by Judy Nunn
Alex shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He’s probably got something planned.’
‘OK, I’ll wear the blouse.’
Harold was thrilled when Alex rang him at lunchtime. He thought it was an excellent idea to have an early meal before the theatre and he was only too happy to collect the tickets.
‘What do you want to see, dear boy? There’s …’
‘Don’t care, Harold. You decide.’
Poor Jonathan Thomas. The moment Maddy walked through the classroom door in the new silk blouse he knew he was undone. Why did they do it to him? Why? The jangling braless breasts in the T-shirts were bad enough, but this! And Maddy, with her woman’s body and her fifteen year old face, had always been the most tempting of his students. He moaned inwardly and did his best to avoid her.
It was impossible from the start. ‘Heads to the left, two, three, four. To the right, two, three, four. To the front, two, three, four.’ The first three neck exercise commands were as much as Jonathan could manage. ‘To the back …’ And as he counted out the following three seconds all he could see was the beautiful column of Maddy’s neck, the delicate collarbone, the porcelain skin, the … Oh God, those breasts! His eyes locked on them.
In the instant that all heads snapped back upright, Jonathan turned his back on the class and fumbled for the ruler on the blackboard ledge. It was a habit of his to tap a trouser leg when he was nervous.
‘Hands on ribcage.’ He walked to the rear of the class, checking the students’ postures and beating his grey flannels remorselessly. ‘Breathing in, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Feel the diaphragm. In, two, three, four.’
Everyone did as they were told and breathed in as Jonathan circled back to the front of the class. The view of Maddy side-on was even more erotic. The sun’s rays pouring through the window clearly framed the perfect breasts rising and falling beneath the soft pink fabric.
Jonathan switched to automatic pilot and made it through the class avoiding Maddy as best he could. But his lust had not gone unnoticed. Alex smiled to himself.
For that entire week Alex’s sexual appetite was insatiable and Maddy, in responding to him, felt as if she was ‘on heat’ the whole time.
He encouraged her to wear revealing clothes to classes, to sit provocatively so that he could catch fleeting glimpses of thigh and breast. And the more Alex encouraged her to tantalise, the more she had eyes only for him and was totally unaware of the effect she was having on Jonathan Thomas.
The following Monday morning, on their way to classes, Maddy and Alex collected the photos.
‘Three lots of film,’ Alex said as he opened the first pack. ‘Cost the earth.’ He started flipping through them. ‘Bloody well worth it though.’
Maddy, leaning over his shoulder, couldn’t understand what he saw in them. Just pictures of herself showing a flash of crotch, thigh or breast. But the intensity with which he was selecting his favourites must mean that he found them arousing and anything that Alex found arousing never failed to excite Maddy.
She put her hand on his knee but he didn’t seem to notice. ‘We’ll be late,’ he said as he pocketed his favourite half-dozen photos and handed the pack to Maddy. ‘Let’s go.’ He revved the engine up and ducked into the stream of traffic wending its way through Kings Cross.
Jonathan Thomas had a mid-morning break between classes and he went to his office with the intention of finalising the end-of-term student assessments. He’d finally received Belinda Bellamy’s report.
Belinda Bellamy wasn’t a bad singing teacher but, in Jonathan’s opinion, she was a bit of a twit and always irritatingly late with her reports. Now at last he’d be able to finish his compilation and assessment, and then it would simply need typing up by the administrative secretary …
There was an envelope with his name on it sitting on the centre of his blotter. It was marked ‘Personal’.
Jonathan opened it to discover a photograph of Maddy McLaughlan. She was sitting in a beer garden looking distractedly into the distance and sipping a drink, obviously unaware that a photograph was being taken of her and that a flash of white-pantied crotch was visible to the unseen photographer.
There was another photo. Maddy in a park feeding a pigeon, the unseen photographer perfectly capturing an exposed breast. There was another and another. Six in all.
Jonathan felt a slow, steady erection. Someone had obviously followed the girl—over a period of days, it would seem: different locations, different outfits. But why send them to him?
He tried to will his erection away but it was impossible. Oh God, there was a photo of her in that blouse. Focusing on the breasts, obviously taken with a zoom lens.
