Devil's Creek

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  “No. It isn’t.”

  He tapped a finger on his chin. “Wait a minute. Wait just one minute.”

  She fluttered her false eyelashes at him. “You’ll never guess.”

  He leaned over, whispering into her ear. “Is it Mr. Gorgeous? Our super duper hunky director?”

  “I’ll never tell,” she said with a grin.

  “I knew it.” Sal smacked his thigh with one hand. “I just knew it.”

  She straightened in her chair. “How could you tell?”

  Sal scooted closer to her, lowering his voice. “Because, he gets all googly-eyed when he looks at you. He’s easier on you than any of us. And his face sort of… softens… when you’re singing.”

  “Really?” she said.

  “Really. But listen,” he looked around furtively. “I wanna hear all the details when you do him. You understand?” He leaned closer. “Everything.”

  She laughed and shoved him away. “I don’t kiss and tell, Sal. You ought to know that.”

  He pretended he was shot, clasping his chest. “Oh. You’re killing me, girl. Come on.”

  She hopped up and practiced a curtsey in the mirror. “You’ll just have to imagine it.”

  Sal flopped back against his chair and snickered. “Like I don’t do that every night.” His face twisted. “Well, not you and him. Me and him.” He guffawed and turned back to the mirror.

  Chapter 40

  When the Sunday matinee performance of “Grease” was over, the cast and crew lined up on stage, bowing and laughing with arms linked and faces wide with silly grins. They knew they’d done well, and Anderson had to agree. They’d completely mastered the songs and dances, and had even gotten the audience to jump to their feet several times with thunderous applause.

  Grace beckoned him onstage, and as was customary, presented him with a bouquet of flowers from the troupe. He accepted with a humble bow, backing away to allow the actors to enjoy one more round of applause.

  Afterwards, the students clamored around him backstage, asking him if he would attend the cast party.

  Something in his heart broke when they raised this topic, and—as if it hadn’t been years and years, as if he hadn’t attended many cast parties in the past decade—he froze.

  Now it was different. Now there was someone he loved who would attend the party. And he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d just disappear partway through the evening, like Caroline had.

  He stood backstage amidst the bustling crowd of students and felt like running away.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  “Professor?” Salvatore asked, tugging at his sleeve. “Are you coming to the party?”

  Anderson forced himself to act naturally. “I think so.”

  Sal canted his hips and frowned. “It won’t be the same if you’re not there, you know.”

  “I—”

  Grace appeared suddenly at his side, freshly washed face shining. “He’s right. You have to come. Besides, my parents want to meet you.”

  “How far out is your place again?” he asked, wondering if he had the energy to drive all the way out there, make a showing at the party, and drive home again.

  “It’s only a forty minute drive. And we have plenty of room for folks to crash if they’re tired. We’ve got the bunk house, a huge living room, and a guest room.”

  “It’s your parents’ horse farm?” Anderson asked, again trying not to commit.

  “Yes. And my mom’s been cooking for days. You can’t let her down.”

  Anderson smiled, giving in. “Okay. How can I say no to home cooking?”

  “I’ll text you the directions. Give me your number,” Grace insisted.

  He did as she asked.

  ∞∞∞

  Later that evening, Grace dragged Anderson toward her parents. ““Dad? Mom? I’d like you to meet Professor Rockwell. Professor? These are my folks, Dirk and Daisy.”

  Dirk Lamont thrust out his hand. “Pleased to meet you. That was one heck of a show you put on today.”

  Anderson gripped Dirk’s hand. “Thank you, sir. I didn’t realize you’d come to the performance today.”

  Daisy sidled forward. “We’ve been there for every show since opening night.” She laughed and took Anderson’s hand. “I can’t tell you how pleased we are that you took the time to coach these kids. They were like a regular Broadway troupe today. And Dirk and I just love Broadway, don’t we, honey?”

  “That we do,” Dirk said. “We were just down in the city to see ‘Cats’ last month. Wonderful show.”

