On the Edge of Dangerous Things (Dangerous Things Trilogy Book 1)

by snyder-carroll s.

  By Christmas, she found herself completely under his spell. Her life consisted of two main components, working like hell at teaching and dreaming of nothing but Al. She was convinced he was a good man, not at all like the young man she’d thought she loved in college. No, here was a man she could trust, so she was willing—more than willing—to do just about anything to get Al Murphy. She had done a complete about face. She was ready now for love.

  Right before the winter break he dropped into Hester’s classroom for a surprise observation. As he was leaving, he turned and said, “In my office after the bell?” It was a question, but his clipped pronunciation made it sound like a command.

  “Yes, Mr. Murphy.”

  There were still ten minutes left in the class.

  What had Hester been saying about Daisy Buchanan anyway? She was so flustered she couldn’t remember. All she could think about was what might happen—what she wanted to happen—when she went to Al’s office.

  Her students looked at her curiously like another head had sprouted out of the one she already had. When she said nothing, they looked away and started talking and laughing, and soon the room was full of noise. Still in the afterglow of Al’s visit, Hester stared blankly at them. God, how unkempt, she thought, those boys with greasy hair, wrinkled shirts. The girls, their ratty hair clumped with spray, those tight, slutty-looking tops.

  They were a noisy, motley bunch, and not easily contented. How dissatisfied they seemed with their teacher for not being more…more entertaining. Hester knew they’d probably rather watch her immolate before their very eyes, than to have to sit there and listen to her talk about The Great Gatsby.

  Hester wasn’t a very entertaining teacher, but she tried to lead them to the nuggets of insight she found so fascinating in most of what she read. They, however, even if they understood her point, never seemed to care about it. Her first year of teaching was falling far short of the high expectations she’d had for it. In retrospect, even her near-disastrous student teaching experience seemed a success, compared to the circus her classroom was turning into.

  “So, class.” She started talking over the jabbering. “Even though Daisy seems so perfect on the outside…how does Fitzgerald put it?”

  Here she paused to give them “think time,” but no one was listening.

  “Come on, have a little respect.” She hated saying stuff like this because it never worked.

  “Okay, so no one remembers?” She felt she had to keep going. The clock was ticking, and she wanted to get past this whole part of the novel today. She didn’t want to stop and discipline Ashley or Pete or anyone. She just wanted to move on, and the class to end.

  “Open your books. Go to chapter two. Find the description of Daisy,” she said, sounding like a platoon sergeant. A few actually followed directions. It struck her that they liked being told exactly what to do.

  “What in the description would make a reader think Daisy Buchanan is attractive?”

  Beth Humbolt’s hand shot up. “Hester, I mean, Miss Randal.”

  Snickering.

  Beth quickly looked back over her shoulder. Hester had the feeling she must have made some kind of funny face to the kids behind her, because several of them burst into laughter.

  Beth paused before she continued, “We already discussed Daisy, Miss Randal.”

  Another pause, then, “Remember?”

  She dragged out the middle syllable of “remember” and rolled her eyes toward Amy Watson who chuckled.

  “Daisy has a ‘low thrilling voice,’” Beth said, making her voice low and husky. Her fans guffawed. She waited till the noise died down. “It was ‘a promise that she had done gay, exciting things.’” Beth strung out the words “gay” and “exciting” in such a way that the whole class erupted in laughter.

  Hester, despite being annoyed by Beth’s sarcastic tone, had to admit the girl could quote directly from the text.

  In a mocking sing-song voice Beth continued, “I think anyone who does ‘gay, exciting things’ is probably attractive to a lot of people. Don’t you, Hester, I mean, Miss Randal?” She didn’t pause for an answer. “Anyway, we’re supposed to be discussing Tom, Daisy’s husband. You remember who Tom is don’t you, Miss Randal?”

  “What?” Hester was again at a loss for words. The little brat thinks I don’t know who Tom is? Is she kidding?

