I opened the last series of pictures; saw the bulge of Dane’s cock, captured perfectly on the screen, taking up more room than it should. I couldn’t believe I’d almost had it between my legs—or I did have it between my legs. I still didn’t know. I moistened my lips with my tongue, fantasizing, pretending I held him in my hands. Oh, the things alcohol will have you thinking.
Show me yours?
Nerves traveled all throughout my body as suddenly I was put on the spot, and oddly enough I felt some excitement at the prospect of sending him pictures. It was something I had never done before, and the thought felt somewhat liberating. I looked over at the girls, who were finally asleep, so I tried not to make much noise.
I reached down into my bedside drawer to search for something sexy to take a picture in. Bending down, I realized my head was still woozy, and I was way too clumsy to get into my drawer, much less get up and change clothes.
It turned out to be irrelevant, as I tumbled to the floor, having shifted my weight too much to the right. It was so whisper-quiet in the room when I fell that the sound went BOOM! like a bomb. The girls hopped up, chests heaving, necks twisting, then they came to me to see if I was okay. They stared at me for a minute with concern in their eyes, which turned into smirks before they laughed and pointed at me.
I could admit when something was funny, and it was—especially when I landed with my back on the floor, my legs still on my bed and my cell phone on my face. We laughed it up, even though it was at my expense.
My phone buzzed again, and as I reached toward my face to answer the call, Bobbi picked up my phone and looked at the screen. Her face went from amused to shocked, to dismayed as I watched her flip through the pictures, swiping from left and then slowly to the right. Her eyes grew bigger with every picture that she saw, but I was too drunk to be ashamed.
“I knew it!” Sonja looked over Bobbi’s shoulder. Not as impressed with the nakedness of Dane until she saw… “Whoa, look at his cock!”
Bobbi shot her a look. She pushed a few buttons, changed my password, locked my phone, placed it in her purse and zipped it up. She wasn’t going to let me respond to Dane, at least until I got a little sleep.
I didn’t remember climbing back into bed but I remembered my phone ringing, inside Bobbi’s purse, like a muffled, trapped canary. Note to self, please change that annoying ringtone. Dane was being persistent and probably growing frustrated; he didn’t seem like the patient type, nor was he the type to give up.
Bobbi unzipped her purse to pull out my phone, glanced at the ID and gave me a quizzical look. I was surprised when she placed the phone to her ear, but then again, he was disturbing her sleep. “Hello Mrs. Minnelli,” she said. I sat up in bed. “Yes, Lynn’s right here. Sure, she’s awake. I’m handing the phone to her now.”
My whole body went rigid. I’d been avoiding my mother’s phone calls for weeks because I didn’t want her to pry about what had been going on in my life. She’s observant that way; of my tone of speech, of my body language. She always has been, and I just… I just didn’t want to have to deal with it. I placed the phone to my ear and tried to sound extremely sleepy.
“Hey, Mom.” I faked a yawn. “Why are you calling me so late? Is everything okay?”
“Goodness, Lynora, I’ve been so worried sick about you. Do you know I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for weeks? Why haven’t you responded to any of my messages?”
Although my mother came across loud and clear, I found myself feeling more annoyed than anything else. I had been out of the home for nearly four years, living on campus at the university. Was it my job to check in all the time? I was an adult, and she needed to realize that. I was short tempered, tipsy and sleepy at the moment. I didn’t have the patience for hearing this.
“Well, Mom, since you asked, let me tell you what’s been going on. Professor Temple, you know, my boss? Well, she left on early maternity leave. Her replacement… hot guy… irresistible, and did I mention he was hot? Well, I screwed up and I slept with him. I really didn’t like him much at the time, but what the hell, shit happens. Then he fired me, and soon after I met his brother. I got back together with my boss and got my job back only to get drunk and have sex with his brother, if you believe it, thus screwing my job situation up again. Tonight, my friends took me out to get the whole thing off my mind and the guy showed up—the original brother, that is—and oops, I slept with him again, against a wall, in the rain, out in public; afterwards he made it loud and clear that he didn’t want anything to do with me, so too bad so sad, right? Oh, and I am about to graduate, so that’s good news. I’m sure you’ve received your invitation by now, but I’m currently very behind on my schoolwork. How’s that for what’s going on?” My breathing was out of control.
