by Brent, Amy
“Hi mom,” I said, smiling into the camera. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, dear. How’s it going there?”
“Fine, just busy studying for finals next week.”
“You’ll do great, dear,” she said, giving me her “you can do anything you want” smile. “Are you all packed?”
“No, mom, I still have a couple of weeks to go.”
“Oh, well, I just thought that you would be so excited to move back to Chicago and start your new job that you’d already be packing.”
“No, not yet.” I forgot that she could see me. When I rubbed my eyes and looked away, her voice took on an air of concern.
“What’s wrong, sweetie. Haven’t you been sleeping well?”
“I’m fine, mom,” I said with a tired sigh. I didn’t tell her that I’d be a lot better if I could sleep in Logan’s arms every night, but for now, we had to be cool. I took a deep breath and gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m just tired. Lots going on. Finals are going to be a fucking bitch.”
“Courtney, watch your language,” she said, talking to me like I was a little girl. “I hope you remember to not talk like that when you start work with Earl.”
“I’ll be sure not to saying fucking bitch in front of clients, mom,” I said, rolling my eyes.
She narrowed her eyes at me, like she could read my mind across the thousands of miles. “Courtney, is there something wrong? You’re not having second thoughts about coming home to work for Earl are you? Oh my god, you’re not thinking of staying there in California, are you?”
I didn’t answer quickly enough for her, so she pounced.
“Oh, Courtney, please don’t tell me you’re thinking about backing out. Not after everything Earl has done for you.”
“Mom, I’m not backing out,” I said. “I’m just thinking about my future. I’m not sure I want to spend the next forty years crunching numbers for a living.”
“But you’re so good at math, dear,” she said. “Your degree will be in accounting. What else would you do?”
“I don’t know, mom,” I said. “Like I said, I’m not backing out. I’m just thinking about the future.”
“Are you, Courtney?” I could see her face getting red on the little video screen. “Are you really thinking or are you doing what you always do?”
“What do I always do, mother?”
“You’re like a distracted child sometimes,” she said, talking with her hands so the video screen became a jumpy blur. “You set your sights on one thing, then something else gets your attention and you chase that for a while, then something else…” She brought the phone back to her face. “Oh no, let me guess, this is about a boy, isn’t it?”
“No, mom, it’s not about a boy,” I said, making a pissy face at her. I bit my tongue before I could say, “It’s about a man!”
She huffed into the phone. “Oh my lord, not again.”
I clenched my teeth and glanced around the cafeteria to make sure no one was close enough to hear us. I growled at her. “What does that mean?”
She shook her head and sighed. She was holding the phone so close to her face that all I could see were her eyes. They were welling with tears.
She said, “Courtney, sometimes you think with your vagina rather than your brain. And it never ends well.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Mom! Seriously?”
She was still shaking her head. She was sniffing back tears. “I’m sorry for whatever I did when you were young to make you think that your happiness relies on a man, Courtney. I know all about the things you did in high school, things you’ve probably done in college. The truth is, I did them, too, at your age. I was selfish and promiscuous and always making bad decisions based on the boy of the moment. If Earl hadn’t come along to save us both, I honestly don’t know what would have happened to us.”
“I’m not doing that,” I said defensively. The lie that sprung from my lips left a very bad taste in my mouth.
She wiped her eyes. “You’re smart, you’re beautiful, and you have your whole life ahead of it. Don’t do what I did, Courtney. Don’t let some infatuation with a boy cause you to throw away everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve. Trust me, it’s just not worth it.”
She hung up without saying another word, leaving me staring through tears at the blank screen as my mind wondered if she was right.
Logan
I was in my classroom, getting ready to administer the last final of the year, when Tom Brooks walked in. He looked great compared to the last time I’d seen him. His eyes were clear and bright with no dark bags hanging from beneath them. He was wearing a new suit and tie. His hair was freshly cut and his skin had a sun-kissed glow. I did a double-take when he came into the room.
“Tom, you look great,” I said, getting up to shake his hand.
“Thanks,” he said with a proud smile. “I took your advice. Got out of town for the weekend, got some sun. And I’ve quit drinking and carousing; something you should seriously think about doing.”
I thought about feigning ignorance, but just let the comment go. We both knew the truth about me. It was useless to deny it. I held out a hand to motion him to a chair while I sat back down behind the desk.
“So, I suppose you’re here to deliver my sentence,” I said with a long sigh. “Give it to me straight. I can take it.”
He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “I am here to deliver the ruling of the ethics committee,” he said formally. He unfolded the paper and slid it across the desk to me. At the top of the page were the words: ETHICS COMMITTEE RULING.
He said, “The good news is, you are not being fired. Your job, for the moment at least, is safe. There will be no suspension since we are at the end of term. The committee does recommend that you take the summer break to reflect on your actions, and take steps to ensure that such an egregious violation of the rules never happens again.”
“In other words, keep it in my pants.” I grinned at him, but his face remained somber.
