by C. D. Hersh
“You want them all,” she said, disgusted.
Pushing her boobs up until cleavage showed, Susan swiveled toward Anthony, giving him a brilliant smile and shoulder wiggle as she waved her bright red, manicured fingers at him.
He nodded politely and continued to stare directly at Rosemary.
Susan leaned toward her, scowling. “No wonder Principal Patrick’s crabby. You’re cheating on him.”
“I am not.” She’d broken up with him. Had planned to do so before she even knew Anthony was in Fish Hook. Being with him now wasn’t cheating.
Anthony came alongside her. “Could we talk about the fall concert? I’ve got some ideas I want to float by you.” He motioned toward an empty table.
“Sure.”
Susan scooted her chair over until she sat close enough to touch him. “I’ve got plenty of room here, Mr. DeMarco. Why don’t you two join me?” She batted her eyelashes coquettishly.
The effort was futile. He continued to stare at her. She ticked her head toward Susan, indicating he should acknowledge her.
He glanced at Susan, the dullness in his eyes showing he’d prefer to ignore her. “Thanks, but all the talk about chords, notes, compositions, and such will just bore you.” His eyes returned to Rosemary.
Susan grunted and Rosemary shot him a tiny frown. If he kept this up, Susan would be so mad she’d run right to Patrick and accuse her of cheating on him with Anthony. That could get him fired.
Her gaze cut back and forth, willing him to acknowledge the woman.
He got the hint, directing a brilliant smile at Susan. “Some other time?”
The art teacher melted under his attention and acquiesced, reaching for his arm. He sidestepped, waving his hand toward the empty table.
“You need to be nicer to Susan,” Rosemary warned him as they moved away. “She can cause a lot of trouble.”
“She’s the man-eater you mentioned, right?”
“Yeah, and you’re on her menu.”
“Then she’s going to be on a diet, because I’m not interested.” He pulled out a chair for her, indicating she should sit.
The gentlemanly action made her feel special. Patrick was more of a do-it-yourself kind of guy regarding gallantry. She loved the extra attention Anthony paid her, even if it wasn’t a Sixties and Seventies feminist thing.
“Did you really want to talk about the fall concert?” she asked as he pushed her chair forward.
He took a seat opposite her, his back to the door, and laid some papers on the table between them. “Yes and no. I thought it would make a great cover story to keep the gossipmongers at bay.”
She glanced at Susan, who sat ramrod stiff, boring a hole in the air between their tables. “Don’t think she’s buying it.”
His gaze cut across the room, and he waved at her. “Her middle name’s not Melody, is it?”
“Oh, God, I hope not.”
They laughed, the newfound camaraderie taking Rosemary back ten years. He’d been easy to talk to. That apparently hadn’t changed.
A hush came over the teacher’s lounge. The last of their laughter hung on the eerily quiet air. She glanced at the doorway. Patrick stood scowling at them as gaze after gaze followed his glare to where they sat.
She grabbed at the papers Anthony had laid on the table. “Quick,” she whispered, panic filling her voice. “Pretend we’re discussing the concert. Patrick’s here.”
He reached for the same sheet of music, his hand brushing hers. “Relax. We are discussing the concert. Besides, you’re not with him anymore.”
“But what he perceives could be a problem for us, professionally.”
He held the musical score out, his fingers caressing hers underneath the cover of the paper.
A chorus of energy shimmied along her arm at his touch, causing her hand to tremble like strummed strings on a guitar. Heat shot to her core. Butterflies slammed against the sides of her stomach like clashing cymbals.
Reluctantly, she broke contact and studied the music. The notes and words swam in front of her eyes. If a simple caress from Anthony blurred her vision, what would more do?
She couldn’t think about that now. Not when Patrick advanced on them like a Nazi soldier.
“Yes, I think this will do nicely.” She forced her voice into teacher mode.
“I didn’t know you could read music upside down.” Anthony rotated the score.
The smile in his voice made her look up. “I’m quite proficient at reading upside down,” she said primly. “It’s the reversed playing that gives me fits.”
He laughed. “You really need to stop doing that.”
“What?”
“Making me so happy.”
She glanced over his shoulder. Patrick stood a mere six feet away, scowling. Anxious to divert his wrath over their breakup away from Anthony, she waved her hand at Patrick. “Come see some of the music we’re discussing for the fall concert.”
His features unchanging, he advanced toward them. When he reached the table, Anthony shoved a chair out, then scooted several music scores toward Patrick.
“I hope you’ll like the selections we’re considering. A good mix of classics with a touch of modern.”
At the word modern, Patrick frowned deeper.
“No Jimi Hendrix.” Anthony flashed the principal a disarming smile. “I got your message loud and clear.”
An expression she couldn’t identify passed between the two men, and Patrick visibly relaxed. Not a lot, but enough she believed he wasn’t going to explode like fireworks, right there in the lounge.
“We’ve just started searching for the music. Nothing’s set yet,” Anthony said.
“This one’s good.” He passed the music to Anthony. “However, the words on the second verse of this one are a bit too suggestive, even anti-American. Maybe we could change them.”
