Teacher's Pet

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Then we got to talking about other things besides the science work. Clothes, music, that sort of thing.”

  “Uh huh.” The buzzer on the intercom went off and he hit the button angrily. “No calls, Mrs. Feldman. No calls. Go on.”

  “He said he wanted to show me his apartment. We went into his bedroom and…” Gary looked down. “He started to talk about how good-looking he thought I was. He said he liked my build. He squeezed my arm and then he told me not to be afraid and how important it was for us to get along.”

  “My God,” Bill Carman said. He couldn’t help it.

  “Do I have to describe the rest?”

  “No, no, that’s all right, son. This is very serious,” he said, searching for the right words.

  “The reason I came to you today, Mr. Carman,” Gary said quickly, “is because the same thing is going to happen to a friend of mine.”

  “The same thing?”

  “Yes, sir. Tonight.”

  “Who?”

  “Johnny Masterson. Mr. Zola has invited him to his apartment at seven-thirty. You know where he lives, don’t you? The Garden Lane Apartments, number four.”

  “Yes, yes. Tonight, you say?”

  “That’s right.”

  “All right, Gary,” Bill Carman said after a moment. “I appreciate your coming forward. I know what courage it must take, but you have to realize that all I can consider having right now is an accusation and a most serious one at that. A man’s career and reputation is at stake.”

  “I know. I didn’t want to come, but, Johnny…”

  “Yes, I can understand. All right, listen,” Carman said. “Don’t say anything else to anyone just yet. There might be a way to handle this so that there is a minimum of publicity, do you understand?”

  “I think so.”

  “Go back to your last class.”

  “All right.” He stood up. Mr. Lucy said the exit was important. It’s a very dramatic moment. “Thanks,” Gary said and looked down. He opened the door slowly and walked out.

  Bill Carman didn’t move for a long moment. He couldn’t help but see his entire career going down the drain. These kinds of things were happening everywhere, that was true, but this was a small school system and although they had their share of drug incidents and vandalism, sexual abuse was just too urban, too sensational to be tolerated. They’d have to have a scapegoat.

  He knew what the superintendent would do. He had done it before. He would claim the building has to be run by the building head. Carman could recite the words from memory: “He’s the person in direct command. He should know the nitty-gritty. My job is too big for me to be dealing with the day-to-day running of the school. That’s why I have a principal, whom I thought could handle the job.”

  He would handle the job, he thought. He’d have to handle it. At this moment he hated Stephen Zola and thought only about how he could crush him. There was only one way to do it and to do it surgically clean so that there would be a minimum of damage to the school and to himself. He would have to confront the man out of the building in the most dramatic place and situation possible, so there would be no chance for a teacher-union defense. He would go to his apartment tonight just after Johnny Masterson arrived there and maybe, with luck, he would at least catch him offering the boy an alcoholic beverage.

  After that, it would be easy. He could force Zola to resign and by promising to keep the reason quiet, he could help both of them; he could help the school. After a short time, he could reveal the truth to the right people and do it in such a way that he would appear to have been the most efficient and professional person involved. What could the superintendent say then, except job well done. And the board members would be impressed and the parents would be appreciative.

  Yes, he thought, there was a way yet to rescue this situation and gain from it personally. He felt more optimistic about it.

  The buzzer ending the school day jolted him out of his deep thoughts, but he was ready to do what had to be done.

  That evening was cooler than usual. Winter was making its impending arrival known. The wind, coming from the northwest, stripped the trees of their gold, brown, and red leaves in single gusts. As Johnny walked toward Stephen Zola’s apartment complex, the road before him became animated. All sorts of refuse escaped from loosely covered garbage cans. Old newspapers danced over the sidewalks and empty soda and beer cans rattled along the gutters as they were carried aimlessly along. The swaying branches made the trees look like a chorus of hypnotized creatures trapped in the rhythm of eerie, unheard music.

