by Lisa Lutz
Inside, I noticed a collection of shoes by his front door. I assumed it was a shoe-free home. I kicked off my sneakers. When I looked back at Finn, I noticed an urgent panic set in. I worried that de-shoeing suggested I was planning a long stay.
“I could put my shoes back on,” I said. That might have sounded even stranger.
“Oh. No. The shoes should stay off.”
He quickly ushered me into the living room and offered me a drink or weed. I’d already had several shots of wine, so I opted not to mix my intoxicants. Finn gulped two more tumblers of water and set out a grazing spread from our pantry theft.
As we indulged in an assortment of processed-food items, Finn’s high took a nosedive.
“Have you been leaving things at my door?” I said.
“No. What kind of things? Gifts?” he said, intrigued.
“I don’t think so. They’re just cryptic notes.”
“Do you have a secret admirer?” Finn said.
“It’s not like that.”
“Do you have a not-secret admirer?”
“A not-secret admirer?”
“That was my casual way of asking if you were seeing anyone,” Finn said.
“Oh. I’m not,” I said. “Did you hear anything about me before I came here?”
“Like what?”
“You tell me,” I said.
Mr. Ford
Saturday night I’m on dorm watch. Officially, I’m required to roam half of Dickens House every hour or so, making sure no one’s passed out, shooting up, or having sex in public. I don’t do any of those things. We have an understanding. I don’t police them; they come to me if a student is injured or incapacitated.
I was trying to grade all of the Camus papers so I could have the rest of the weekend to finish revisions on my book. I got stoned to make the student essays more interesting. I was about halfway done when I got to Adam Westlake’s essay, which was fascinatingly off point. Adam breezed past Meursault’s behavior at his mother’s funeral and suggested that his guilty verdict was a result of a mangled defense: If Meursault had not been sentenced to death, he would have had an excellent case for legal malpractice, since clearly Meursault was suffering from heatstroke when he pulled the trigger.
I got more stoned as I debated whether Adam was serious or just fucking around. Then people started knocking on my door.
Jonah came by to deliver his paper. I think he smelled the weed. I got paranoid, ushered him out, and Febrezed my entire apartment.
Another knock, ten minutes later. I didn’t answer for a while, thinking whoever it was would go away. I was wrong. Rapid knocking followed by the sound of Rachel Rose’s voice.
“Mr. Ford. Finn Ford. I know you’re in there,” she said in a singsongy tone, which felt like something from a horror film.
I opened the door. She pushed past me and said impatiently, “It’s about time.” Then she kicked off her shoes and tossed her scarf on the coat rack.
“You can keep your shoes on,” I said, worried that more clothing items were about to come off.
I left the door open. I thought it would be better that way. Then I wasn’t sure if it was worse with the door open. Stonebridge has never had any set rules of propriety—boys, girls, male and female faculty are essentially allowed anywhere other than gender-specific restrooms and locker rooms.
Rachel settled onto my couch, comfortably tucking one foot underneath her other thigh. She was wearing a short black skirt with those fucking knee-highs that they all wear with their uniforms. She said she wanted to explain why her Camus paper was late. I offered an extension. She said she was confused by the book.
“Why doesn’t the guy—” she said.
“Meursault?”
“Whatever. Why doesn’t he just pretend to be sad about his mother’s death, so he doesn’t get convicted of murder?”
“That would be lying,” I said.
“So what?” she said. “Are you going to sit down?”
“No. No. I need to stand. My back is bothering me.”
I paced for effect.
“Do you want me to walk on it?” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“I walk on my dad’s back all the time. It helps. I promise I won’t hurt you.”
“No. Thank you,” I said. “Look, Rachel, take the weekend on the paper, if you’re still having trouble. We’ll talk after class on Monday.”
“You used to like it when we talked,” Rachel said.
“I still like talking to my students. I just have a lot of work to do this weekend.”
“On your book?”
“Yes, and other stuff.”
Rachel hugged her knees to her chest. I saw more skin than I should have and I started wondering whether she was wearing underwear, until I became aware that I shouldn’t have been wondering those things. I focused my gaze on my bare feet. I have an unnaturally long second toe. Or maybe it’s my hallux that’s shorter than average. I was thinking about toes so I wouldn’t think about Rachel and her possible lack of underwear.
“Who are you going to dedicate your book to?” she said.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Probably my parents.”
“Will I at least get a thank-you in the acknowledgments?”
“I’ll thank all of my students,” I said.
“Whatever,” Rachel said, sighing. She slowly removed herself from the couch, slipped on her loafers with the speed of an invalid, gave me a final forlorn expression, and departed.
An hour later, Norman Crowley came by to deliver a form that allows him to handle his own meds. There was an incident before my time that required all controlled substances be distributed by a staff member until the student reached the age of seventeen and had parental consent. I couldn’t speak for Norman, but these daily visits had become a major drag. Sometimes I felt like he was looking right through me.
