by Donna Hill
Alexis snatched a look at her as she drove, wishing for the hundredth time that she had not offered Naomi that piece of advice. At the time, she thought it was the best thing to do, a way to break Naomi out of her shell, free her from the constraints that she constantly put on herself. And it had totally backfired.
“Nay, I’m sorry. I should have known better than to try to make you into me.”
Naomi turned to her friend. “Lexi, I’m a grown woman. I made up my own mind. And I’m the one who will have to deal with it.” She sighed heavily. “But no matter what, I had the greatest time of my life.” She offered a tight-lipped smile. “If I hadn’t taken your advice, I don’t think I would have ever met Brice, experience what I experienced with him. If anything, I should be thanking you.”
“Do you really mean that?”
“Absolutely. Meeting Brice was the best thing that has happened to me in a very long time. He made me feel all woman again, from the inside out. And for that I will always hold him close to my heart. I never thought I would get close to feeling like that again after Trevor. And that hurt so badly that I cut myself off, tied my emotions up in a ball and tossed them aside. I substituted books and work and moving up the ranks for a loving, caring relationship because I was afraid of being hurt again. Brice reminded me just how good life can be, and that’s what I’m going to keep with me. I’m going to give myself a chance.”
“Oh, Nay, I am so glad to hear you say that.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “I was feeling so awful.”
“Don’t.”
“What if he calls?”
“I’m still wresting with that. I think its best that both of us just remember the fantasy. If I told him now that I’d been lying to him all along…that’s no basis for a relationship. It would never be right. Besides,” she said on a breath, “we live hundreds of miles apart. It could never work.”
The next few weeks, as Naomi had predicted, were hectic at best. Every day was another meeting, planning and preparing for the opening day of classes. As professor of African-American Studies, Naomi truly loved her job. There was nothing like opening up and challenging the minds of her students about their magnificent ancestry, their place in the world. But her goal was to be dean, which would afford her what she truly wanted, the ability to oversee the entire department, bring the professors up to standard and overhaul the curriculum. There were several professors that had been there well beyond their usefulness and had become jaded and non-caring. That wasn’t an educator. She wanted to see each and every classroom led by educators that were passionate about sharing knowledge and passionate about getting the best out of each student. She knew that her position about certain faculty members wasn’t popular with everyone, but unless they went after and secured the best teachers, all the technology in the world wouldn’t prepare these students to compete on their feet. That is where she could make a broad impact. But if Professor Lewis had his way, that would never happen.
Naomi draped her purse across her shoulder, then tucked a loose strand of hair back into the tight bun at the back of her head. Her navy blue suit was one of her favorites. It always gave her that professional, polished look that she strove for. She never wanted to give any of the males in administration or on the teaching level, the idea that she was anything but professional, there to do her job and nothing more—which was what caused the rift and ultimate animosity between her and Frank. Years earlier before she’d gained tenure, Frank asked her out for drinks after work. In her mind it was a harmless, friendly gesture of a colleague. Frank had a different agenda and wanted more than drinks. She put the brakes on it right then and there. But it didn’t seem to stop him. He persisted—stopping her in the hallway to drum up inane conversation, tossing out sexual innuendoes of how great they would be together until finally she had to threaten to go to the President of the college if he didn’t back off. She’d learned to ignore him for the most part. He was more annoying than anything else. Frank would have loved to circumvent the college directive against relationships between faculty and faculty, and faculty and students.
Even if there hadn’t been a rule in place, Frank Lewis was not her type. He was just as determined to win the dean’s seat, and he had no qualms about making her life miserable in his quest to get it. Whatever he could do to stick it to her, he did—from undermining her in meetings, to withholding support of initiatives that she presented, even when he knew it was in the best interest of the school and the students.
That was the part of the job she was not looking forward to as she parked her Honda in her designated spot and crossed the parking lot to the entrance of Atlanta College.
She went straight to the main office and checked in, greeted her colleagues and plucked her mail from her box. She flipped through the contents and frowned when she didn’t see her class grid. She approached the desk.
“Hi. I’m Dr. Clarke,” she said to the administrative assistant behind the horseshoe divider. “I don’t seem to have my class grid.”
The young woman got up from her desk and came over to Naomi. “Yes, I’m sorry. We had problems with the computers, and some of the professors’ programs and grids couldn’t get printed out. They have someone working on it, and they say we should be up and running soon.”
“Hmm, technology. Thanks. If mine comes up before class is over, can you send someone to bring it to me?”
“Absolutely, Dr. Clarke.”
“I’m in lecture hall A-12.” She thanked her again and headed down the corridor to her lecture hall.
The first day of classes was always chaotic. Students and teachers invariably wound up in the wrong place, or large classes were placed in small classrooms and small classes would be up in the lecture halls. She smiled and silently prayed to the education gods that her first day would be as free from disaster as possible, although she’d already encountered her first glitch. Hopefully, that would be it.
