The rage is building within me, but I know it's an impotent rage. There's nothing I can do. Looking at Darby's name on my contact list, my finger hovers over the button, my body gripped with indecision.
Fucking Mason. Fuck that asshole for putting me in this spot.
Without giving myself time to think about it, I hit the delete button, erasing Darby from my phone – and from my life. With a roar filled with rage and anguish, I hurl the phone against the wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces.
Just like my heart.
Chapter Four
Darby
Present Day...
“Excellent work, Maria,” I say.
I stroll through my classroom, checking on the progress of my students. Today, I have them working on recreating scenes from the city and many of them are doing very well. Some are just going through the motions, taking my class because they thought it would be easy credits. But some have a real and natural gift. I stop behind one of my more promising students, Emilio, and admire his work.
Emilio has a unique style and in a lot of ways, he reminds me of the urban artists whose work I still go and admire. Though, with the gentrification and de-urbanization of many parts of the city, many of those amazing murals are being lost. They're becoming a dying art form, much to my own dismay and heartbreak.
“Emilio,” I say. “That is truly stunning.”
He's working on a painting of an older couple on a bench in Central Park. There is a lot of realism to it, and yet, there is something of a surrealistic flair as well. The painting really is exquisite, and I can't help but be impressed. It's not often I have a student with so much natural talent.
“Exceptional work,” I say.
He smiles wide and I see the color flare in his cheeks. He quickly looks away, uncomfortable with my praise. He's a very humble, quiet boy. One who keeps to himself most of the time. He's got a real gift. One I'm trying hard to encourage and help him develop. I think if he keeps at it and keeps honing his craft, I'm going to be seeing his work hanging in some of the most prestigious galleries in the city – if not the world – in the not too distant future.
“Thank you, Miss White,” he says and turns back to his canvas.
I continue walking around the classroom, offering instructions and critiques. I look at the clock and see we only have about five minutes of class left.
“Okay guys,” I say. “We're almost out of time, so do me a favor and clean up your areas. Just leave your paintings on your easels and I'll put them up when they're dry.”
A low murmuring starts among the students as they set to work cleaning things up. These kids get a bad rap, in my opinion. The kids I teach are always polite. Helpful. I've never had a problem with them acting out, or being rude, or disrespectful. I mean, yeah, I've seen kids like that in school, I'm not naïve or blind. I just believe most of them just want to learn.
These kids are a source of joy to me. Pretty much the only joy I have in my life these days. It's not like I have much of a social life to speak of, so I take my happiness and joy where I can get it.
“One more thing before you go,” I call out over the rising voices of the crowd as they shuffle toward the door. “Your two-page papers are due tomorrow. Remember, I want to hear about a piece of art you've seen and how it's impacted you personally. Just like your paintings, I want you to draw straight from the heart, guys. And don't forget to start thinking about your project for finals. I want your presentations done before we leave for Christmas break.”
They grumble and groan, but most of them are smiling. I know my kids enjoy the work I give them. Well – they enjoy it more than the work they get in other classes, anyway. I try to make my classes fun and engaging. I'm trying to teach them to use their minds, to think about the way they interact with others – as well as the world around them. I'm not just teaching to a test or making them memorize things that will have no significance in their lives moving forward.
I teach my kids to think critically and to look at life a different way. My teaching style reflects that, and I think the results have been very positive. Yeah, I know people think of me as the hippie-dippy art teacher who has her head in the clouds, and a head full of rainbows, but I don't care what they think. All I care about is having a positive impact on the lives of my kids.
For me, art is a way to channel all my thoughts and emotions. It helps me to focus on something other than all the ugliness that's a staple in the world today. Murder. Drugs. War. Poverty. Politics. Everything is so divisive and superficial. So morbid and dark. Art allows me to channel beauty into my life. It allows me to see the good things in people and in this world – which isn't always easy to do.
The bell rings and the kids all wave to me, their eyes bright, their smiles wide. Yeah, I know what other teachers and some of the parents think of me, but my kids all love me, and that's really all that matters. I'm here for my students, and not for anybody else.
I've been voted the most popular teacher in the school three years running, so they can all suck on that, as far as I'm concerned.
* * *
“So, how is life at Jefferson High?” she asks.
I take a sip of my martini and nod. “Wonderful. Couldn't be better,” I say. “And how is life at Crestwood?”
“Top of the world, babe,” Jade smiles.
We're sitting in a small bar in Chelsea called The Moonshiner. It's a hipster bar done up in an old Prohibition motif. The whole bar is furnished in dark wood that’s been shellacked to hell and back. There are old black and white pictures of Prohibition era figures all over the walls. An old rusted still sits in one corner, along with other artifacts of that era.
It's campy and cheesy – which is probably why the hipsters love it. But, it's also a nice, quiet place you can go to get a drink, and have a conversation without having to shout over people to be heard. Jade and I try to get out as often as we can, but finding the time can be tough. Given that she's married, and has a kid of her own now, we don't get to spend as much time together as we'd like, but we make sure to carve out time for a girl's night out every now and then. It's vital to maintaining my sanity.