“The bad news is, you will not receive tenure this year.”
I picked up the paper and frowned at it. “Fuck. No tenure means I can be terminated or laid off at any time.”
“It does,” he said, sighing again, as if he had just returned from a long battle. “But you’ve worked three years without tenure, so unless you fuck up again, you should be fine. The topic of tenure will be revisited on your five-year anniversary… if you’re around that long.”
I grimaced at his words, like a convict listening to a judge tell him how long he must be in prison before becoming eligible for parole.
I had wanted tenure not because it meant lifetime employment. I had wanted tenure because it offered protection for lazy fuckup academics like me. It was virtually impossible to be fired when you had tenure, no matter your crimes. Tenure was like a license to quit giving a fuck. Most of the tenured professors just went through the motions. Hell, most of them didn’t even show up to teach their own classes. They had teaching assistants do it for them. They spent their time writing and publishing papers, and making side money as high-paid consultants for tech companies in the valley.
Tenure was like Willy Wonka’s Golden Ticket. Get one and you not only get a free tour of the factory, but you might one day own the whole shebang; or at least be allowed to act like you do. I had desperately wanted tenure, but not as much as I had wanted Courtney Shaw.
“Oh well,” I said, working up a smile. “All I have to do is keep my nose clean for two more years.”
“It’s not your nose that worries me,” he said seriously. “My advice to you, my friend, is to keep you dick out of your students. And out of the faculty ladies, especially crazy bitches like Sheila Denning.”
I grinned at him. “Point well taken, my friend. I appreciate you going to bat for me.”
“Least I could do,” he said. “I was headed down a pretty dark road. If you hadn’t interceded, well, I might be the one ge
tting fired for some dastardly deed.”
“You’re going to be fine,” I said. I opened my briefcase and slid the paper inside. My nostrils flared as the scent of Courtney’s thong wafted from the case. I quickly closed and latched lid, as if I were afraid the scent might escape like a playful spirit.
“What about you?” he asked with a frown.
I blinked at him. “What about me?”
“When are you going get yourself straight, Logan?”
I leaned back and spread my hands. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Tom.”
“Come on, Logan, this is me,” he said, leaning his elbows on the desk. “I know you’re a drunk. The entire time you were preaching the evils of alcohol to me I could smell the booze on your breath. And the lecture you gave me about willpower was total horseshit. I have to believe the booze led you to sleep with a student, because the Logan Clark that I know would have never crossed that line. You’re becoming a pathetic shell of the man you used to be. You’re a good man. I hate to see you do that to yourself.”
I gave him a sideways frown. “What does that mean?”
He got to his feet and dusted off his hands, as if talking to me had left them dirty. He said, “That means that you need to dry out and grow up, Logan. Isn’t that what you told me? Though your advice was very much ‘do as I say and not as I do’.”
I pushed myself out of the chair and planted my knuckles on the desk. I gave him a hard look. “Have I somehow offended you, Tom?”
“Yes, Logan, you have offended me greatly because for the last three years I’ve watched a brilliant man piss his life away for booze and pussy,” he said, bracing his knuckles on the desk to stand nose-to-nose with me. “You might as well just go home and blow your brains out right now. Just get it over with. Kill yourself quickly and save everyone the pain of watching you do it slowly.”
I wanted to punch him in the face.
I wanted to get so fucking angry that I jerked him over the desk and stomped his brains into the floor.
I wanted to tell him that he was wrong and to go to hell.
I wanted to do all those things, but I couldn’t.
Because he was right.
I had spent the last three years burrowing myself into a deep, dark hole of booze and women, with no regard for anyone’s feelings, not even my own. Then she came along…
“What are you hiding from, Logan?” he asked, his tone softening.
It was a great question, one I avoided asking myself.
When I didn’t offer an answer, he said, “Tell me. Why are you here, teaching accounting to college kids that don’t give a shit, living in poverty, drinking yourself stupid every night, having sex with women who are happy to fuck you, but wouldn’t be seen in public with you? The Logan Clark I met three years ago had so much potential, and now… I have never seen a more miserable son of a bitch in my life.”
“Then maybe you should look in the mirror,” I said quietly. I threw my hands in the air and yelled at him. “Get on back to Goldie’s, Tom. Climb on your stool and get shitfaced while you annoy the shit out of everyone with the story of how you walked in on your wife fucking a three-hundred-pound, black football player!”
He blinked at me for a moment. I thought he was going to hit me. I would have let him do it. I clenched my jaw and dropped my hands to my sides. Hit me, motherfucker. Do it. I deserve it.
He pushed himself away from the desk and took a deep breath. He said, “It’s time you took your own advice, Logan. Dry out. Grow up. Find a nice woman your own age and settle down.”
He walked to the door, but paused before going through it.
“If you fuck up again, there won’t be anything I can do to save you. If you truly like working here, keep your cock in your pants and your mind on the work. Otherwise, save us both the headache and just move on.”
