Becoming His Muse, Part Two

by MARTIN, KC

  I slip on my boots and skitter like a fugitive back to my dorm room. I feel both terrified and emboldened by the night’s events. The fall air is crisp and though it’s very dark, my vision seems enhanced and I make out shapes and textures I never noticed before. Back in my room, the colors seem more vivid, the feel of my duvet softer, all my senses are heightened. Something is opening in me. Something I never knew was closed. When I was last in my room, earlier this same night, I had been determined to do the right thing, follow the rules, and say no to Logan O’Shane. But I’ve been on a journey and back again and everything in me screams yes, a vibrant, thrilling yet secret “Yes!”

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning, Sunday, I still feel that floaty feeling. I keep hitting snooze on my alarm until I remember why it was set in the first place. Ruby and I have plans. I quickly dress and then we leave campus and head to the nearby tennis club, where my father bought me a membership. I told him not to, that it was an unnecessary expense, but he insisted that I keep up with the practice since he’d spent all that money on lessons from ages 12 to 15. I could care less about tennis these days, but it’ll give me something to talk about during my weekly call home tonight. And Ruby likes going to the club thanks to the male eye candy.

  “At least, half these guys are gay,” I inform her as we slouch onto a bench.

  “But they can’t all be,” she whines.

  “No, but the other half are married.”

  She pouts. “You’re no fun.”

  We watch tanned limbs in tennis whites race across the courts while we wait for a court to open up.

  I can’t stop thinking about Logan and last night. If it hadn’t been Sunday, I probably would have found some excuse to drop by his office. I can’t believe I still don’t have his number; otherwise we might have at least had a few messages to exchange. I bite my nails and wonder what’s going to happen next with him.

  “You’re awfully quiet this morning,” says Ruby.

  I turn to look at her. She’s scrutinizing me. I stop biting my nails. “I didn’t sleep well last night. That fever came back.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Ronnie said he saw you last night, after I told him you were sick in bed.”

  “Oh. No, I just… I forgot something at the party and had to walk back and I ran into him leaving.”

  “You went back?”

  “Yeah. It was stupid. I should have just waited until next week. I think going out again brought the fever back.”

  “But you’re fine now?”

  I nod.

  “What did you forget?”

  I start biting my nails again. “Nothing important. Just something from…um… Professor Hare. She lent me this thing—” I was trying to come up with something she might have given me but Ruby interjects.

  “—Madeleine Hare? She left her husband you know. Apparently she came home one night and caught him in a ménage with two other men. Brutal. That’s why she moved into the faculty apartments this year.”

  “She’s there?”

  I wonder if it had been her crying last night? Then I panic. What if she spotted me walking back with Logan or going in to his apartment? I start biting my nails again, preoccupied with my own worries and barely registering Ruby’s bit of gossip.

  “That’s really awful,” I finally manage to say.

  Ruby is distracted by a loudly grunted serve.

  “Oooh. That guy’s hot.” She waves her hand like a fan. “Whew.”

  “I’ve been on the courts since I was twelve, Ruby. Believe me, half play for the other team. As Professor Hare recently found out.” Just then, one of the matches ends. Two guys, older than us, saunter off the court. They walk past us, holding our gazes and smiling.

  Ruby leans toward me. “They are definitely on our team.”

  I give her that. Those were flirty looks. “Let’s go talk to them,” she adds, but the court they just left is assigned to us. I drag her toward the net.

  “Come on. Grab your tennis balls.”

  She moans. “I had some other ones in mind.”

  We play a couple of matches. I win of course, though Ruby’s learned enough playing me to make me run like a demon across the court. I’m glowing pink and dewy with sweat by the time we finish up.

  On the way back from the club, we run into Derrick and Casey at the Steady Drip Coffee House. They look like stoned twins, like the male and female version of the same person. They both wear acid wash jeans, black leather jackets, chains and piercings. Their hair is the same color and close to the same shoulder length, but Derrick keeps his tied back at the nape of his neck. They dip cookies in their coffees, at the same time, without even watching each other. It’s like they’re mirrors.

  Derek has a small digital video camera in his palm and he’s filming Casey as she sips her coffee. She waggles her tongue at him and then pulls out her phone to film him doing the same thing. They are pretty weird.

  We get our drinks to go and while I’m waiting for my London Fog latte I hear Ruby talking to Casey. “Your place is around here, right?”

  “About two blocks that way.” She points down Thurlow Street away from campus.

  “Cool,” says Ruby. “I’d give just about anything to live off campus. You guys are so lucky.”

  As they look at each other and nod they seem to share a secret language.

  “Do you have easels set up there?” I ask, taking a sip of bergamot scented milk before I snap on the lid.

  “Everything. Easels, a sculpting tables, pottery wheel. You name it.”

  “No kiln though” says Derrick.

  “No kiln,” echoes Casey forlornly. They are an odd pair. But they have their own place… My mind starts buzzing.

  “Can I stop by sometime and check it out?” I say.

  They share another look. “Not, like, you know, out of the blue or anything. Call first.”

  “Yeah, of course,” I say. I’ve got their numbers from Dr. T’s class list. “See you at the next art history lecture,” I say, as Ruby and I head toward the door.

