Teacher's Threat

by Diane Vallere

  “I’m not sure I’m cut out for business school.”

  “Are you going to work for one of the big firms like I suggested?”

  “I’m still considering my options.”

  “I’ll bet you are.” He turned back to the dean. “Your table is up front like you requested.”

  “Great. Thank you, Eric. Madison? Are you ready to go inside?”

  “Sure,” I said hesitantly. This felt less and less like a business meeting, and as much as I didn’t like Tex telling me what to do, I felt a pang of guilt. How was I to have known? “Can you give me a moment? I’m waiting for a phone call from the vet.”

  “Dog?”

  “Cat.” I pointed at the door. “Go on inside. I’ll join you in a moment.”

  I waited until he was through the doorway to call Tex back. The call went to voicemail. “It’s Madison,” I said. “I need to apologize. You were right. I’m going to cut the evening short. I can’t get into it now, but I’ll explain everything when I talk to you later.” I paused. “I hope your night goes better than mine.”

  I slipped my phone back into my handbag and went inside. The hostess directed me to the coat check, where I handed over my satin coat. There were only so many delays I could invent before being seated, and I’d worn out more than half of them.

  Being with the dean of the business school, even on a platonic level, got attention. He was affable with the students, and none seemed to mind his presence. I was escorted to his table in the center of the restaurant. There appeared to be a floor show, since all seats were aimed in the direction of the stage.

  Hugo helped me into my chair. I set my handbag to the left of the salad plate and scanned the room for other familiar faces.

  And found one sitting next to a buxom blonde in a low-cut black jersey dress: Tex. And judging from the expression on his face, he hadn’t gotten my message.

  20

  There was no pretending Tex and I didn’t see each other. I cocked my head and smiled at him in a Busted! manner and followed it up with a finger-wiggle wave. Dean noticed and grinned. “Is that Rex Allen? Well, what do you know? Eric outdid himself.”

  “What did Eric do?” I asked.

  “Eric’s an event planner. He puts together talent showcases at college-adjacent restaurants. I suggested he may want to expand his promotional reach to outside the campus. Tonight is Bongo Night.” He leaned forward. “Do you like African rhythms, Madison? They drive me wild.” He drummed the table with his fingertips and grinned.

  I pressed my lips together in the closest I could come to a smile, and I leaned back and looked at Tex. He had his arms stretched out along the back of his booth. His date was eating a shrimp cocktail. Tex raised his glass in an across-the-room toast, and I realized I did not yet have a drink to toast back. “You know, I think we should invite Rex and his date to join us. Don’t you?” I said to the dean. “It seems a shame to make them watch from the side of the room when we have two vacant seats right here.”

  I couldn’t tell whether Dean had gotten the message about my lack of interest in him or if he had shifted his area of interest to Tex’s date (who had two very pronounced areas of interest), but either way, he agreed. He stood up and gestured to them to join us. Tex looked surprised at first but then whispered to the blonde. She looked at us too. She finished off her last shrimp, and then they eased out of their booth and crossed the room.

  “Dean Wallace, Madison, this is Virginia.”

  “Hi, Virginia,” I said.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Dean said. He held out his hand and then sandwiched hers between his. “Call me Hugo.”

  “Charmed, I’m sure,” Virginia said. Her voice was low, and her accent was full-on Texan, and the words came out like velvet dipped in honey.

  If there had been any doubts about the dean’s interest in me versus her, they were certainly clear now. I crossed my arms and looked at Tex. What did I tell you? my body language said.

  Virginia sat opposite me, and Tex sat opposite the dean. This allowed for conversations between fake couples and real couples but wasn’t good for girl talk. For all the familiar faces around the room, I’d never seen Virginia before, and unless she was a new recruit, she didn’t work for the Lakewood Police Department.

  A waiter came by to take our drink order. “Can we get some dinner menus as well?” I asked.

  “The kitchen is closed, ma’am. I can probably get you a shrimp cocktail.”

