Pupil: Inspired By a True Story

by Zoey Long

  It can’t be dangerous to have this many pictures of her naked on my camera, can it? I’m not an idiot, of course I know this isn’t the smartest thing ever. My lens, and other things, just cannot resist her.

  I put my camera aside and she reaches for me, then I am on top of her again, getting lipstick all over my face as we kiss deeply. I kiss down her neck and her breasts, leaving a trail of red.

  “Hey, I just showered!” she squeals, shoving me away from her playfully. Seeing the red on her body like that gives me an idea.

  “Are you hungry? We should try out the restaurant that’s attached to the hotel, if you want.”

  Carrie looks outside. “It’s only dusk, Adam. I am a little hungry, but...”

  “Wait there. Clean the lipstick off, sorry about that. I saw something downstairs that I think you should have.”

  My sudden energy makes her stand wide-eyed and giggle.

  “You’re crazy.” She laughs. “Adam!” As I turn to run out the door to the gift shop, she shrieks. I whip around to face her. “You might want some clothes?”

  I look down at my bare torso and realize I’m not wearing anything. What an idiot. I put my pants on in a flash, button them up, and throw my shirt over my shoulders. She reaches for me and we’re in one last long lip lock before I head out the door, buttoning my shirt while walking.

  I’m losing my shit. Once I close the door to room 517 and it locks behind me, I realize my heart is beating fast in my chest and my mind is racing. I feel high even though I’m not on drugs. Like I’ve had seven cups of coffee. Euphoric. I press the down button on the elevator and my finger is shaking. All I can think about is that drop dead red satin dress I saw in the window of a boutique on the way in, and how amazing it would look on Carrie. Now that we’ve made love she’s even more of a muse, she’s all I can think about.

  I step onto the elevator faster than I should, almost ramming into an elderly couple holding hands and standing at the back of the elevator car. They look me up and down, offering suspicious half- smiles. I calm myself, press the button for the lobby, and hold my hands at my sides. I smile at them. They’re looking at me like they think I’m drunk or just NYC weird. It’s way better than that. It’s better than they could ever conceive of. I feel like I’m in on a giant secret. My mind keeps buzzing as they get off on the second floor, and once the doors close again I start laughing.

  Get it together, Adam. Come on. You’re a fucking cliche. You’re in a hotel with a student.

  Giddily I walk into the boutique and a saleswoman greets me immediately. She’s wearing ripped grey jeans and a t-shirt.

  “Welcome,” she says, with little enthusiasm, so little that she’s looking down at her short fingernails.

  “The red dress in the window,” I blurt out, almost too eagerly. “What size is it? Is it the only one you have?”

  “Oh, that? Yeah, we just got that in. It’s vintage. I don’t know the size.” She straightens up. A dude whom I can only assume is the manager stands at the cash register, eying her.

  With the word “vintage” this just got better. This dress may have in fact been worn by a 1940s pinup girl, a screen siren, a socialite, and now my darling muse.

  “I’ll take it,” I say.

  She looks at me, surprised. A big smile appears on her face. So she does emote. “Okay, I’ll have it taken down for you.”

  She’s intentionally not mentioning the price of the garment at this point, a fact I only worry about once I see her undressing the gold mannequin. She’s a skinny girl who can crouch easily in the shop window. I watch as she runs her hands to the bottom of the dress form, grabbing the satin material lightly and pulling it up and off the mannequin. She holds it draped over her arm like she’s transporting rare jewels, and makes her way back over to me. The material almost glitters under the boutique lights.

  Out of the corner of my eye I can see the small, white handwritten tag affixed to the underarm of the dress, but I can’t make out what it says.

  “Did you want to look at it up close?” she asks, holding her arm out. I can only make out the first digit of a three digit price, and I’m happy with that. Four digits would have popped my manic bubble.

  “No, that’s fine. Please just ring it up. I have a lady waiting for it.”

