“Whatever, Jenny-from-the-block.”
We get back to my place and Jenny decides to drop me off and go find Dax. Probably so they can have make-up sex. I try my best not to look jealous. When I’m finally in the apartment, a wave of loneliness washes over me. It occurs to me that I’ve never really lived alone before, and the thought depresses me. I pick up my phone.
“Hello, Lucy!”
“Hi Dad.” As soon as I hear his voice, I realize that it’s been a million years since I’ve talked to him. We used to talk every day. God, I am a horrible daughter.
“How are you, darling? I’ve missed you, you haven’t been round in bloody ages!” My Dad worked for British Gas for forty years, before retiring last spring. He was transferred to Houston in the early 1980s, and that’s where he met and married my mom. And even though my mom died when I was twenty, from ovarian cancer, Dad never moved back to Reading. I’m sure he stayed in the States because of me and my brother Evan, although he says it’s because he can’t stand the weather in Britain.
“I’m hanging in there, Dad.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound so good. I know you’re still smarting over Paul, sweetheart, but you’re well rid of him if he’s a cheater.” I can hear the distaste in his voice—he’s furious with Paul.
“I know you’re right…but hey, there is some good news--I have a job interview at LSU in a few weeks.”
“LSU?” Dad’s never learned the names of all the schools over here, since he doesn’t watch college sports.
“Louisiana State University. It’s a very good school, and they’re looking for a political economist.”
“That’s terrific, Luce! And it’s not too far from your old Dad, eh?”
“Nope, I can visit all the time.” I really need to visit him more. I know he’s lonely since my mom died, and I wish he would go join Match.com or something, but he insists that mom was enough for him, and he’s happy to be alone. I don’t buy it, though.
We chat for a while longer, and he makes me promise to come by and see him over the weekend. I’m about to hang up when he stop me.
“Listen here, are you going to tell me about your injuries from last week, or are they some kind of secret?”
“What?” How in the world did he find out about that?
“I ran into Will yesterday at the farmer’s market,” he offers quickly, as if he’s read my mind. It figures. Will and my Dad are the only two people I know who are patient enough to wander the aisles at the farmer’s market, searching for the perfect organic bell pepper. I take my veggies covered in pesticides, thankyouverymuch.
“Well, don’t listen to Will. He’s a blabbermouth and a worrywart.” I’m sorry, but I’m annoyed. What does he think he’s doing, getting my dad all worked up over nothing? “I can’t believe he even told you.”
“Honey, don’t you think I want to know if you’re hurt? How are you feeling, is your hand okay?” Jeez, they must have had quite a little conversation.
“I promise, Dad, I’m one-hundred percent. We’re even going kayaking tomorrow!” I’m throwing as much enthusiasm as I can muster in my voice, hoping to get him focused on another topic.
“Do you think that’s such a good idea, if you’re hurt?”
Arrgh!
“Really, Daddy, I’m fine!” And I don’t mean to sound irritated, but I am, so I do.
“Well, just take care of yourself. I worry about you now that you’re living on your own.” His voice sounds wistful, and now I feel like total crap.
“I’m sorry Dad, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“I know you didn’t, love. Now get on to bed.”
We say our goodbyes and hang up, and I realize that I’m still annoyed at Will. Who the hell does he think he is, my babysitter? I don’t need a bodyguard at my own local bar, and I don’t need a keeper who runs to my Dad every time I fall and scrape my knee. And maybe I am being a bit unfair, but I’m tired, and confused, and…oh screw it, I need my Starbursts.
Chapter Seven
I’m late getting to the lake for our first kayaking session, and Jenny is giving me her pissed-off look. Will is messing with the paddles for the kayaks, and doesn’t look at me at all, even when I say hello. Well, fine, I’m still pissed off at him, anyway.
I’m all decked out in my kayaking gear, and I’ve got special gloves on to protect the stitches on my hand. I’m feeling edgy, and I’m ready to get on the water. When Will finally looks up and gives me a little smile, I look away quickly.