Jonathan quickly returned the shots to the envelope and put it in the top drawer of his desk. He sat down sweating slightly, his mind racing, his penis rock-hard. What was happening? Why had the photos been sent to him? What should he do about them? But, behind all the questioning, behind all the mystery, was the image of Maddy. He couldn’t get the photos out of his mind.
Jonathan had two more classes before lunch and still the image stayed with him. At a quarter past one, as he put his salad sandwich and his orange juice on the desk before him, he fought against his desire to open the top drawer.
It was impossible. He had to see them. Just once, he told himself, and he spread the photographs out on the desk. Just a look, he promised himself, but of course it was useless.
He checked his watch—half past one. The rest of the staff would be at lunch. On Mondays they congregated at the coffee shop and on Fridays the pub. It was only midweek that they hung around the classrooms with their sandwiches.
Jonathan pocketed the photographs and visited the deserted staff lavatory. Just the once, he told himself.
But the end of the day saw him again in his office staring at the photos spread out on his desk and again wondering if there would be anyone in the staff lavatory. He didn’t hear the gentle tap on the door. He didn’t even hear the door being quietly opened.
‘Excuse me, Mr Thomas.’ It was Alex Rainford. In one swift movement Jonathan swept the photographs up and dropped them into the top drawer.
‘Yes, Alex?’ he said, quickly shutting the drawer.
‘I’m sorry. I knocked, but you didn’t—’
‘That’s perfectly all right,’ Jonathan snapped, telling himself there was no way the boy could have seen. ‘What can I do for you?’
Alex had now closed the door behind him and his servile manner disappeared immediately.
‘You can leave my girlfriend alone, that’s what you can do.’
‘I beg your pardon!’ Jonathan stared back, dumbfounded.
‘You’ve been following her, haven’t you?’ Alex hissed. ‘Following her and perving and—’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ Jonathan rose from his chair to calm the young man who seemed to be on the verge of hysteria. ‘But I suggest you …’
Before Jonathan knew it, Alex had shoved him aside, pulled open the drawer and slammed the photographs on top of the desk beside the blotter.
‘Perving and taking photos. Like these. Haven’t you? And I bet there’s more.’ Alex congratulated himself on how easy it all was. He’d anticipated having to tear the room apart in a fit of rage to find the photos. Jonathan’s swift, guilty move to the drawer had certainly simplified matters.
Jonathan stared down at his desk, his mind numbed by the speed of it all. How had the boy known he had the photos? How could all this be happening to him? Why?
‘I didn’t take them,’ he heard himself stammering. ‘I found them on my desk. They’re not mine, I didn’t take them.’
‘You expect me to believe that, you dirty wanker! You follow my girl, you perve and take pictures and then you expect me to believe they just landed on your desk?’
Flushed with the guilt of his trip to the staff lavatory Jonathan could only nod. ‘They did, they did just land on my desk. This morning.’
‘You don’t have
a very good track record, do you, Thomas?’ The rage had gone from Alex’s voice and the simple statement totally confused Jonathan. ‘I don’t think you’ll find anyone who’ll believe you.’ Alex paused. ‘Of course, if you could see your way clear to changing my assessment, no one need ever know about the photos.’
Jonathan stared at Alex and slowly shook his head in disbelief. ‘You took them, didn’t you?’
Alex nodded. ‘Yes. I want to stay at NADA, Mr Thomas.’
Jonathan felt faint. He sat heavily and put his hands on the desk top, breathing deeply.
Alex stood watching the man, waiting for the admission of defeat.
Finally, Jonathan took his hands from the table and looked directly at Alex. ‘Well, you’ve obviously researched my weakness. Very thorough. Well done.’
Alex nodded his agreement. He felt no triumph but he was pleased. His had been a good, simple plan, born of necessity, not malice.
‘However,’ Jonathan continued, ‘you’ve most certainly underestimated my strength.’
Strength? Alex waited. What strength? The man was a joke.