“Rewrite them?” she asked. He’d promised no more revisionist history.
“On second thought, I’m not sure the composer would appreciate our changing the meaning of his song.” Patrick’s gaze cut to her, the expression clearly saying he would stick to the promise. He laid the music on the table. “We’ll scrap this one. I’m sure there’s something else in the selections that will work.”
He rose, laying a proprietary hand on her shoulder.
She cringed under his touch. Dropping her shoulder, she leaned away.
He frowned and continued, “See you at lunch?” Then he glanced at Anthony. “We have a standing lunch date.”
Before she could protest, Anthony replied, “Why, thanks, Principal Patrick. I’d love to have lunch with you and Rosemary.”
To keep from busting out in laughter took every ounce of control she had as Patrick sputtered in response to the clear misinterpretation of an invitation. Standing, she gathered the music from the table, grateful Anthony spared her a lunch alone with Patrick that would surely turn into a scene. She’d have to deal with him sometime. After all, he was the principal. She’d prefer later rather than sooner.
“I’ll take a look at these on my planning break. We’ll have a working lunch.” She forced a smile at Patrick and nodded politely at Anthony. “See you both then.”
The fifteen-minute bell rang, and Anthony stood. “Sounds like a plan.” He held out his hand to Patrick. “Thanks for the invite.”
Patrick shook his hand, the expression on his face looking like he was holding a hand full of crap. But since the whole teachers’ lounge still hung on every word of the trio, ignoring the warning bell, she knew he had no choice.
Anthony clapped Patrick on the shoulder. “Thanks, buddy.” Then he strode away.
Patrick caught her sleeve, stopping her departure. “I didn’t invite him.”
“I’m prett
y sure you did.” She decided to roll with the misinterpretation. “You said, ‘See you at lunch,’ then you looked right at him.”
“Then I said we had a standing lunch date.”
“Don’t you know people only hear the first part of a conversation?” She stared at his hand gripping her sleeve. He released it. “See you at lunch, Principal Patrick.” Then she left.
Susan caught up with her down the hall. “I guess I owe you an apology.”
Rosemary stopped so fast they collided. “For what?” she asked as she righted Susan.
“The jibe about cheating with the band teacher. If he thought that, he wouldn’t have invited DeMarco to lunch.” Susan ran her tongue over her lips. “More for me. Thanks.” Then she veered off down another hall.
Rosemary watched as the boys and men in the hall ogled the art teacher’s swaying hips, drawn to her by a seductive siren song.
Crap! Anthony doesn’t have a chance. She didn’t stand a chance against those odds.
She sighed and headed for her classroom. Could the tree beat Susan’s overpowering mojo?
Chapter 11
Patrick waited for Rosemary at lunchtime, a big grin on his face. “Good news. It’s just you and me.”
“Anthony canceled?” Disappointment surged through her.
“Nope. I assigned him lunchroom duty. Mrs. Fowler’s out with the flu.”
She glanced around the room, searching for someone she could invite over. Every gaze she managed to catch quickly darted away. No one wanted the attention of the principal and his girlfriend. Correction. His ex-girlfriend. Although none of them knew that yet. Sighing, she set her lunch bag and the folder containing Anthony’s music on the table.
“Well, I suppose we can discuss the music without him. I think most of what he has chosen for the band will meet with your approval.”
Her effort to keep him on a professional level failed. Scooting his chair closer, he reached for her hand.
“I have something more personal in mind for our conversation.”
“We are not going to discuss our defunct relationship here, Patrick.” She drew away and slid the folder of music between them as a barrier.
“Not here. Not there. Not after a date,” he whined, his lips twisting into a sneer.
“Do you want some cheese with that whine?” she muttered under her breath.
He continued his rant as if he hadn’t heard her. “Just when are we going to talk?”
“We have been talking. Apparently, you haven’t been listening.”
“Has DeMarco been listening to you? The two of you looked pretty cozy this morning.”
“This is not about DeMarco. It’s about you and me and what I discovered last night.” She glanced around the room at the other teachers. “We’re not having this discussion here. I’ve got lesson plans to make and concert music to select.” She reached into her lunch bag for her sandwich.
“It’s only music classes, Rosemary. How much planning could you possibly need? They sing. You lead. How hard can it be? It’s not as if you’re teaching the important basics they need for life skills.”
The cheese sandwich she’d unwrapped stopped halfway to her mouth. “Did you just call my chosen profession unimportant?”
Patrick’s eyes bulged at her question. “Tha-That’s not what I meant. It’s just that you’re such a talented musician and teacher, you don’t need to prepare like the rest.”
She stared him straight in the eye and gave a disbelieving grunt. “Music is important to our lives. It rounds out our existences. Without music, our souls would not be fed. Our hearts not lifted.”
“I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it that way.”
“The whole musical system is based on mathematics. How much more important can that be?”
“You’re right. It’s important to you. It’s important to me. It’s important to the students. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not sure you are.” She shoved her sandwich into the bag. “In fact, the real you is shining through.” She started to leave. He plucked at her skirt, stopping her.
