Alisa Kwitney
Page 23
“Oh, hi, Marcy. Thanks for filling in for me. Sorry I’m a little late, everyone.” She noticed that Magnus wasn’t there—no big surprise. What could he possibly want from her now, and why would he take the chance that she’d publicly blow his cover and destroy his career? Not that she would ever do that. She wasn’t vindictive. Bitter, yes, but not vindictive.
Kat turned back to Marcy. “I can take over now.”
Marcy bit her lower lip. “Nobody called you?”
“Called me about what?”
“Um, I don’t think you were supposed to come in today.”
Kat felt a sinking sensation in her stomach, and willed herself to ignore it. “Somebody must have gotten mixed up. The infomercial was yesterday, and I only took one day off.”
Marcy looked profoundly uncomfortable. “Maybe you should speak to the head office.”
“Now? But I’m here already, so I might as well teach. I can straighten this out after class ends.”
Marcy opened her mouth, but before she could respond the door opened and Arabella Simms stuck her head in. “Hello, Kat. I was hoping to catch you before you got in, but I got a call from London.”
Kat took one look at the Persky Institute’s regional supervisor, neatly pretty in an aqua maternity dress, and knew she was in deep trouble. “What’s wrong?”
“Why don’t we step into my office for a sec,” said Arabella, as if they were two good pals about to look over some wallpaper patterns.
Kat took one last look at her classroom. There was Nabil, looking as if he expected her to be hauled off and interrogated, and Maria, who was either extremely upset or having a contraction. Chieko appeared embarrassed, while Galina seemed ready to do battle. “Do good work, guys.” She wondered what he was doing now; writing up a report, probably. She wondered if she’d get in trouble with the U.S. government for throwing his spare shoes out in the trash.
Luc, as usual, hadn’t arrived yet.
Kat walked into Arabella’s office, acutely aware that she was wearing her faded work jeans and an old Billy Idol sweatshirt. The institute didn’t have a precise dress code, but looking like an over-the-hill teenager probably wasn’t helping her cause.
“Look, Kat,” said Arabella as she settled herself behind her desk, “it’s not easy for me to say this. I think you know how highly I think of you, but you’ve been absent an awful lot lately.”
“There’ve been some unusual circumstances.” Sitting across from her flushed, pretty, fertile boss, Kat felt inadequate in almost every way.
Arabella nodded. “Yes, I know. You took a personal day yesterday to act in some commercial, another last week for an audition, and yet another personal day a fortnight ago when your son was sick. Now, while I’m well aware that raising a child on your own can’t be easy, we do expect a certain degree of consistency from our teachers. And I am aware that you also continue to pursue acting opportunities.” She let that sink in before adding, “and from the amount of coverage you seem to be receiving in certain papers, acting would seem to be your priority right now.”
Oh, dear God, Arabella had seen the tabloid story. Kat noticed the diamond eternity band sparkling on the Englishwoman’s left hand, which was demurely clasping her right. Kat tried to recall how long her boss had been married—two years? Three? A very brief eternity. But there’d be another diamond for her after she gave birth, along with all the Baby Gap gifts from work, the Tiffany’s silver rattles from her New York friends, and good wishes and a deluxe pram from her pals back in England.
She’d probably get her figure back right away, too.
“Now, Kat,” Arabella went on. “You know that we pride ourselves on the high caliber of our teaching staff. It takes more than just good language skills to be a Persky instructor. It requires a high degree of people skills to respond to a wide range of cultural and personal differences, as well as a lot of charisma to hold the disparate group together.”
Kat felt a rush of relief. She’s not going to punish me, otherwise why give me the training manual speech? This must be my official reprimand. Kat figured she just had to look contrite for two more minutes and it would all be over.
“And you know, like many of our admin staff, I started out as a teacher myself before becoming an instruction supervisor, then a program rep, and finally a district director.”