  “That was what I did,” Virginia said. She giggled.

  “Then two shrimp cocktails, please,” I said.

  “I’m not hungry,” Hugo said.

  “They’re both for me.”

  The waiter listened as we ordered our drinks. After he left, I pushed my chair back. “I’ll be right back. Powder room,” I added as an explanation.

  I left the room as a burst of Afro-Cuban music exploded from the stage. As soon as I was past the crowd of onlookers stationed at the back of the room, I went to the bar and flagged down our waiter. “I’d like to change my drink order to club soda, please, but I’d rather no one at the table knows. Put it on this.” I opened my wallet and held out a credit card.

  “You got it.” He took my card and ran it through the card reader then filed it in a small box to the side of the register. It wasn’t the most secure system in the world, but I had bigger fish to fry.

  I went outside and called Joanie. “How’s your date?” she asked.

  “I’m not on a date, but Tex is.”

  “Madison, stop being so jealous. Tex isn’t on a date.”

  “Yes, he is. He’s at the same club as me, and he has a date. And she looks exactly like the kind of woman you would expect Tex to date.”

  “I don’t want to sound judgmental, but considering you two have been together for over six months, aren’t you the kind of woman Tex would date?”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “Besides, is Tex on a date, or is Rex on a date?”

  She had a good point. “Have you heard from the vet about the cat?”

  “It’s still touch and go.”

  “Keep me posted.” I said goodnight and hung up.

  Back inside the club, the music was in full force. Hugo and Virginia were on the dance floor. Two shrimp cocktails sat at my place setting. Tex leaned back. “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “I told you not to come,” he said.

  “And I told you this wasn’t a date. You could have done me the favor of reassuring me as well.”

  “This is a date,” he said. “For Rex,” he added. “Rex and Virginia are close.” He held up his hand with his fingers crossed. “Like this.”

  “It doesn’t look that way to me.” I pointed at the dance floor, where Hugo and Virginia were challenging Tex’s definition of close. He shrugged. “She’s a free spirit.”

  “She doesn’t look free to me.”

  Tex leaned forward. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

  I could deny it, but I’d be lying.

  I had notoriously sworn off relationships when I moved to Texas. A traumatic breakup led to the move, and the fallout came back to haunt me a few years later. The safer move seemed to keep up my guard and focus on my business.

  But walls came down, and cold hearts melted. I found myself torn between two men and made the safe choice, which didn’t last. Turns out I was more of a risk-taker than I thought. I resisted the impractical attraction to Tex as long as I could. The circumstances surrounding the college put a new twist on things. At least one thing was certain; life with Tex wasn’t boring.

  The waiter arrived with a fresh tray of drinks. He set mine down first and then a champagne flute for Virginia and two glasses for Tex and the dean. “What are you drinking?” I asked.

  “Vodka and soda. How about you?”

  “Same.” I raised my glass of club soda. “Cheers,” I said. He raised his glass and clinked. Tex
emptied half of his glass on the first swig. He was a beer drinker and drank in moderation. I’d never seen him drunk. He stared at my glass, and I took another sip and smiled.

  Tex surprised me with his ability to hold his liquor. He grew quiet as the night went on, not bothering with small talk to any of us. Hugo, on the other hand, was the life of the party. He spent much of the night dancing with Virginia, who seemed to have a built-in motor in her hips. At one point the dean joined the band and took over on the Conga drum. I learned a lot about Hugo; sadly, none of it had to do with a decorating opportunity.

  I finally excused myself and went to find the bathroom. The line moved extra slowly, and I distracted myself with people watching. In this part of the restaurant, the back of the room and hanging around the bar, a college crowd collected. I hadn’t thought much about it, but the tables where we’d sat hadn’t been populated with students. Eric’s event planning had certainly packed the place, but he seemed to have lucked out with the dinner crowd lingering for the floor show.

