Ms. Miller and the Midas Man

by Mary Kay McComas

  Not that she really minded. She sort of liked being with someone everyone liked. Someone every single woman in town wanted to be with—some of the married women, too, for that matter. It was empowering to think that of all the women he could choose from, he’d chosen her. She didn’t fully understand it, mind you, knowing what he did about her, but for now...at that moment she was glad—head to toe—that he liked living dangerously.

  “Boys and girls,” she said, flicking the overhead lights off and on to get their attention. “It’s time to use indoor voices and to find a place on the floor to sit. When the lights stop blinking it’ll be time to sit quietly and pay attention.”

  This was also a cue to the other teachers that she was ready to take over the class and for them to go take a break.

  “We don’t usually meet all together like this, do we?” she asked, addressing the large group of children aged five to seven, speaking loud enough to be heard over the last few children who were ignoring the bright lights. When they, too, had settled, she continued. “We have a special guest today. This is Mr. Hammond. He’s the principal at the high school, and he’s come here today with a special request.”

  Normally his introduction would have been followed by a perfunctory round of applause. But as the children were considerably less impressed by him than their own principal, Mrs. Pennyfeather, they merely turned to him with wide-open stares of interest.

  “Ms. Miller,” he said, sounding amazed. “You didn’t tell me you had so many well-behaved students. I’m very impressed.”

  Gus and the children exchanged proud smiles, and Scotty didn’t miss the genuine affection that went with them.

  “Ms. Miller did tell me that you were some of the best singers she’s ever heard. Is that right?” he asked, smiling at the confident confirmation he received.

  With a small shake of her head, she watched Scotty wrap the children around his little finger. Charming little girls with his smiles, eliciting total devotion from the boys with man-to-man eye contact. Clearly he was a little-people person too. She envied him his social prowess. He always knew what everyone wanted. Respect. Appreciation. A joke. A little sympathy. A pat on the shoulder. A reprimand. Empathy. Hugs. When the time came, would he understand her as well? Or would his disappointment be too great for even him to get around?

  She sighed and leaned back against the wall as he explained the play to the children. The wall was cool, and she unconsciously wedged her hands between her backside and the wall, then smiled. On the other hand, he might very well be the death of her long before she had an opportunity to disillusion him, she thought. And that wouldn’t be so bad—being loved to death by Scotty Hammond. A girl could do worse.

  He passed out permission slips to be taken home to their parents, thanked them all very sincerely for their attention, asked them to remind their teachers that the first organizational meeting would be held after school that day, and then turned to Gus with a singular look in his eye.

  “You’ll be there this afternoon, won’t you, Ms. Miller?”

  “Yes, of course, Mr. Hammond. I wouldn’t miss it,” she said, retrieving his jacket from the piano for him.

  “And will you miss me?” he asked in a voice for her ears only.

  “Every time I miss my underpants.”

  Which, as it happened, turned out to be nearly every second of the day. It was astonishing to realize just how often one backed into things, used a hip to open a door, perched oneself on the edge of a desk, or was patted in that general vicinity by a short person wanting one’s attention.

  Pantyless driving was a new experience as well, and air-conditioning added to the exhilaration of it. To say she was merely missing Scotty by four o’clock that afternoon would have been a gross understatement. She craved him. Needed him like air to breathe. Couldn’t wait to get the meeting over with and get home to him...

  The high school was a long, low building, H-shaped with the offices, cafeteria, gymnasium, and auditorium in the connecting hallway. She was a few minutes early, but not so much so that she’d actually expected to see Scotty in his office when she passed by it on her way to the auditorium.

  She was so distracted and eager to see him again, it was several seconds before the noises filtered into her mind. She stopped and looked about the empty hallway as the muffled clamoring reached her a second time, drawing her attention to a custodian’s closet several paces behind her.

  Paying it little heed, she continued down the hall until it occurred to her that the light was out and the door closed. Suspicious, she hesitated. The noises came again, rhythmic now as if someone inside the closet was attempting to draw attention. Soft, muted noises that carried barely ten or twelve feet, and with no one else around...

