by Dara Girard
"Of course. Mother Shea," Janet said slowly. "I had never thought of that." She leaped to her feet. "Thank you, Daddy."
"Yes, yes," he said feeling both embarrassed and pleased by her enthusiasm. "Come to me with your troubles any time."
* * *
"It will never work," Valerie said as they walked back from an event at the church. They had attended a special service to welcome home a missionary and his family who had just returned from Rwanda. The evening had consisted of watching a slide show of an orphanage their church had funded following the genocide. The early evening sun had yet to disappear and a weeping willow swayed as though dancing to the sound of cicadas. "She'll see right through you."
"Not if I come up with a good enough dream."
"It will have to be very good."
Janet spotted Brother Jerome walking to his car. She smoothed down her hair, adjusted her blouse and moistened her lips. Brother Jerome appreciated a woman looking her best. She patted the side of her cheeks for added color then called out to him. "You look very distinguished today."
He turned to them and stood straighter, basking in her attention. "Thank you."
Janet walked towards him. "Such a distinguished, cultured man deserves the same in his wife."
"Yes, Beverly is perfect for me." Brother Jerome said, opening his car door.
"Oh, yes she's very beautiful and will look perfect on your arm. Too bad she's not as cultured as you."
Valerie nudged her and whispered out of the corner of her mouth. "What are you doing?"
"You know what I'm doing," Janet whispered back.
Brother Jerome rested his arm on the car door and frowned at her. "What do you mean?"
"Beverly hates most gatherings or public events, she finds them boring."
"She didn't appear that way to me."
"She hides it well. But I guess that as long as she presents herself one way in public it doesn't matter how she behaves at home."
He furrowed his brows. "She's different at home?"
"Well, I don't think it's appropriate—"
His gaze grew intense. "No, I'm curious."
"She snores terribly."
He chuckled. "That can be corrected."
Janet glanced at a passing car. "Then there are the crying bouts."
"Crying?"
"Yes, she has these hysterical crying fits. She just bursts into tears for no reason." This was partially true, Beverly was known to cry at the slightest bad news she heard and would sob if she watched a heartbreaking movie.
"Hmm."
"And Beverly tends to leave her dirty clothes on the floor. But that shouldn't be a problem for you, I'm sure you're rich enough to hire a maid."
"Hmm."
"Just forget what I said. Come on Valerie, we need to pick up some books, Beverly needs to learn how to cook!" She turned.
"Sister Janet?"
She looked back at him.
"Thank you," he said staring at her in a new way.
Janet only smiled and left.
Valerie tugged on Janet's arm. "You lied," she whispered.
"Partially. Beverly does snore, when she has a cold, she cries at sentimental commercials and soppy movies. And she does forget to put her clothes away. As for being able to cook, she can but she's not very good."
"I hope you're prepared to live with the consequences if he decides not to marry her."
"Consequences? That's my goal. I have to convince Brother Jerome and Mother Shea to stop the wedding. I've never seen my sister so miserable. I have to do something."
Valerie sighed. "Well, if that is the case then perhaps, just perhaps, I can help. I know something about dreams."
"Good."
"But it's a gamble."
"It's a gamble I'm willing to take."
* * *
Janet sat in her Art History class silently rehearsing her plan for Mother Shea, when her professor handed her the grade for her last project: a D.
She gripped the paper and stared. "This has to be a mistake."
"It's not," Marisa said. "Professor Blakemore always grades harsh after a midterm."
"Especially the female students," another young woman said behind them. She had a deep voice that seemed incongruous with her tiny frame.
"But that's not right," Janet said. "I can't get a D. It will ruin my grade point average."
Marisa shrugged. "That's the way it is."
"Yep," the girl with the deep voice said. She unbuttoned the top of her blouse to let her cleavage show. "And I'm getting an A." She gathered her things and walked to the front of the class.
Janet watched her as she leaned over the professor's desk. "What is she talking about?"
"Don't be naïve. You know what she's going to do." When Janet continued to look blank, Marisa said, "She'll get an A when her legs spell a V."
Janet fell forward. "She'll do that for a grade?"
"Lots of girls do, but you don't have to go that far. I'm not." Marisa shoved her books into her book bag.
"What are you going to do?"
"What most of the female students do." She glanced around then lowered her voice. "Professor Blakemore has these 'tutoring' sessions after class at his place. It's simple—you play the rules, stroke his ego and you'll get your A."
Janet glanced at her Professor unable to imagine going to his house let alone doing anything else. "But I can't do that. I won't do that."
"Come on. Don't be so uptight. We're artists, remember? Free-thinkers. All you have to do is drink a little, flirt a little and it's over. That's the way things are."
"Not for me."
Marisa shrugged. "Fine then you'd better hope he'll let you pass with a C. There are only a few more weeks before summer break. You don't have much of a choice." She walked off.
Janet drummed her fingers on her desk. She did have a choice. She wasn't going to sleep with her professor or entertain him at his home. She would get her A on her terms.
* * *
"Just accept your D and forget about it."
Janet stared at her counselor as though she'd just spouted gibberish. "I don't understand."