After Norman gave me the form, I relinquished the rest of his meds.
“Take care of yourself, Norman,” I said.
Norman clocked Rachel Rose’s pink scarf hanging from my coat rack.
“You too, Mr. Ford,” he said, with this knowing sneer.
Fuck you, Norman, I thought. You don’t know anything.
* * *
—
I got really hungry and decided to chance it at Dahl. That’s where I ran into Witt. I don’t remember how it happened, but we came back to my place. I don’t know why I made her wear the Invisible Man disguise.
I came down fast when we entered my foyer. Rachel Rose’s scarf was draped over the coat rack. Everyone knows she wears that pink scarf all the time, everywhere. Witt kicked off her shoes and asked me if I was all right. I don’t remember what I said or did. Witt sat down on the couch. I think Witt asked to see a sample of my handwriting. Maybe not. That part is a bit fuzzy.
I do remember that she asked me if I knew what happened to her at Warren. I claimed I hadn’t heard anything. It’s better if they tell you.
I might have felt guilty for lying if I hadn’t made a deal to play bootlegger in exchange for Mick’s silence. I was hoping she’d be worth the effort.
It was late. I told her she could stay over and I’d take the couch. She said we could share the bed, which is what I was hoping she’d say. I gave her a T-shirt to wear and I had an extra toothbrush. For half an hour we pretended that we were just going to sleep. I knew better than to make the first move. I remember staring at the ceiling and thinking it was going to be a long night.
Finally, Witt switched on the bedside lamp and asked me if I wanted to have sex. She said it casually, like she was offering to make coffee.
I grabbed my shirt that she was wearing and tugged her toward me. I kissed her neck, and she pulled my T-shirt over my head. She rolled onto her back, slipped off her underwear, and c
limbed on top of me. I began to lick her nipples. She told me to get a condom. She savagely cut the wrapper with her teeth and slipped on the condom with remarkable speed. Then she closed her eyes and rode my dick like I wasn’t there. I ran my nails over her body, grabbed her ass, and pressed into her.
When it was over, Alex rolled over to her side of the bed and drifted off. While I appreciate an autonomous sleeper, I wouldn’t have minded some contact. The whole thing felt kind of cold.
* * *
—
I was in a deep sleep when I heard the knock. Witt didn’t stir. I answered the door and got rid of Primm. I returned to bed and fell asleep.
In the morning, Alex was gone.
Ms. Witt
There was this student at Warren. He was awkward, but I saw—or projected—something good in him. I still don’t know. He used to eat lunch in my classroom every day. Sometimes I’d make an extra sandwich for him. I suppose I knew he had a crush. But I didn’t see the harm. I let him drop by my apartment on campus. Other students, girls and boys, had done the same. I listened. I thought that was my job.
One night I brought home a stranger from a bar. I was drunk, feeling reckless. It was one of those nights you wish you could forget. I should have been more careful. I didn’t close the blinds. I never worried about that kind of thing before. The boy saw us through the window. He was angry at me, I heard. He started filming us. Later, the boy showed the video to a friend. The friend showed a friend. I don’t know how many students saw it before someone reported it to the school. I remember the smug, creepy way some of my students looked at me. The investigation was even worse. Then it was colleagues, peers, giving me that same look.
I rarely spoke of what happened at Warren. I don’t know why I felt the need to confess that night. Maybe I wanted absolution for being so goddamn stupid.
“What a piece of shit,” Finn said.
I felt grateful that someone was angry on my behalf, because, during the entire investigation, everyone on that committee looked at me like a slut who had inadvertently encouraged the affections of a young boy. There was always some part of my brain that wondered if they were right.
* * *
—
Finn put his arm around me. I rested my head on his shoulder. It was comforting having human contact. I’d avoided it for so long. Since that night with the guy from the bar. God, what was his name? Finn said something about taking the couch, but I didn’t want to sleep alone. I wasn’t sure what I wanted. I wanted to erase the memory of the last time I had sex. It was nice. It wasn’t mind-blowing. I fell asleep and then I woke up.
I heard Finn talking to someone outside his front door. He whispered, but it was late and the gist of the conversation was easy to decipher amid the silence. He was angry; she was desperate and pleading. I heard this.
—I told you not to come here anymore.
—Please let me in. We need to talk.
—No. We don’t. It’s not going to happen again. Go back to your room before somebody sees you.
—I’ve been good to you. I’ve kept your little secret.
—You want to blackmail me into having sex with you?
—Fuck you.
I pretended to be asleep when Finn slid back into bed. He wrapped his arm around me and nestled his head behind my neck.
I wished I were a snake, so I could crawl out of my skin.
Gemma Russo
Sunday morning, I woke up to the gurgling sound of Tegan using her neti pot and Emelia grunting through her ab routine. When I checked my phone, I had five texts from Linny telling me to meet her at the office.
The final text read: SOS!!!!!
I threw on my training gear and told my roommates I was going for a run.
