Ooh, so close! I watch the professor pace the front of the room.
“That is a very good guess, but no. Anyone else as brave as Mr. Roberts?”
I am immediately impressed that he knows his students’ names even on the first day. Mr. Roberts seems to be chuffed that at least he was called brave. Even if he is wrong.
The room remains silent. The professor turns and faces the group, his legs parted and hands clasped in front of him.
“How many of you are wondering what American politics has to do with Italian Literature?” Hands start to hesitantly go up. “My assistant here was positive some of you might think you walked into a Poly Sci class.” The students respond with laughter as the professor points to me. I wave sheepishly.
“You are in the right class. Today’s topic is one that surprisingly mirrors our modern political culture. Who of you has ever questioned our system and our leaders? Who of you has ever wondered if we’ve lost the glory of our founding fathers? Who of you wonder what our future is as a country?”
Hands rise more confidently this time. The professor clicks a remote and a slide appears with Niccolò Machiavelli on it. “So did he. Today, we will discuss The Prince.”
I smile as the realization of how the topics tie together hits the students. As the professor speaks, the roomful of students hang on his every word. He paces whilst he talks, periodically running his fingers through that mass of thick hair. Mid-way through, he rolls his sleeves up as his voice rises and falls dramatically. Every girl in the room is practically swooning. Judging from the expressions, perhaps even the boys are. It’s times like this that must have inspired his sexy pants moniker.
There is a moment when the professor leans against a desk in the room as he speaks and suddenly he is the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. His confidence and passion for the subject simply exudes from him. I take the opportunity to admire his form. He definitely knows how to wear a pair of trousers well and my thoughts drift to him in a suit then shockingly to what he must look like naked. Bloody hell! I can’t be imagining my boss without his clothes. Oh, but what a pleasant thought it is.
He stops suddenly and stares at the class, not uttering a word. They return his gaze, captivated into silence.
“I recommend that you start reading tonight. We’ll be discussing the book extensively and drawing comparisons to the world in which we live. I expect a lively, informed discussion and have no tolerance for a lack of participation on anyone’s part. I look forward to seeing you all next week. Thank you.”
The students gather their things, chit chatting amongst themselves. I collect the professor’s notes as some of the students begin to flood him with compliments and questions. He looks like a celebrity on the red carpet being interviewed about his latest work.
Mr. Roberts approaches and speaks quietly with the professor for a moment, taking copious notes as they talk. He looks up and nods several times then thanks the professor profusely. I approach just as he is saying goodbye.
“Shall we go, Miss Harper?” the professor asks.
“Yes.” I look over at him. “How do you know the names of your students on the first day of classes?”
The professor looks quizzically at me. “I pull them up in the computer and look at their student ID. I like names with faces. Why do you ask?”
“I think it’s very impressive. I had professors who never seemed to know anyone’s name.”
“It matters to me.”
The professor and I walk back to the office after the lecture. I want to tell him how amazing it was, how thought provoking, and how captivating he made the information. I mostly want to tell him the incredibly shocking thoughts that ran through my mind as he spoke. Shaking my head softly, I do my best to rid my mind of the slightly indecent thoughts the professor’s speech invoked. Only I would find Renaissance Italy arousing.
“Well?” Professor Di Roma asks as we enter Boylston Hall. “What did you think?”
I attempt to swallow the rather large lump that suddenly appears in my throat. I don’t know what to say. Do I tell him he is by far the most spectacular man I’ve ever met? Do I tell him that words have never moved me more than those uttered by him? Do I tell him that I want to curl up in a chair and listen to him talk for hours, no days, on end? How do I respond?
“Miss Harper?” he says, holding the door for me.
“I think you’re absolutely brilliant.” My words catch slightly, but at least I got them out. The professor peers down at me as I pass by him through the entrance and smiles.
“Brilliant? Well, thank you.”
“I’m sure you’ve been called that before, but I’ve never called a professor that. You have a very compelling way with your words, Professor.”
“I try.” We walk up the stairs together and I can tell he is thinking of something. “It’s important to capture the audience’s attention, no?”
“You did so. I’ve never seen a more attentive group of students.”
Once inside the office, the professor walks to his bookshelf and pulls a selection off the top row. “This book started it all for me. I always knew I wanted to teach, but I was young and had no idea what. Then my professor handed me this book and it changed my destiny.”
The professor walks over to me and hands me the book. I hold it in my hands and notice its age and weight. It’s so old the title, although embossed in the cover, is difficult to read. Squinting my eyes, I hold it close to read. “I Promessi Sposi,” I read. “Oh! It’s The Betrothed.”
“Yes. That you are holding is an original edition from 1827.”
I run my hand gently over the cover. “It’s beautiful.”