“Lucy? C’mon, I’ve got your lifejacket and helmet—let’s see if they fit.” I notice he doesn’t call me “Cee-Cee” or “Wagon Wheel” or any other of the thousands of variations of my name he typically uses. He seems as edgy as me, and I’m perversely glad. I walk to him casually, and take the helmet he offers. When I put it on he laughs, because it’s hovering below my eyebrows.
“Okay, I’d say that needs some tightening.” He reaches for the helmet but I pull back.
“I can do it.” My voice is tight and cold, and for an instant he looks nonplussed.
“Okay,” he says slowly, and moves on to the lifejacket. “This will probably be too big as well, but we can double up the straps for you.”
I consider taking the lifejacket away from him, but when I see the maze of belts and clips he’s adjusting, I decide to let him fix it after all. I fiddle with my helmet for a minute or two, then put it on and snap the strap under my chin.
“That’s still too loose,” Will says quickly. “If it’s not tight, it’ll pop off pretty easily.” He flicks his finger at me, motioning for me to hand it over to him.
“Well, then, by all means, tighten it up,” I say sharply, unbuckling the clip and shoving the helmet into his chest. “I don’t want you tattling to my dad that I went kayaking without a proper helmet.” Will stops and gapes at me, and I notice out of the corner of my eye that Jenny has quit applying her sunscreen to stare at us.
“What are you talking about?”
“I can’t believe you told my dad about my accident! For Christ’s sake, Will, he’s already got enough on his plate without having to worry about me.” Will knows that my dad is swamped with real-life problems--his wife is dead, he’s got high blood pressure, and my brother, Evan, is unemployed and stoned more often than not. I’m supposed to be the one he doesn’t worry about.
“I’m sorry,” Will says quickly. “I assumed he knew. He asked how you were doing, and I told him you seemed much better. How was I supposed to know it was a secret?”
“Well, of course it’s not a secret, but…” But what? Why am I so angry about this?
“Lucy, I’m sorry, okay?” Now he sounds exasperated, and we face off with hostile gazes. I notice that I’m breathing heavily…too heavily. Calm down, Lucy. Get a grip.
“Whatever. Let’s get going.”
We stuff ourselves into our kayaks, and after a wobbly start, we are all paddling smoothly across the lake. There’s no breeze, and the water is glassy-smooth as we slice through it with our oars. When my arms get tired, I just float for a while, until Jen and Will are so far ahead of me that I can barely see them. The sun is beating cruelly on my face, and I reach in the lake and splash some water over my cheeks to cool off.
“Lucy, come on!” Jenny is screaming back at me, but I can barely hear her. I pick up my paddle and begin moving again, but just as I get going, I hear something moving in the brush from the shore to my right. Wait, is it something, or someone? That’s definitely a man. Who is it? Why is he slithering through the woods? I stop and squint into the trees, but all is quiet now, so I just shrug my shoulders and begin paddling again.
“Hey, little lady!”
Whoa. Someone is calling to me. I stop again, and lean forward, careful not to tip myself over in the kayak. Now I see him—he’s tall, and dark-haired, and looks to be in his fifties. Is he homeless? Lost?
“May I help you?” I call out politely. Don’t piss off strange men in the woods.
“I need your help. I’m out of money, and I need some gas for my car.”
“What?” I’m stalling for time. I can’t exactly give this guy gas money, can I? I’m in the middle of the lake on a flippin’ kayak. The man leans in closer. He must think I’m hard of hearing. “I said, I need some help.” He’s moving towards me now, pushing away the branches that are hiding his torso from view. “I’m out of money--“
“Oh my God!” I scream so loud, a random redbird flitters out of a tree and flaps crazily away. “Oh. My. God!” I scream again. The man covers his ears with his hands and runs back into the woods.
The guy has no pants. Like, seriously, he’s wearing a perfectly respectable, middle-aged guy golf shirt, and no pants whatsoever. I turn quickly and begin to paddle as fast as I can. I’m not getting very far, because the curved oars of my paddle are facing the wrong way, but I’m pumping away to beat the band.
“Lucy, what is it?” Jen screams.
“What’s going on?” That’s Will.