  Outside, Ruby says, “Why do you want to see their place?”

  I shrug. “If I have any trouble getting studio time I might ask them if I can work there occasionally. You know, as the pressure builds before the art shows there will be more competition for the campus studio. I have a lot of paintings to finish before spring.”

  What I’m really thinking about is how to get naked with Logan again. The faculty apartments are too risky, and his office is open to all other students. It would be safer if we could meet somewhere off campus.

  Ruby nods. “Guess that makes sense.”

  I sip my sweet, milky tea and wonder how many more lies I will end up telling Ruby.

  ***

  Later that evening, my mother calls me at 7 PM sharp. Every Sunday night. This is her schedule.

  “Did you get your train ticket for Thanksgiving?” she asks.

  “Not yet. It’s two months away.”

  “You know how those trains fill up. Do you want me to book it? ”

  “I’ll take care of it, Mom.”

  There is a pause and I hear a ‘goddammit’ in the background.

  “Is that dad?”

  Instead of answering me, she calls loudly, her mouth too close to the receiver, so I have to pull it away for, “Honey! I’ve got Ava on the line. Pick up.”

  I hear mumbling. Then my mom says, “He wants to know if you played tennis today.”

  I sigh. “Yes, with Ruby. Is he going to get on the line?”

  “He’s busy watching the news, lord knows why since it amps up his blood pressure.”

  “Everything seems to,” I mumble, but my mom doesn’t seem to hear that.

  “How is the semester starting out, honey? Any eligible young men in your classes?”

  She never asks me about my painting or my studies. She seems to think my future depends on finding a husband in college, or at least a steady boyfriend. I wonder what
she’d say if I told her about Logan. I almost giggle to myself imagining her dumbfounded expression. But as entertaining as that might be for all of five seconds, it would also probably amp up her blood pressure. As for my father, he might completely self-combust. Logan is neither husband nor steady boyfriend material. I really don’t know what he is, except an unexpected surprise, and a secret, so I say to her,

  “No one I’m interested in, Mom.”

  I hear the disappointment in her sigh.

  “Law school will be more promising,” she says in a cheerful tone. “Your father’s been writing away for catalogues. I’m sure there will a stack here by the holidays.”

  “Oh, great.”

  When I was younger, my father tolerated, at times even celebrated, my artistic aspirations, but when I announced my plan to major in art in university, he almost had a heart attack.

  My mom stood up for me then. Not because she thought I was making a good decision — she was on my dad’s side about heading into law, business, or something related to political science, probably because she thought I’d find a more successful husband — but she knew that if I had made up my mind about getting a degree in art, there was no changing it.

  So when my dad threatened to pull my college funding, and I said I didn’t care, that I could make art without a college degree, my mom negotiated with my dad, because she, at the very least, wanted a college graduate for a daughter. And in the end so did he.

  They never did stop trying to persuade me though, and now they’d pinned their hopes on postgraduate studies.

  I let my mom ramble on for a few more minutes before I hang up.

  For now, my parents can have their fantasies about my life. Soon enough I’ll have to burst their bubble. Not that I’m looking forward to it. They’ve been good to me. Maybe too good. But that doesn’t mean they get to live my life for me.

  Chapter Eight

  Monday morning, between my color theory seminar and Dr. T’s art history class, I head over to the library to start researching a paper due next week.

  On my way out, pushing through the old oak doors with my arms full of books, I see Logan coming up the stairs on his way in. My heart skips as our eyes lock. I stop at the top of the stairs, held still by his none-too-pleased gaze. I’m happy to see him, but he doesn’t look the same.

  “Miss Nichols,” he says airily, his tone voice not matching the look in his eyes. “How’s the painting going?”

  Before I answer, he says, under his breath, “You ran away from me again.”

  “Oh, it’s going well. Thanks for asking Professor O’Shane.” In a whisper, “You were asleep.” I quickly glance around to see if anyone is listening to us. Logan’s good looks, and his intense presence, tend to draw attention. I’m already finding it challenging to stay aware of my surroundings when he’s near me, but it’s essential that we keep up a pretence.

  “I have to see you again soon, Ava,” says Logan, leaning slightly towards me and speaking just above a whisper, “We didn’t even fuck the other night. Not that I’m complaining.”

  I shouldn’t be surprised by his word choice. Did I really expect him to say ‘make love’? No. I’ve already decided not to be afraid of his words, or his act. There is so much more under all that and he’s chosen me to see past it all.

  “It gives us something to look forward to, don’t you think?” I say cheekily.

  “That was your plan all along?” he says, his eyes narrowing seductively. I feel my breath catch. Of course, I have no plan. And I’m sure he knows it. I look away from his knee-melting gaze and dig in my purse for my phone.

  “We should swap numbers. Give me yours. I’ll text you.” He lists off ten digits and I punch them in.

  A group of students, two of whom are in my seminar with Dr. T, are heading up the library stairs. One of them waves to me. “Hey, Ava.”

  I wave back, and then I smile politely at Logan and start backing down the stairs. “Well, nice running into you, Professor O’Shane. I hope all your classes are going well so far.”