  Johnny walked alone, accompanied only by his shadow elongated within the pool of yellowish street light. It gave him the impression he was bigger, taller, stronger than he was before he had started on this journey. Although the streets were quiet and deserted, he did not feel isolated. Ever since they had all discussed the plan at Mr. Lucy’s house, he had felt the tutor’s presence with him, even when he moved through the crowded school day.

  Now that feeling was so strong, he had to stop from time to time to look behind him or into the shadows to see if Mr. Lucy was there. Once, he thought he heard something and called to the darkness, but there was no reply.

  Mr. Lucy doesn’t think it’s necessary to hold your hand, he told himself; he has faith in you. He believed this, but he still felt as though he were being accompanied. When cars went by and their headlights washed away the darkness, he looked about for evidence of another. There was never anyone.

  As soon as the apartment complex came into view, he began to feel a little afraid. What if he were the one to fail after Gary had done so well? Thinking about how disappointed in him Mr. Lucy would be helped him to screw up his courage. He would do this so well that Mr. Lucy would be prouder than ever of him. After all, they were really doing this for Mr. Lucy. He was the one under attack. It was their need and their desire to be loyal to him that motivated the whole thing. He would not fail.

  He turned into the main entranceway determinedly when he saw what he knew to be Mr. Carman’s car parked across the street. He didn’t see Mr. Carman in it, but he didn’t want to stare at it. He couldn’t let Mr. Carman know that he knew he was there. Everything had to appear spontaneous.

  He checked his watch, saw that it was a little after seven-thirty, and pushed the buzzer for apartment four. Mr. Zola opened the door expectantly. The young science teacher wore a velvet smoking jacket, a pair of dungarees, and tennis sneakers.

  “Come in, Johnny,” he said. “I just finished my dinner dishes,” he said, smiling. “This is what a bachelor’s life is like.” He backed up and Johnny entered the small, but comfortable one-bedroom apartment. It consisted of a modern kitchen, small dining room, a living room, and a bedroom. There was only one bathroom. The living room had a patio door that opened to a small veranda.

  Johnny had known the apartment would be neat and clean. Mr. Zola struck him as the meticulous type. He thought it didn’t look as much like a bachelor’s apartment as it looked like what he expected a spinster’s to be. A quick perusal of all the visible rooms showed him that nothing was out of place. Even the magazines were placed neatly in a magazine rack beside the couch.

  “Nice place.”

  “It’s comfortable, but overpriced, believe me. Living on a teacher’s salary without any tax deductions to speak of is not an easy achievement.”

  Johnny smiled and nodded. Now that he was here facing the man on a one-to-one basis with the formalities of the classroom and the school not present, he felt some reluctance. Maybe Mr. Zola wasn’t as bad as they thought he was. In order to harden himself against the man and strengthen his mission, Johnny had to recall some of the sarcastic comments Mr. Zola had made about Mr. Lucy.

  “Got cold tonight, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, come on in. This is the living room, as you can see. You want some coffee? It’s still hot.”

  “Coffee? Yeah,” he said, thinking how that would look. “Thanks.”


  “No problem. Go on, make yourself comfortable. I’ll just be a minute.”

  Johnny moved into the living room and unzipped his jacket and took it off quickly. He threw it over the couch and sat down to wait. Mr. Zola came in with the coffee on a small, plastic tray. He set it down on the small round table and then sat in the square, cushioned chair across from Johnny.

  “There’s milk and sugar there,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  Mr. Zola waited for Johnny to mix his coffee and take the first sip before leaning forward to speak.

  “So, you came here to talk about your tutor.”

  “Yes.” Johnny put the cup down slowly. “He’s helping everyone, but he’s also hurting everyone.”

  “Exactly what do you mean?”

  “He’s making everyone think our school is crap,” Johnny said. Mr. Zola nodded sympathetically. “He says terrible things about all the teachers, not just you.”

  “I see. I thought so. What are some of the things he’s been saying?”

  “Some of the kids, most of them, I mean, are really starting to believe it, too.”