  She approached the maintenance closet thinking an animal or a bird or perhaps the janitor himself was trapped inside, though why he hadn’t turned the light on...maybe it was blown out.

  She knocked first and called hello. No answer meant it was some sort of animal, a couple of lovesick teens perhaps, a thief, or a—

  “Ah!” she yelped when the door suddenly opened and she was pulled inside.

  “Shhhhhh...took you long enough. Shhshhshh,” she heard Scotty’s whisper in the dark, as she fought off the hands that seemed to be touching her everywhere at once, under her skirt.

  “Scotty?” she hissed out, her heart beating so hard, she was trembling.

  “Shhhhh. I’ve been waiting in here forever. What took you so long? I was going crazy,” he said, backing her against the wall as his mouth sought hers. When they met he made the sounds of a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet, and she started to giggle.

  “Scotty. The meeting,” she said, gasping the words between hungry, deep kisses. She had his belt loosened and was working on the button at his waist.

  “Remind me never to keep your panties in my pocket again,” he murmured, his face at her neck, hands pushing the buttons on her dress at the speed of light. “I had to sit at my desk all afternoon. I skipped lunch. Jayne and Beesley took their damn sweet time leaving the office to go home. God, you feel good.”

  The keys and change in the pockets of his slacks clinked on the floor as he pushed the top of her dress off her shoulders, en route to the hooks on her bra. She worked her arms from the sleeves and went back to tugging on his boxers, going limp with pleasure when his mouth clamped down on her breast.

  Like two minks in a sugar sack, they went at it. Pressing and caressing. Touching and tasting. Pushing and plunging. Feasting and fondling. With her skirt twisted high about her waist he cupped her, delighting in the heat and moisture as long as he could bear to before he stooped to lift her leg as high as his waist. She adored his unyielding desire a moment longer, then guided him gently toward hers, sucking in a whimper of extreme pleasure when he filled her, hot, hard, and deep.

  They ruled the janitor’s closet with passion and delight. No kingdom ever knew such happiness. No star such heights, no ocean such depths of emotion. In no other land would needs be met with such enthusiasm and ease, would contentment reign so freely and completely.

  Panting hard and laughing softly, they clung to each other as their souls floated slowly back to the earth.

  “Gus, I love you,” he said when he could, using what energy he had left to hold her tight against him. He filled his mind with the sultry smell of her, the texture of her hair, the exact temperature and texture of her skin. Memorized them, because if nothing else, the long afternoon he’d spent thinking about her had also made him realize how much he needed to see her eyes light up with affection for him, to hear her laughter in his life, to feel her—solid and real—in his arms. “I love you, Gus.”

  “Oh, Scotty,” she murmured, swallowing hard around the lump of emotion in her throat. “I love you too. I just...”

  She wanted to tell him that whatever she did to hurt or disappoint him in the future, it wouldn’t be intentional. If she could arrange it, the rest of his life would be a
lark. He’d never be sad or worried or hurt again. He’d never be lonely or anxious or disappointed. If she could, she’d see to it that each day slipped into the next gently with love and tenderness. She’d fill his life with joy and excitement, and when he closed his eyes to sleep, his dreams would mirror the peace in his heart. If she could.

  “You just what?” he asked, using the wall to push himself away from her.

  “I just wish you knew how much.”

  Moving his hands to her face, he planted a tender kiss mid-forehead.

  “You worry too much,” he said, reaching for his pants. “You can’t measure how much someone loves you, anyway, can you?”

  Maybe not, she thought, straightening her own clothes. Maybe it would be easier to measure someone’s patience and understanding or calculate just how much frustration and anger someone could tolerate. But then, if their love outweighed all other emotions, it would seem reasonable that the bulk of their forgiveness would increase as well. So, maybe measuring love wasn’t so far-fetched.

  “Besides, how many other men would you give your panties to?”