“Do you have a slow metabolism or something?” Tegan said.
I should have ignored her. I said, “Huh?”
“You’d think with all of that running you’d be wasting away,” Tegan said.
“Tegan, that’s rude,” said Emelia.
“I didn’t mean to be rude. You look healthy.”
I left the dorm and jogged across Flem Square and around the gym, circling back to Headquarters. I decided that I ought to train at least half as often as I claimed to. Maybe all those hours in my windowless office, supplementing my school chow with packaged snack foods, were making me soft.
When I arrived, Linny was in the compact space, holding a dried-up rose.
“This better be good,” I said.
Linny gave me the dead rose and reached into her pocket for a small envelope that was already sliced open.
“These were in your mail this morning,” Linny said.
“Why would you open my mail?” I said.
“Checking for a suspicious white powder,” Linny said. “And you’re welcome.”
Inside the envelope was a square card on expensive-looking stock with a note written in a meticulous cursive. I read the note out loud.
“Silence is a true friend who never betrays. Confucius.”
“Is that a threat?” Linny said.
“At the very least it’s a warning.”
* * *
—
I immediately sent a message to Mel, Kate, and Alyson, instructing them to pick up their mail and meet at my office. I tried to send Linny on a fake errand, but she was determined to stick around.
About fifteen minutes later, there were several knocks at my office door in an odd rhythmic pattern.
“Is there a new secret knock?” said Linny.
I opened the door. Mel and Kate each held a dead rose. Alyson, standing behind them, had her hands in her pockets.
“Some weird shit is going on,” Kate said.
“Did you read the card?” said Linny.
Kate and Mel showed me their cards, which came with the same aphorism.
“Did you get anything, Alyson?” I said.
Alyson held a small velvet box in her palm. “I didn’t get a flower,” she said.
“Open the box,” I said.
“What if it’s a finger?” said Mel.
“It’s always a finger,” said Linny.
“You’re freaking me out,” said Alyson.
“It’s not a finger,” said Kate.
Alyson flipped open the box. Wedged where a ring (or finger) might be was a USB drive. Mel breathed an audible sigh of relief.
Alyson just stood there, frozen, gaping at her strange delivery.
“Did that come with a card?” said Mel.
Alyson reached into her pocket and pulled out a small card and passed it to Mel. Mel opened the card and read it.
“You keep our secrets; we’ll keep yours,” Mel said. “Gemma, get your computer. Let’s see what’s on the drive.”
“What if it’s a virus?” Kate said.
“If those dudes wanted to spread a virus, they’d go the STD route,” said Mel.
“You’re worried about a dismembered digit more than a computer virus?” Kate said to Mel.
“No,” said Alyson as she pocketed the jewelry box. “I’ll check later. I have to go.”
Ms. Witt
I slunk out of Finn’s apartment and trudged back to my cottage so that I could grab a change of clothes. Then I walked another quarter mile back to campus. All before my first cup of coffee. I realized during one of those treks that I had been at Stonebridge five weeks. It felt like five months. I got a cup of coffee from Dahl and headed to Wilde Bathhouse for a good delousing. The only upside of sex with a creep is the upgrade in personal hygiene.
After my shower, sauna, shower, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Returning to the cottage was about as enticing as Greg’s rabbit stew. I had hated Sundays at Warren Prep, but my apartment was on an electrical grid and there was an art-house theater in town. Sometimes
you could see a movie and not a student.
I roamed around Lowland for the next few hours, confirming my original opinion that there wasn’t much to do in town besides consuming liquor at Hemingway’s or coffee at the Mudhouse. Mo’s Bookstore and Café held some promise until I surveyed his inventory, which looked like it was picked clean after a going-out-of-business sale. There was an old guy with dyed black hair sitting behind the counter. I figured that was Mo. He was reading a newspaper.
After I had killed about twenty minutes perusing his shelves, Mo said, “Can I help you?”
“I’m just looking,” I said.
“Well, you won’t find it here,” he said.
He was right. I left and walked down Hyde Street, planning to return to campus, until I caught sight of Claude through the window of Hemingway’s.
I had nothing else to do, so I went inside and took a seat next to her.
“Alex,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“Killing time,” I said.
“Let me buy you a drink,” she said, waving over the bartender.
I looked at the clock—1:00 P.M.
“I’ll have a seltzer,” I said.
“Don’t be like that,” she said. “If you can’t day-drink on Sunday, then what’s the point of—well, anything.”
Claude checked her phone and sent a text, which prompted me to check my phone, even though I didn’t want to.
There were two texts from Finn.
Finn: You left without saying goodbye.
Finn: Call me later, will you?
Claude ordered another drink and turned her phone facedown on the bar. It vibrated against the wood.
“What did you do last night?” Claude said.
“Not much,” I said.
“Really?” she said with a sly smile.
She was testing me. She already knew about last night. I assumed from Finn.
“You talked to him?” I said.
“He talked; I listened. What’s wrong?” she said.