  “I bet. What are these things?” Mr. Zola repeated.

  “He says we’re not being taught the right stuff, and the teachers don’t really care about the kids.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. But everybody’s parents think he’s great.”

  “I know,” Mr. Zola said, and smirked. “Look, would you be willing…”

  The sound of the door buzzer interrupted him. He looked confused for a moment. Johnny felt his heartbeat quicken.

  “I don’t know who that is,” Mr. Zola said. “I’m not expecting anyone. Let me just see,” he added when the buzzer was pushed again.

  “I’ll just go the bathroom,” Johnny said, standing.

  “Sure. It’s to the right of the bedroom.”

  Johnny didn’t go to the bathroom. He went to the bedroom, but Stephen Zola had gone to the door, his back to him.

  “Mr. Carman,” he heard Mr. Zola say with surprise. The principal entered quickly.

  “Where’s Johnny?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Johnny Masterson,” Bill Carman said, looking around quickly. “Where the hell is he?”

  “Johnny Masterson? Why, he’s…”

  Stephen Zola turned around to indicate the bathroom, but Johnny emerged from the bedroom. He had his pants and his underwear off. Zola’s eyes widened in disbelief. Bill Carman’s mouth dropped.

  “Oh,” Johnny said quickly and closed the door.

  “What the hell…” Stephen Zola began. He turned frantically to the principal. Bill Carman’s face was inflamed and swollen with anger.

  “Masterson!” he screamed. Johnny emerged again, buttoning his pants. “Come out here.”

  “Johnny,” Zola said, “what the hell are you doing?”

  “I didn’t know Mr. Carman was here,” Johnny said. “I didn’t hear the buzzer.”

  “What? Look, Mr. Carman…”

  “Get out of here, Masterson. Get out of here and wait in the front of this place. Move it, boy,” Bill Carman said. Johnny didn’t hesitate. He went back into the living room and got his jacket quickly.

  “Now wait a minute, Mr. Carman,” Zola began, “you don’t believe…”

  “Out!” he screamed and Johnny fled from the apartment. He waited outside as Mr. Carman had commanded. He had to move around to keep warm because Mr. Carman remained in there so long. The longer it went, the more nervous Johnny became. Maybe it didn’t go well. Maybe Mr. Carman believed Zola.

  “Get in my car. It’s across the street there,” Mr. Carman said as soon as he did emerge. Johnny moved obediently. The principal got in behind the steering wheel and started the vehicle. Johnny said nothing. They pulled away from the curb and the principal headed back toward the village. “Was this your first time over here, Johnny?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you know how serious a thing this is? What this could do to your family?”

  “Yes, sir. But you see…”

  “You don’t have to try to explain. I don’t need that. What I need for now is for you to be mature and intelligent about this.” He slowed the car down and looked over at Johnny. “Do you think you can do that?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Eventually, your parents are going to have to know about this, as will the parents of some other students…whoever else…anyway, there’s no reason why we have to make this a public thing right now. You made a mistake and thank God I found out about it all in time…in time for you, at least.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Mr. Zola won’t be back in school tomorrow or the next day or the next, do you understand?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “So you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “If you do just what I tell you, we might all get through this with a minimum of damage to your families and to the school, understand?”

  “Uh huh. Thanks, Mr. Carman,” Johnny added. The principal looked at him and nodded. That was just the reaction he had hoped for.

  “I’m going to let you out here, Johnny, and I want you to go right home, understand.”

  “Uh huh. I will.”

  “Tell nobody about this until I speak to you.”

  “OK.”

  “All right, Johnny.”

  When Mr. Carman stopped his vehicle, Johnny got out. He held the door open a moment and looked back.

  “Thank you, Mr. Carman,” he said.

  “It’s all right, Johnny. I’m just glad I was there in time for you.”