‘I have never compromised my principles as a teacher and I don’t intend to start now.’ There was an unexpected edge to Jonathan’s voice and he looked at Alex with contempt. ‘I suggest you take your photographs to the Board and attempt whatever damage you can.’
Alex was surprised. Who would have thought the man had a backbone? They stared at each other for several seconds, then Alex turned and walked out of the office.
Jonathan’s instinctive rush of relief was shortlived. His office door opened again and Alex reappeared. Maddy was at his side.
‘I hadn’t actually thought of going to the Board, Mr Thomas.’ Alex flashed a winning smile, first at Maddy, then back to Jonathan.
As Maddy smiled a greeting at him, Jonathan found himself automatically nodding to her before turning once again to Alex. So this was the boy’s trump card, he thought, and he started to feel sick.
How would he ever be able to prove to the girl that Alex had taken those photographs? How could he tell her that her own lover had so compromised her? Then a thought flashed through his brain that perhaps the girl had posed for the photographs, perhaps they were a lovers’ game. Either way he was sure she had no idea how Alex was using them.
Was the boy bluffing? he wondered. But, even as he wondered, he knew there was no way he could afford to take the risk. There was one thing Jonathan knew for certain. The thought of Maddy knowing how he had used her image over the toilet bowl in the staff lavatory was beyond endurance.
Under the pretext of tidying his desk, Jonathan gently placed the blotter over the top of the photographs.
‘You’ve made your point, Alex,’ he said with deliberation. ‘I think we can solve things without involving the Board—or others in general.’
‘Oh, thanks, Mr Thomas.’ Alex shook Jonathan’s hand effusively and grinned to Maddy. ‘Did you hear that, Mad! He’s giving me another go. Thanks, Mr Thomas, that’s great!’
In the corridor outside, Alex picked Maddy up and whirled her about. ‘See! I told you there was no need to worry.’
‘Oh, Alex, that’s wonderful.’ She kissed him. ‘But why did you want me there? Why did you make me wait outside?’
‘Because I knew he was going to give me another chance, sweetheart, and I wanted you to hear him say it yourself. I want to share everything with you, Maddy. Oh God, I love you!’ And any other questions Maddy may have had disappeared altogether as he kissed her deeply.
On the other side of the door Jonathan sat unmoving, staring at his blotter. His head ached. Slowly he slid the blotter to one side and looked down at the photographs. And as he did he felt, to his utter humiliation, the familiar stirring in his groin. Not now, he thought, surely not now?
As Jonathan’s erection grew, so did his feeling of shame. He knew that it would always be like this. For the rest of his life he was destined to be tormented. He detested himself. He sat staring at the photographs for a long time, then he picked up the phone and dialled.
‘Mrs Laney? It’s Mr Thomas. I wonder would it be too inconvenient for you to come around tomorrow instead of next Tuesday?’ As he spoke he took an envelope from one of the drawers and slid the photographs inside. ‘Yes, a special occasion, so I want the house looking nice and tidy. That’s excellent, thank you. The usual time.’
The next morning, Mrs Laney opened the letterbox outside Jonathan’s apartment with her special key and took out the customary envelope. Mrs Laney had ‘done’ for Jonathan every second Tuesday for eight years and, along with her cash payment, there was always a letter which contained her special instructions for the day—the oven to be scoured or the refrigerator to be defrosted or the Venetians to be cleaned.
She was surprised to find that the envelope contained an extra twenty dollars and she wondered why. It wasn’t Christmas, could it be a mistake? But it wasn’t like Mr Thomas to make mistakes. She read the note: ‘Dear Mrs Laney, I’m so sorry to inflict this upon you’.
When she opened the door she was overwhelmed by the stench of gas. It was a small apartment and every crack in every window was blocked with towels. With the exception of the bedroom, all doors were open, however, to ensure the gas would permeate the two small rooms from kitchen to bathroom.
A practical woman, Mrs Laney turned off the gas, opened the windows and searched the apartment before calling the police.
Jonathan was in the bath up to his neck in water, fully clothed, with the veins of both wrists neatly opened. Apart from the bright red water there wasn’t a speck of blood to be seen. He’d been very meticulous.