I braced for the blowback. My mother is a very prudish woman; she would have to be appalled to the point of nausea with what I’d just said. She’d most likely hang up and possibly never talk to me again.
But instead I got: “Lynn, you’ve got to learn that life is too short in the grand scheme of things. You are still young, but you won’t be that way forever. You are smart and sweet and pretty, and sometimes those traits can get in the way of your priorities, but at some point you have to get serious and do something worthwhile. Boys and college parties aren’t worthwhile, and neither are short-term jobs that you can’t keep.”
I couldn’t believe I was hearing this.
“So my suggestion to you is,” she continued, “instead of getting involved with random men you hardly know, you should be out there ironing out your career. You’re squandering your chances, Lynora, and it makes me so sad. You had so much potential in high school. I wish you could look inside yourself and put it all together before it gets too late. Your father and I want you to succeed. We didn’t work all these hours putting a massive strain on our marriage for you to go and squander it now.”
I felt insulted and baffled, really. I knew there were a lot of things my parents hadn’t approved of—how I picked up and left without so much as a goodbye, how I handled the whole college situation by myself and majoring in econ without consulting them at all. I got her concern, but despite all the mistakes I’d made, I was set to graduate—I had stellar grades in all of my classes and plenty of opportunity. Why couldn’t she see that? Why did she have such an inability to see any good in what I was doing?
“Like always, Mom, you’re pushing and pushing the life that you wanted on me. Just because I am not following your mapped-out plan of being a doctor or a lawyer, that doesn’t mean the path I chose is wrong. I am going to school to be able to do what I love to do—which is what you love to do, by the way—and I am following my own instincts doing it. This is why I haven’t answered your phone calls; because you judge and tear me down instead of being a good mother and supporting what I’m doing, giving me advice, or some comfort. It’s no wonder Dad left you. It’s no wonder at all, in my opinion.”
The minute the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back, but it was too late. Nothing came from her end for at least a full minute. I heard my mother breathing, but that was all—the rest was silence and tension. “I am sorry that’s how you feel, Lynora. I’m just a mother concerned for her daughter. That’s all. We’ll see you at graduation, okay? I love you.” She hung up.
I felt guilty with what I’d said to her. My mother didn’t deserve that. Her and my dad worked their fingers to the bone to be able to afford my tuition. I was a horrible daughter. There was no doubt about it. I needed to hang my head in shame.
By the look on Bobbi’s face, and Sonja’s body language, I knew I had messed up something awful. I should call my mother back, but she wouldn’t answer the phone. She usually shut down when she was upset.
The more I thought about it, the more anxiety it caused. There was a sour, acidic taste building up in back of my throat. I tried to swallow it, but it was persistent and came up again. I shot up off my bed and ran to the toilet.
Everything
I said, and everything I’d done, the guilt, the fear, bad decisions I’d made, all came up at once and emptied out into the bowl.
Lesson # 7
When the devil comes knocking at your door
“Someone knocked on the door, beating like a drum in between my ears, sending bad signals to my brain.” -Lynora Minnelli
Lynn
Sunrays became lasers shooting through my brain. My head was throbbing and rumbling like there was thunder in my skull. Someone forgot to close the blinds last night. I couldn’t remember much, so it was possible it was me. At most I remembered my name and date of birth. Much beyond that was nothing but static. I rolled over in bed and looked to my right to see Bobbi on the floor splayed out on her belly with her arms wide apart like a homicide victim, minus the white chalk and yellow tape.