Jade is my oldest and dearest friend, and I can't imagine my life without her. She surprised me when she went into teaching like I did. Growing up, she tolerated school, but never seemed to like it the same way I did. For her, school was a place to meet hot guys, and do dumb, silly, teenage things, rather than to actually learn something. Not that she's stupid – far from it. But, she never took school all that seriously.
Honestly, I'd always thought she wanted to be a housewife, and a socialite. The kind of woman who married well, and spent her days sitting on boards of philanthropic charities, and what not. Which was why it shocked me when she said that I had inspired her and ended up following me into the profession. And she loves it. I couldn't be happier or prouder of her.
Of course, Jade being Jade, she had to shoot for the stars and the loftiest perch she could find. She wouldn't be Jade if she didn't. Which is how she ended up at the Crestwood Academy, teaching the elite. To her, Crestwood is the pinnacle of education. I can only see it as a warehouse for spoiled, entitled kids, who were probably going to turn out like my own brother.
Personally, I had enough of the rich kids, and their sense of entitlement when I was growing up. The last thing I want to do is immerse myself back into that kind of atmosphere again. In my experience, rich kids don't appreciate – well – much of anything. And they certainly don't feel they need to work hard to better themselves, or take getting an education seriously.
Of course, it could be my bitter experience with my brother that's caused me to adopt such a harsh, cynical view.
I honestly don't think the kids at Crestwood would respond to my style of teaching quite the same way my kids do. I'm teaching more than art in my class. I'm teaching about life. And most of the spoiled kids of the wealthy elite think they've already got it all figured out, and that they've got life by the
balls.
Given that I grew up in privilege, I should probably be like them. Hell, my own brother sure adapted to that way of life and way of thinking rather quickly. But that was never for me. I remember living that middle-class life – and enjoying it more.
“So, when are you coming to teach at Crestwood?” Jade asks.
“The better question is,” I say and smile, “when are you going to stop asking me that?”
“Probably when you say yes.”
I take another sip of my drink and smile. “Not gonna happen,” I retort. “I love my kids.”
“You'll have new kids to love.”
“They won't love me back like my kids do.”
“Just think about how much better you'll be supplied at Crestwood though,” she says. “I hear they're cutting funding for art programs in public schools again. How long is it going to be before you're teaching art without art supplies? Or even worse, how long is it going to be before they decide they don't have the budget for an art teacher anymore?”
That much is true, and I don't have a witty comeback for it.
There is that worry in my head that one of these days, I'm going to be called in and told that arts programs are superfluous, and that the school can no longer afford them – or me. I'm pretty sure that's going to come to pass eventually, and I know I'd be smart to start planning for it. When that does happen, I might have no other choice than to teach at a place like Crestwood.
I’m not quite ready to give up the fight just yet, though. My kids need me. They need the programs. They need to have their creativity nurtured and honed. They need it and deserve it.
“That's why it's important that I stay where I'm at,” I tell her. “It's why it's so important that I keep fighting to preserve what little we have left. My kids need me, and they need these programs. If I abandoned them for a rich, fancy school, I don't know that I could forgive myself.”
Jade's smile is disappointed. “That's my girl,” she says and sighs. “Always the champion for the less privilege.”
I shrug. “Somebody has to be a voice for them.”
“Well, if it ever gets to be too much, or they just decide to wipe out the programs altogether – which is looking like a real possibility – promise me you'll think about Crestwood?” she begs. “I know I can score you an interview, and of course, I'll talk you up big time. I just think it would be so amazing to teach with my bestie a couple of doors down.”
I take her hand and give it a squeeze. “I will,” I respond. “I promise.”
“Anyway, let’s move on to a cheerier topic,” Jade says. “How did your date go with – that one guy?”
“Jeremy,” I quip. “His name is Jeremy.”
She nods. “Jeremy. He’s the banker guy, right?”
I laugh. Jade's memory is lacking at times. Either that or, she's hoping all my dates fail because she's been trying to set me up with some guy for months.
“He actually runs an art gallery.”
“Oh, right,” she says, a little smile on her face. “Of course. I remember now.”
“And, for your information, it was ok,” I say. “There wasn’t a lot of chemistry there. He's a nice guy, but I don’t feel that spark between us. Something’s missing.”
“Oh, that's too bad. I'm sorry that didn't work out,” she chime in, knowing full well she doesn't mean it. “Have I ever told you about Neville?”
I laugh and shake my head as I take a sip of my drink. And, there it is. The sales pitch. Again.
“Yes,” I say. “You've told me about him about a thousand times already.”
“Oh, have I?” she asks, feigning innocence. “I must have totally forgotten.”
“Uh-huh.”
She gives me a laugh and a wink as I finish my drink and set the glass down on the table in front of me. The waitress comes by and collects our empty glasses and sets down a fresh round without us having to prompt her. We've been coming here long enough that the waitresses all know our routine. It's kind of nice not having to sit and wait to flag somebody down for a fresh drink, truth be told.
“Come on, Darbs,” she says. “Neville is a great guy. He's handsome, he's successful, has a killer body, and oh yeah, he's filthy rich. He's the whole package. You would totally love him if you met him.”
“So, why don't you date him?” I ask.
