"Interesting," he said. "Let's switch to Hamlet now, if you don't mind."
"Fine with me," she said cheerily. "Go right ahead."
Three pages later, he realized she had failed to leave her phone on the table or to hand it to him, as was their practice. Suddenly, the way she was holding her body, with hands in her lap and her head bent down, made sense to him. When he watched closely, he could even see minute muscle movement in her arms. Stretching toward her, he confirmed his suspicion when he caught sight of her fingers busily clicking messages on the instrument's key pad that she was holding just below table level.
He slammed the textbook shut. She jumped and dropped the phone. He rescued the device from beneath the table and glanced at the call history briefly.
"I'm sure Kendall, whoever that person is, will forgive you for terminating your text-ersation, which I'm certain was fascinating. And I want you to know how impressed I am with your ability to communicate, even when you can't see the keypad or the return message. However, I am less than pleased that you have apparently felt it more important to have a one-sided chat with friends than to listen to Shakespeare. So, are you ready to get on with the lesson or do you have better things to do?"
She sighed dramatically. "I heard what you were saying. I can do more than one thing at a time, you know."
"I hope so, because if you keep this up, you're going to be very busy reciting for me everything you learned from yesterday's lesson. And you're going to be doing it while standing in the corner with a very sore portion of your anatomy—that part you usually use for sitting—competing for your attention. In addition, I might add, you will be doing it bare and displaying a remarkably red derriere, which, I can assure you, will impact your ability to concentrate even more."
*****
Andee used every ounce of self-control she possessed to keep from revealing how his threat had affected her. Muscles she seldom used, deep in her body, had clenched in a most unsettling and completely uncontrollable way while she processed his threat, and she found it necessary to swallow repeatedly. There was nothing she could think of to say that she could trust her vocal chords to deliver without a tremor.
"Now, are you in the mood to study or shall we get down to business of another kind altogether?" he asked.
She shook her head emphatically, although the action was at war with what her body was telling her were her actual preferences, in a strange kind of way she could make no sense of. She only knew she was suddenly eager to please him, not so he would withdraw his threat, but so he would think her worthy even to receive it. What possible sense could that make, a little voice whispered in her head.
"I'm more ready than you think, Mr. Benjamin." Then she proceeded to prove that she had, indeed, been paying attention to the reading he had been doing at her table. Unfortunately, she was not so forthcoming with answers he demanded from the previous night's review.
They arrived at a place where it seemed foolish to continue, since she seemed unable to respond with anything that showed true understanding of the material. Nick sighed and closed the textbook.
"Andee, I have to say I'm disappointed in your preparation for today. I know you are capable of learning the material, so I must assume you decided to ignore the approaching deadline. Well, young lady, the fact is, I haven't been ignoring it, and I know that in order to finish the play and review it sufficiently, we don't have a single day to spare. I suggest you either cancel your hot date or cut it very short and devote at least four hours to studying tonight. And I'm afraid there won't be any time off tomorrow. Please be ready to begin again in the morning at nine. I have other commitments between now and then, but I want you to concentrate on some rather important questions in the meantime."
It was difficult to bite back a smile of triumph, but she thought she had managed it. At least he didn't offer any hint that he was wise to her careful manipulation that had earned her another day in his presence.
"I'm just not sure I can do that, Mr. Benjamin. I mean, how am I supposed to remember the questions? Maybe you'd better stay and we'll just go over them until I've got it all down."
"Ordinarily I would agree, but I have plans it would be difficult to change at this late date."
She felt a sudden spurt of jealousy, wondering whom his plans involved.
"So you expect me to change my plans, but you're not willing to?" she said, and her voice came out with a petulant whine that was a little more pronounced than she had intended.
She felt his finger beneath her chin, forcing her bandaged eyes up and on what she assumed was a level with his own as he leaned across the table, narrowing the distance between them. She found herself a little short of breath, realizing he was so near and wondering what he planned to do.
"I expect you to do whatever is necessary to master this material, young lady, because I know you can do it, if you set your mind to it."
His finger skimmed away from her chin. She could tell he had leaned back in his chair again, because the scent she had come to associate with him grew fainter, and his voice contained distance when he spoke again.
"I am going to record the questions for you, Andee, and I'm going to show you how to give me back your answers on the machine. It will be good practice for you for the exam—the thinking on your feet kind of thing you'll have to do next week. But I warn you, I won't settle for fuzzy thinking or glib answers. I want you to listen to the questions on the tape and respond to each one thoughtfully and fully. Do you understand me?"
"Well, of course," she said with a little huff in her voice. This was ever so difficult to do, she thought. Not being able to see his face left her wondering if she had gone too far or not far enough in her reactions.
"Very well. You know how to turn the machine on. Do that now and I'll ask a question. Then I'll show you how to go from listening to talking on the recorder, and back again, so you'll know how to move on to the next question."
It took the better part of an hour—as long a time as she dared drag it out—before he had gotten his seven questions loaded on the machine and had walked her through the way she could make her responses.
