson was impressed. For a moment he thought he was riding with a complete stranger. “Susceptible?” Was this the same boy who would simply shrug and back down whenever he was confronted with any criticism?

  “That’s good, Johnny. That’s the way to be, if you can.”

  “I can. Mr. Lucy says that when we surrender our choice, we surrender our meaning.”

  “He’s quite a guy, this Mr. Lucy. I guess I’m going to have to meet him.”

  Johnny sensed something threatening in that. His father might not approve of some of Mr. Lucy’s ideas and some of the things they had done. He certainly wouldn’t understand their “insurance account” and he would never approve of what he had just done to his sister, even though, as Mr. Lucy had predicted, it was beginning to bring about something good.

  “He’s OK, a little nicer than some teachers, but it’s nothing to get all excited about.”

  “As long as he’s a positive influence, and from what I see and hear, he is. But getting back to what I was saying, Johnny. I’m going to ask you to take on more responsibility…responsibility for your sister and to some extent, even your mother. I don’t want you to be obvious about this,” he added quickly, “but I want you to keep a sharp eye on Denise. Obviously, she needs more supervision than I h
ad anticipated. Next thing I’ll find out is she’s playing around with drugs or something.”

  “I know what you mean,” Johnny said. He was surprised himself at how mature he sounded, and at how he felt on an equal footing with his father right now. Was this what Mr. Lucy meant when he said sometimes we go beyond ourselves? he wondered.

  Thomas Masterson was affected by his son’s tone of voice, too. He studied his face a moment.

  “She’s not into that already, is she, Johnny?”

  “Not that I know of, Dad,” he said, and before his father could relax he added, “but that’s something you can never be sure about.”

  “I know,” Thomas Masterson said sadly. “Look what happened to Mike Cutler’s son, and here’s Mike working in the public defender’s office. The ironies of life, the ironies of life.” He paused and then he laughed.

  “What is it?”

  “Funny thing, Johnny, but I used to expect that of you. Now here I am asking you to watch out for Denise.”

  “I know and I deserved it then, but you can trust me now, Dad. I know what has to be done and I won’t be obvious about it.” He said it with complete assurance. Thomas Masterson nodded.

  “I believe you, Johnny. I really do. Now, if you see anything that you think I should know, or you hear anything I should…”

  “I’ll tell you right away.”

  “Good, Johnny. I’m glad we’re having this conversation and I’m only sorry it took us so long to have it.”

  “Well, it’s not all your fault, Dad.”

  “That’s very understanding of you, son. It shows real maturity. I guess those old Masterson genes are fighting their way to the fore, eh?”

  “I think we’re all individuals, Dad. Genes are important, but the combinations make for new people, don’t you think?”

  Thomas Masterson looked over at his son again. He had never liked to admit that there was much of himself in the boy. What part of himself did he see in his son now? The self-confidence, sure, but there was a different cut to it. There was something else there. What was it?

  “I suppose you’re right, Johnny.”

  “Dad, there was something I was going to ask you. Maybe this is the right time.”

  “If it’s a favor, Johnny, it’s a good time. You’ve got your old man’s sense of drama at least.” He laughed, but Johnny didn’t crack a smile. Damn, this kid is serious, he thought. I never realized how serious a kid he was.

  “Mr. Lucy is going to run these classes in self-defense on Saturdays, starting next Saturday. I’d like to enroll in them.”

  “Self-defense? The tutor?”

  “Yeah. Karate, judo, stuff like that.”

  “No kidding. This guy’s kind of all around huh?”

  “He knows a little of everything, I suppose.”

  “Yeah.” Thomas Masterson thought for a moment. “Well, whatever it costs, as long as it’s within reason, it’s OK. It’s a good thing to learn and from what I’ve seen around here and what I know now, I can’t think of a better person to spend your time with.”

  “Me neither, Dad. Except you, of course.”

  Thomas Masterson smiled. His son was actually being diplomatic and actually did it well. The kid had potential. He was proud of him, so proud of him it almost compensated for the disappointment he had with his daughter.

  “I’ll see what I can do about spending more time with you, Johnny. That’s a promise.”

  “Fine. I’d like that,” Johnny said. He felt confident that this was something that wouldn’t happen.

  When they pulled up in front of the school, Johnny saw Sandy and Sheila standing by the doorway talking. They turned his way and he gave them a knowing nod. He was happy Gary wasn’t in sight. That friendship would have to be kept subtle for a while. He got out of the car and signaled to the girls to wait for him.

  “Oh, Johnny, don’t forget your sister’s homework.”

  “No problem,” he said. He held the door open a moment and then leaned in. “Have a good day, Dad,” he said.