“I agree. My professor handed it to me and said read it and come back in a week to tell me about it. It was a difficult undertaking at that point in my academic career, but I wanted the challenge. I did not enjoy it at all. I returned to discuss it with my professor. As we started to talk, his passion for the topic took over and by the end of our conversation I went home and read it over again. This time, the words leapt off the page and wrapped themselves around me. My head swirled with imagery of what I was reading and I truly felt immersed in the story. I felt connected to it. When I had read the last word, I decided right then and there what my path would be. I would teach Italian literature and I would strive to make people feel as I did in that moment. That is what I set out to do every time I teach.”
I can’t tear my eyes off the professor as he speaks. He is as full of passion as he was during his lecture and I am enraptured.
“When I received my teaching post at Harvard, my former professor sent this to me as a gift. I cherish it. When I hold it in my hands, I feel my destiny.”
“I want that to happen to me.”
“You want to feel your destiny?”
“Yes. I have no idea what the future holds.”
“None of us do, Miss Harper. We only know what we want to pursue. We only know what could be possible, but not what is.”
“I suppose.”
“What do you desire? Deep down? What moves you?”
My cheeks blush in response to his questions. I only wish I knew how to answer him. I hate admitting that at age twenty-five, I haven’t a clue of what I want to do.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I’m not sure.”
“Yes, you are. You do know. Your problem is fear. You won’t admit it to me or anyone else. I bet you haven’t even told your friend. Does anyone know what turns Londyn Harper on?”
My eyes shift up to look at him and although I want to respond, words escape me. What turns me on? I’ve no idea.
“Come here.”
I stand and walk towards the professor. He takes my wrist and leads me to the bookcase. It’s possibly the first time he has physically touched me and I realize, with only a tiny amount of horror, that I rather like it. I mustn’t though. The professor is not only my boss, but a million miles out of my league.
“Pick something.”
My eyes survey the shelves, crammed tight with hundreds of books. They look old and delicate. I reach for a dark pink cover and pull it from its spot. The pages have yellowed from time and the binding is nearly detaching from the book’s spine.
“Really hold it, Miss Harper. Feel the weight of it in your hands. Notice the coolness of the leather cover. Close your eyes and let it become a part of you.”
I have never had anyone talk to me about a book like this. Closing my eyes, I hold the book in my hands trying to do what the professor described. Suddenly his hands are on mine and my breath catches from his touch. He drags my fingers across the book, and flipping it over, does the same on the backside.
“What does it feel like, Miss Harper?”
What does it feel like? It feels like a book! But I know that is not the answer he is looking for. His hands release from mine and I feel his presence behind me. Moments later, the book I’m holding is removed and replaced by something else. I know what this is!
“What does this feel like?” the professor asks.
“It’s my journal.”
“I didn’t ask what it was. I asked what it feels like. Go deep. Don’t just describe its physical characteristics. Tell me about it.”
Taking a deep breath, I grip the worn leather in my hands. “I don’t know what to say,” I whisper.
“How long have you had it?”
“Years.”
“Where did you get it?”
“My brother gave it to me for my birthday.”
“How often do you use it?”
“Every day. More than once.”
“Why?”
“I like to write about my experiences.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to forget them.”
“Why?”
I realize he is doing to me what he did to Miss Patterson. He is pushing me, but this is a dead end street. I’ve tried a million times to answer these same questions for myself.
“I’ll be old someday. I want to look back on my life.”
“Why, Miss Harper? What does it matter? What will you do with it? Sit in your rocking chair reading about your work week with me? Is that why you write?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Then why?” His voice is soft, coercing me to reach down a little deeper.
“I really don’t know, Professor.”
“Yes, you do!” He grabs my shoulders, causing me to open my eyes and meet his gaze. “You do. What is in that book?”
“Everything.” My eyes start to tear. I want to know the answer as much as he does.
“It’s all just senseless musings unless it has a purpose. I’m going to ask you again, but don’t answer quickly. Take your time and let the answer come to you.” He smiles and I swear if he weren’t holding me right now I would topple over. “What is in that book?”
Looking into the professor’s eyes, I search for my answer. I think he knows it. He’s close enough that I catch his scent. He smells like…like Ivy League and Hemmingway manliness. Somehow fresh and crisp, but dark and sensual all at the same time. It’s heaven.
As he looks at me, his eyes soften and warm like pools of honey swirling in the bottom of my tea cup. In this moment, he is breathtaking.
“The answer is in you, Londyn.”
I feel slightly faint and my pulse is quickening. My heart beats rapidly in my chest. And then it hits me. I know the answer!
“Say it, Londyn. Say it out loud for me. What is in that book?”
“My heart,” I whisper. “Everything that I love is in this book.”
“Right. Those words, those events, and the people involved mean something to you. I’ve always noticed the way you hold that book in your hands. It’s obviously meaningful to you.”
“Yes.”
The professor smiles and slides his hands down my arms. “Now you know what it feels like.”
I’m confused. I cock my head and stare at my journal. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
The professor leans in and whispers in my ear, sending shockwaves through my body. “Your future is in that book. You wanted to feel your destiny. Now you have. You just didn’t realize it.” He releases me and walks back to his desk as though his words didn’t just cause a monumental shift in my reality.
