Teacher's Pet

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Then do it,” he said. The finality of the command couldn’t be any clearer. Johnny stiffened, sorry he had even suggested the possibility of retreat.

  “We will,” he said. “For all of us.”

  “Good,” Mr. Lucy said.

  There was nothing else to say. He hung up and looked at himself in the mirror. For a few moments, the image that was reflected back looked like a total stranger. It was difficult to remember the way he had appeared to himself before he had met and worked with Mr. Lucy. His posture was straighter, his shoulders were broader, and his face was filled with intelligence and confidence. His gaze was intent and determined. His former mousey and withdrawn appearance was hard to recall. He had been ashamed of any picture of himself that exhibited the inferiority he had once felt, so he had removed any he found in his room or anywhere else in the house.

  His belief that the old Johnny Masterson had been a nonentity was reinforced by the fact that no one mentioned the absence of these pictures. His mother didn’t notice they were gone from the mantel above the fireplace and from the top of the dresser in her bedroom. His father didn’t even remark about the pictures missing from his office.

  It was impossible to properly thank Mr. Lucy for all he had done for him as well as for the others. In effect, he had made him into an individual, into a person. The least they could do was protect him against lesser, jealous types who were out to destroy the good.

  No, there was no hesitation, no doubt about what they had to do and what they would do. The others would be just as strong about it. He was confident of that. They were too tightly glued together now.

  He heard his mother call him down to supper, so he went into the bathroom and washed his hands and face. He brushed his hair and neatly straightened out his clothing. Then he went down to join his family.

  “How’s it going?” his father asked him as soon as he entered the dining room.

  “Great, Dad. I got a ninety-five on my history unit exam.”

  “Fantastic,” his mother said. His father slapped his hands together.

  “This family’s on a roll,” he said, and then went on to describe a business deal that was proving more successful than he had ever hoped. Johnny listened with great attentiveness and intensity, a technique that Mr. Lucy had taught him. His father appreciated it. He laughed and tapped him playfully on the shoulder. “Don’t anybody make any plans for this Saturday night,” he said. “I feel like celebrating. We’ll all go out to dinner. OK?”

  “Yeah,” Johnny said enthusiastically and looked at his mother and his sister. “I feel like celebrating, too!”

  His emphatic agreement made his parents laugh, but his sister smirked. Her braces glittered in the bright light of the chandelier above the dinner table.

  “What do you have to celebrate?” she asked. “Anybody can get good marks.” His parents both sat smiling, waiting for his reply.

  “I feel like I’ve been born again,” he said.

  For a moment no one spoke. His parents and his sister stared at him as though he was a complete stranger who had just appeared at their dinner table. Then his father nodded slowly, thoughtfully.

  “Maybe you don’t need to got to that tutor for help anymore, Johnny. Huh?”

  Johnny’s face actually whitened.

  “Oh no, Dad. I’ve got to go to Mr. Lucy. It’s important. He’s keeping me on the right track; he’s…”

  “I don’t know. Somebody told me today that their kid’s stopped seein’ him. I can’t remember…oh yeah, I think it was Gerson Keppler.”

  “Yeah, and Sheldon flunked the math test this week,” Johnny said. “He’s in my class.”

  “That so?”

  “Oh leave it be for a while longer,” Johnny’s mother said. “It’s not all that expensive.”

  “Hmm. All right, a little while longer can’t hurt,” Thomas Masterson said. Johnny relaxed.

  It’s even reached into my own house, he thought. Slattery’s dirty work…it’s even come in here.

  Neither his parents nor his sister saw how small and how intent his eyes became. The topic of the conversation changed and no one noticed how viciously he cut into the steak on his plate.

  Ellen Lorner stood on the sidewalk outside of Dr. Bloom’s office and stared blankly at the traffic that rushed by with indifference. The medical offices faced a major roadway that permitted maximum automobile speed, and although the professional building could be clearly seen from the highway, few, if any drivers, looked her way. They all seemed mesmerized by motion and transformed into mannequins; they had become a part of the cars they were driving.

  She felt invisible anyway. Numbed by the news Dr. Bloom had delivered with uncharacteristic surprise and excitement, she felt as though she, too, had been transformed by events, Her essence, the solid part of her, had drained away, and she was left standing in a shell. Her voice echoed within, screaming, crying, demanding answers.

  But right now there were no answers. When she got into her car and looked at herself in the vanity mirror on the sun visor, she saw that she was still pale from the shock. Her skin looked transparent. The little blue veins in her temples were emphatically visible. Her eyes looked like tiny glass windows. She could see through them and witness the turmoil within.

  Faces floated against one another, sometimes merging into new faces. There was Adam smiling, Barton laughing, Barton angry, and all of her friends, big-eyed, shocked, becoming one astounded visage. She saw herself, dwindling, falling back through time until she was an infant.

  The infant, she thought and sat back to catch her breath. Other patients were walking toward the professional building. Some would know her. She had to get a hold on herself; she had to be strong. She put on her seat belt quickly and started the engine. But she didn’t drive away.

