Schooled 4.0

by Deena Bright

  TWO HUNDRED AND fifty thousand dollars!!! My brother had invested my 50 grand from the sale of my parents’ house, and it had earned, accrued, gained, whatever the hell it did, 200 thousand more since that day. I have two hundred and fifty thousand dollars! What the fuckity-fuck? I’m so going shopping. Could Marcus take this from me? I fumble through the file and can’t figure it all out.

  I need help. I call Jasper. He’s so smug and proud of himself. The money’s in his name, but in one of his separate bank accounts. It’s all mine. Marcus can’t get to it. I can relax. I don’t have to worry about Marcus and how I’m going to survive. Jasper said that I could stay in the pool house for as long as I needed, and the money’s mine—all freaking mine.

  I’ve always toyed with the idea of taking a year off teaching, a sabbatical maybe, to travel or to write. Maybe this change in my life and this newfound money is the catalyst for something different, something new, something exciting. Maybe even someone new…

  “And Janelle, don’t forget to text that kid for me. I need a landscaper.”

  Obviously, getting ahold of my former student is the least I can do for Jasper at this point. I thank Jasper, promise to text Leo, and hang up. I still can’t wrap my brain around the fact that so much has changed in the last 24 hours. That insurance commercial was right. “Life comes at you fast.” I laugh and get my phone to text Leo.

  Leo Cling is one of my former students. He graduated with Briggs, but they ran in different crowds. Actually, I wasn’t sure if Leo even had a “crowd” so to speak. He was a nice kid though. He always did a little landscaping in the summers for extra money for college. His family was pretty well off, but he liked to earn his spending money for school. He’d never done our yard; Marcus was too anal to allow anyone to touch our landscaping. But, a few teachers I knew used him in the past, so I got his number for Jasper. Getting a number for Jasper means that I have to be the one to call and set it all up, but to be fair, he just got me $250,000.00. I guess that I can do this for him. I’m just not sure if Leo’s still doing yard work. He should have graduated from college by now—I’m assuming anyway. He was such a nice kid, really smart, pretty dorky though. He’s probably already out in the real world now with some accounting or desk clerk job of some sort. If he isn’t available, then I told Jasper that I’d ask Leo if he knew anyone else who would be interested in helping out.

  JANELLE: Hi Leo! It’s Mrs. Flowers. (Miss Garrity) I hope you’re doing well. My brother is looking for someone to do some landscaping. Are you, or anyone you know, interested in helping out? Please let me know.

  I send the text and start unpacking some of my clothes. Better start making myself comfortable. I’m not going anywhere any time soon. Just as I put the last of my t-shirts in an empty drawer my phone dings.

  LEO: Miss Garrity, it is so nice to hear from you. I’d love to help you (your brother) out. It would be my pleasure. I recently started a new job, but I could swing by tomorrow to take a look at the yard. I could get the landscaping done on the weekends and evenings. I hope that works. Just send me your brother’s address and a time that would work for you. Thanks for thinking of me. LC.

  What a sweet kid! His texts are so formal—and stiff. The English teacher in me loves that though. He even used apostrophes. It might be a little crazy how happy the correct use of the apostrophe makes me. I send him the address and make a plan for him to stop over at 9:30 the next morning. That’ll give me thirty minutes to take him around the grounds before Char picks me up for our day of pampering. Pampering. Boy, do I need that.

  Feeling the burden of the last day weighing me down, I decide to take a bath in the garden tub. I figure that I’ll take advantage of Jasper’s luxuries while they’re available to me. The warm water envelopes me. I can feel the stress of the last thirty hours slowly drain out of my shoulders and back. I start to doze off in the water, with the bubbles all around me, and the jets pulsating in my back, when my cell dings again:

  BRIGGS: You didn’t call :(

  The reality that Briggs uses smiley and frowny faces in his texts makes me grin. He’s boyish, but so manly and beautiful.

  JANELLE: It was a long day. Thank you so much for getting my car. I don’t want to ruin my phone, so I can’t talk/text.