  She gives me a half smile. “That may be the most romantic thing I’ve heard all day,” she says. Her supervisor, the guy with the bowtie, shoots her an affirming nod. Please, I handed her that sale. She just got lucky.

  “Would you like this wrapped, sir?” The man with the bow tie asks me from behind the counter.

  “No, that’s not..” I stop myself. I’ve never actually done that before, had something gift wrapped and sent up to a hotel room. It’s either cheesy and reminds me of things like Pretty Woman, or worse, like Robert Redford in Indecent Proposal, but I decide I am neither and ask them to yes, please wrap up the dress.

  “Can you have it sent up to room 517?” I realize I still need to shower and get ready. “How long will that take?”

  “We can have it sent up whenever you’d like, sir. Any time tonight, or tomorrow. Whenever suits your needs.”

  I take my phone out of my pocket to check the time. “Can you have it sent up in forty-five minutes?”

  “No problem at all. Would you like to inscribe a card?” Bow tie has certainly done this before, but I think it’s been a slow day. Before I can blink an eye, the dress is in a large box and wrapped with gold paper. He hands me a card to inscribe, along with a fountain pen.

  For you, my muse, I start to write, quickly decide that’s terrible, scratch it out, and ask for a new card immediately.

  “No problem at all, Mr. Clark.” The salesgirl stifles a giggle but soon straightens up, handing me a blank card.

  For you. It’s vintage, one of a kind. Perhaps it has graced the shoulders of screen sirens, but they’re nothing compared to you. Love, A.

  That’s much better. They thank me profusely for my business and I take the back elevator upstairs to the fifth floor, alone this time. I hardly have the card in the slot before Carrie jumps on me in a white terrycloth robe that’s so big the collar almost swallows her head.

  “There you are!”

  Her hair isn’t wet anymore, it’s up off her shoulders. My hands find her waist and I slip them gently in the front of the robe. She’s still naked underneath. I roam my hands all over her, from her breasts to her waist and down to her ass. I guess it makes sense she’s still naked. I did tell her to wait here, after all.

  She pulls the collar of my shirt and then we’re kissing and nothing else in the world matters. I’m tracing her clavicle with my fingers and feel my body respond. She leans into me like a cello wanting to be played and I almost succumb to her before I remember my earlier plan.

  “No… that’s...” I smile, taking her hands.

  “What?” She’s all pouty lips and teeth again, and I want her even more than I did earlier today, if such a thing were possible.

  “Nothing, love. It’s just that I want us to go to dinner tonight.”

  She nods. “Now I’m hungry. What were you up to, anyway?” She reaches for her navy dress, the one from my apartment, unzips it and is about to throw it over her head.

  “No, I have something coming up for you to wear.”

  The words sound smarmy as they leave my lips, and she stops, dropping the simple navy dress on the bed.

  “You what? You’re kidding me. What are you talking about? What did you do? Is that what you went downstairs for? My God, Adam. Stop. This entire day you’ve been acting like you’re... ”

  “Head in the clouds crazy about you?” I hear myself say. That’s an insane thing to say to her. Why did I say that? It’s true, but it’s not a smart thing to say out loud, is it?

  She looks at me, then, her eyes wide and unguarded. Their green color is as hypnotizing as ever as she wets her lips, about to speak.

  “Yes,�
�� she says resolutely. “That’s exactly how you’ve been acting.”

  When neither of us talk and we just look into each other’s eyes, I’m not afraid or anxious. There, things make sense. I know exactly what’s going on and what we need to do. I know we’re more than just teacher and student, we’re two consenting people who care for each other and can’t stop touching. I walk over to her and hold both her hands. I should just put all my cards on the table.

  “I am. I’m crazy about you. There you have it.” Moments pass between us and she’s still holding my hands, that’s a good sign.

  “Me too,” she says finally. “I know you’re my teacher, but I… I’m crazy about you too.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “It is what it is, then. What are you gonna do? You should probably drop the course. Or, will that look suspicious?”

  “Be really damn careful, that’s what we’re gonna do.”