  She should have made the choice then and there. It would have been easier if it had been done quickly, impulsively. That way she could forget it all quickly and pretend that it didn’t really happen. Now the days of decision would take a toll. Another question was could she keep it from Barton? Should she keep it from him?

  Dr. Bloom didn’t give her any help with this. After he told her she was pregnant, he waited for her reaction. It took her a few moments to say, “Maybe I’m too old for this.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “That’s something you’ll have to decide.”

  “And Bart, too. We’ve grown kind of set in our ways.”

  “Understandable. You have options. Don’t feel you have to make the decision right now.”

  “He’s going to be surprised.”

  “Yes, I imagine he will be.”

  “I mean…”

  “You and he will have to discuss it. I understand.”

  “There’s nothing else wrong with me?”

  “Well,” he smiled for the first time during the conversation, “I don’t exactly characterize pregnancy as something wrong.”

  “No, I mean…”

  “You’re perfectly healthy, vigorously healthy. You’ve been taking good care of yourself, Ellen. There’s no physiological reason for you not to have the baby.”

  “Oh.” She had hoped there would be; she had hoped for that out.

  “You should see the physical condition of some of the pregnant women I’ve had as patients.”

  She just looked at him. She wanted to go into it further; she wanted some kind of guarantee that this child could be Bart’s, that since it obviously hadn’t been she who was incapable of conceiving all these years, it was he and things could have changed with him. Should she go into it? she wondered. Or would that open everything up and expose her extramarital activity?

  “I might not discuss this with Bart,” she said, and looked up at the doctor immediately to see his reaction. He was as inscrutable as ever.

  “That’s between you two. I don’t get into that. In the meanwhile, I’m going to give you a prescription for more substantial vitamins than those you can get over the counter.”

&nbs
p; She stuffed it deep into her pocketbook, but there was no way to bury reality. As she drove away and played the scene in her mind, she tried to imagine Bart’s reactions. Perhaps he would be happy. After all these years, it had finally happened. Maybe it did happen. Maybe it wasn’t Adam Lucy’s child. If she destroyed it now, she could be destroying their own.

  It had to be their child. The memory of her intimate relations with Adam had become even more and more ethereal. It was almost completely relegated to the status of a dream. It didn’t actually happen, and if it did, his participation was so indifferent, it couldn’t have resulted in her pregnancy. Those nightmarish fantasies she had had about Adam being some alien creature impregnating her with another of his kind now seemed ridiculous. This wasn’t a movie; this was real life.

  She was comfortable with this, so comfortable that it cheered her. She could go home and she could pull it off. She could describe it all to Barton and be excited and animated and make him excited. It would change their lives, of course, but the changes could be good ones. These changes could make their marriage stronger and help her to forget the handsome but eerie tutor who had moved into the house beside theirs.

  I’m pregnant, she thought; I’m going to be a mother, she concluded, and suddenly all the joys and dreams of motherhood that she had imagined came rushing back to her. She was buoyed by it all, and the longer she thought about it, the angrier she got at herself for even considering an abortion.

  She drove directly home and pulled into the driveway of her house, but before she got out of the car, she caught sight of Adam Lucy in her rearview mirror. He was standing on the sidewalk as though he were waiting for her. He was dressed in an open collar shirt, pants and a tweed jacket. For a moment she was unable to move. She wanted to remain in the car until he walked away, but he didn’t leave. She got out.

  “How are you?” he asked. She wanted to hate him, to despise his very voice, but she couldn’t do it.

  “I’m all right.”

  “You look good; you look like you’re flourishing.”

  “I’m all right,” she repeated.

  “You understand why I turned your husband down, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  The longer she looked at him, the more she felt something very different about him. It was as though he had turned off all his sexual attractiveness; he wasn’t enticing; he didn’t tempt her with his eyes. He was almost asexual, more like an elderly man. It was eerie. His looks now frightened her, and she didn’t bathe in the warmth of the conversation and suggestiveness. If anything, she felt the need to get away from him.

  “You’re sure you’re OK?”

  “Yes,” she repeated. The way he looked at her now, she felt certain that he knew she was pregnant, but she fought back that idea. She was terrified of the possibility. “I’ve got to go,” she said. She started for the house.

  “Take care of yourself,” he said.

  She didn’t turn back, and she didn’t breathe again until she was in her house and the door was closed behind her. She looked at herself in the hall mirror. She was pale enough to go into a faint. She made up her mind. After lunch she would go down to the drugstore and fill the vitamin prescription.

  “It isn’t his child,” she told her image in the mirror. “It can’t be his child. I won’t let it be his child. It’s our child.”

  Then, as if to be sure she was right, she went to the front window in the living room and peered out between the curtains. He was gone, but the strange look in his eyes lingered like a nightmare.

  “It’s our child,” she repeated and then rushed away from the window as if fleeing from any other possibility.

  14

  The cold weather that had begun a few nights ago lingered. Johnny pulled the zipper all the way up on his leather jacket. He was surprised at just how cold it was. He wasn’t two blocks away from his house before his earlobes tingled. Now he was sorry he hadn’t worn a hat, but concern about the weather was the least thing on his mind when he left.