Andee waged her own private battle to keep from giving him the answers at the time, since they were all actually on the tip of her very well prepared tongue. Instead, she pretended a hesitancy in using the machine she actually didn't feel at all. It was a tiring charade, but at least it would ensure he returned tomorrow, she thought.
"All right," he said finally. "We're going to call it a day."
She heard him shuffling papers and thumping books as he packed things away. Then he scooted his chair back and got to his feet. She scrambled up beside him, wishing she could think of one more ploy to make him stay, but hesitant to push him too far, lest he give up on her completely.
They walked to the door together and he opened it, letting in a rush of hot air.
"Study first. Party later. That's my best advice, Andee, and I suggest you follow it."
"Yes, I know. You're a very good suggester. Don't worry, Mr. Benjamin, I've got it," she said breezily, although she was already dreading the hours that would stretch away before he returned.
"I hope so, because I think we've established what you will get otherwise." He aimed a small spank at the denim-covered cheek nearest his right hand. She squeaked a protest and automatically reached to protect her backside, wondering if any of her neighbors could have been witnesses to his words or his actions. The thought filled her with a kind of horrified fascination that her body immediately translated to warm dampness between her legs.
He was gone by the time she recovered enough to trust her voice.
Saturday night passed with no more drama than Leila's hurried arrival to provide the necessary drops and leave a container of fast food chili and chips. Andee stayed at the table, fiddling with the recorder and trying to decide whether she should do all she could or as little as possible. Finally, she opted for putting her best foot forward, the need for Mr. Benjamin's approval greater t
han the need for his discipline. At least temporarily.
By the time she was drifting off to sleep, she had almost convinced herself to split the difference and erase half the answers in the morning, replacing them with slipshod responses, because she couldn't quite quell the need to goad him into confrontation that could only end one way.
Two things prevented her from carrying out her plan. First, she hesitated until morning, because even though she craved the attention he promised her, she didn't want the reason to be contrived, and she needed time to settle the issue within herself. Then she slept so deeply that she was awakened only by the sound of Leila pounding on her door again. Once she was gone, there was no time to do more than put on the clothes her friend had laid out and try to swallow a cake doughnut that was much too far past its sell-by date and stuck in her throat. She was attempting to soften it with repeated swigs of Diet Coke when someone else knocked on the door and she realized it was too late to be anything but a good girl on that Sunday.
Once Mr. Benjamin had reviewed her taped answers and pronounced himself delighted with her responses, he took her out. With her sunglasses and baseball cap firmly in place, they went for a walk in the park. He even restrained himself from commenting negatively or giving a lecture on proper nutrition as she enjoyed a hamburger and milk shake. Neither of them mentioned Tom. Or Rob.
Andee glowed and basked in his praise, but when he left her alone again, after recording several new scenes for her, she entertained immediate regrets. She had thoroughly enjoyed his attention, but there was a need in her he hadn't touched.
Leila came and went again and Andee finally put on a fresh long T-shirt and climbed into the far corner of her futon. Hugging her pillow, she longed for her tutor to unmask her and deal with the bad-girl reality she knew was there.
Sleep was elusive and after searching for what seemed hours, she gave up and made her way to the cramped little kitchen pantry. Searching the bottom shelf blindly, she found her solution. Bottle in hand, she poured the equivalent of a healthy gulp of Jack Daniels best and sipped it quietly, standing by the counter. Instead of relief, however, she felt more agitated than ever when the glass was empty, so she reached for the bottle again. This time, she dispensed with the glass, setting it in the sink with a confident hand, and tilted the bottle itself to her lips. She wondered idly how much was left of the whiskey that had been forgotten by a generous guest at one of the more memorable parties she had hosted a few months before. It wasn't very good, she decided. Not nearly as nice as wine. Or maybe it was. She took another swig to try to decide.
Chapter Eight
When Leila woke her bright and early Monday morning, Andee was curled on her tummy on the futon with no memory of how she got there and with a headache and traitorous stomach, to boot.
There was no pity in Leila, who went about her nursing duties briskly. Then she shoved unbuttered toast and strong coffee she had purchased for herself on the way over onto the table, where she insisted Andee must sit, once she got her off the futon and into presentable clothes. Grumbling under her breath about being late to work, Leila hurried out the door, leaving her alone and miserable to wait for Mr. Benjamin.
It was not the worst hangover she had ever lived through, Andee knew, but it ranked near the top of the scale. She dreaded the thought of listening to any sound or being required to respond in any way. Wondering if she could creep back to the futon and manage to sleep off the drunk before Mr. Benjamin showed up, she had hardly curled up around her favorite pillow for squeezing when he banged on the door in a most ungentlemanly approximation of a pile driver at work.
Despite her best effort—and it required a huge one not to scream at him to stop the infernal noise—Nick Benjamin sized up the situation immediately, she could tell. He was none too pleased, that much was evident in the very stiffness he somehow exuded into the room. He even refrained from scolding her, although she sensed, even in her pitiful state, that it required a tremendous effort. Perversely, she knew any hint of disapproval would be her undoing and she might just toss him out on his ear.