  “Thanks, son,” Thomas Masterson said, and for a moment a frightening thought lingered: he was being manipulated by his teenage son. The kid seemed too clever, too good, too grown up. He was hitting all the right points.

  He watched him walk to the building and saw the way the two girls smiled when Johnny approached them. Well, he was a handsome boy, wasn’t he? New individual or no new individual, combination of genes or not, his son’s good looks were a direct result of his lineage, Thomas Masterson thought. There were remarkable resemblances, resemblances he had not cared to acknowledge before. But they had always been there and now there was no denying them.

  He didn’t want to deny them. This kid was going to be someone. He would accomplish things. Despite his son’s previous poor record of achievement, he had never gotten in with a bad crowd or become a drug user, as some of the children of many of his friends had. So Johnny was a late bloomer, so what? At least he was blooming, wasn’t he?

  Still, there was this nagging feeling in the back of his mind…that look in Johnny’s eyes when he said, “Have a good day, Dad.” It had been so unlike him to say something like that.

  That’s it, Thomas Masterson thought, I’m just not used to the changes in the kid. That’s all it is. I’ve got to get to know him. I’ve got to get to know my own son.

  He felt comfortable with that idea and he let it take charge. As soon as his office building came into sight, he began to review the day’s work. He put everything else out of his mind, making a vague mental note to think more about his son later.

  But he didn’t. Not until it was too late.

  7

  For Ellen, the front door of her house had become terrorizing because the mere opening of it seemed immoral. She was convinced that once she turned that handle, she’d go over the brink, throw all caution aside, and surrender to her sexual fantasies. And so, the debate within her began again. She realized that every action, no matter how small or insignificant it had seemed in the past, would now become earth-shaking.

  After she had let him in, would they go into the kitchen to drink the coffee or would she take him into the living room? Would she show him the house? Did that mean going upstairs with him, taking him into her bedroom? How long would he stay? Ten minutes? A half hour? Suppose one of her friends called while he was here. Would she detect his presence from the sound of her voice? In short, when she opened that door, would her whole life change?

  The sound of the door buzzer shattered her thoughts. She stood like one frozen to the floor, unable to move in any direction, her mind scrambling for sensibility. He was here; she had caused it to happen, but she didn’t have to panic like this. She could handle it.

  This was silly, she thought, and the reason why she was behaving so silly was because she had permitted herself to become so damn narrow-minded, limiting herself to a small circle of inane friends and burying herself in this mindless, dreary marriage. She had the potential to be sophisticated and intelligent, and if the others didn’t understand, well…that was because they were incapable of understanding something that deep.

  She threw back her head defiantly and moved forward. Later, she would swear to herself that the handle of that door felt hot. She turned it open and stepped back. He stood there, more handsome than ever, dressed in tennis sneakers, tight jeans, and that beautiful wool sweater she had so admired. His hair was soft and wavy and his face, red from the running and the shower, looked bright and vibrant.

  Once again he had the look of a celebrity, of someone managed and pampered for magazines and films, of someone always in the spotlight, standing out from the crowd, the object of attention, and magnetic almost in a royal sense, because to be near him and to touch him was important. She was sure that after an encounter with him, no matter how slight it seemed, you carried away something valuable. He bestowed his voice and his gazelike gifts. You were grateful for his attention.

  Instinctively, she knew it was wrong to fe
el and to think this way about a man, but she couldn’t help it. Although she was surprised at her own weakness, she didn’t try to overcome it. He laughed at her inability to speak.

  “I’m at the right place, aren’t I?”

  “Oh. Come in, come in. I was just surprised at how quickly you got yourself together. I barely had time to throw this on and my hair is still…”

  “Still natural and beautiful,” he said. He stepped closer and looked over her as though he were inhaling the scent of her. She brought her fingers to her throat and smiled. Was she really as beautiful as he seemed to think?

  “The coffee…”

  “Yes?”

  “Is in the kitchen,” she said and laughed. It was a nervous, little laugh that she cut short quickly and swallowed. He followed her down the corridor.

  It’s safer to remain in the kitchen, she thought. Kitchens are the least romantic of all the rooms in a house because they are filled with machines and the odors of foods and detergents. They are too bright and too shiny and clean, and the furniture in them is practical, consisting of metals and woods. There are rarely cushions in a kitchen and usually no place to recline. It doesn’t have the potential to be suggestive like a dining room with its chandeliers and candelabra and fine china. It’s not the room in which one loses her virginity or surrenders her morality. She thought all this as they walked to her kitchen. But she she recalled that scene in The Postman Always Rings Twice when Jack Nicholson made love to Jessica Lange on the kitchen table.

  “Very nice,” he said, looking around. “Airy, comfortable. How long have you been here?”