“I’m sorry, Rosemary. This DeMarco thing has me rattled. He’s messed up everything for us.” The whine reappeared in his voice.
She yanked her skirt from his fingers, leaned in close, and whispered, “He didn’t mess things up for us. I told you last night I’d been thinking about this for a while. I decided to break up with you a few days before school began. I didn’t even know he was at school then. And he certainly didn’t make you say those things about music and me. That’s all on you. He also didn’t make you revise history to suit your own desires. He wasn’t even around when that happened. You can blame me for the breakup. You can blame yourself, too. We hardly saw each other all summer. But you can’t blame him.”
She studied him, long and hard. He squirmed under her scrutiny.
“I don’t know who you are anymore, Patrick.” She gathered the music and her lunch. “You’re not the man I thought you were. Or maybe that’s who you’ve been all along, and my desire for marriage blinded me to the real you. Either way, I don’t care for the man I see anymore.”
“We need to talk this out.” His gaze cut around the room to the teachers who angled in their seats trying to hear the discussion at their table. “Privately,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry, Patrick. We’re done talking.”
Ignoring his devastated expression, she strode from the teachers’ lounge, her heart beating harder than Santana’s bongo drums.
She found Anthony patrolling the school cafeteria, his half-eaten sandwich in his hand. When he spotted her, he crumpled the waxed paper, pitched the remainder of his lunch in a nearby trash can, and crossed the room to her.
“I can’t believe the principal gave you cafeteria duty, too.”
“He didn’t. Patrick had another go at me, trying to get me back. The man’s relentless. But I think I finally made him understand.” She plopped the music file on a table. Suddenly hungry, she dug in her brown paper bag for her sandwich.
“Should I call my lawyer? Start packing?”
“I doubt he’s going to think you’re the reason, although he certainly tried to blame you. I stopped that notion.” She took a bite of the cheese sandwich.
“What happened?”
“He had the nerve to call music teachers unimportant,” she said around a mouthful of bread. “Just one more reason why I’m certain I did the right thing.”
“Not too smart of him, if you ask me.”
She harrumphed. “I’m beginning to see that about him. Too bad I didn’t do this sooner.”
“No. That’s good, because finding one another took ten years. Had you been dating a smart guy, you’d have been snatched up already, and where would that leave us?”
She smiled at him, grateful he’d turned the bad things in her life to good. “In the same place we were at Woodstock.”
Anthony took a step closer, the heat from his body wafting over her. “When can I see you?”
She glanced through her lashes at him. “We do have to talk about the fall concert. Since Patrick messed up our working lunch, how about a working dinner?”
“Tonight?” His eyes lit up.
“Tomorrow?”
“I’ve got band practice after school until five.”
“I can bring takeout. We’ll work in the band room.”
He frowned. “Not very private.”
“That’s the point. We have to be careful. At least until I’m sure Patrick understands I’m the reason we broke up.” She finished her sandwich and stuffed the wrapper into the paper sack.
“It’s a date, then.”
“Working dinner,” she corrected as she gathered her things.
He winked at her. “I’ll se
e you tomorrow.”
The next morning in the teachers’ lounge Anthony sidled alongside Rosemary. “We still on to discuss the fall concert this afternoon?”
“On my schedule. Do you have a takeout preference?”
“Burgers are fine with me. Unless you want something else.”
“I’ll run over to the diner across from school. They’ve got salads, too.”
“Make my burger with everything on it. Fries and a soda, please.” He checked his watch. “Gotta run. See you later.”
She watched him leave, pleased with how cool they had played the scene. Letting the staff know she’d been dating Patrick hadn’t been smart. She wanted to be sure she didn’t make the same mistake twice.
“Does Patrick know you’re having dinner with DeMarco?” Susan whispered from behind her.
“We’re talking about the fall concert.” She faced her. “Our plans got interrupted yesterday—twice. Besides, what Patrick knows or doesn’t know about what I do isn’t his business anymore.”
Susan’s jaw dropped, her mouth rounding into a red O. “Trouble in paradise?”
“It’s not your business. However, if you want to be the principal’s pet and add another man-notch in your belt, you won’t hurt my feelings one bit.”
Grabbing her arm, Susan dragged her to a corner table. “Spill, girlfriend.”
Girlfriend? The only time Susan Markham acted friendly was when she wanted something. Your man included. Rosemary eyed the gossipy teacher. If she told her, the news of the breakup would be all over the school in no time. Maybe that’s what Patrick needed to help convince him she meant business. She’d told him three times already they were through, yet he kept acting like it was something he could fix. She plunged forward, praying it was the right thing to do.
“It’s over. We’ve had some irreconcilable differences recently.”
“Such as?” Susan prodded.
Pressed for more information, Rosemary hesitated. She couldn’t tell her about the tree and Anthony. Nor could she mention Patrick’s revisionist history. Susan already thought him a little Hitler. She decided to roll with their last conversation. It was the least damning.