Logan
The moment Tom left, I called Courtney to give her the good news. No tenure, but my job was safe, she would graduate in a few weeks, and we could be together.
Her phone went straight to voicemail.
“Hey, it’s me,” I said. “I have good news. Guess I’ll just tell you about it when you come to class. I… I’ll see you soon.”
* * *
Courtney didn’t show up for class, even though I was administering the final exam. She was the top student in the class and could graduate without taking the exam, but I never imagined that she would skip it. The one thing she took seriously was her studies.
I asked the other students if they’d seen her.
They all gave me a knowing smirk and said no.
I handed out the final exam and sat at my desk with my phone between my hands.
I sent her a test: hey r u ok?
The cursor blinked, but she never texted back.
Courtney
I spent the rest of the day locked in my room, thinking about my future. And about Logan Clark, the older professor who was supposed to just be my last conquest before leaving school to start my new life in Chicago.
The plan was to seduce him, fuck him, and move on.
It was the same plan I’d executed flawlessly countless times over the years, starting with my English teacher in tenth grade.
The plan was never to have feelings for him.
The plan was never to imagine myself being with him longer than a few hours.
The plan had gone to shit.
I had feelings for him.
Feelings I’d never felt before.
Feelings that scared the shit out of me.
My mother’s words echoed in my head. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, and you have your whole life ahead of it. Don’t do what I did, Courtney. Don’t let some infatuation with a boy cause you to throw away everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve. Trust me, it’s just not worth it.
Mindy knocked on my door. I told her I was okay. She knew it was a lie, but she left me alone. I guess a good psychiatrist knows that sometimes the patient must work things out for themselves.
My phone buzzed. It was Logan calling. I sent the call to voicemail. A few minutes later, I listened to the message: Hey, it’s me… I have good news. Guess I’ll just tell you about it when you come to class. I… I’ll see you soon.
I listened to the message with tears in my eyes.
I listened to it again.
And again.
He sounded so happy.
So relieved.
I deleted the voicemail.
An hour later, my phone buzzed again, this time he had sent a text: hey r u ok?
My fingers hovered over the tiny keyboard for a moment.
I read the text again.
I didn’t know how to answer the question because I didn’t know if I was okay.
My phone buzzed again.
It was my mother calling.
“Fuck,” I said, wiping my eyes. I took a deep breath and forced myself to answer the call.
“Hi, mom… yes… I know… you’re right… I was just getting cold feet… I know… I love you, too… hey, I was thinking about skipping graduation and coming home now… yes… it’s just a formality… they can mail the diploma to me… no, it’s not a big deal… okay… I’ll book a ticket now and see you soon… okay… I’ll email you my itinerary… okay… I love you, too.”
I hung up the phone and blew out a long breath.
Mom was right.
I couldn’t let my infatuation with Logan Clark change the course of my life.
We used each other, we had a good time, and now it was time to move on.
I opened my laptop and booked a flight home.
Courtney
One month later… Chicago…
“Hey, Court, how is the Burnham Financial audit coming?” Earl asked, standing in the doorway of my tiny office on the twentieth floor of the Rand Building in Chicago. The office was small, but I had a spectacular view of the river. I looked up at him and smiled.
“It’s coming along fine,” I said
. I spread out my hands at the stacks of files on my desk. “I should have the final report for you by Monday afternoon.”
Earl rubbed his hands together and gave me a fatherly grin. “Excellent, I’ll let them know.” He started to leave, but turned back with a finger sticking in the air. “Oh, your mom is cooking spaghetti Friday night. Can we expect to see you there?”
“Of course,” I said, mustering a smile for his benefit. “You’re just a short train ride away.”
“Fantastic,” he said, checking his watch. “It’s almost six. You should get out of here.”
“I will. I’m wrapping things up now.”
He blew me a kiss and disappeared down the hallway.
I thought about working for another hour or two. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do. I could go to my apartment and unpack boxes, I supposed. Or grab a bite at one of the restaurants between here and there. No, scratch that. I hated to eat alone. I always felt like such a loser.
I stared at the stack of files for a moment, but decided I’d had enough. I shut down my computer, switched off the light, and headed for home.
Courtney
I changed into a pair of baggy sweat pants and a Golden State t-shirt, then padded barefoot into the kitchen of my new apartment to forage dinner from the fridge.
I opened the fridge to find that it contained half a leftover pepperoni pizza and three bottles of beer. My mother would have been horrified by my lack of planning and domestic skills. Her fridge was always overflowing with things to eat. I barely had enough food to keep a bird alive.
I microwaved the pizza and popped the cap off a beer, then sat down with a legal pad and pen to work up a grocery list as I ate. I was halfway through the first slice of pizza when the doorbell rang.
I rubbed my greasy hands on the legs of my sweats as I went to the door. I leaned in to look through the peephole. My breath caught in my throat. On the other side of the door stood Logan Clark.