  Sober and remorseful of my actions last night, I’m not really sure what to say to him. Truthfully, I haven’t been able to stop myself from thinking about him, about his hands, his arms, his lips. Then, he texts me. He’s so tuned in to my thoughts, my dirty thoughts. My forbidden thoughts?

  BRIGGS: I dont get it. Ruin phone?

  Normally, I’ll admonish the person texting me who doesn’t use an apostrophe, but I’m going to let it go this time. He did get my car, clean it out, and gas it up. It can slide.

  JANELLE: I’m in the bathtub.

  Why? Why would I tell him that? I know why. I want him to know. I want him to think about me, just as I have been thinking about him. I even want him to touch himself, thinking about me. That would be so hot. So wrong, but so hot. I want to have the same effect on him that he has on me.

  BRIGGS: Right now? Can I come by?

  I knew he’d say that. I would’ve been disappointed if he hadn’t. I like that he wants me. I need him to want me.

  JANELLE: No!

  Yes please! Please, please, please!

  BRIGGS: Please! I’ll be good. Where r u? Did u go home?

  I hate that Briggs knows what is going on in my marriage and my life. It makes me feel like such a failure. I would hate having all of my students know that my marriage fell apart. I always rave about how happy and in love we are. Now, I’m going to seem like a phony.

  JANELLE: No! At my brother’s house. Not going home.

  Alone in the bathtub, wishing you were with me…

  BRIGGS: Can I see you tomorrow?

  Why wait until tomorrow? Get your hot, black ass over here now.

  JANELLE: Sorry, I have a spa day (massages and facials) with my friend.

  I’d much rather be spending the entire day tomorrow finishing what we started last night on that dance floor, with you grinding your hardening cock on my backside, while your tongue licks the length of my neck.

  BRIGGS: You dont need to pay anyone to rub you down. I got you. Did you think of me last night?

  Almost like he’s reading my mind. Did I think of him last night? Ha! I’m thinking of him right now, and last night. And…

  JANELLE: I’ll never tell.

  Never tell him about the intense orgasm that shook through my body at just the whisper of his name on my lips and the slightest flick of my clit.

  BRIGGS: You did didnt you? I havent stopped thinking about you… Im gonna see you tomorrow. A bath. Shit, that aint right. You killin me.

  Yeah, I’m going to let all of those misused apostrophes and misspellings go. He doesn’t need them. He can write any way he wants. Just his words alone are enough to repeat last night’s solo performance. Damn it. I wish I’d made Char stop and get me a new vibrator on our way here. Just texting Briggs and I’m going to need it, a couple of times.

  JANELLE: Good night Briggs

  I have to end this chat. I’m starting to get too hot in the water. Usually when I’m in a bath this long, I start to get chilly, but there isn’t a cold bone in my body right now. Just texting Briggs turns me on, gets me hot.

  As I get into bed, just in my t-shirt and panties, I start to think about Marcus and our lack of a fulfilling sex life. If Marcus was so interested in banging all of those women, why wouldn’t he just come home and bang the crap out of me? I can’t understand this missing piece in the puzzle. I never turned him down, feigning a headache, or complaining about being too tired. I tried to be open and adventurous, willing to try new things, new ways to excite one another. I wanted to have a steamy and passionate marriage, but it was barely lukewarm. He never acted like he really wanted me, like he couldn’t resist me and had to have me. I wanted to be wanted, desired. I wanted him to need me, to not be
able to get enough of me. Was that too much to ask of one’s husband? Shouldn’t a husband want to fuck his wife? Why Lauren? Why not me, his wife?

  I’m once again going to bed with a heavy heart and a burdened mind. I figured it was going be a restless night. I’m not about to masturbate to Briggs again. I really don’t feel like using the archives either. I don’t want to let Marcus star in my fantasies any longer. Char gave me a Xanax “for peace of mind and relaxation.” Desperate times call for desperate measures. I can definitely use some relaxation. After a while, I let my mind drift back to Briggs and his muscular thighs, and solid chest, and I drift off to sleep, thinking about how hard his entire body is.