It hadn’t hurt at all. He’d soaked in the hot water for a good ten minutes and the three Valium he’d downed an hour before were well and truly taking effect before he got to work with the razor blade.
When he’d finished, he carefully rinsed the blade and set it on the side of the bath. He then looked through the open door at the clock on the lounge room mantelpiece. Eight o’clock. Twelve hours before Mrs Laney arrived. He’d been very thorough and he’d accomplished it all with the minimum of mess-there’d be very little cleaning up to do. That’s good, Jonathan had thought, as he relaxed and let his mind drift.
He recalled the edges of the photographs as they curled and blackened in the washbasin. And he smiled: as he’d watched the flames licking at the image of the girl, he’d felt no sensation in his groin at all.
Jonathan had felt a magnificent contentment as he lay back and watched the water turn pink.
The whole of NADA was shocked by the news of Jonathan’s suicide. It was so unexpected, everyone said, including Alex, and he meant it. Jonathan’s death had been the last thing he’d intended and he couldn’t understand it. Surely they’d come to an amicable enough understanding? Alex had certainly intended to keep his part of the bargain and not breathe a word to anyone. He would even have been happy for Jonathan to keep the photos of Maddy for his personal use.
Then another thought occurred to Alex. What if Jonathan had handed in his report before he killed himself? Hell, of course he would have: the man would want blood for blood. Alex cursed himself. So the whole exercise had been in vain.
There was only one way to find out. The morning after the news had broken, Alex stole into Jonathan’s office.
The folder was where it had always been, sitting in the left-hand desk drawer. How strange, Alex thought, but how fortunate. He slipped the papers under his jacket, checked the corridor and ducked out quietly, closing the door behind him.
The funeral was late Friday afternoon and NADA classes finished an hour earlier than usual so that those students who wished to attend could do so. A surprising number of them did, including Alex, Maddy and Julian.
‘Bit hypocritical, isn’t it? You didn’t even like the bloke,’ Julian argued when Alex suggested they pay their respects.
‘I’d like to go,’ said Maddy, who felt saddened by Jonathan’s suicide and even a little
guilty. What terrible turmoil the man must have been in without anyone knowing, she thought, regretting the times she’d dismissed him as ‘that old perve’. ‘Let’s go,’ she insisted and Julian shrugged and gave in.
Alex was grateful that Maddy had been the deciding factor; he would have had trouble explaining his desire to go. The truth was he didn’t really know himself. But as he sat there, his eyes fixed on the casket, trying to imagine Jonathan inside, he was fascinated by the knowledge that he himself had been the catalyst. Of course the man must have been unhinged to have taken such drastic measures, Alex told himself, and someone else and some other set of circumstances could have brought about the same result. But it hadn’t been someone else, had it?
Alex felt a surge of power, mingled with respect for Jonathan. That sort of decision took guts and the guy had certainly done the job well according to the stories that were circulating.
He said as much to Julian that night at the Oxford Street pub after Maddy had left for the restaurant. The boys had shared two joints in the men’s lavatory and Alex had phoned in sick to the garage, a thing he’d never done before.
‘Yeah, it’d take a helluva lot of guts to kill yourself,’ he repeated.
Julian looked at him closely. Alex was in such a strange mood tonight. Maybe it was just the mixture of the wine and the grass, Julian thought, aware of his own euphoric glow. But they’d ‘mixed’ many a time in the past and Alex had never been affected like this.
‘There’s something I want to tell you, Julian.’
For twenty minutes Julian didn’t say a word. He sat frozen as Alex recounted, step by step, the events of the past two weeks.
‘It never occurred to me that he’d kill himself,’ Alex concluded. Julian remained transfixed.
Julian’s mesmeric reaction was goading Alex on. He sensed a growing revulsion and he was curious as to how much truth Julian could stand.
‘Just as it never occurred to me that my brother would kill himself.’ For a moment Alex wondered why he’d said that. Then he smiled. ‘But it was fascinating when he did,’ he added. Of course he knew why he’d said it. He wanted to test Julian’s love for him. Something inside was telling Alex that he needed to share his power with Julian. ‘Did I ever tell you about Tim?’ he asked.