  I spotted him talking to the bartender. The two chatted briefly, and the bartender gestured toward the box with the credit cards. Eric seemed nervous. He glanced over his shoulder twice while the two of them spoke and then nodded. His shoulders relaxed, and he left the bar. I’d have to remember to congratulate him on the success of his event, even if he hadn’t wanted me to know it was taking place.

  That in itself seemed odd. He’d given Tex a flyer in class. Why hadn’t he given one to me? Was it part of the bro code, or was I simply not his desired demographic? An astute businessperson would know not to prescreen potential attendees from an event. It wasn’t like there was a bouncer or a red carpet, and it wasn’t like I was riffraff. Eric had been comfortable attacking my business in class, and the idea of challenging him about his in front of his peers was almost satisfying enough to make me rethink dropping the course.

  I was next in line to enter the restroom when the door swung open and a brunette came out. “Watch out in there,” she said. “Somebody made a mess.” She stumbled past me and went directly to the bar.

  I pushed the door in and peered around the corner. Toilet paper was strewn across the wet floor, and a pair of feet in high-heeled boots jutted out from under one of the stalls. The sound of retching came from the stall, and my stomach clenched in response. My bladder was about to burst, but I tapped on the door instead. “Are you okay in there?”

  The retching was replaced with sobs. I tried the door, but it was locked from inside. I shifted my weight from foot to foot and called out again. “Can I get you anything?”

  The woman inside coughed and then hiccupped. The toilet flushed, and her feet retracted, and a few minutes later the door opened. It was Faye Talbot, the tall blonde who had dropped out of Radical Business Strategy.

  21

  Faye was not looking her best. Her hair was pulled into a severe ponytail, her face was pale, and blue veins were visible by her temples. Her eyes were bloodshot, and dark circles showed underneath. Her peachy-pink lipstick was smeared below her lower lip. She immediately bent down over the sink and rinsed out her mouth and then splashed water on her face. She reached for a paper towel, but the dispenser was empty.

  “Great,” she said.

  I went into the neighboring stall and pulled several tissue seat covers from the dispenser and then handed them to her. “Here,” I said. “This will be better than toilet paper.”

  She blotted her face. A faint transfer of makeup showed on the tissue. She balled it up and set it on top of the overflowing trash. “I need to get out of here,” she said.

  There’s a bonding ritual that takes place in ladies’ restrooms in restaurants, bars, and clubs across America. It’s the girl code, an unspoken understanding that we have one another’s backs. There were three people at my table, and two of them wouldn’t miss me. The third, well, I’d explain everything to him later.

  “I’ll walk you home,” I said. “Just give me a minute to pee.”

  We went from restroom to exit as soon as I finished washing my hands. I held onto Faye’s hand and led her through the crowd, not paying much mind to the curiosity and attention two blondes of varying generations negotiating a crowd of college students could attract. We reached the door, and Faye pushed past me and dry heaved over a plant to the left of the entrance. Good thing they already had a crowd; Faye’s actions might deter potential patrons.

  Faye lived in student housing on the opposite side of the campus. The temperature had dropped, and my arms were cold. I wrapped my hands around myself and rubbed my bare arms. Faye had her arms pressed against her sides with her fists balled up.

  “My car is in Lot B,” I said. “I know your apartment is close, but it’ll be warmer.”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t want to go into that parking structure. That’s where—” She stopped talking abruptly and put her hand up over her mouth. I steered her toward a row of bushes and held her hair back, but it seemed she was finally empty.

  When she stood up, she looked like she’d lost ten pounds since we left the restaurant. Her cheeks were sunken and her lips, now devoid of lipstick, were so pale they almost matched her face. This didn’t appear to be a case of overindulgence on her part.

  Faye didn’t seem in the mood to talk. She didn’t seem to be in the mood to walk either. “My car is right inside,” I said. “I think you should sit down.”

  “No,” she protested. “I won’t go there.” For someone as weak as she was, her conviction was strong.