She laughs. “Believe me, if Aaron would allow it, I totally would,” she says and then puts on a faux-thoughtful look. “Hmm... maybe I should look into starting a harem of my own.”
“There you go,” I say and raise my glass. “Good idea.”
My love life has evolved into an absolute dumpster fire. When it comes to love, I pretty much suck at it. I haven't had a serious boyfriend in years, and between then and now, I’ve had a string of – well – nothing. I've had a few dates here and there, but nothing worth writing home about. Truthfully, I haven’t had anything progress past the second date in… I don't even know how long.
Most of the guys I meet are nice. They're just not for me. They're decent enough. Most of them have been funny, intelligent, and kind. It’s just that they all seem to be lacking something. It's not their fault. I guess I'm just picky. But I know what I want, and I won't settle for less.
Settling only leads unhappiness and resentment down the line, and if that means that I grow old, collect fifty cats, and sit around knitting while watching Jeopardy, then so be it. I'd rather do that than grow old next to some guy I'll eventually come to resent simply because he doesn't check all the boxes – or rather, the most important boxes – I require in a partner. I would rather be alone, than suffer through a relationship that doesn't make me happy or fulfill me.
“Seriously, Darbs,” she says. “You're too young and beautiful to be alone.”
“I refuse to let a man define me, Jade,” I exclaim. “I don't need a man to be happy.”
“Well, you do need a man to have amazing, earth-shaking, mind-blowing sex. That's kind of required.”
I laugh and throw a crumpled napkin at her. I enjoy sex, don't get me wrong. I'm just not as obvious about it as Jade. She's a woman who embraced her sexuality early and has never been ashamed of it. I admire that about her.
Jade is very outspoken about it and gives me more details than I want about her sex life with Aaron. Secretly thought, I'd be lying if I said I didn't envy how happy and satisfied she is – even if only a little bit. But, more than anything, I'm happy that she's found somebody who seems perfect for her.
I've only had that once in my life and I doubt I'm ever going to have that again. That moment has passed. I have a feeling the best I can hope for is good sex. Although, I doubt I'm ever going to have that kind of toe-curling, world-shattering sex ever again.
“Come on, Darbs. I've told Neville all about you and he's dying to meet you,” she says. “He says you sound like the perfect woman and can't understand why you're single.”
I scoff. “I'm hardly perfect.”
She smirks at me. “You don't gotta tell me, babe.”
I smile at her, but sigh, and sit back in my seat. Maybe I could just meet him. Once. Maybe, it wouldn't kill me to just go have a drink with the guy. Honestly, I doubt it'll go anywhere after that first date anyway – just because nobody has ever been able to catch and hold my attention like – well – him. He, whose name shall not be spoken.
But, who knows? Maybe this Neville will surprise me and tick off all those boxes. Stranger things have happened. If nothing else, when the inevitable happens, and I don't feel that spark, at least it'll get Jade off my back about it. At least, I'll be able to say I gave it a shot, and it just didn't work out.
“I'll think about it,” I concede.
She squeals with excitement. “Awesome,” she exclaims. “You're going to love him, Darbs. I guarantee it. He's the perfect guy. He really is, and I know he'll be excited –”
“I said I'd think about it,” I reiterate, smiling at her. “I didn't say yes.”
“You
usually say no, flat out, so I'm taking this as a big step forward in our negotiations.”
“Oh, my love life is a negotiation for you?”
“Absolutely,” she beams. “And a tough one at that.”
“Yeah well, don't start planning the wedding yet.”
She laughs, and we fall into some easy, normal, no love life-centric conversation for a while. We talk about our lives, and what's going on in them. Thankfully, it gets her off the topic of my love life – or rather, the lack thereof.
The truth is, it gets lonely sometimes. And having a little companionship would be nice. There are times I long for the whispered conversation, soft kisses, and gentle touches shared between lovers.
But I made the conscious choice to not have a meaningless string of one-nighters, and the conscious decision to not jump into a relationship just for the sake of being in one. I value myself more than all that.
“Oh my God,” Jade gasps. “I almost forgot to show you.”
“Show me what?”
She digs into her bag and pulls out a folded newspaper. Well, in reality newspaper is probably a generous description for it. I recognize it as one of those trashy tabloids I see in the check-out lines at the market. Jade loves the gossip rags, and though I'll scan the headlines while waiting to be checked out, I honestly couldn't care less about which celebrities are screwing each other – or who they're screwing over. Celebrity gossip isn't my thing. Jade though, never gets enough of it.
She unfolds the paper and drops it onto the table in front of me. And when I see the man in the picture on the front cover, it feels like I got punched in the stomach. I suddenly feel lightheaded, like my heart is about to explode in my chest.
“Do you remember this guy?” she asks.
I clear my throat. “Yeah,” I say, trying to recover while also trying to hide my discomfort. “I remember him.”
As if I could forget. Ever. Those blue-gray eyes and those “old Hollywood” good looks haven't faded at all in the ten years that have passed since I last saw Carter Bishop. If anything, he's only gotten more handsome. He looks more like a young Marlon Brando now than he did back then. He's gorgeous.
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