  I laugh for a moment and she leans in to kiss me. It’s a sweet kiss, gentle and familiar, but it still makes the top of my head tingle. Then there’s a quick, rough knock at the door. I drop her hands and look through the eye to see a man standing in suit pants and a white shirt, holding the golden wrapped box, just like in a movie.

  “That’s for you. I’m going to take a shower and then we can go down for dinner.”

  I give Carrie a quick kiss on the cheek. My heart leaps thinking about how surprised she’ll be to see the dress, but I want her to be alone when she opens it. I close the door behind me and disrobe, the water sprays on strongly, getting warm pretty quickly.

  I step in and think about how amazing she’s going to look in that dress. I’m about to lather up my hair when I hear her excited shriek, followed by footsteps.

  “Adam, that’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. I hope it fits me! Oh my God, what did you… Oh my God… it’s…satin? Or silk? This is gorgeous.”

  She patters away from the door and I can’t wipe this grin off my face. I can’t wait to take her out on the town.

  I am in no way prepared for the sight of her when I enter the room once more. Standing like a statuesque goddess of the silver screen with loose waves of red hair falling softly to her shoulders, the dress accentuates every delicious curve of her body, the grace of her long neck and décolletage.

  “You look like Gilda!” I blurt out. Her eyes light up immediately and her mouth opens in surprise. She looks like she might tear up.

  “I love Rita Hayworth. She’s a big inspiration of mine.”

  She flashes her megawatt smile and I want to grab my camera again. Jesus, if I am going to be with this girl I can’t be reaching for a camera every two seconds.

  “You look absolutely perfect. Let me get dressed and we’ll go, okay?”

  I walk over to her and kiss her freshly powdered cheek, and she smells like vanilla.

  “I can’t believe it fits. This material has hardly any give. You must have an eye for what will look good on me or something. You should dress me all the time.”

  “I’d be happy to,” I say, putting on cologne from my bag.

  “Mmm, I love that smell” she says suddenly. She walks over to me, as if drawn to me at once, and wraps her arms around me from behind. I’ve never had a woman this gorgeous in the same room with me, I think to myself. I’ve dated plenty, but I just can’t get over how stunning she is. In the most literal sense of the word. She stuns me.

  “It was your smell that really got me going, you know. When I first saw your picture in the course catalog, me and every other heterosexual girl on campus wanted to jump you. But that first class, I could smell your cologne, that cologne, in the room and it went straight to my… it turned me on.”

  The thought of a bunch of girls sitting around in a circle fawning over my faculty photo was flattering, but I was more interested in what had endeared Carrie to me in particular. I showed her the small bottle of cologne and she took note of it, turning it around in her hands before bringing it to her nose.

  “I think it smells better on your skin,” she whispers, inhaling my neck.

  As we step out of the hotel room to go downstairs, I am sure we are quite the pair. I wish I had a suit jacket, but my shirt and slacks will have to do. It’s fine for her to upstage me. Carrie presses the elevator button and another couple comes down the hall to wait with us. They both notice her immediately; how could you not? The reincarnation of Gilda, Jessica Rabbit in the flesh but not as exaggerated, simply the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen.

  The man in the couple holds the door for us and Carrie is allowed first into the car. The smell of her skin wafts toward my nostrils once the doors are closed. I’m standing close to her, so close I can see her bosom rise and fall with breath, the creases of her bold red bottom lip.

  “Have a good night,” the man in the elevator with us says to us both when the car lands on the ground floor, but it’s clear he’s directing the sentiment at Carrie because he holds the door open again and watches her exit, letting his gaze linger on her just a second more. She smiles and thanks him before stepping into the lobby.

  Carrie is loving every second of this. The floor-length gown moves like crushed currants as she walks, as if it were made of liquid. Every eye turns to look at her just once, some lingering for much longer than a moment. She takes my arm and I walk with her to the hotel restaurant, a cocktail bar and lounge that looks very important and very exclusive.

  A thin woman in all black with her brown hair tied back in a sleek ponytail greets us at the door.