"I can see that," the woman said taking off her glasses and letting them hang down her chest. They got tangled in her equally long silver necklace, but she didn't notice. Janet resisted the urge to stamp her feet. Mrs. Upton didn't have time to notice much, which explained why she had two pencils sticking out of her bun and a pen behind her ear. Folders and papers covered nearly every surface of her office and a line of students waited outside. Mrs. Upton turned to her computer, made a few unintelligible comments then said, "You're an excellent student this shouldn't affect you."
"It is affecting me. He gave my project a D."
"So you'll get a C in the course. It's not critical."
"But he—"
Mrs. Upton slowly turned from the computer and sat back with her arms folded. "Let me tell it to you straight. Professor Blakemore is a powerful man. Not only does he have tenure, he has connections. Do you know who his father is? Do you know who his wife is? No you don't, but that's okay because the only thing you need to know is that his family donates a lot of money to this school." She waved her hand. "No, honey, don't open your mouth. I'm telling you something important. Money means something. He spends a lot. He can't be touched." Mrs. Upton leaned forward and rested her arms on the table. Her elbow knocked over a tray of paper clips. She didn't notice. "You only have a few weeks left. You're going to pass the course. Be grateful for that." She glanced at the computer. "Besides you're an Art major. Nobody's going to be looking at your grades that closely. You'll be lucky if you can get a job without also getting an MA." She returned her gaze to Janet. "I suggest you take your grade and leave me to deal with students who have real problems."
Janet stormed out of the building and blindly walked across the campus silently calling Professor Blakemore every horrible name she could think of then adding Mrs. Upton to the mix. There was no one she could talk to. N
ot her father, not Pastor Wainwright (he was a good man, but would just encourage her to accept the grade or leave school), Beverly would worry, and Valerie would say that's what she should expect when dealing with 'worldly' people.
"Hey!" someone called out to her. Janet turned and saw Marisa. "I saw you come out of Mrs. Upton's office. She isn't any help, is she?"
"As helpful as a twig in the ocean."
Marisa grinned. "I know." She pulled out a piece of paper from her tight black jeans and handed it to Janet. "Here's the place and time. This is your only chance to get an A. It's up to you." She walked away.
Janet stared down at the address then crumbled the paper in her fist. It was hard enough to live by her father's rules; she would not live by another man's. She didn't care how much money and power he had. But she wasn't sure how to fight him.
She headed to the street and nearly got run over by a corvette when someone violently pulled her back.
"Hey slow down," Jeffrey said as Frederick released her.
Janet turned and saw them looking at her concerned. She groaned. Just what she needed—more rich, powerful men. They were the last people she wanted to see right now. "I will, thanks."
"What's wrong?"
She hadn't planned on telling them, but something about Frederick's direct, hard gaze forced the words from her and the story poured out before she could stop it. "But I don't know what to do," she finished feeling helpless.
The two men stared at her speechless then Jeffrey said, "Did you say Professor Blakemore?"
"Yes."
"Sam Blakemore?"
"I don't know his first name, but that might be it."
Jeffrey raised his brows and turned to Frederick. "Do you think—?"
He nodded then flashed a ruthless smile that made Jeffrey laugh. Before Janet could ask him what was so funny, Jeffrey patted his friend on the shoulder then winked at her. "Don't worry Janet I think we can help."
* * *
"You'll stretch the fabric!"
"Are you saying I'm too fat?"
"Certainly not," Mother Shea said keeping her grip on the skirt she wanted. "I would never say that. But your hips say it for you. The cut will not flatter your shape."
The other woman, middle aged with dusty ebony skin, loosened her hold on the skirt, curious.
Mother Shea smoothed back a stray hair that had come undone during the struggle. She held the skirt against the woman's waist. "See? And this color does nothing for you. Few colors flatter me the way they would you." Mother Shea tucked the skirt into her shopping bag. "It's so difficult for me to find the right color. I know you don't have that trouble."
The woman glared at her then stormed away.
Valerie watched Mother Shea then turned to Janet. "When are you going to do it?"
Janet didn't look up as she helped her sort clothes for the church's weekend charity event. "I better hide some pieces. Mother Shea always grabs the best one for herself before we can put them on sale."
"Did you hear me?"
Janet glanced up and saw her sister Maxine pouting as she helped a church sister with decorations. Usually her three younger sisters were kept busy on weekends helping in the church pantry. Every other Saturday the homeless and needy families would come to get free food baskets. Maxine had missed two Saturdays and had been forced to help today. Janet knew her mother had a hard time getting Maxine and Trudy to stay longer than an hour or two while Francine stayed all day doing what she called 'the Lord's work'.
Janet turned her attention from Maxine to Mother Shea. "Yes I heard you."
"You better talk to her soon."
"I've had other things on my mind."
"Like what?"
"School," Janet said not wanting to elaborate. She held up a purple and green polka dot dress with lace trimming the sleeves, hem and collar. "How hideous. We can't give this away."
"When you're desperate you're not picky."
"I don't care how poor you are, no one should be forced to wear this." Janet looked around then dropped the dress on the floor and kicked it under the table.