One highlight for her was that this semester she was teaching students who were in pursuit of their master’s degree. That alone made them committed and focused. She was looking forward to challenging them intellectually and learning from them as well.
She turned the next corner and ran right into Frank Lewis.
“Naomi,” he clasped her shoulders to settle her and then irreverently bussed her cheek as if they were really friends.
“Frank.” She forced a smile. “Are you teaching this morning?”
“Yes, I am.” His eyes rolled up and down her body. “Good to see you, Naomi.”
“Have a good day, Frank.” She hurried away, needing to get far away from him as quickly as possible. Her lecture hall was up ahead. She had about ten minutes before the students would start pouring in. That would give her time to get settled, sort through her handouts and quickly review her notes.
She pulled open one of the double doors and stepped in. She took a long, deep breath to settle herself. That first moment of entering a classroom always filled her with a sense of overwhelming duty and obligation. She was responsible for all of the young men and women who sat before her. She had the power to impart wisdom, to change and open minds. It was not something that she took lightly.
Slowly, she walked down the steps to the desk below and put her materials on top, and before she knew it her new crop of students began to filter in.
Before long, the hundred-seat hall was more than halfway full and she began to wonder just how many more students she was going to have. She started to do a quick head count when her heart nearly stopped beating.
At the top of the stairs, heading down, looking for a vacant seat was Brice. But it couldn’t be. That didn’t make any sense. She was obviously imagining things. She swallowed, blew out air between parted lips to calm herself down. They say that we all have a double. This was obviously Brice’s double. Yet, even declaring that to herself didn’t help the shaking to subside.
Then he looked down and his eyes connected with hers. He stopped, frowned, took another step and
stopped again, causing a young woman behind him to stumble into his back. When he turned to help her, Naomi took that instant to sit down, because she was certain that her knees were going to give out. She started shuffling papers on her desk. Her opening remarks had flown out of her head. Her fingers shook. The pulse pounding in her temples began to give her a blinding headache.
This didn’t make sense. What was he doing here? She gripped the edge of the desk for support, and when she looked up the entire class was looking down at her, waiting for her to begin.
Naomi swallowed over the dryness in her throat, slowly pushed herself to her feet and looked out onto the sea of expectant faces.
"Good morning. Welcome to Atlanta College. This is a master's class in African-American studies and literature. I hope you all are in the right class." She forced herself to smile at the smattering of laughter. "I'm Dr. Naomi Clarke. My students call me Prof, Doc, whichever works for you." More laughter. She smiled again and lifted her chin, gaining comfort and assurance in her element. "Let's begin."
Chapter 9
Brice sat through the forty-five-minute class in a stunned amazement that tap-danced between confusion and anger. At first he figured that the woman who could make passages sing, and who could breathe new life into arcane text, who captured and held nearly seventy-five bright minds in her hand couldn’t be Naomi. Not the Naomi that he did things to that were just short of illegal. But of course it was her. This was the Naomi that he’d noticed the night she arrived at the hotel, with her corporate suit and librarian hairdo. Uptight Naomi.
Why did she lie to him? Why did she think it was so important not to tell him who she was? He was damn sure going to find out.
“I should have brought a tape recorder,” the pretty young woman next to him whispered.
Brice turned slightly in his seat. “Hmm. Next time.”
“I’m Pamela Phillips.” She stretched her hand over her desk toward him.
“Brice Lawrence.” He shook her hand, and when he returned his attention to the lecture, Naomi was staring right at him.
“Uh-oh,” Pamela whispered under her breath. “Looks like we might have ticked off Professor Doctor Clarke.”
Brice zeroed in on Naomi and rocked his jaw back and forth until Naomi turned her attention elsewhere.
“Well, that’s it for today. Please review your notes and be ready to discuss author Chris Abani at our next session.” She began gathering her papers, her gaze glued to her desk. She listened to the rise and fall of voices as they filed out and the door opened and closed. If she waited long enough, they would all be gone. She didn’t have another class until late afternoon. That would give her some time to think. This couldn’t be…
“Naomi.”
She drew in a sharp breath and looked right into Alexis’s eyes. She couldn’t have been more happy to see anyone in her life. She nearly wept.
“What’s wrong? You’re sweating, and it’s like an icebox in here.”
She grabbed Alexis’s arm. “He’s here, Lexi.”
Alexis looked around the empty hall. “Who?”
“Brice. Brice Lawrence. He’s a student in my class.”
Alexis chuckled. “Stop playing.”
“Do you think I would kid you about something like that?” she hissed, her voice rising in hysteria.
“I don’t know. You might. What the hell is he doing in your class? Didn’t you say he lived in New York?”
“Yes.” She bobbed her head up and down to reconvince herself.
“Well, damn, girl, if you were lying to him, maybe he was doing the same thing to you.”
“But why?”
“How should I know? For the same crazy reason you did.”
“Oh, God. This is awful. I can’t have him in my class,” she sputtered, jamming the last of her papers in her briefcase.
They started for the stairs leading to the exit.
Naomi stopped and grabbed Alexis’s arm. “What if he’s in the hallway waiting for me?”