  “Good evening!” she exclaims. “Table for two?”

  I nod, explain that we are guests of the hotel that night, and unfortunately don’t have a reservation. From the looks of the place there appears to be a wait.

  The hostess looks over her shoulder and then down at her book for a millisecond before smiling again, looking directly into our eyes.

  “No problem at all. Right this way, sir. Please.”

  I can’t help but think that it’s Carrie’s stunning looks that got us in the door as we whiz past the crowd at the front of the restaurant. Everyone we pass makes room for Carrie, as if she were already a movie star. She really does look like one.

  “Adam, do you see this?” she whispers, taking my hand. “There was a huge wait!”

  The tall brunette hostess leads us past the bar toward the back of the restaurant, to a very intimate table where we can sit next to each other.

  “Someone will be right with you,” she says, smiling. “Here is the wine list, and if you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  The hostess leans in close to us when she says this, letting her fingers linger on the menus for a moment before leaving, and smiling wide. She’s treating us like A-listers.

  Carrie snuggles in close next to me, and under the table I can allow my fingers to trace the smooth red satin of her thigh. She’s poised and refined from the waist up, allowing me to explore her from the waist down.

  She picks up a menu and peruses the dinner options, but I can tell she’s a bit unsure of what to order.

  “Do you want to just get a bottle of wine?” I ask her.

  “Sure, that sounds good.”

  She’s still smiling from ear to ear and taking in the room. If she looked close enough she’d see that she’s the star of it, and anyone who catches her glance lingers there, transfixed. She squeezes my hand.

  “Red or white?”

  She looks down at her dress with a smirk and I order a bottle of Garnacha with notes of ripe fruit and a smooth finish. Our waitress comes back to uncork the wine, then smells the cork and pours a taste of the wine into an oversized red wine glass with a flared bowl and thin, fine rim. Carrie takes the glass to her lips and the different shades of red bounce off of each other from the wine to her hair to her dress to her painted lips.

  “Mmm,” she says. “That’s great.”

  The waitress smiles proudly, pours us both a glass of Gar
nacha from the long sleek bottle, and says she’ll be right back to take our food order. I take a sip of wine and find that it’s fruity but bold, a very nice choice.

  “Do you think anyone has ever sent back a bottle once it’s been opened?” Carrie whispers, giggling. “I mean, I’d feel terrible doing that. If someone uncorks a bottle of wine I’d just ordered, I take a sip and don’t like it, what do you do? Have the balls to be like, ‘Uh, no… actually no.’?”

  “Are you saying you don’t like the wine?” I tease her.

  “But seriously, do people do that?”

  I’m reminded of my brother, the successful lawyer with the McMansion on the north shore of Long Island. He’d have absolutely no problem turning away a freshly uncorked bottle of wine at a restaurant if it didn’t please him. I’ve seen him do it. Last time I went out there, or rather, was dragged out there by the power of guilt, he did just that. I don’t care how much money he has, that just came across to me as gauche.

  “They do,” I nod, “but I never have. I think it’s rude.”

  “Absolutely,” she says, after taking another sip. “I guess if it were really awful…” She swallows the end of that sentence with another sip of wine, and I can see it’s starting to relax her.

  “What are we gonna do?” she blurts out, suddenly.

  I almost choke on my wine. “About what, us?”

  She snuggles into me and takes my hand, nodding. I kiss her cheek and we both sit up, facing each other and making eye contact.

  “This has been one hell of a weekend, Adam, but what about when I’m back on campus? I don’t want to get you in trouble. To be honest, I just thought we’d have a little fling and I could say I was with a teacher who is hot enough to be a model.” This makes me laugh, and I squeeze her hand. “But I think we both know it’s more than that now. I’m not going to say anything, I know you won’t. But what do you want out of this?”

  Her honesty is refreshing.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” I look deep into her eyes and trace the outline of her cheek with my fingers. “I want it all.”

  This makes her laugh so hard she starts to cough. After a sip of water she looks at me, her skin flushed.