  “None,” she said, most definitely.

  “So, you see. I do know. Ready?”

  “You go first. I’m still trying to catch my breath.”

  He chuckled and rumbled in the dark for the doorknob. When there was light he checked to see how well he’d dressed in the dark, opened the door a little farther to check the traffic in the hall, then stepped out.

  “Why, Ms. Miller,” he said, turning in the open door, his voice echoing as he extended a hand to her. He was grinning when she took it, his other hand reaching out to straighten a few stray curls. He looped her hand over the bend in his arm, gave the closet door a shove with his foot, before he led her down the hallway, saying, “Really glad you could make it this afternoon.”

  “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Mr. Hammond.”

  EIGHT

  “I DON’T KNOW, BABY GIRL,” he said, watching his daughter turn red in the face from screaming. “It’s hot today. She’s got her windows closed, and I bet the air conditioner’s on. She probably wouldn’t hear us anyway.”

  “When she stops playing, she’ll hear us,” Chloe insisted. “Do you think she’ll play the one where the little girl paints her room red again?”

  “Probably. If you ask her with a please, I think she might.”

  “It’s pretty, isn’t it, Daddy?” she said of the muffled music coming from the house next door. She rested her arms across the clean, white, freshly painted windowsill to cushion her chin, closing her eyes to make pictures in her head.

  He stroked her thick, straight black hair, his hand covering most of her head like a baseball cap. For the millionth time since she was born, he marveled at the miracle of her and pondered the mystery of how she came to be his.

  “Yes. It’s very pretty,” he said, his gaze falling to Gus’s dining room window. Her back was to them, her violin under her chin so that her face was angled toward them as she stood before a music stand practicing. “Very, very pretty.”

  Another miracle to contemplate. He didn’t know what it was, but he must have done something very right in his life to have been given this second chance at happiness. He sighed and rested his elbow on the sill to support his chin as he watched her. How did so much talent and beauty and sweetness get stuffed into one small package like that, he puzzled. So much woman. So much heart.

  It wasn’t just her music she put her all into, it was everything she thought was worth doing. Teaching the children. Her house. The meals she cooked. Her conversations with Chloe. Her love for him. She was no halfway woman. No failure.

  What she thought of as her failures served only to make her stronger as a person, shaping her character with a unique perspective of other people, sharpening her empathy for them, honing her compassion.

  He saw it all the time when she was with Chloe. Saw it when she spoke of other people, always intimating that they were doing the best they could with what they had. She was a private, introverted person, but it was no surprise to know that those who knew her thought highly of her, loved her dearly.

  “Okay, Daddy, she’s stopping again. Ready?”

  “You bet. But wouldn’t it be a lot easier to call her on the phone?”

  “Next door?” she asked, incredulous. “When we can see her right there?”

  Okay. He was a moron.

  “You say the one-two-three,” she said. He did, and then they both bellowed, “Aaaaaa-gus-taaaaa.” Twice.

  Nothing.

  “Oh! Oh,” he said. “Wait right here. I have an idea.”

  “Augusta Miller.” Her name boomed through the silence from nowhere, as if God Himself were speaking to her. “We know you’re in there. Open your window and keep your hands where we can see them.”

  Her face agog, Gus finally turned to the window, looked low and then high, and found Chloe and Scotty laughing at her from a second-story window.

  “We know you can hear us. Put down your violin. Slowly. You cooperate with us and no one’ll get hurt,” he said, speaking into a red-and-white megaphone. What the neighbors were thinking...she didn’t really care. All she could see was Chloe’s face and she was having too much fun.

  “Give yourself up and we’ll go easy on ya,” he added.

  Laughing, she went to the dining room window and opened it wide.

  “I surrender,” she called up to them. “Does that make me as crazy as the two of you?”

  “Let me do it, Daddy.” He passed the horn to Chloe. Holding Gus’s gaze, he mouthed “I love you.” “Gus. This is Chloe. Can you hear me now? I want to come over to your house. Okay?”