"You know it's not too late to back out."
"I'm not going to back out. I'm going to visit Mother Shea just as planned. But before I do, I have to teach someone a lesson."
Chapter 18
Samuel Blakemore loved his job. He'd been at the University for fifteen years and every year the students got more desperate and his semester became more interesting. He grew older but the students remained the same. He wasn't an attractive man. He wore a goatee to hide the fact that he barely had a chin, and his eyes were a little too far apart, but he had the height and thick sandy hair that made him look younger than he was. But most important, his course was required for all art majors, before they could graduate, and he had the power of tenure behind him.
He sat grading papers, looking at the names and grading them based on the students he wanted to know on an intimate level. He was ready to give one coed a low mark when someone knocked on his door.
"Come in."
A young, black woman with a long braid, wearing jeans and a decorative purple tunic entered. She was a striking woman although she didn't wear make-up or jewelry. He tried to place her then suddenly remembered. Yes, Janet Barnett. She fascinated him. She was an outstanding artist but didn't act like the other students. He'd taken a risk giving her project a low grade, but he'd been curious to see what she'd do about it.
Her presence in his office gave him the satisfaction that he'd been right. The sight of her pleased him more than he thought it would. Perhaps there was more to her than he thought. But that wasn't a surprise. Usually the quiet, conservative ones were the most adventurous. He stood and walked up to her. "Janet, a pleasure to see you. Please take a seat." He gestured to a chair and watched her sit then quietly locked the door behind him. "Now, how can I help you?"
"I want to discuss the grade you gave my project."
He returned to his desk feigning regret. "I was disappointed to have to do that, but your project wasn't up to standard."
"I disagree, but that's not why I'm here. What do I need to do to get an A?"
Blakemore felt his mouth go dry. He flexed his fingers to keep from rubbing his hands together. His eyes scanned the length of her. She had a gorgeous figure that the loose tunic and jeans couldn't hide and a mouth that begged to be kissed. He took a deep, steadying breath already feeling himself grow hard as he imagined caressing her bare skin. "I'm glad you asked because there is a way." He walked around the desk and stood in front of her letting her see the full evidence of his desire. "A very easy way."
He suppressed a smiled when he saw her gaze fall to the front of his trousers then drop to the floor. God he loved when they were shy. It made the conquest that much sweeter. He wondered if he'd have to chase her around the room for a few minutes, or play some other coy game. "Do I make you uncomfortable?"
Her gaze remained on the floor. "No."
"Good. I think it's best to approach this like two adults."
"Yes. I agree. So let me get one thing clear." She lifted her gaze—her brown eyes meeting his green ones with an expression of such fury blood drained from his face. "You will give me an A because I earned it."
He laughed and folded his arms, getting back his courage. What could she do to him? She was nothing—a nobody. "I'm tenured baby and there's nothing you can do. You could complain from here to the dean and nothing will change. I haven't raped anybody and I haven't killed anybody so I'm not going anywhere and this course is my little kingdom. You have to follow my rules."
Janet crossed her legs, her gaze unwavering.
Blakemore moved his shoulders feeling antsy. "So do you want that A or not?"
"I'm going to get an A and this is what I'll do. I will complete another project and hand it in to you. You will grade it with the correct mark and that will be the end of it."
He shook his head. "Now that doesn't seem fair to me because I don't get anything out of i
t." He moved forward to touch her arm.
She pulled out an X-ACTO knife from her backpack and pointed it at him. "Any part of you that touches me will be sliced off."
He yanked his hand back. "What is wrong with you?"
"Do we have an agreement?"
He marched to the door and unlocked it. "No. You don't play the game you don't get the grade." He opened the door. "Now get the hell out of my office."
"Is that the way you speak to your students?" a familiar voice said.
Blakemore turned and saw two catlike eyes in the face of a beautiful woman. She stood in the doorway. "Charlotte!" He gripped the door handle and nearly swallowed his tongue. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be out of town."
"I know, but I got a call."
He spun around and glared at Janet. "You called my wife? I'll—"
"Now, now," Charlotte said in a soothing voice. "Don't say anything that you'll regret." She strolled into the room with the panther like grace she'd acquired as a dancer. She tossed her purse on the desk then faced him. "I've been taking this crap for years, but this machine isn't accepting your quarters anymore. Your game is over. We're playing by my rules now." She began to tick items off on her fingers. "First you're going to give this student an A. Second you're going to permanently cancel that little tutoring session you have scheduled and give all those other students the grades they deserve. Third, you'd better get used to thinking of this place as your castle because by the time my lawyers are finished with you this is all you'll have left."
"Charlotte." His voice trembled.
She picked up her purse. "Come Janet. Professor Blakemore has a lot of work to do."
Blakemore watched them go then sunk into his chair and cried.
Outside his office Janet stared at Charlotte amazed. "I can't thank you enough for your help."
"It was time. I knew what was going on but no one was bold enough to confront me about it. I liked your gumption."
"Thank you."
"I also like your work. I got a chance to see some when Samuel brought his work home."
Janet narrowed her eyes. "But I didn't do many drawings for his class."