“What if he is? You can’t stay in here forever. Act like he must be mistaken if he says anything.”
“Oh, God,” she groaned again, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach. “I need some air.”
“Come on.” Alexis pushed open the doors and they stepped out into the rush of students and teachers darting to classes. “Do you see him?” Alexis asked softly as they walked toward the building’s exit.
“No.” Naomi’s eyes darted up and down the hall, and she felt like a hunted rabbit. “I don’t see him.”
“Girl, are you sure it was him? Maybe your imagination is on overdrive.”
She shook her head. “I…I’d swear it was him.” Her voice faltered. “But…maybe I was wrong.”
“Is his name on the grid?”
“That’s just it. When I went to pick mine up this morning it wasn’t ready. Computer issues.”
“Let’s settle this once and for all.” Alexis took Naomi’s arm and steered her back the other way, toward the administrative offices.
They walked arm in arm to Naomi’s mailbox. Inside was a manila envelope. Alexis pulled it out and handed it to Naomi. “Open it and let’s settle this once and for all.”
“What if his name is here?” Panic shook her voice “What then?”
“We’ll deal with that when we get to it.” She waved the envelope in front of Naomi’s face.
Naomi snatched it from her fingertips, turned it over and unfastened the metal clasp. She pulled the sheets of paper out and they rattled in her hand. The first page was a listing of all the faculty, along with their cell numbers and office hours. The next was her class schedule. The final sheet was the listing of her students according to section. She flipped through the pages until she reached the masters class on Monday. Her eyes raced down the page then hiccupped to a stop when she saw his name. “Brice Lawrence.”
“Oh, no, oh, no,” she moaned, catching the attention of one of her colleagues.
“My sentiments exactly,” she said.
“Come on,” Alexis whispered. “Let’s go outside, away from prying ears.”
They left the building and walked around back to one of their favorite spots beneath a giant willow tree. With every step they took, Naomi was prepared for Brice to jump out from behind a tree or a building and demand to know what kind of game she was playing, although she could very well ask him the same thing.
They sat down on the wood-and-stone bench, placing their briefcases at their feet.
Naomi draped her arms across her thighs and lowered her head. “What am I going to do?”
Alexis put a comforting hand on Naomi’s back. But she didn’t have a clue.
Brice tried to pay attention to what Pamela was saying, something about her political science class and her internship at the White House the previous summer. He caught snatches of her diatribe, enough to keep up with the ebb and flow of the conversation. He wasn’t even quite sure how they’d wound up bound at the hip and facing each other across a cafeteria table, sipping Snapples and crunching potato chips. He was still in a mild state of shock.
“What’s your major?” Pamela asked.
Brice blinked her back into focus. “History. Yours?”
“Poli-sci. I intend on running for office and working my way up.”
Brice’s dark eyes roamed the cafeteria, looking for any sign of Naomi. But what if he did see her? What was he going to do? He drew in a breath and exhaled, releasing the tension that had held his stomach captive for the past couple of hours. When he got his class assignment, never in his wildest imagination would he have connected Dr. N. Clarke with the Naomi who writhed and moaned in his arms—who did things with her inner walls that gave him a hard-on just thinking about it. No, that’s not who he thought about when he saw the name of his professor on his schedule.
“Do you live on campus?”
“I’m actually staying with a friend until I find a place.”
“I was having some friends over tonight jus
t to decompress, catch up and relax. You’re more than welcome. Great chance to meet some of the other students.”
“Sure,” he said absently.
“Great.” She went into her bag and jotted down her number and address on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “Plug it into your iPhone or BlackBerry.” She propped her head on her palm and looked at him. “Hmm, I think you’re a BlackBerry man.” She smiled.
“And you would be right.” He tucked the paper into the top pocket of his polo shirt, then checked his watch. “Hey, listen, thanks for the good conversation and the invitation, but I have to run. I have a class in like five minutes, and I’ve got to find it first.” He pushed up from his seat.
“Oh, hey, I’m sorry. I can tend to be long-winded.” She got up as well. “What’s your next class?”
“Early Beginnings. Some kind of modified anthropology class.”
Her eyes widened. “Yeah. Great class. If you get Professor Morris, he will probably have you digging up the lobby for some ancient something that he’s discovered. He is a riot. But he makes the class interesting.”
Brice chuckled. “I’ll let you know.”
They walked out of the cafeteria together and parted at the door.
“My class is in the next building,” Pamela said.
“I think I’m down the hall.” He looked at his schedule.
“Let me take a look?”
He handed her the schedule. “Hmm. Okay, you need to go back down the corridor and take the elevator to the third floor. It’s on the other side of the science lab. And you do have Professor Morris.” She handed him back his schedule.
“I’ll let him know that he came highly recommended.”
“So, uh, hope I’ll see you later this evening.”
“I’ll try to make it.”
She smiled. “If not, I’ll see you in class.” She turned and walked toward the exit and Brice headed in the opposite direction.