  Anderson smiled, feeling comfortable with these good people. He chatted for a while with Grace’s parents, pushing his baser desires for their daughter far, far away into the recesses of his mind. Meeting with them drove home the ridiculous nature of his obsession, and it shamed him. What had he been thinking?

  The house filled with students, and the air hung with the aromas of meatballs, fresh bread, and about two dozen other dishes Daisy had prepared.

  Grace dragged Anderson away from her parents. “Sorry, guys. I want the professor to meet Portia.”

  She led him outside to the parking area, where a pretty girl with shiny copper-colored hair emerged from a car that had just pulled into the driveway. She wore a dark green tee shirt displaying “Green Mountain Nursery” in white letters across the front.

  “This is my sister, Portia.” Grace pushed them together.

  “Hello,” Portia said. “Sorry I’m late for the party, but my boss got sick and I had to close up for her tonight.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Anderson shook her hand and smiled. “Is that a garden store?” he asked. “Or do you take care of little children?”

  She laughed, and he realized in that second how much she reminded him of Grace. Not in appearance, no. She was more willowy than Grace, and her hair was a different color, but there was something very sisterly about the laugh and the way her eyes danced in the light.

  “It’s plants,” she said. “Mostly flowers. I’ve just finished up my undergrad degree in biology, and I needed a break. Gotta start paying off some of those loans, you know?”

  Grace frowned, almost as if she were sorry she’d introduced them. Or maybe she wanted more attention, Anderson wasn’t sure.

  He nodded. “Understandable. These days you practically need a mortgage to get through college.” He turned to include Grace in the conversation. “So. Were you able to see your sister’s show? She was quite marvelous.”

  “I went to two performances.” Portia beamed at Grace, leaning forward to hug her. “She was incredible. We were so proud.”

  Grace seemed to relax now, and slid her arms through her sister’s, walking back to the porch with Anderson. “I had a great teacher.”

  Grace disappeared again, and Anderson mingled with the students, finally settling on the porch glider with Daisy, who’d offered him a glass of lemonade.

  “Professor?” she asked, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

  “Yes, Mrs. Lamont?”

  “Oh, call me Daisy. For Heaven’s sake.”

  “Okay. Daisy it is. And you can call me Anderson.”

  She laughed nervously, touching the back of his hand. “Well, Anderson. I— I just wanted to thank you.”

  “Thank me? For what?”

  “For helping our girl,” she whispered. “She’s had some big trouble the past few years. And you, and this show… ”

  “Grace was in trouble?”

  “Oh, you didn’t know.” She flushed and looked down at her hands. “Well, how could you, I don’t know why I—”

  “She’s been a real hard worker,” Anderson said.

  Daisy’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank God. Maybe it’s over.”

  Anderson waited.

  “Well, you see,” she said. “There was this problem with drugs.”

  He frowned. “Really? Grace?”

  “Yes.” She sighed and leaned back. “She went to rehab quite a few times. But we’re
hoping this last time did the trick.”

  So that was why Grace started college at twenty-two. It all started to make sense now. “She seems just fine,” he said. “Like I said. She was devoted to the show.”

  “Thanks to you,” she said, almost gushing. “You’re all she talks about when she’s home for the weekends.”

  Anderson’s cheeks felt warm, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Guilt swam through him, and once again, he felt ashamed for obsessing over this poor woman’s daughter. He’d be cured after this. He was sure of it. “I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. It’s my job.”

  “Well, you excel at your job, young man.”

  He snorted a laugh.

  “Please, call me Anderson. I’m not that young anymore.”

  She laughed with him. “I know the feeling, Anderson.” She patted his arm. “Sometimes I feel like I’m ninety, and I’m just forty-seven.”

  “You look a lot younger,” he said truthfully. “And the girls really take after you. You’re quite lovely.”

  Fussing away his praise, she stood and stammered. “Thank you. Well, I’d best get back to our guests.”

  He rose to his feet and touched her hand. “Daisy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks for telling me about Grace.”