“Omigod, omigod.” It’s all I can say. I stop long enough to get my paddle situated, then start again with my furious strokes, splashing and sputtering like an idiot. When I finally look up, I see that I’ve made considerable progress, and that Will and Jen have reversed course, and are headed back my way. We meet somewhere in the middle and I’m still chanting “omigod, ohmigod,” but quieter now.
“What?” Jen screams, as the tip of her kayak bumps mine.
“I…I saw a guy…in the woods…” I’m panting, and stop to swallow hard.
“…And?” Will prompts.
“And…he asked for gas money…”
They are still looking at me expectantly. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly. “And he was pants-less.” I squeak.
“What?” They ask in unison.
“He had no pants on. Like, nothing. Shirt on top, nothing on bottom.” And now a gurgle of laughter breaks past the lump in my throat.
“Bullshit!” Jen shrieks. Will’s just staring at me, dumbfounded.
“I don’t know why he needs gas money if he has no pants. I mean, wouldn’t he need pants money first?” My shrill babbling carries easily over the calm water of the lake.
“Maybe his gas money is in his missing pants,” Will offers.
“Was he wearing underwear?” Leave it to Jen to get to the heart of the matter.
I slap my palm over my mouth and shake my head in horror.
“Nooo!” Jen screams, and then she’s laughing so hard I’m worried she’s going to fall into the lake. I strikes me that maybe I should take this a bit more seriously—I mean, I’ve been flashed, I’ve probably been traumatized or something--but instead I’m laughing too, and then Will’s shaking his head at us like we’re both completely insane. But he’s trying really hard not to laugh, I can tell.
“Should we call the police?” I gasp, when I can finally talk.
“And tell them what? A pants-less woodland creature tried to grift you?” Jenny doesn’t have a whole lot of use for the police. She says it’s because her people are so often racially profiled.
“Well, he may need a ride,” Will adds thoughtfully. “Or some chinos. Let’s call Old Navy!”
Finally, we continue on our way down the lake, and Will starts whistling the banjo song from “Deliverance”, and, weirdly enough, I don’t think I’ve been so happy in weeks. Months. Ages. I hated being irritated at Will, but now I’m not…and I hardly ever think about Paul anymore…and I’m off to a job interview a few weeks. For the first time in a long time, I finally feel like my life is getting back on track.
***
Holy crap, these heels feel like they’re made out of crushed razor blades. But I can’t think about that now—as I “click-clack-click” down the tiled hall, I’m focused on my worry for Will, who is holed up in his office having a bit of a nervous breakdown. When I popped my head in twenty minutes ago, he was chewing on a “chip-clip” fastener (I already anxiety-ate the entire bag of Cool Ranch Doritos it was originally fastened to), listening to some kind of Indian Bollywood music and playing Grand Theft Auto on his computer. I decided to give him a few minutes to get himself together, but now it’s show time.
“Hey, Fishy. Let’s get a move on.”
Today is Will’s tenure talk. That’s when a professor who’s up for tenure gives a talk about his research and teaching, and basically “sells” himself to the college. The talk is geared towards the senior faculty in the department, but everyone is invited—faculty, grad students, members of other departments. Basically, anyone who’s looking for a glass of lukewarm punch and an hour to kill can sit in. But still, everyone dresses up and acts quite formal, which makes it even more nerve-wracking for the candidate.
Although I am a good six or seven years away from such a career milestone, just seeing Will go through it is seriously freaking me out. People outside of academia don’t really understand the tenure process. They think you teach somewhere for a while, and then you get a job for life. Sometimes that’s the case, but it’s so much more complicated than that. You spend years slaving away as an assistant professor, but if the senior faculty don’t like you, or feel threatened by you, or are still pissed about that day you stole the covered parking space by the coffee bar, they can vote you out. No questions asked. And denial of tenure isn’t like being passed over in a job interview—it’s major news. It’s like the Scarlet Letter (minus the sex)—you’re damaged goods, and nobody else wants you.
So, it’s fair to say that Will’s under a bit of pressure right now.