  Hester opened her mouth to say something, but as soon as Beth saw Hester’s jaw drop, she kept going. “You asked about how Mr. Frederick Scott Fitzgerald described Tom Buchanan; and while you were flirting, I mean chatting, with Vice Principal Murphy, we were supposed to be looking it up. Remeeeeeember?”

  The whole class was in stitches, and Hester felt like Miss Carolyn, that teacher in To Kill a Mockingbird who didn’t know what to say; and when she did, it was the wrong thing. Hester surveyed the room: big gangly teenage bodies stuffed into seats too small for them, heads thrown back, mouths opened, ha, ha, ha. They couldn’t stop laughing.

  “Hey, settle down. Settle down. Please, come on now. Settle down.” Hester knew her words were falling on deaf ears. It was useless. They laughed and laughed and laughed.

  At her wit’s end, Hester put her book on the chalk tray, walked to the side of the room, picked up the trash can, and slammed it down on the floor again and again and again. The laughter stopped. She raised the can up and slammed it one more time. Silence.

  “There,” she said, struggling to control the frustration in her voice. “There.”

  All eyes were on Hester. She held her breath as she stared Beth Humbolt down. Then in the calmest voice she could muster, “Thank you so much, Beth, for getting us back on track.”

  Hester walked in a dignified manner back to the center of the room thinking, calm down, don’t drop to their level, don’t do what you feel like doing, don’t slap little Miss Know-It-All in the face, don’t let them make you lose your job…better to act like nothing happened.

  “So, Beth, how does Mr. Francis Scott Fitzgerald…” Hester emphasized “Francis” just so the one or two kids who were on the ball, including Beth Almighty herself, would know Beth had made a mistake and that their teacher wasn’t a total idiot after all, “describe Mr. Tom Buchanan and explain what that description implies about his personality?”

  “Well, Mr. Frederick, I mean, Francis…who cares? Really, Miss Randal, who really cares?”

  Boy, thought Hester, what a little pain in the ass. She can dish it out, but she can’t take it.

  “Anyway, in chapter two on page nineteen,” Beth continued, “it says he had, and I quote, ‘a rather hard mouth,’ ‘shining arrogant eyes,’ and ‘a cruel body.’”

  “Sound familiar, Miss Randal?” It was Robby Pherson from the corner of the room. Now most of the students were chuckling and back to having a good old time as Hester wondered what Robby was referring to.

  “God, give me the strength,” Hester mumbled half to herself. “Continue, Beth.”

  “Well, men with hard mouths, arrogant eyes, and cruel bodies, although no doubt attractive, are dangerous and just plain not trustworthy. It’s easy to see that Tom can do more damage than just giving poor old Daisy a bruised—”

  The bell rang. Beth stood up, turned from her front row seat to face the class, and announced, “I’ll finish tomorrow, class.” She glanced at her teacher, “Bye, Hester, I mean, Miss Randal.”

  Hester flushed, her eyes widened with disbelief, and she clenched her teeth so tight her jaws ached. Beth sashayed her way to the door. Hester watched her and couldn’t help staring at the girl’s bulky behind. God, what a mess, her own mother probably has a hard time loving her. And just as Hester thought this, Beth whipped her head around and caught Hester.

  “You are so sick.”

  Thankfully, no one but Hester heard what Beth said. Still Hester wanted to stop the girl and say, you’re wrong. It’s not what you think. But Hester knew if she said one thing to Beth, it would set her off, and she’d yell something outrageous back l
ike, you were staring at my ass! Weren’t you? Yes, you were and don’t try to deny it.

  Beth would make sure her friends thought Hester was a pervert. Even now, she was probably telling them that. Hester had no choice. She had to let the incident go, or she’d be the one in trouble. Discouraged and anxious, Hester grabbed her keys, followed the last student out, and locked the door.

  In the main office, Gladys was slumped over her new electric typewriter. Her dirty blonde hair teased on the top resembled a bird’s nest from the back.

  “Hi, Gladys, is Mr. Murphy available? He asked me to meet him here after class.”

  Gladys didn’t look up, but Hester saw her hands hesitate above the keyboard before she grumbled, “Check the gym.”