  A worried look crossed her face. “You won’t tell her I said anything?”

  “Of course not, but I’ll keep an eye on her, if you’d like.”

  “That would be wonderful.” She leaned up to peck his cheek. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 41

  The party dragged on past midnight, and at one in the morning, Anderson found himself falling asleep, leaning back against the refrigerator. He’d been listening to a friendly debate between Salvatore and another student about gay rights in the university, but his eyelids were heavy. He righted himself just before he lost his balance.

  Grace tapped his shoulder. “Professor?”

  He turned with a lazy smile. “Hi, Grace. You caught me.”

  “Were you falling asleep?”

  “Just about to.”

  “Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

  He roused himself and stood straighter. “Um. No. I’m fine. But it’s late. I should be heading home.”

  “My mom insists you take a room in the bunkhouse. It’s all set up. There’s a bathroom, nice little bed, and it’s heated.”

  Daisy called to him from across the room. “You stay, okay?” She waited until he nodded in agreement before turning back to another guest.

  “It would be nice not to have to drive,” he said. “Where’s the bunkhouse, anyway?”

  “It’s inside the barn, actually. Come on. I’ll show you.”

  Grace took his arm and led him outside. There was a chill in the air and the stars glittered overhead in a black velvet sky. He inhaled the fresh country air, getting a whiff of wood smoke. A horse whinnied from the nearby pasture, and Anderson laughed. “Looks like someone wants some attention, eh?”

  Grace chuckled. “More like he wants some action. That’s Mirage, our stallion.” She pointed to the far side of the property. “We just brought in a new mare to breed. She’s down in that little barn over there. And he knows it.”

  Anderson headed toward the fence. “He’s a beauty. Is he friendly?”

  “Sure.” Grace stepped onto the lower rung of the fence to pat Mirage’s neck. “He’s a lover. In more ways than one.” She giggled. “Aren’t you, boy?”

  The horse leaned into her, nodding his big head up and down as she scratched behind his ears.

  She shivered and got down. “Oh. It’s really cooled down out here. You can tell fall’s on its way.” She hugged herself and stamped her feet. “Come on. Let’s get you settled inside.”

  Anderson followed her into the barn, trying not to watch the sway of Grace’s hips. He purposefully avoided looking at her, focusing on the walls, the wooden floors, and even an orange cat sleeping on a hay bale. Anything but her beautiful curves and the way she moved.

  She opened a door on the far side of the barn leading to the bunkhouse rooms. “No one else took us up on our offer to sleep over, so you’ll have the whole place to yourself. You can choose from all four rooms.”

  Anderson nodded, opening the first door to his right. Fitted simply with two twin beds, a pine bureau, and a sliding door closet, it looked clean and inviting. “This will do fine. Which way is the bathroom?”

  She led him back out of the room and down the hall. “Here it is.” She pushed open a blue door. “It even has a shower, if you want to take one. I hung some fresh towels. And I set out a new toothbrush and toothpaste for you.”

  “Really?” He looked around with surprise. “You did that?”

  She flushed. “Well. Yes. My mother suggested it, but I did it.”

  He turned to face her, wishing the room wasn’t so tiny. Her breasts brushed against his arm. “Well. Thank you,” he said, glancing away.

  “You’re welcome.” She nonchalantly walked him back to his room and opened the closet door. “Some of last year’s ranch hands left a few things. We washed them in case they might come in handy tonight.” She pulled a pair of pajama pants and a tee shirt off a hanger. “What about these?”

  He reached for them. “Hmm. Might just work.”

  “Let me see.” She grabbed the pajama pants from him and held them up to his waist. “Maybe a little big, but they’ll do.”

  Anderson felt his body responding to her touch and backed away. “Well, thank you, again. You’ve been more than kind.”

  Grace raised her eyes to his and touched the side of his face. “It’s you who have been kind to me, Professor.” The words she spoke were innocent enough, but the quality of her voice turned smoky, almost like a purring cat.