  Johnny nodded and closed the door. He stood there and watched the principal drive off. Then he walked nonchalantly down Main Street. He passed some of the sections of the village that he had come to detest. He was ashamed that a man like Mr. Lucy had to live in a community with such run-down buildings. Maybe one of these days, he thought, he’d set them on fire. Yeah, he thought, what this town needs is a good cleaning. Didn’t Mr. Lucy say that fire is a purifier?

  He stopped at the pay phone in front of Pauling’s Drug Store and made the call. Mr. Lucy answered after the first ring.

  “It went perfectly,” Johnny said. “Just as we planned.”

  “That’s good. Just go home now and let things take their course.”

  “We did the right thing.” He needed the reinforcement.

  “We certainly did, but we couldn’t have done it without you, Johnny. You’ve become a real leader,” Mr. Lucy said. And then he added the greatest words of all, the reward Johnny sought. “I couldn’t have done better at your age myself, Johnny. I’m proud of you, proud you’re one of my students.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Lucy.”

  “Have a good night, buddy,” Mr. Lucy concluded.

  For a few moments after Johnny Masterson hung up the receiver, he stood by the pay phone replaying the telephone conversation in his mind, the way someone would replay a video tape. Then he turned and started for home, moving in and out of the shadows as silently as the shadows themselves.

  By the time he got to his house, he felt exhausted, but it was a good exhaustion, one that came from high emotion and excitement. He turned from his front door and looked back at the night. The wind had calmed some, but the air wasn’t any warmer. He was just not as aware of the cold as he had been when he had first started out.

  Anyway, he felt invulnerable. Nothing could bother him; nothing could touch him or harm him as long as he was with Mr. Lucy. Never before in his life did he feel as safe and as secure as he did at this moment. In the morning he would move through this village knowing that no one could stand up against him and Mr. Lucy. The image of his great tutor loomed before him. It would be with him wherever he would go, and he was so grateful for it that he couldn’t stop the tears of happiness from coming.

  He rushed upstairs to his room so no one would see and know his great secret.

  10
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br />   Ellen Lorner couldn’t understand it. It seemed to her that ever since that morning when she had invited him over and they had made love, Adam Lucy was avoiding her. He appeared to have gone back to very early jogging and every time she did see him in the street, he waved and sped up. They had hardly exchanged a dozen words in a week, and all that week, she expected him to come ringing her doorbell.

  She didn’t want to go chasing after him, and yet she felt abused by what was increasingly appearing to be a one-time stand. She hadn’t thought he was that kind of person. Of course it occurred to her that he might not have enjoyed being with her, that he had left that morning feeling unsatisfied. But if that were the case, she would at least like to know it, she thought. It was the only decent thing for him to do. The way he was behaving now, it was almost as if it hadn’t happened.

  At times she had to question whether or not it did. She was unable to conjure up what she would consider satisfactory erotic remembrances. When she did think back to it, she could only recall her own reactions, her own feelings, and especially, her own sounds. It was almost as though she had made love to a phantom.

  The first time she broke down and went to his house to pursue him, she gave more credence to that belief. He didn’t come to the door, no matter how hard she knocked. There was no electric buzzer or bell on it. She waited and waited and then peered through the curtained window on her right.

  The house looked as deserted as it always had. There were no signs of any life within. He was using the same old furniture and some of the things were still covered. There were no lights on and the room looked dismal and gray. One of the things that struck her as strange was she could see nothing of him in the house, nothing new that he had added.

  She had to walk around the house and peek through the kitchen windows just to satisfy her curiosity. Once again, he wasn’t in sight and the room looked unused. There were no dishes out, no food products on display. Was he really living in there or did he just use it for his tutoring work?

  She tried calling him on the phone, but there was no answer. Did he know it was she calling or was he really not there? She went to sit by her front window, to wait for him to appear. The whole day passed without any sight of him. His students began to arrive in the late afternoon, so she knew he was in there, but how did he get back into his house without her seeing him? she wondered. She had left the window only for a few minutes here and there during the day. She concluded he must have been inside all the while, but he just didn’t come to answer the door when she knocked or answer the phone when she called.