  “Thanks, Gladys. See you later.”

  “Yeah, later.” Gladys still didn’t look up at Hester, who stood there for a second and wondered why Gladys didn’t like her. It bothered Hester because she knew everybody loved Gladys, and Gladys seemed to love them all back, except for her, whom she seemed quite content to ignore. It made Hester feel like such an outsider. She longed for some degree of closeness with her coworkers, but she wasn’t mixing in the way she’d hoped.

  It’s me. Something’s wrong with me, she told herself. It’s January. I’ve been here since September. I have to try harder.

  Hester blamed herself for being somewhat of an outcast, but she couldn’t help thinking that the staff of Sourland High were all a bit stuck-up. They took pride in the fact that their school wasn’t an educational badland. Students passed the county, state, and college admission tests with no trouble, and that was something to brag about in the seventies in a state like New Jersey. Okay, so it was a great high school. Did that mean that a new teacher couldn’t break into their tightknit circle?

  Hester forced herself to stop thinking about the sad state of her social affairs. Who cares? She had plenty of work to keep her busy. She listened to the noisy clip of her heels on the linoleum as she hurried down the hall toward the gym. She had seventy-six more essays to read, two parent phone calls to make, and Supervisor Zeigler was observing her tomorrow. She should’ve asked Mr. Murphy if she could meet with him tomorrow after Zeigler’s visit. She could turn back now and leave a message for him with Gladys. She was sure he would understand. But she didn’t. Instead, she walked faster until she was in front of the closed door to Coach Stalmeyer’s office.

  She knocked. “Mr. Murphy? It’s me, Miss Randal….”

  “It’s open.”

  Al Murphy was alone in the small room, sitting behind an old desk. He had taken off his suit jacket, and the muscles of his chest strained against the fabric of his striped shirt. His tie was loose. He was leaning back in the office chair, and the tips of his fingers were wedged into the top of his pants. His wavy black hair was combed back neatly and carefully trimmed around his ears. His skin shone a deep honey-color even though it was the dead of winter.

  The wall behind him was lined with shelves stacked with disheveled piles of paperwork and some binders labeled Phys Ed 469 through Phys Ed 488. A dusty plastic fern in a red pot was on one side of the desk and a folding chair on the other. There were no windows. A small white poster was taped on the wall above the fern. It read, “Be a force of Nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy. Shaw, 1903.”

  Hester read the sign before she looked down at Al and smiled.

  Al smiled up at her, cleared his throat, and said, “Well, Miss Randal, something will have to be done about your inability to control your class.”

  Hester’s smile quickly disappeared. “Excuse me, Mr. Murphy?”

  “You heard me, Hester.” He frowned, but his dark, deep-set eyes were warm and friendly.

  Flustered, Hester felt weak. Her voice trembled as she made an attempt to defend herself. “Well, Mr. Murphy, it is true that…”

  “Call me Al.”

  “Okay, well, Al, it is true that some of the students in some of my classes misbehave some of the time, but I believe I am progressing in the area of discipline. As a matter of fact, today I was planning on speaking to several parents concerning just this sort of thing. I really am trying to get a handle on each one of…”—Hester couldn’t stand the way Mr. Murphy was staring at her—“…them. It’s just that there are certain students like Beth Humbolt, Amy Watson, and Robby Pherson, who just seem to be able to….”

  “The three musketeers of Sourland High? You think they’re the worst?”

  “Well, yes, I do think they talk too much and that…”

  “Tape their mouths shut.”

  “What?”

  “Lock them up in the janitor’s closest.”

  “Mr. Murphy, you must be…”

  “I said, call me Al.”

  “Al, you must be kidding.”

  “I am.” As he said this, he got up, went to the door, and locked it.

  “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t answer, but walked up to Hester and took her hand in his. “I don’t want us to be disturbed; and yes, I was kidding around with you.”

  “Thank God, I really don’t want to lose this job.” Hester’s hand felt warm in Al’s, so she tried to pull it away, but he squeezed it and put his other hand on her wrist.