She heard him scrape his chair out and sit and she walked, very carefully, to her own seat and tried to find the proper frame of mind for dealing with the lesson for the day. She could not, she realized in despair, recall what it was supposed to be. Had she ever even turned on the recorder, she wondered. And where was it now?
Mr. Benjamin echoed that thought, but she could only shrug. He stood again and she heard him move around the tiny apartment. A moment later he was back at the table, setting something down with a solid clunk that made her head throb. She knew she winced. She realized he offered not a single word of pity or regret for her sad state. Instead, he turned to the cabinet where she kept glasses, took one down and filled it with tap water, she was fairly certain. Her guess was confirmed when he nudged her hand with it and she automatically wrapped her fingers around it.
"Drink it. There's lots more where it came from."
She indulged in a dainty sip.
"I said drink it. Not flirt with it. And get on with it. We have a lot to do today."
"I can't," she muttered. "It's making me sick."
"I can well believe you are feeling under the weather, but there's a way to get past it and we're going to do it. Now drink up."
"What do you mean we? It's nothing to do with you. I'm the one who's going to barf my insides up."
"And whose doing is that?" he asked in a voice that was too reasonable and far too calm to do anything but infuriate her.
"Okay, so I had a little too much to drink. I'm a big girl. I made a decision and I'll live with it."
"Well, I didn't think anyone actually took you prisoner and forced it down your throat. But you'll forgive me if I wonder if it was Tom—or maybe it was Rob—who provided the poison."
"Neither," she sniffed. "It was my bottle."
"Not likely. Try again."
"It was. My cabinet. My house. My liquor."
"You've never bought a bottle of whiskey in your life," he said with a bark of a laugh.
"And why would you think that, Mr. Know-It-All?" she demanded irritably. Her temper was rising by the minute, but for exactly what reason she wasn't sure, except that she felt so awful she was ready for battle over any excuse.
"Because girls like you don't priss into a liquor store and buy JD. They sip it out of their boyfriends' glasses and then they wrinkle their noses and go back to their wine or beer or margaritas."
"What do you mean ‘girls like me'?" she demanded, rising from the table and slamming the glass of water down on the counter top so that it splashed over her hand. Her action set another item on the counter rocking, and she made a blind but automatic grab for whatever she had upset with her action. When her hand closed around the whiskey bottle, she realized she had satisfied any lingering curiosity she had over where it might have ended up and what its contents were. From the weight of it and the way it hefted in her hand, she was fairly sure it was empty. The only mystery was how much had been in it to begin with. She wasn't sure she wanted to know, though.
"Calm down right now, missy, and take your seat," he ordered. "We've wasted way too much time already."
Andee set her jaw and grimaced in pure rage as she whirled toward the counter, raised the empty bottle high over her shoulder and slammed it into the sink. There was a most satisfying sound of shattering glass, accompanied by a horrified cry from Mr. Benjamin, and a moment of brief regret when Andee realized she had broken not only the now useless whiskey bottle but also one of her mother's good glasses. A split second later, she was aware of a sharp pain in the palm of her left hand and something warm flowing down her arm as she raised it toward her face. She heard her tutor shout her name and the word "Stop!" as he seized her left arm and batted her right hand away from it when she tried to reach her palm to soothe the sting there.
"Wait, Andee. You've cut yourself, honey," he said in a much calmer voice that claimed her attention immediately. "Here.
Let me clean you up and stop this little bit of blood."
She felt her knees go weak at the word and he moved to wedge her body between himself and the sink, holding her up by inserting his leg between hers and pressing her into the bottom cabinet and over the sink.
"Are you going to faint?" he asked quietly while he turned the water on and stretched to open drawers until he found one with clean kitchen towels in it. She would never know what a miracle he found that to be.
She shook her head slightly. "Sick," she whimpered.
"It's okay. The sink is right under you. Go ahead whenever you have to. Now, I'm going to hold your hand under this cool water and it will make you feel better. Just be very still and let me look at the cut. I don't think it's very big, but I know it stings like the devil."
With the worst of the steady blood flow washed away, he could see the gleam of a length of glass protruding from the fleshy part of her palm, just below her thumb. He renewed his grip on her hand, holding her fingers back from the affected area, making sure the cool water flowed over the taut skin. Reaching with his free hand, he rummaged in another drawer, praying, and finally coming up with a pair of kitchen scissors. Taking them firmly in hand, he opened the blades and caught the inch-long piece of whiskey bottle in their grip, lifting it neatly out of the cut while Andee gasped and dissolved into tears. Fresh blood welled up at an alarming rate and he knew immediately that the cut would have to be stitched closed.
"Andee, I'm going to take you to the doctor. No, don't get panicky. I just can't be sure I got all the glass out, and I don't want it to hurt you one minute longer than it has to. Now, tell me, do you have insurance?"
She nodded, sagging between his body and the sink and breathing much too rapidly for his comfort.
"Where is your insurance card? In your purse?"
She nodded again and moaned. "Make it stop. It really hurts."
"I know, sweetie, but the doctor will make it all well. You've got to tell me where your purse is. Do you know?"
Reading Her Heart Page 8