She was entangled in a mess of spare blankets, flat pillows and a sleeping bag I had from a camping trip five years ago. I hated every minute of camping. Why anyone claimed to enjoy it was truly lost on me; the sheer amount of the dirt, the sweltering heat, the bugs that kept flying in my face. Sleeping on the ground was the worst thing ever. It took a week to get rid of the crick in my neck.
Across the room Sonja was sleeping soundly and fully naked, to no one’s surprise. Her body was creepily still and she was lying flat on her back, almost like she wasn’t breathing or she was dead. I’d never known anyone who could sleep like that. Most people when they’re drunk tend to snore, but no, not her. She was lying there with her arms across her chest as quiet as can be, like a vampire.
There was a taste in my mouth I found hard to describe, like a mix of sour bitters, stale alcohol and sweetness. It coated my tongue and I could smell it when I breathed. It was upsetting to my stomach and making me nauseous.
I sat up in bed despite the pains that I felt and the topsy-turvy feeling in my head. I looked around and realized the room was in a shambles. There were panties on the floor, heels scattered around, Bobbi’s bra on the vanity mirror, straps hanging into the makeup. My skirt from last night was hanging over the wardrobe door. Basically our room looked like a yard sale.
I slid closer to the mirror, hanging on the door. It reflected a stranger's face; a horrid and hung over mess that was once considered attractive, with dark circles under the eyes that were puffy to the touch. And a rat's nest of hair that stood on end.
As soon as I set my foot to the floor, someone knocked on the door, beating like a drum in between my ears, sending bad signals to my brain. “Hello,” a voice shouted from the hall. It didn’t sound familiar, but then again my head was fuzzy. I probably wouldn’t recognize my own voice.
“What the hell?” Bobbi said as she stirred from her sleep, her bare thighs retreating back beneath the covers. She sat up from the floor with her hand on her forehead, swooned a little and lay back down. “I feel like shit in a bowl and someone just handed me a spoon.”
Sonja hadn’t moved until the third round of knocks, then her eyes slammed open. She was pissed. “Ugh, mamu ti jebem!”
I didn’t know what that meant, but what I did know was I didn’t want to be whoever it was at the door. Sonja got up, put on a t-shirt, nearly slid across the room and flung the door open as if to rip it off the hinges. There was a woman standing there. She looked to be in her early to mid-fifties, with short blonde hair, cut close on the sides, blue eyes, slim, in a turquoise dress. Everything about the woman screamed wealthy.
“So this is the place where my son puts his career on the line?” She glanced around the room, looking disgusted with what she saw.
“Excuse me,” Sonja said indignantly. “Who are you?”
The woman shot Sonja a sideways glance then quickly looked away. She wouldn’t keep her eyes on her for long, almost like it was painful to her, or maybe more like she was nothing. She then swept the rest of the room, and for a moment gave Bobbi the once-over before she laid her eyes on me.
“Which one of you… ladies goes by the name of Lynora?”
All three of us looked at each other. I slowly raised my hand like I was a kid in elementary class and needed my teacher’s permission to go the bathroom.
“Well, hello, Lynora. I’m Caroline Foster, Simon’s mother. I’d walk over to shake your hand, but frankly this room looks like a bomb hit it and there are several places on the floor where I would not dare to step. I hope you understand.”
I nodded. I didn’t know what to say to her beyond “Hello, nice to meet you.” And that was truly it. My dragon breath could melt the makeup right off the front of her face.
“Well, I’d like to speak to you if you don’t mind, Lynora, regarding yourself and my son, of course, so if you wouldn’t mind getting yourself together I’ll be waiting outside on the bench by the tree. You can meet me out there when you’re ready.”
“All right, give me… twenty minutes.”
“Splendid.” Caroline turned on her heels and let the door close behind her.
“Shit!” Bobbi sat up, second attempt. “I didn’t see that one coming. Who would’ve thought Simon’s mother would show up. The woman looks like a sexier version of the first lady or something. Her shoes alone probably cost as much as my condo.”