  Behind her, Scotty was holding up ten fingers, flashing them twice to indicate he’d follow her over in twenty minutes.

  “Sure, it’s okay,” she hollered back. “I’ve been hoping you’d come to visit. I’ll meet you at the gate.”

  “Okay. Good-bye,” she said, handing the horn back to her father and disappearing from the window, not even noticing the smiles and special looks being exchanged by the two adults.

  “Hi,” Chloe said a few short minutes later as she and Bert walked through the gate into Gus’s backyard. “You sure did look funny when we were calling to you.”

  “Well, I thought the police were after me. I thought I was in big trouble.” This delighted Chloe. “And then there you were, and I’d just been thinking about you.”

  “You were?”

  “Yes. I was hoping I’d get to see you before you went back to Springfield. I wanted to thank you for inviting me to go to the park with you and your daddy yesterday. I had a really good time.”

  “Me, too, except there was no music like Daddy said.”

  “Well, he just got the date wrong,” Gus said, knowing the girl had been dispirited, but not realizing how much. “I didn’t know you liked bluegrass music, Chloe. I’ll have to get some tapes and—”

  “I don’t,” she said. “I don’t even know it. I just wanted to dance on the blue grass, and surprise my daddy.”

  Gus frowned. “The grass isn’t really blue, honey. Bluegrass is a kind of music. Like rock ’n’ roll or Western music. It’s just a different kind of music.”

  “Oh.” This was discouraging, but not the whole problem. “Then I guess I could have danced anywhere.”

  “Well, sure. I’d love to see you dance, but how were you going to surprise your daddy?”

  Chloe looked back toward her house and then stepped closer to Gus to whisper, “I’m taking lessons.”

  Gus let her eyes grow round. “Dancing lessons? And your daddy doesn’t know yet?”

  “I wanted to surprise him. Mommy said it would be a good one.”

  “She’s right. It will be.” She hesitated. “But you don’t really need music, do you? You can still surprise him.”

  Chloe scrunched up her face and started to shake her head.

  “It’s not the same. My teacher has records and sometimes
she plays the piano when I dance, and it’s better.”

  “Oh. Well, do you know the name of the song? Does it have to be piano music?”

  “Sure I know it. I can sing it too. I dance and I sing and everything.”

  “Oh, well, we don’t want your daddy to miss that. Maybe you could sing it for me, I might know it.”

  Chloe put one small arm in the air and the other on her hip, wiggled a little, shuffled her feet till she had them where she wanted them, then began, “I’m a little teapot—”

  “Oh, Chloe,” she broke in. “I do know that one. Stay right here.”

  Returning moments later with her violin, she found Chloe and Bert laying on their stomachs in the grass waiting for her, one of them was picking petals off a daisy.

  “Would you like to take some of those home to your mommy?” she asked, recalling the first time she saw Chloe. She was like a daisy—sweet, innocent, unaffected.

  “Okay.”

  There were several clumps of daisies that still had fresh blooms, though it was late in the season. Chloe looked them over carefully, snapping the heads off a couple before Gus showed her how to get the longer stems. They had a neat little pile of them by the time Scotty showed up.

  “You two aren’t hard to find,” he said, coming through the gate. “I just follow the giggles and there you are.” He tackled Chloe, taking her down softly. “What’s so funny, huh?”

  She laughed and rolled with the tender punches. “Gus,” she gasped, laughing. “Gus has two left feet.”

  “She does?” he stopped to look at her with no little interest. “Let’s see ’em.”

  With her knees bent, she placed her feet flat on the grass in front of her, the skirt of her dress hiding everything from the ankles up.

  He frowned at them, took each one in hand and brought them to his lap. He turned them back and forth, caressed them, sent shivers up her spine when he ran his hands up and down her legs. “I don’t know, Chlo. They look right to me.”

  “That’s what I said,” she said. “But inside they’re both left and they act dumb. Gus can’t dance cuz her two left feet dance the wrong way.”