  By now, news of Professor Gallagher’s death had spread around the campus. Initial rumors of suicide might have died out or, in less sensitive groups, turned to inappropriate jokes at his expense, but instead, the contrasting accounts of what had happened to him had spawned conspiracy theories. I was among a handful of people who knew the truth, but attempting to correct the record would have compromised the investigation. I didn’t like to see Faye struggle with her issues, but my loyalties were with Tex.

  I held onto Faye’s hand for the rest of the walk, though it was more like she held onto mine. Her hand gripped mine like a child who was still learning to walk. We crossed the quad, varying the straight line between point A to point B so we could benefit from the exterior lights. About two thirds of the way there, a campus police golf cart pulled up behind us.

  “Can I give you a ride home?” the officer asked.

  My feet had just about had it with the pointy-toed kitten heels, and the golf cart looked welcoming. “Faye, I know we’re close, but I think we should take him up on his offer,” I said.

  “Okay,” she said. She climbed in next to him, and I wedged myself in next to her. There was space for two, so I clung to the rollbar and prayed we’d steer clear of any golf-cart hazards.

  The officer followed Faye’s directions to her building, and I let her out. I started to see her to her door, and she protested. “I’m okay now,” she said. “I don’t need any more help, not from you, not from anybody. Just leave me alone. All of you!”

  She turned around and stormed into her building, leaving me (and my jaw) on the stairs.

  I still waited until she had the door unlocked and was safely inside before I left. I descended her stairs and bent down to look at the campus police officer.

  “Was she your daughter?” he asked.

  “No, just someone who looked like she needed help.” I found myself at the end of the needed-help equation. “I know you’re not a taxi service, but is there any chance you can give me a ride to my car in Lot B?”

  “Hop in.”

  The ride back to the garage should have been more pleasant what with both of my butt cheeks on the seat, but I couldn’t shake Faye’s emotional about-face. She’d been sicker than sick at the restaurant, then pale and frail, and then sullen. The angry outburst had come out of nowhere, as had the energy to storm away from me. It was almost as if the entire evening had been an act.

  “You must be busy these days,” I said to the CP. “
After what happened in the parking structure.”

  “You heard about that?” he asked. I realized he didn’t know I was a student at the college, and there seemed no point in telling him. “You’d think people would stay out of the parking structures, but they’re like a magnet for crime.”

  “How so?”

  He slowed the cart to pass over a speed bump. “Last year, Lot B was home base for a couple of students who dealt drugs. Two months ago, we started finding condoms in the stairwells. A girl who looks an awful lot like your friend there”—he tipped his head backward and then continued—“said she was assaulted by a professor.”

  “Someone like her, or her?” I asked.

  “Hard to tell. Lots of blondes on campus. They’re interchangeable.” He glanced at my hair. “No offense.”

  “None taken.” We slowed to go over another speed bump. “What happened to her?”

  “The college dismissed her claims. Said there was no evidence. Another student came forward and said he saw her get into the professor’s car, so her complaint lost credibility. That happens too. Students get upset about a grade and go after the professor’s reputation. For the ones who can’t tell their parents they’re failing, that seems like the best option.”

  “That’s not an option. That’s diversion. And it’s cruel.”

  “Defamation of character, you could argue,” he said. He glanced at me and smiled. “I’m pre-law.”

  My head was swimming with information by the time we pulled into Lot B. I was happy to have solicited a ride from the campus police, especially after what he told me about the parking structure. I was also certain I had a surprising new lead for Tex.

  My car was the lone one in the lot. The officer pulled the golf cart up to the driver’s side, and I climbed out. “I feel like I should tip you.”

  He waved me off. “All part of my job.”

  I thanked him again and unlocked my car. The interior was cooler than I expected, and I shivered. I started the car, and it stalled. I tried again, and again, it stalled. The third time, it sputtered, and then there was a bang!, and then the engine leveled out. I left the engine running to warm up the car and climbed out. The CP parked his golf cart and met me behind the car, where we stood side by side and stared at a dirty clump of something that sat about a foot away from my car.