“I think I know what you’re getting at,” said Kat, “and I want to tell you that I’m giving up acting. I’ve decided to focus all of my creative energies on teaching.” Kat figured this sounded better than “No one wants to hire me as an actor so I’m going to cling to this pathetic little job like a life raft.” But strangely enough, Kat found that she didn’t feel like she was just handing Arabella a line.
Kat sat up straighter in her chair. “I’ve actually gotten to the point where I’m more interested in utilizing my acting experience as a teaching tool. I know a lot of great techniques for overcoming self-consciousness, observing details, picking up on cultural nuances.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Kat felt a burst of real enthusiasm. She could give the students something that other teachers could not. Kat was suddenly reminded that in life as well as on stage, pretense can be the key to unlocking real emotions.
Arabella looked unhappy. “That’s admirable, Kat, but it sounds to me as if your interests may be taking you in a different direction. We have our way of doing things here, and they’ve worked really well for us.” Grasping the sides of her chair, Arabella got awkwardly to her feet. “And while we are very sorry to see you go, I am certain you will find a way to put your talents to good use.”
Kat’s heart gave a little stutter. “Pardon me?”
Arabella placed a protective hand on the high mound of her belly, clearly fearing unpleasantness. “If you wish to remain on as a tutor for individual students, I’d be happy to add your name to the list of available teachers for private instruction.”
“I’m sorry,” said Kat, still sitting. “I don’t understand. Are you trying to tell me that this isn’t a warning? You’re firing me now, as in today?”
“I am sorry, but you left us with no other choice. You have not shown the commitment to our students that we require, and have not adhered to the curriculum.”
Kat stood up, suddenly furious. “I can understand punishing me for missing too many classes, but are you actually telling me I’m being fired because I took my students on a class trip?”
“You never even tried to clear it with me first. And then I hear that you’re assigning television programs as homework. Quite frankly, Kat, that is not the kind of teaching we’re looking for.”
“But don’t you want to leave any room for your instructors to innovate?”
“My dear, the Persky method is an innovation. Do you know how many countries all over the world have a Persky Institute? We don’t need a bunch of loose cannons, Kat, we need team players.”
Kat, who had always prided herself on taking rejection in stride, suddenly wondered if she had entered a new phase of her life where no one wanted anything she had to offer.
chapter thirty-four
t he moment Kat stepped outside, a cool wind whipped her hair across her face and the sky gave an ominous crack of thunder. Lovely, it was going to rain on her now.
“Katherine? What is the matter?”
Kat looked up to find Luc looking at her with concern, his unruly dark hair falling over one eye, an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. With his five o’clock shadow and battered black rancher’s coat, he lacked only a black Stetson and a six shooter to complete the picture of sexy desperado.
“I’ve been fired.”
“But why? You are a wonderful teacher. The soap opera assignment you gave? I really enjoyed watching, and look, I made a list of expressions I did not understand.” He held up a small pad, on which he’d written: I’ll have to make do, You’re not cut out for it, I have to get this off my chest. “That other teacher, the mousy blonde? She bores me.”
Luc traced the shadows under Kat’s eyes with a gentle finger. “You are not well. You need sleep, and I think maybe also some food?”
Kat looked at Luc, thinking, he is so impossibly young, this is probably the first time he’s ever tried to take care of someone. “I’ll be fine,” she told him. “Go on and get inside.”
Luc shook his head. “I’m not going to leave you like this.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
“Yes,” Luc said, looking intently into her eyes, “you are. And that is why I am not letting you leave on your own.” Kat suddenly realized that he wasn’t just flirting; Luc had a crush on her. It was such a balm to her wounded ego that she was tempted to say yes. Almost.
“You’re very sweet, Luc, but I just need to be on my own.”
And then it started to rain, a few fat drops rapidly turning into a downpour. It was such a clichéd capper to a horrible morning that Kat started to laugh. At least she thought it was a laugh. It did come out a little ragged, but her face was so wet even she wasn’t sure if she was crying.