  THE KNOCKING ON the door rouses me from my sleep. It’s 9:38 a.m. Shit. Char’s picking me up for our spa day and I overslept—again. She hates when I’m late. I run to open the door, wearing just my ratty, old, nearly see-through Pearl Jam t-shirt and my boy-short underpants, that declare, “You wish” on the butt. Char bought them for me for Christmas last year. She buys me underwear, inappropriate underwear, for every occasion. She’ll at least be pleased that I have them on. I fling the door open, before looking out the sidelight windows. Not Char!

  Mortified, I pull my shirt as far down over my panties, as it’ll go, which isn’t far at all. “Shit. I’m sorry, ummm, excuse me.” I close the door, just a crack, “Can I help you?”

  The man answers through the crack in the door. Looking away, embarrassed, he replies, “Miss Garrity, it’s me, Leo. Landscaping?”

  I open the door, a little more, peeking my head out, “Leo? Uhhh, yeah Leo, I’ll be right back.” I slam the door and run to the bedroom to get some pants. Holy shit what happened to Leo? Leo was so… so… so nerdy in school. The boy, man, on my front stoop was no nerd, no nerd at all. I throw on my yoga pants, a bra, and pull my hair into a messy bun. I brush my teeth faster than I knew was humanly possible and splash some water on my face. Presentable. Nearly.

  “Leo! It’s good to see you. You look wonderful. Thanks for coming by,” I say, opening the door. Who in God’s name is this kid? The Leo Cling that I had in class was a scrawny, pale kid, who wore glasses, and was just all-around clumsy. The Leo Cling on my front porch is nothing of the sort.

  Urkel!

  This reminds me of when Steve Urkel went into the transformation chamber and came out as Stephan, the suave, sophisticated, hot Stephan. Did anyone other than me watch Family Matters reruns on Nick at Nite? I wonder how it ended. Did Laura end up with Urkel or did she make him transform to Stephan for good? I’ll have to look that up. Jeez! I need to get a life.

  Holy crap. Did I just call Leo hot? I did. Man, I need to get laid. “Walk with me up to the main house. Yeah, I get to say ‘main house’ when talking about my brother’s home.” I joke, knowing it isn’t at all funny. Being polite, Leo laughs; he has beautifully straight and pearly white teeth. The braces certainly paid off.

  I walk Leo around the house and explain what my brother wants done. Amicably and easily, Leo jokes that the job was simple, and he’ll certainly take care of it for us. He’s so mature. What the Hell college did these guys go to? Marcus certainly didn’t spend four years in college and come out polished, polite, and smoking hot! I can’t believe that this is the same kid.

  “Leo, what have you been up to since high school graduation? You seem so different,” I pry.

  Leo blushes, looking once again like the boy I had in class. Clearing his throat, he replies, confidently, “I grew up.”

  Yes he did—he certainly fucking did. I zone out when Leo starts talking about his new job. I’m more captivated by the body in front of me. I’m guessing Leo’s probably 6 foot 1 and 195 pounds. His sandy blond hair is much longer than it was in high school, but still short enough to look presentable. He flips it off to the side with a flick of his head as he talks, keeping it out of his eyes. He isn’t dressed for yard work, but has on khaki shorts, a Nautica polo, and tan boat shoes. He looks great—good enough to eat. His skin is tanned from the sun. And his body…

  “You look great.” I really want to ask him if he started some crazy workout regime, because this new Leo is definitely doing something. However, I do have enough sense to know that’s an invasive and inappropriate question. But his body! His body is magnificent. His forearms are defined and strong, not bulked up and huge, but defined and perfect. He looks strong, very strong.

  “Thanks Miss Garrity. I joined the crew team in college,” he admits, smiling at me. “I was an alternate, never really competed, but I worked out with the team.”

  Never competed? Bless his heart.

  Leo addresses me so carefully, speaking as if he’s worried that he’ll say the wrong thing, sound too cocky or offend someone. Continuing, he adds, “I really got into it. I loved the early morning workouts, watching the sunrise every morning, being out on the water. It was quiet, but very invigorating.” He smiles and ducks his head, clearly embarrassed for saying what he thinks is too much. Now, he’s appearing more like the Leo I had in class.

