by Glynn, Anne
“He gets home, sees all of his crap on the front lawn, and he knows. I’ve put up with a lot from him but not anymore. Not when he’s unfaithful. He threw a few things into his pick-up and left. I haven’t heard from him since.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“If you still lived nearby, I’d open a bottle of wine and have a good cry.”
“Wine!” Leah blurted. She checked the time on her cell phone. “I’m supposed to be bringing a bottle of wine over to Astrid’s tonight.”
“When?”
“A half hour ago!”
“Go then,” Mary Ellen said. Before she could escape, her friend added, “Do you think there are any good men left? I mean, for women our age?”
“Thirty-six is hardly ancient. I’ll call later. Promise.”
Leah disconnected the call. Hurrying toward the bathroom, she pondered her friend’s last question.
Are there any good men left? she reflected. I guess it depends on your definition of ‘good’, doesn’t it?
Good, as in hard-working?
Good, as in, ‘in bed’?
Good, as in loyal?
One out of three is possible. Two out of three, somewhat less likely.
Three out of three?
It might just be the impossible dream.
Chapter Two
Leah tapped at the apartment door. When no one answered, she tried again.
Astrid claimed to have found Mr. Right. At last. Josh had a steady job in computers and appeared devoted to his girlfriend. So, he was hard-working and loyal but it was early in their relationship. Was he everything he pretended to be?
Was he good in bed?
Astrid hadn’t yet shared that particular bit of information. Uncomfortably enough, she left Leah with the impression that she just might lift that veil, too, if given the slightest motivation to do so. It was out of character for her friend to be so revealing but, lately, Astrid’s personality had been undergoing a change.
“I’ve been coloring outside of the lines,” is the way she put it.
Speaking of Astrid, where are you, girl? Leah knocked more forcefully.
You didn’t answer when I called and you haven’t replied to my text. I’m sorry I’m late but that’s kind of my deal. I’m almost always late.
But it’s not just me, I swear. It’s all writers. F. Scott missed so many dinner engagements, Zelda refused to take him anywhere but Pollo Loco.
And wasn’t it Dr. Seuss who pondered how it got so late so soon?
Fishing into her purse, Leah found the key her friend had given her for emergencies. Opening the door, she went in.
The front room was empty of life. There was a new art print on the wall beside the patio door and some fresh carnations in a clear glass vase on the round kitchen table. Leah placed her bottle of wine on the counter separating the kitchen from the living room. Finding the remote control, she dropped onto the sofa and pointed the device at the television screen across from her.
She clicked the ON button. Nothing happened. She kept pressing the power button, still without response.
Uh-oh, she thought. If the set’s busted, I’m out of here. Astrid lives for her fantasy shows.
I’m not going to be the one to tell her that Game of Thrones is gone.
To her inexperienced eyes, the television appeared to be fine. Even on a closer examination, nothing seemed out of order. When she looked below the black screen, she found the power cord unplugged from the wall.
“What’s this?” She lifted the plug, wondering if it was broken. In the still air around her, she heard a creaking sound. Straightening, she held her breath.
The creaking sound repeated itself.
Is Astrid home, after all? she wondered. Or is somebody else here? Josh maybe?
What if somebody’s here that shouldn’t be?
Creeping forward, she eased her cellphone from her purse. Slipping the flats from her feet, she padded silently down the hallway. The noise grew louder the further she walked.
The sound appeared to be coming from the end of the hallway, inside Astrid’s bedroom. Even though the bedroom door was open, she couldn’t see anyone. Instead, she saw the image of the hallway itself, reflected from floor to ceiling.
Astrid – or Josh – had mounted mirrors to the bedroom walls.
Inching her way to the opposite side of the hall, Leah used this new angle to peek into the bedroom. With the mirrors giving her an eye into the bedroom, she immediately saw what was causing the creaking sounds.