“I think I have a lot more things to worry about than the cost of her shoes, Bobbi. Did you see the look on her face?”
“Sour,” Sonja chimed in. “I’ve seen that look on my mother’s face whenever she entered my little brother’s room; smells like rotten cheese.”
“Great!” That made me feel better. “Why today of all the days did she decide she needed to talk? She could’ve met me before or called me on the phone. Dropping in unannounced is just rude.”
“Speaking of that.” Sonja sat down on her bed and placed a pillow over her lap. “How did she get in here in the first place? You need a key to get through the door to the hall, and through the lobby you have to check in at the desk.”
Bobbi pulled back the sleeping bag and slowly got to her feet. Then she looked around, searching for her bra. “I have a feeling the lady can get into anywhere she wants, however she wants. She looks like she’s used to hobnobbing with powerful people.”
“What do you think she wants?” Sonja asked.
“My head on a stick, most likely.”
“Yup!” Bobbi found more pieces of her clothing—her skirt, her shoe, and now she was looking for the other. “That sounds about right. Put your head on a stick for the entire world to see. This thing with you and Simon just gets better and better.”
***
I walked outside in a simple flowered dress, past the grass to the student rest area where I’d talked to Simon once under the black oak tree. It was going to be the most appropriate place to talk to his mother or it could ruin a cherished memory.
Caroline was sitting on a white wooden bench, the kind set like a table with two places to sit on the side. She had a scarf underneath her, I assumed to protect her ass from the dirt that didn’t seem to be there. I slipped on the seat opposite her, tried to keep good posture and crossed my legs at the knees, trying to set an impression but doubting it worked.
“So now that you’ve gotten yourself all cleaned up, I’d like to properly introduce myself.” Caroline reached across the table and extended her hand. I couldn't help but notice her wedding ring. It was platinum, thickly banded, wrapping around her finger with small diamonds embedded all over it. And her engagement ring was at least ten carats. The sun shining on it was blinding. “Caroline Foster. Nice to meet you.”
Shaking Caroline’s hand felt formal, like when you greet people in business meetings, political rallies or luncheons. Nothing about this woman came across to me as warm. I had a feeling she wasn’t here to get to know me. “Lynora Minnelli, but most people call me Lynn. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Foster. So what brought you out here this early in the morning? By the look on your face this isn’t a social call.”
“Well, I can say one thing for you, you are perceptive. And you can call me Caroline; it’s easier t
hat way. Mrs. Foster is my mother-in-law, and the old bat’s still alive and kicking. But you’re right. This isn’t a social call. Basically I’ve come here to assess the situation in regards to you and my son. When we spoke he said you two weren’t together anymore, and I would believe him under normal circumstances.”
“But?”
“But it was the tone in his voice when we spoke. You see, I pride myself on being an intuitive type, especially when it comes to my children, and my intuition tells me that my son wasn’t being forthcoming.”
“Which means?”
“I suspect Simon’s in love with you, Lynora. Oh, he’ll never admit it. True to form, just like his father, but I feel whatever’s happened between you two has knocked him completely off course. He’s being groomed for things you couldn’t possibly understand, and I wouldn’t expect you to.”
“No, that’s where you’re wrong. I do understand. I’m not getting in the way of anything meant for Simon—if anything we’re on the same path. Did he tell you that I’m one of his students?”
Caroline shook her head. “No, he did not. But it doesn’t surprise me in the least.”
“Did he tell you I was his assistant? That I am top of my class and set to graduate soon with a major in economics and a minor in business? Did he tell you all that?”
She shook her head again but didn’t bother to answer. I figured she only spoke when she could win.
“I can assure you, Mrs. Foster, that it is over between Simon and I, so whatever your concerns are, not only are they unfounded, but I’m starting to feel a little offended with your approach.”
“Are you in love with my son?”
“Wait, what? Excuse me?”
Teacher's Pet - The Complete Series: Books 1-4 Page 17