  He knew it was just his imagination, but he thought the colder air made the darkness deeper. Because of what was in his heart and because of what they were all setting out to do, he avoided the reach of streetlights and threaded his way in and out of the darker shadows. It was as if he believed that the moment he stepped into a lit area, he would set off all sorts of alarms.

  When cars passed him on the streets, he turned away to make it harder for the drivers to identify him. He realized he probably appeared suspicious, but he couldn’t help it. He had told his parents he was going to Sandy’s house to study. Gary and Sheila would use the same story. Sandy’s father and stepmother had gone to the city to see a show and wouldn’t be home until late. No one could challenge the alibi.

  As he approached familiar places in the village, places in which he had spent a good part of his youth, places for play and imagination, such as the old railroad station and the elementary school playground, he experienced some reluctance and uncertainty. Sitting around and planning things out with Mr. Lucy and the others was a great deal like some of the imaginary games and role-playing he had done at these locations. He could feel himself moving out of the world of make-believe and into the world of reality.

  The outside lights on the elementary school draped the yard in a dreamlike setting. When he looked up at the sliding pond and the jungle gym, he could almost see a younger, innocent version of himself calling to him, urging him to turn back. He stopped to stare at the illusion and then he shook his head.

  Even when I was younger, I was always alone, he thought. There was a distance between me and the people around me; there was a distance between me and my own family. There still is. But ever since I met Mr. Lucy, things have changed. I’m not going to turn back; I’m not ever going to turn back.

  He shut his eyes and opened them and when he did so, the fantasy ended; the younger version of himself was gone, swallowed by the darkness that walled the school building and the playground. The elementary school recreational equipment looked small and insignificant again. He rushed onward, even more determined than before.

  He met Gary and Sheila at the corner of Flag and Chestnut Streets. Gary’s father’s lumber yard was halfway down Chestnut before Chestnut crossed Maple Avenue. Like Johnny, they remained in the shadows, hovered against the Union National Bank building. Gary had his hands in his overcoat pockets. It was really only a raincoat and not warm enough for such a frigid night. Sheila had her winter coat on, the soft wool parker’s hood up. She was faceless until Johnny crossed the street and stepped onto the sidewalk.

  “Got the key?” Johnny asked immediately.

  “No problem.” Gary pulled his right hand out of the coat pocket and held up the key. Then he nodded emphatically in Sheila’s direction. Johnny looked at her for a moment.

  “So we’re all set then,” he said. “Everything all right with you, Sheila?”

  “What if he figures out that Sandy’s bringing him into a trap?”

  “Then he won’t come.”

  “Maybe he’ll bring one of his friends with him.”

  “Then Sandy won’t come. She’s got it all arranged. She would have called us if anything changed or something went wrong.”

  “Something could go wrong afterward.”

  “Only if we let it,” Johnny said. “And we won’t because we won’t let Mr. Lucy down and we won’t let ourselves down. Right?” he asked her after a moment’s pause.

  “I hope so.”

  “I know so. Come on. We’ve got to get set up.”

  He and Gary started down Chestnut. Sheila hesitated against the building for a few moments and then hurried to catch up to them.

  “My father’s playing cards tonight and my mother’s wrapped up in her television programs,” Gary said.

  “My mother wanted to drive me over to Sandy’s,” Sheila said, “but I talked her out of it.”

  “How did you do that?” Johnny asked.

  “I told her I co
uld burn off more calories by walking in the cold weather.”

  “Good thinking. You wouldn’t have thought like that six months ago,” he said. “And who do you have to thank for it?”

  “Mr. Lucy,” she replied as though it were part of a catechism.

  When they reached the lumber yard, Gary opened the gate with his key.

  “One key fits all the important locks,” Gary explained. “That’s my father’s ingenious idea.”

  “It’s a good idea,” Johnny admitted.

  They left the gate slightly ajar as planned and went through the yard to the outer office door. Gary opened the door and flipped on the lights.

  “What if someone sees the lights on and calls your home?” Sheila asked quickly. She spoke with a new enthusiasm, as though the realization would definitely put an obstacle in their way.

  “My father comes down here often at night. He’s practically married to this place. I told you…tonight’s perfect because he’s at his card game, and nothing interferes with his card game.”

  He left the office door unlocked and they moved through the outer lobby where various tools and accessories were on display. Gary opened his father’s office and flipped on the lights in there as well. There was another doorway that faced the interior of the yard.

  “My father keeps that door open all the time, even during the colder months,” he explained. “He likes to sit behind his desk there and yell orders like the captain of a ship.”

  “Why doesn’t he just get a public address system?” Johnny asked.

  “He doesn’t trust them. The men could claim they don’t hear him.”

  Gary went to the other door and opened it so they could go out through it and around to the front of the office when the time came. Then he went back out to the lobby. Sheila stood by the outside doorway as though she were anticipating an escape. Johnny checked his watch with the desk clock.

  “About fifteen minutes,” he said.

  Gary reentered and handed him a hammer. When he offered one to Sheila, she just stared at it as though she couldn’t move a limb. Gary poked her with it.