Faced away from her, Astrid’s boyfriend was naked. He was on his knees, his broad shoulders bent forward. His tight ass arched forward. When it did, Leah realized there was another person on the bed, her legs spread for her lover. Josh thrust again and the woman moaned.
It was Astrid moaning. Her pale, willowy body bounced on the mattress. Reaching up, her polished fingernails scratched down the sides of Josh’s body.
Supported by his powerful arms, he turned his head, his long, brown hair draped across his back. He saw Leah’s reflection, captured in the glass around him.
He grinned. Still watching Leah, knowing she could see, he pulled out of his girlfriend. His cock, swollen and ready, lifted in front of him. Astrid cried out for him, her hands clutching his ass as her blonde head started to lift from the bed.
Feeling her entire body flush, Leah rushed down the hallway. Reaching the front door, she remembered she was barefoot. Clutching her sandals, she passed the kitchen table and spotted the gift she’d brought.
I need this more than Astrid does, she thought. Grabbing the bottle of wine, she went onto the landing and ran down the steps.
Chapter Three
The classroom slowly filled around her. As the minute hand moved to the start of the hour, Astrid joined Leah at the table they shared. “You okay?”
“Fine.” Two nights later, Leah still hadn’t forgotten what she’d seen – and she doubted she ever would. Worse, her memory seemed to grow more vivid each time she revisited her experience. She couldn’t help but wonder if Josh had told Astrid about her visit.
I didn’t intend to be a voyeur, Leah thought ruefully. Not that I had much choice. Mirrors, ceiling to floor?
I thought you were a Girl Scout, Astrid Iversen, but I was wrong. Girl Scouts don’t watch their own cellulite bounce as they wiggle beneath their boyfriend.
All that glass, it has to be like watching yourself in IMAX.
Leah set her supplies on the work table. Intensely aware of Astrid’s presence, she tried to concentrate on something else.
At the front of the room, a three-piece folding screen had been erected. Behind the screen, Serena Ledesma was undressing.
Serena’s been our only model this entire semester, Leah thought. I don’t know why she bothers with the screen, anymore. Everyone here knows every inch of her perfectly-formed, twenty-one year old body.
If she stood on my work table and dropped trou, I wouldn’t blink. On the other hand, Derek Boswell’s eyes would probably bug out of his head. Nearly old enough to be her grandfather, he somehow can’t see any woman in this class but Serena.
It’s kind of creepy.
She gave Derek a quick check. He was staring at the folding screen in blatant, bald-headed desire.
The truth is, we could use a little gender equality, she decided. The semester is almost over. Why not let some male hottie show his all in the name of art?
Somebody like – well, like you, Professor Parkins.
Ian Parkins walked around the front of his desk. Dressed in slacks and a casual white shirt, a brown tie knotted loosely around his neck, he collected the folding screen and returned it to its corner.
“First session starts now,” he told the students behind him. “Anyone needs help tonight, let me know.”
His voice, melodic and meltingly English, made even his unenthusiastic offer sound arousing. As always, no one responded to what he’d said. They all knew he didn’t mean it.
Like Venus on a padded
folding chair, Serena stared out blankly at the artists in front of her. An experienced model despite her age, she positioned herself in the same pose she’d held for the last two classes.
“Serena’s so sweet,” Astrid whispered. “Did you see the plate of cookies she brought in?”
“I ate two of them.”
“I ate three, they were so good. Do you think she’s taken cooking classes?”
The studio’s mirror stood behind Serena, showing the back of her body in detail. Her brown skin was smooth and flawless. The student’s youth and beauty made Leah instantly feel older and less attractive.
“I hate her,” Astrid confided.
“Professor Handsome doesn’t.” Sitting at the table behind them, Kendra McPherson leaned forward. “Have you seen how he pretends not to watch her?”
“Maybe he’s gay,” Astrid said teasingly, waiting for Leah’s reaction. In return, Leah stuck her tongue out at her friend.
“Let’s hope not,” Kendra said. “It would break the heart of all the single women in this class.”