  “I am so happy for you. You seem like everything is going so well. You start this week at that new CPA firm in town?” Leo’s still nodding, humbly, when Char comes honking down the driveway. You can take the girl out of the sorority, but you can’t take the sorority out of the girl. Everything is a party to her. She jumps out of the car with a quizzical and accusatory look on her face.

  “Well, well, well, who do we have here and just WHEN did he get here?” she asks, implying that he must’ve stayed the night. If a man’s at Char’s that early in the morning, then he definitely arrived there late the night before. Char is ravenously eyeing Leo like a piece of meat. She’s ready to pounce. I love this girl, but sometimes, she’s just too much.

  “Char!” I grit through my teeth, “This is Leo, one of my former students, who JUST got here. He’s going to do some landscaping for Jasper.”

  “Ohhhh, I got just the bush that—”

  “Charlene Palmer, so help me God, I will kill you,” I threaten, pushing her back toward her car. “I’ll be over in a minute.”

  Leo and I finalized his schedule and financial estimate and he said that he’d be back later to get started. He was actually and adorably on his way to take his mother and grandmother to brunch, a ritual the first Sunday of every month. As he walked away, he turned around and waved, grinning.

  “Son of a bitch, where do you teach? I need to get a job there!” Char exclaims, staring at Leo, as my protective senses kick in and I get in to her car.

  “Eyes off, he’s too young for you. He’s just a kid,” I warn. However, I was definitely looking too. What is wrong with me?

  “That, my friend, is no kid. Damn, first Briggs, now Leo, when did you turn into such a cougar?” she jabs, knowing that I despise the word, ‘cougar.’ It’s just gross; old women shouldn’t prey like a cat on young men.

  Cougars. So gross.

  “What do you mean ‘first Briggs, now Leo,’ Char?” I shriek. “There’s nothing going on, with either of them.” Char’s clearly losing her mind—totally delusional. She just knows how to get to me.

  “Janelle, did you not see how that boy, that man, was staring at you? I felt like I was about to be in a threesome. All that pent up sexual tension,” Char responds, fanning herself. Yep, delusional. No doubt about it. I’m seriously not about to sit here and argue my point. When she’s in this mood, there’s no reason to try and debate; she’s just way too stubborn at times.

  “Whatever. Let’s go! We’re going to be late for our appointments,” I announce, buckling my seatbelt. I can’t talk anymore about this with her. I wanted to tell her about my texts with Briggs last night, but since this Leo business, I can’t give her any more ammunition to shoot at me. She’d be so disappointed that I didn’t invite Briggs over to share my garden tub bubble bath. She would’ve invited him without a second thought. Maybe I should’ve.

  Starting the car and beginning to back out of the driveway, Char glances at me and asks,
“Is Marcus a three-times-a-day tooth brusher?”

  “A what?”

  Rolling her eyes, she says, “You know, does he brush his teeth three times a day?”

  “Oh, ummm, nah. He’s basically a morning brusher. On occasion, I guess he brushes at night too. Why?”

  “No reason, just curious. Wanted to know if you thought he’d brushed his teeth since we were over there yesterday,” she replies, adjusting the radio.

  Grabbing her hand, I say, “Oh no! What did you do?”

  “Nothing,” Char answers, in an innocent, sing-songy voice.

  “Holy Hell Char, did you use his toothbrush to scrub the toilet when I was packing my stuff?” I ask, repulsed by the thought of him using that toothbrush again, the expensive power-brush he insisted on having.

  “Hmmm, not so much,” she stalls.

  “Spill… now,” I demand.

  “Well you know how I kind of get off on shoving things—”

  “You stuck Marcus’ toothbrush up your ass!” I scream. Char is too much. Completely out-of-control. “Char, how could you? That’s so fucking foul.”

  “Really? Like he doesn’t deserve it. You said yourself that you wish he’d eat shit and die. I’m just getting the ball rolling.”