  Anderson wanted to reach for her, pull her into his arms, and smother her with kisses. Instead, he backed up. “Just doing my job.”

  “No,” she said, moving closer. “You put your whole self into this. It’s more than any other teacher has ever done for me.”

  His body turned on him, swelling with desire. He swallowed hard and stepped back a few inches. “Guess I’d best turn in.”

  An expression of hurt flitted across her face and her hand dropped to her side. She pouted and shrugged. “Oh, I get it. Fine.” With a huff, she turned to go.

  “Grace, wait.” He followed her to the door, but she didn’t meet his glance. “Please. I just wanted to say you were wonderful on stage. I was never prouder of any student than I was of you this weekend.”

  She glanced down at his pants with a little chuckle, and for a moment, he thought he’d lose it right there. Had she noticed his body’s reaction to her touch? He hoped not. Holding the pajamas in front of him, he tried to will the erection away. “And thank you for your hospitality. Your family is amazing.”

  “Good night, Professor.” She brushed her lips against his. “Sweet dreams.”

  ∞∞∞

  Anderson woke to the sound of soft footsteps on the floor.

  What time is it? Where am I?

  He turned to the little clock on the nightstand whose blue numerals glowed three-forty. And then he remembered.

  I’m in Grace’s barn. The bunkhouse.

  His bedroom door slowly creaked open. Without the twinges of guilt that stabbed at him when he was fully awake, without the trappings of propriety a conscious brain would have pushed at him, he imagined Grace coming across the threshold in a filmy nightgown. But it wasn’t Grace. It was the ginger-colored cat who slowly slinked toward him. She jumped onto the bed and began to purr, wrapping herself around his outstretched hand.

  When she settled in a ball behind his knees, he drifted back to sleep, wanting to dream of his beautiful Grace.

  Unclothed, she leaned over him, flicking her tongue across his lips and pushing it inside his mouth to claim him. Her breasts rubbed against him, soft and supple. He kneaded them with his hands, feeling the nipples rise under his touch. She l
ifted his shirt and massaged his chest, teasing him. Slowly, she bent forward and let her long hair dance over his skin, kissing his body in a descending spiral that ended at his waist.

  He was out of his pajama pants in seconds, allowing her mouth to slide lower to its final destination. To his agonizing delight, her fingers circled his hard shaft, sliding up and down in syncopation to the rhythm of her darting tongue on the tip of his organ. Her other hand reached down below, stroking his scrotum and sliding around to the back, where one finger probed him in a place no one had ever dared to touch.

  He arched back in pleasure, thrusting toward her lips, but simultaneously wanting to flip her over and plunge inside her, fill her, take her, make her his.

  “Anderson,” she whispered, rolling over to pull him on top of her, as if she had just read his sleep-drenched mind.

  She opened her thighs for him and guided him to her, welcoming him inside. As if propelled from lonely reality to a sudden intense realization of his fantasies, he slowly lowered himself into her, deeper, deeper, and deeper until they were one.

  As he stroked inside her, up and down, slowly and deliciously, he suddenly realized that the dreamlike qualities of the experience had become more immediate, more real. He pumped now, driving harder and deeper, and with a start he realized, not so far in the back of his mind now, that he was no longer dreaming.

  Grace was here, right in his bed.

  Grace was beneath him.

  He was making love to Grace, for real.

  He jerked himself to full consciousness, opened his eyes wide, and was met by the leonine expression in her eyes.

  “Grace?” he mumbled, stopping mid-stroke. “Is it really you?”

  She laughed and pushed up against him, starting the cycle again. “Yes, dear Professor. It’s me. Don’t stop. Please.”

  He protested weakly, but his body defied him, wanting to finish what they’d started. “No, Grace. We can’t. We—”

  “We must,” she cooed, bringing her hands around his back and digging deep with her nails. “I’ve wanted you since the night of the tryouts.” She leaned up and bit his lower lip. “And I know you want me.”