“Not just the single ones,” Leah said. “Gabrielle DuFresne didn’t leave the class simply because she’d gotten too busy. She dropped it when her hubby overheard her talking in her sleep.”
“Really?”
“Gabby said he woke her up from the most delicious dream. I guess it was pretty hot and she was fairly explicit.”
“Dream world, here I come!” the white-haired Kendra said.
Holding her scraping tool, Leah smoothed the clay sculpture in front of her. Her piece, once vaguely female in form, had warped into some form of alien-human hybrid. It looked more like a low budget movie monster than it did the person posing in front of them.
This is getting worse with every session, she mused. I don’t know why I ever thought I might be a sculptor one day. It’s not enough to hope for something. You have to have talent.
I’ve taken three different sculpting classes with three different teachers. It’s time to admit that I’ll never be anything but an amateur. Not a particularly talented amateur, either.
Enough is enough. It’s time to pack up my clay cutters and curved chisels. If I could still drop the class without penalty, I would.
Probably.
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
After all, if I stick around long enough, I might have a dream like the one Gabby had.
Ian Parkins was distractingly attractive. Tall and dark-haired, he had striking cheekbones and dazzling eyes but remained decidedly masculine. Bright, gifted, and with a growing reputation as a sculptor in his own right, he had caught the attention of most of the women in the room. Kendra had given him the nickname, Professor Handsome, and it had quickly taken hold.
Either Ian hadn’t heard the compliment or he didn’t care. He appeared unaware of the admiring glances thrown his way and seemed disinterested in forming any deeper attachments with the students here. When a few of the bolder women had approached him, suggesting they share a cup of coffee or a quick bite, he’d dismissed them gently.
“If it’s a class matter, see me in my office,” she’d overheard him say to Janice Chambers. “If it’s something of a personal nature, I can’t be involved, sorry. The University is a stickler for its rules. Fraternization between teachers and students isn’t allowed.”
Leah had stopped by his office once, wondering how she’d engage his attention. Speaking on the telephone, he’d looked at her without recognition, as if he couldn’t quite remember her name.
Embarrassed, she quickly left.
He doesn’t even know who you are, she told herself, so why bother with him? You didn’t take this class to see if you could score with the teacher. You took it in one last attempt to see if you could become an artist.
Making a renewed effort, Leah focused on her sculpture. Frustratingly, the humanoid form grew increasingly abstract as the rest of the hour passed in grindingly slow fashion.
Finally, Ian clapped his hands for attention. “Let’s wrap it, people,” he said. “Some good work here, some –”
His gaze fell onto Leah’s piece. The rest of his sentence died in dismay.
He cleared his throat. “See you Monday at seven, everyone. Semester’s almost over so don’t be late.”
Cleaning her equipment, Leah cleared her table. Astrid said, “Want to hit After Hours?”
At that moment, the entwined image of Astrid and Josh filled her mind. “Next time, maybe,” Leah said. “I’ve got a novel that’s due.”
Softly, Astrid told her, “I know you were in my apartment. I know you saw.”
Leah didn’t know how to respond.
“I kind of wanted you to see,” Astrid said.
“What?”
“Meet you at the club in a half hour. Deal?”
Chapter Four
Astrid was in one of the back booths, far from the club’s busy bar. Leah took the seat across from her.
“I ordered drinks and nibbles,” Astrid said.
“I’m here for an explanation.”
“Wine spritzers, the zucchini appetizer. It’s not healthy for you, I know, deep-fried and all. But it tastes so good.”
Leah crossed her arms.
Astrid laughed. “Did you enjoy the show?”
“No!”
“Really? I like Josh’s tight little buns.”
Leah stood up from the table. Astrid reached out, catching her wrist. “I’ll behave, promise.”
“What were you thinking?”
“I don’t think I want to tell you. Not while you’re leaning over me, all sour-faced.”
Exasperated, Leah sat down.