  He gives me an odd look before tipping his hat and saying, “Oh, yes, swimmingly. Don’t forget to bring that book back that I loaned you. I need it back by tonight.”

  What book? I think as I give him an odd look. But as I attempt to saunter casually down the stairs away from him, I realize he’s making things up too. A pretend book that I will have to return to him. Tonight? I smile with secret pleasure as I hustle across campus to my next class.

  Just before getting to the auditorium, I send a quick text using only one letter: xxx.

  He writes back within the minute, asking me to come to his apartment again tonight. I’m wary, though. I have no business being anywhere near the faculty apartments. Especially now that I know Madeleine Hare is living there. What if she saw us together? What would she do?

  I freeze when I see her standing outside Dr. T’s lecture auditorium, but she greets me politely, normally, and I’m reassured that my secret is still safe.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask her.

  “I teach in the hall before Dr. Tennenbaum. Art and Symbols, the class you took last year.”

  “Oh. Is it going well? Are you … you know, feeling okay?”

  “All things considered, pretty well. I imagine rumors are running rampant on campus, but nothing’s as bad as the stories people tell.” She frowns. “Well, maybe this one is.”

  She looks off into the distance for a moment and I remember the crying in the hall the other night. It had to have been her. “I’m sorry about all that.”

  Donning a cheerful smile, she looks back at me. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. But I sure hope you’ll take me up on my invitation to stop by for a chat sometime, Ava,” she says.

  The lecture hall lights dim for the slide show. I have to go in and find a seat.

  “I’ll visit soon,” I say.

  ***

  After a stimulating lecture on the use of stained glass in the middle ages, I decide to go straight back to my room to study. I think it’s safer to avoid the faculty apartments for now, to wait and see Logan tomorrow, maybe in his office, to discuss how to ‘proceed’.

  I’m rather surprised at my self-control, which is stronger when he’s not around. Admittedly, I’m afraid to get caught. I suppose fear is at the root of my control, because I end up fantasizing about Logan more than studying. I keep replaying Saturday night in my mind. His lips, his hands, his voice, his panting breath when I held him in my mouth… His coming.

  I squirm around in bed, surrounded by books. Maybe I made a mistake. I know I have. I just don’t know if my mistake lies in having let something happen or ensuring that tonight it doesn’t happen again. I agreed after all. To be his muse. Though I’m still not sure what that means.

  Chapter Nine

  Later that evening, I hear a knock at my door. I’m not expecting anyone. I shut my textbook and climb off my tousled bed. I sure hope it’s not Stephen. I made it really clear the last time he called that our little encounter had been a mistake. I still sigh with relief when I remember stopping things before they went too far. That night, when I opened the door, I’d wanted to see Logan standing at my threshold. Now, half expecting to shoo away a persistent Stephen, I am shocked to see Logan, wearing a hoodie no less, standing outside my door.

  My initial expression of irritation is washed away by open-mouthed surprise and then eye-roving panic. I look past him down the hall.

  “What are you doing here? Did anyone see you?”

  “No, but they might if you leave me standing here in the hall.”

  He’s even wearing baggy jeans and sneakers. He looks ridiculous, but I’m too freaked out to laugh. I grab him by his gray fleecy sleeve and pull him, rather forcefully, into my room.

  “That’s more like it,” he says, pushing back his hood.

  I shut the door, lean against it, catch my breath.

  “You’re crazy!”

  Logan yanks off the hoodie
and in the process musses up his hair, which makes him look both sexy and cute. He’s down to a white t-shirt. It pulls rather tautly across his defined chest. As is typical in his presence, I’m finding it hard to catch my breath.

  “Crazy for you,” he says, turning his searing green gaze on me.

  I’m in a T-shirt —the one I slept in last night — and sweatpants. My hair’s tied in an unkempt chignon. I can’t even remember which bra I’m wearing; I just know it’s not a nice one.

  I repeat my earlier question. “What are you doing here?” Underlying my question is the complicating subtext of, "You’re not actually staying, are you?" But I don’t know how he’s going to get out now that he’s gotten in. I’m on the 8th floor so the window’s not an option.

  “Don’t you like my disguise?” Now he’s removing the bottom half of his ‘disguise’. He’s rock hard under his boxers. The baggy jeans hid all of that — is that why guys favor those kinds of pants? — I can’t hold a train of thought for long because Logan’s t-shirt is now off and he’s coming toward me. I’m still leaning against the door and he pins me there with a kiss. I melt into it. He feels that, and when he pulls away, he smiles.

  “Now what were you staying?”

  “This is dangerous,” I whisper.

  “Which part? Me being in your room? Or me being in your room? Life is dangerous, Ava.”

  He’s holding his cell phone. He looks down at the screen.

  “Come over tonight. That’s me.”

  “I don’t know. I have to study. That’s you.”

  “Me. I haven’t given you any homework yet.”

  “L-o-l. For Dr. T’s class. That’s obviously you, but please don’t use letters in place of words when you write to me. Would you actually write, or say, “laugh out loud” to anyone?” He shakes his head, not expecting an answer.