“Yes. Okay. I’m ready.” Will has removed the chip clip from his mouth, and I can hear his stolen car crash on the computer as he abandons the controls.
“”C’mere,” I say quickly, and he obeys, seemingly in a nerve-induced trance. I reach up to straighten his tie, and brush some nonexistent dust off the shoulder of his blazer. Then, I take a few steps back and give him an exaggerated once-over. Honestly, he looks quite handsome. “I think you’re ready, Grasshopper. Remember, wax on, wax off.”
“Have you ever even seen Kung Fu?”
“No, but read they’re going to make a movie about David Carradine’s life, and, you know…how he died.” I whisper the last part in a confidential tone.
“Gross.”
“Sorry, sorry. Eyes on the prize.”
“Please stop talking in motivational catch-phrases,” he snaps, and I shut my mouth quickly. Not that I’m a sadist or anything, but it’s kind of fun seeing Will so wound up. Under normal circumstances he is the most relaxed person I’ve ever met. It’s like meeting a whole new side of him—a side that is now gnawing on his own thumbnail like a starving beaver.
“Stop that,” I murmur, slapping his thumb from his mouth. Will looks a bit chastised, and I feel a pang of guilt. “Now come on, Jeff’s got your stuff set up on the computer. There’s a good crowd…” I see Will’s eyes widen. “I mean, pretty good. Not great. Mostly friends.”
We get to the teaching theater and Will goes up front to get his materials together. I join Jenny near the back of the room, and we both give him a “thumbs up”. He squints at us and gives a surreptitious thumb back, and then old Dr. Northrup is introducing him to the crowd.
For the next hour, I am mesmerized by Will. I mean, completely floored. I’ve seen him teach before, but mainly in graduate seminars, where the students actually do most of the teaching, and the professor just kind of sits back and oversees the proceedings. But Will is really on today, and he’s brilliant! He’s invigorating, and insightful, and he can make a talk on the implications of institutional bias on parliamentary behavior…funny! I feel a little tremor go down my spine, and settle in the pit of my stomach. I know it’s because I’m so proud of him. When I look over at Jen, she’s studying me, with a very weird look on her face. Very weird.
“What?” The talk is over, and Will’s chatting with some members of the audience. Everyone is laughing and backslapping, even Dr. Lance, who’s usually about as anima
ted as a snail.
“Nothing.” But she’s got a sneaky little smile, and I know something’s up.
“Bullshit it’s nothing.” But I don’t even care, I’m too busy pushing her shoulder excitedly. “Wasn’t he fantastic? God, that was just brilliant. Did you see Brightman laugh? Honest to God, I thought I was hallucinating for a second. And Dr. Avants asked him three questions. Three!”
“He did very well,” Jen says demurely. Who is she, the fucking Queen?
“Who are you, the fucking Queen?” I never hold back with Jen.
“He did great. It doesn’t mean I have to fan girl all over him. Like some people,” she adds pointedly.
“What?” I sputter, but then Will’s in front of us, and I abandon my indignation.
“You were fab, Wilbur!” I jump up and give him a big hug, and he slings his arm around my waist loosely.
“Not bad, Fisher,” Jen grins up at him. “I’d give you tenure. But then again, who the hell am I?”
“Who the hell are you?” Will asks incredulously. “Who the hell are you? You’re one of the two girls taking me out to get plastered this afternoon. As in, right now. I mean it. Now,” Will insists, picking up our purses from the floor and shoving them into our chests impatiently. We make our way to The Duck and order a bucket of beer. The place is pretty empty, since it’s only four o’clock, but by the time the after-work crowd starts filing in, we’ve all got a nice little buzz going.
“So, do you think Lance will call tonight?” I ask. Immediately after Will’s talk, the faculty met and voted on Will’s tenure bid. They’ve already had his packet for a week, and everyone has had a chance to look over his publications and student evaluations. Although today’s talk might have swayed one or two votes, the decision about Will’s tenure was probably made long before today. Now all we have to do is wait for the call from Professor Lance, who is the head of the tenure and review committee.
Lucy Wagner Gets In Shape (A Romantic Comedy) Page 5