“Come.” Luc took her by the arm and led her to the subway.
Kat wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting from Luc—not a four-star restaurant, certainly, but possibly a quaint little bistro, someplace with tiny tables and a wood-fired oven, where the coffee was served in oversized French cups and the menu was written on a chalkboard.
Or possibly something ethnic—a Thai noodle shop, California Mexican, a falafel joint.
Instead, Kat found herself following Luc around the supermarket as he pushed a cart around, disparaged the meat and complained about the state of the vegetables.
Luc, whose long black coat had repelled the worst of the rain, held up a tiny, vacuum-packed filet mignon. “What do they do, embalm the meat for future generations? It will have no flavor. I know, I will make you a steak with Roquefort.” Luc suddenly looked perturbed. “You do have Roquefort in America, yes?”
Kat pushed her wet hair back off her face. Her jacket and jeans were soaked through from the walk to the subway, and she wished she could just go home alone and jump into a bath. “It’s probably in the gourmet foods section. But listen, Luc, I’m afraid that dish sounds a bit rich for me. And where are you planning on cooking this meal anyway?”
“At your place, of course.” He gave her a comically wolfish look. “Unless you are too anxious that I may try to seduce you?”
Kat folded her arms under her chest. “Here’s an expression for you! That dog won’t hunt. Do I need to explain it?”
“Why is it that Americans always want to explain everything? When you explain, explain, explain, you take something away, n’cest-ce pas? Sometimes it is enough to feel the hint of a possibility.” Luc paused in front of a display of imported cheeses. “Ah, Roquefort does exist here, and not just the nasty blue stuff.”
Feeling a bit humbled by his previous observation, Kat gave him a smile. “See? We’re not complete barbarians.”
“No, of course not. So how is life with your new boarder?” Luc picked up a bottle of balsamic vinegar. “He has moved in already?”
Kat shivered, her damp clothes chilling her. “He’s moved out.”
Luc raised one eyebrow. “Very interesting. Am I allowed to ask the reason?”
As Kat started to reply, she saw a familiar, masculine shape in an oatmeal-colored sweater, standing between a pyramid of canned goods and a display of artisanal cheeses.
Logan. Standing next to some strawberry blonde who had her back to Kat. As Luc burbled on about trust and the French and food, Kat stared. Luc finally noticed Kat’s expression. “What is it, Katherine? Is something wrong?” Kat turned to Luc. “Put your arm around me.”
Luc raised one eyebrow, but slid his arm around her waist, making the gesture look easy and natural. “We are performing for someone?”
“My ex-husband is here.” She couldn’t bring herself to call him anything else. In her heart, he was ex, even if the courts hadn’t made it official yet.
“Ah. And has he seen you yet?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, let’s make him notice us.” Luc’s hand slid down to cup Kat’s ass, and she gave a startled laugh.
“Now, hold on one moment…”
Luc’s smile was full of mischief. “But I am holding on. You do comprehend that I intend to take advantage of this situation?” His arm tightened, and Kat felt her body respond. Whether or not she was attracted to Luc as a person, there was a certain chemistry here. Not the total mind-body connection that made you feel like taking up permanent residence in the other person’s life, but something more insidious—the promise of breezy, self-contained, guilt-free pleasure, the infamous Jongian zipless fuck.
Except that Kat was aware that in the real world, true zipless fucking was as rare as true love. In the end, clothes and phobias and sometimes even ovaries got in the way, leaving you with unexpected repercussions, such as being thirty-one and pregnant. And then it was all too easy to think, Maybe there’s something more here than meets the eye, maybe this relationship does have legs.
Ten years was a long time to spend learning otherwise.
As Luc continued to inspect fruit with his right hand, Kat noticed Logan turn in their direction and become aware of her presence. At first, she thought he was going to say something, but then, to her shock, she saw him begin walking away, pushing his wagon down the fruit and vegetable aisle.