“Okay, here goes,” Astrid said. “Like I told you, it wasn’t exactly an accident when you walked in on us. I knew if I didn’t answer the door, you’d come in. You were late, by the way.”
Leah just looked at her.
“You’re forgiven. I found something to occupy my time.” Astrid grinned. “So I unplugged the television set –”
“So I’d hear you guys…doing it.”
“I didn’t want us to get drowned out by the evening news.”
Leah thought, I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.
Astrid said, “Josh likes it when people watch. He was turned on by the thought of you seeing us.”
“You went along with him?”
“Truth to tell, I found it a little sexy, too.”
Leah was stunned. “I don’t believe you. Remember when we went to Black’s Beach?”
“The nude beach in San Diego? Yeah.”
“I had to drag you down the walkway. You wouldn’t even remove your sunglasses, much less your swimsuit.”
“How long ago was that, girlfriend?”
“You nearly had a panic attack when we passed the Senior Center’s volleyball game!”
“I’ve changed.” Astrid looked up when Fogarty, the club’s owner, put a plate of fried zucchini on the table. “You know, Foghorn. Tell her.”
“She’s definitely a new woman,” Fogarty agreed in his rich, deep voice. His broad, friendly face shifted with an inner amusement. “I’ve known you girls for a long time and I’m telling you, little Astrid Iversen is not the same sweet child she used to be.”
“No one changes that much.”
“Believe it,” Fogarty said, pouring a pair of drinks. “Instead of your usual spritzer, let’s try this. On the house. A little Romanian variation on the theme, a şpriţ de vară.”
Wiping his bar towel over a splash of liquid on the tabletop, he told Leah, “Last month, as I was locking up, I caught Astrid and her boyfriend in the unisex bathroom. They were, um…actively engaged in some vigorous interpersonal communication.”
Leah stared at her friend.
“I only wish they’d used the game room,” he said. “The pool table has to be more comfortable than a toilet stall.” His heavy laugh filling the space, he returned to the bar.
Astrid said, “I’ve made some pretty obv
ious changes. New hairstyle, sexier clothing. I’m a lot more open. You haven’t noticed because we’ve only been seeing each other in art class.”
“You found a guy. New boyfriends always fill up some free time.”
“I’m not as reserved as I used to be. A lot more fun.”
“I don’t think I’d call it ‘fun’,” Leah snapped. God, I sound like such a prude. Softening her tone, she added, “What happened to you? Was it Josh?”
“Not for a second.” Reaching into a canvas bag, Astrid brought out a book. “It’s this.”
The cover appeared to be made of leather and, even in this dim light, the entire volume showed age and wear. Astrid pushed it across the table.
Leah read the title: Sun Zu’s The Art of Whore. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Deadly serious.”
“You’re studying to be a whore?”
“A lady in public, a whore in the bedroom. Isn’t that what they say every man wants? Although, I know, I haven’t been such a lady in public lately….”
Taking a sip of her spritzer, Leah busied herself by checking the time on her cell phone. “I’ve got to get going, really. I wasn’t lying about my manuscript. It’s not halfway done and the deadline’s almost here.”
“Quit binge-fantasizing over Chris Stark and you’ll get it done.” Astrid sipped at her drink. “You know, this tastes good.”
“Enjoy your book.”
“It’s not mine, I was just lucky enough to find it.”
Leah rolled her eyes.
Astrid said, “In 500 B.C., there was this Chinese general named Sun Tzu and he wrote a treatise called ‘The Art of War’. You ever hear of it?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ve heard of it, I never read it.”
“Tzu wrote about the strategy of battle, about defeating your enemies without going into combat. While he was putting his book together, one of his contemporaries, Sun Zu, was interested in a different kind of battle.”
“The Art of Whore,” Leah interjected. Despite herself, a sarcastic edge colored her words.
“He talks about winning love without having to engage in all of the unnecessary bullshit that colors a new relationship,” she replied. “He takes you through the initial steps of winning true love.”