  “You’re not going to lose your job, not if I can help it. Besides, it’s good to know you can take a joke. I love a girl with a sense of humor.”

  He led her around the desk and tried to kiss her. She pulled away.

  “Come on now, Hester. I won’t hurt you.” He leaned in slowly. His breath was hot on her face. It smelled minty. His lips touched hers. They were soft and full and made hers tingle. He pulled away and looked in her eyes, and she noticed his were the color of hot fudge. He kissed her again, this time longer and harder, and she found it difficult not to kiss him back, not to open her mouth, not to let him in.

  Al backed off, sat in the chair, and pulled Hester sideways onto his lap. The quickness of this maneuver surprised her. She stiffened and whispered, “No.”

  But Al had one arm firmly around her, his hand on her waist. “It will be alright. No one will know.”

  His face was full of concentration. His features took on a look that could be described as disdain, though it wasn’t. Hester knew he was aroused, seriously aroused.

  “Hester Randal, do you know how hot you are?” His eyes met hers.

  “Mr. Murphy, please, we’re bound to get…”

  “Stop calling me Mr. Murphy, for God’s sake, and lighten up.”

  Before she could decide if what he had said was out of line, he kissed her again, and she sank deeper into his lap, where it became easier for him to reach under her blouse and massage her back and press her closer to him. He kept that hand there, and with the other, pulled the front of her blouse up, reached into her bra, and cupped her breast. He massaged it, then rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger until it hardened. He pushed her blouse up under her chin and pulled her bra down until her breast was out. He sucked on her nipple, then he sucked her whole breast into his mouth.

  Hester looked down, saw her blouse bunched up, saw Al Murphy’s lips stretched out around her; and despite her shock at what she was letting this man, her boss, do to her, she was on the verge of an orgasm.

  He touched the zipper on her slacks. Hester froze. She could not let him inside her like that, even though she was so close to coming, even though she wanted so badly to come with him inside her. But she had learned her lesson, and she would never be careless about getting pregnant again. She took a deep breath and put her hand on his. “Stop. Please. Stop.”

  He did. He leaned back and looked at her. The pupils of his eyes were black pinpoints, the irises the color of wet bark. His gaze was unflinching. His mouth was slightly open and he was breathing heavily. Hester longed for him, longed to satisfy this handsome, beautiful man. Her hand was on his forearm and she could feel how stron
g he was. He took his hand from her zipper and pulled his down instead. She slid off his lap, knelt between his legs, and tried to stay lost in the heat of the moment. But she couldn’t stop the image of Tom Buchanan and his “cruel body” from popping into her mind.

  Eight

  At noon the power in Pleasant Palms was still out. Hester was on her patio, lying on the chaise lounge, staring at the scarred Bo tree. Two board members came by with clipboards and made notes about the damage to the tree and her trailer. She told them about Al being in the hospital, and they said how sorry they were and moved on. When they left, the quiet grew so intense Hester fell into a trance and no longer even heard the ocean. When a sea gull squawked, she almost jumped out of her skin.

  She got up and went for a walk north on Old Ocean Road, which bordered the beach and led out of trailer park. On the west side, through lush landscaping Hester could peek at the mansions. She spied a Burberry plaid beach blanket hanging over one of the balconies. A recycling bin full of empty Johnny Walker Black Label bottles had been left outside one of the gates. There was not much else to look at. No one seemed to be around.

  Other than palm fronds, coconuts, and sea grape leaves scattered along the roadside, little here seemed to have been disturbed by the storm. Hester picked up her pace, and soon she was sweating. It felt good to put one foot in front of the other and leave Pleasant Palms and all that happened there behind.

  She made it all the way to the Boyton Inlet, three miles from her trailer. No boats were going out, and the pelicans sat on the concrete pilings looking bored and hungry. Hester stopped by the marina restroom, but it was locked. The sun was high in the cloudless sky. She sat on a bench near the pelicans and watched them watch her. It had a calming effect on her, being so near the birds. When they flew away after an incoming fishing boat, she headed back past the “mausoleums of the living rich,” as Al called them.