“That shit!” Kat felt her breath hiss out of her clenched teeth. “I can’t believe it! He’s going to pretend he didn’t see us.” Although why she shouldn’t believe it, Kat wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was just that she’d thought that, faced with the physical reality of an estranged wife, he wouldn’t be able to just continue acting as though she and Dashiell had no connection to him.
“Calm yourself. You wish a confrontation, yes? But how do you wish to appear—bitter, furious, miserable? Or do you prefer him to see that you are happy in your life, and that to you, he is dirt, he is underneath your contempt?”
“Beneath my contempt sounds great, but he’s the father of my son, who wants to see him.” Kat dragged her hand through her hair. “Christ, I don’t know what to do.”
“Then allow me.”
So Kat followed along as Luc took charge of their shopping cart, moving them purposefully down the fruit and vegetable aisle. He spotted Logan before she did, and before she could ask him what he planned to do next, Luc called out, “Hey! Oh, my God! It’s that guy from the soap opera! Look, chérie, it’s him!”
Instantly, every head in the store swiveled to stare, first at Luc, and then at Logan. Kat felt her face heat, completely at a loss. In Manhattan, a place where Oscar winners, notorious criminals, and even Woody Allen could walk around the streets unmolested and unremarked on, there was a strong, unwritten taboo against outing the famous in public.
Logan was regarding her with such cold fury that Kat had to stop herself from apologizing for Luc’s behavior.
“Hello, Kat,” he said. “I see you haven’t lost your taste for making scenes in public.”
Okay, that took care of any lingering feelings of embarrassment. “And I see that you still prefer running and hiding to confronting any kind of unpleasant emotion.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Logan said, his voice heavy with sarcasm, “I managed to hang in there for ten years of unpleasant emotions.”
“Oh, please, you checked out of our marriage way before you walked out the door. Just admit that you’re a coward when it comes to facing the consequences of your actions.”
A strange expression crossed Logan’s face. “Actually,” he said, his voice dripping with venom, “I was thinking of your feelings. But by all means, let’s have it all out in public. It’s not as if you ever had a thought or a feeling you didn’t share with everyone.” F
or the first time, Kat noticed Logan’s companion.
“Hello, Kat,” said Zandra, stepping out from her partial concealment behind a display of canned olives. Kat felt as though she’d been sucker punched in the gut.
“You didn’t need to hide,” she said slowly, taking in the changes in Zandra’s appearance. “I barely would have recognized you.” At some point in the past few days, Zandra had straightened her hair and lightened it to strawberry blond. It didn’t suit her. “What is this, all of a sudden you two are best buddies?”
Zandra shrugged, unrepentant. “I had a fight with you, Kat, not with Logan.”
“That’s it? That’s your excuse?”
“I wasn’t aware I needed one.”
“But you know what he’s done. You remember how you felt when your husband left you. Don’t you have any loyalty to another woman?”
Zandra and Logan exchanged glances. Something about the quality of that shared look—some intimacy, or complicity—suddenly made Kat see this whole scene in a different light. “You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?” Neither Zandra nor Logan denied it. “Jesus, you are.” Her first thought was absurdly shallow: But you’re not pretty enough. And then Kat realized that pretty had nothing to do with it. Zandra was always outspoken about how uninhibited she was sexually. And God knew she pulled out all the stops when it came to pleasing a man—serving up the guy’s favorite meals, giving him little gifts, wearing sexy little outfits to bed.
Like she had for her mystery lover, the semi-famous, semi-married guy.
I am such an idiot. Kat shook her head in disbelief. “How long has this been going on?” When had Zandra started looking so much better? Last winter? Last fall? About the time she started drawing closer to Marcy and away from me. Once you knew, it was strange to think you hadn’t seen the obvious clues all along. “How could you pretend to be my friend while you were sleeping with my husband?”
Zandra rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop it, Kat, it’s not a scene from your soap. You knew he had other women, just as he knew you had other men.”