I’m shell-shocked standing in the middle of the office, grasping my journal as if my very life depended on it. How is this journal my future?
The professor looks up at me and grins. “Have you let anyone read what’s inside?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, maybe someday. I’d love a peek into the private world of Londyn Harper.”
Ha! He thinks my world is private?! “Ditto.”
The professor tilts his head at me. “I’ve told you I’m not as interesting as you think.”
“Perhaps you should let me be the judge of that.”
“Perhaps.” He runs his fingers through his wavy hair. “Shall we wrap up our day?”
“Yes.” I walk back to my seat and prepare to answer the emails that came in before we leave for the day. “Professor?”
“Yes, Miss Harper?”
“Thank you.”
The professor looks up at me and smiles, and it warms my heart. “My pleasure.”
Later on the train, I write so fast my hand nearly cramps. I don’t know how or why yet, but somehow my destiny is in my journal. I believe what he said. Today was a big day. All at the hands of Professor Passion Finder.
Note to self: Today I touched my destiny.
AFTER SAYING GOODBYE TO LONDYN for the day, I begin my short walk home. I haven’t spoken to Nico and Londyn hasn’t brought it up so I have no idea if he’s been in contact with her or not. It’s eating at me even though it shouldn’t be. Why do I even care so much? Is it because I fear Londyn finding out about my past or is it deeper than that?
Today I felt like I tapped into something with Londyn. She is too smart to do nothing with her career but cater to people like me. I want her to dig deep and figure out her direction in life. I knew even from the interview that she doesn’t know. There must be something in that journal of hers. I noticed from day one that she carries it with her everywhere. In a way I’m glad she does. I might be just a little tempted to peek inside.
Opening the door to my place, I walk into the foyer, startling my cleaning lady, Ellen.
“My apologies,” I say. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Laughing she replies, “That’s okay, Mr. Di Roma. I’m sorry I’m still here. I was running a little late this morning. Darn car keeps stalling on me.”
“I wish you would get rid of that thing. It’s not safe, especially with winter approaching.”
“It’s fine,” she says as she waves her hands in the air. “I think it’s still got a little life left in it. The mechanic said so.”
“How about I give you your Christmas bonus a little early? It would make me feel better.”
“You don’t need to do that,” she says, but I can tell from her tone she really hopes I do.
“I know, but I want to. I’ll be right back.” Walking into my study, I pull my checkbook from the desk drawer and write out a check big enough for her to get something new. I know she’ll argue, but as far as I’m concerned, the benefit of having money is helping others. I walk back out and stuff it in her bag so she has no choice but to accept it. “It’s in your bag.”
“Thank you. You are very kind.” She blows a blond lock of hair off her forehead. “I’ll be out of your way in a few minutes.”
“You are never in my way, Ellen.” In fact, coming home and having someone to talk to, even for a few minutes, is welcome. “How are the kids?”
Ellen smiles and I wonder for just a moment what she would look like if she did herself up. All I ever see her wear is sweatpants, a baggy shirt, and her hair piled on top of her
head.
“Really good. My oldest is graduating at the end of this year and then off to college. Sandra will enter high school.” She sighs. “They grow up so fast.”
“Children do that. And your husband is well?”
“He’s doing alright. Slowing down since the heart attack last year. We manage.” She smiles again, but it’s an exasperated one. I know she takes on the majority of the work since her husband Mike got sick. It makes me feel that much better that I put the extra money in her bag. There is no way they can afford a new car.
I watch Ellen finish mopping the hardwood floors and back herself to the front door.
“Stay off the floors in the main room for a few minutes,” she calls out to me before waving and shutting the door behind her.
Sighing, I look around the big empty room. Another evening surrounded by deafening silence. I walk to the stereo and turn on the CD player. Selecting a track, I sit back on my sofa and listen for a few minutes, pondering what to have for dinner. I decide to order in and just relax with a glass of wine.
I wonder what Londyn is doing tonight then shake my head. I seriously need to get a grip. I have no business thinking about her. Unfortunately, my brain doesn’t seem to be aware of that fact. I stare at my phone, knowing I have her number programmed in there. If I did call, what would I say? I was just thinking about you? I slap my forehead. I am losing my fucking mind. Clearly, I need something stronger than a glass of wine. I walk to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of scotch. Taking a big gulp, I decide I better find something productive to do before I make a fool of myself.
I make myself a sandwich instead of ordering in and retire to my study to immerse myself in my writing project.
“PROFESSOR DI ROMA IS IN lecture right now. Can I take a message?” I scrawl the words down on a tablet. “Yes, I’ll tell him.” Hanging up the phone, I put the message on the stack I have waiting for the professor when he returns. It’s nearly lunch time and I’m starving. Ella should be here any minute to pick me up. I asked if he minded if I nipped out before he returned from his meetings and he was agreeable, at least to that request. I’d like to get out of here before he returns. He’s been quite surly today and I have no idea why. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I suppose.
Londyn Falls Page 13
