by Cole Reid
“You’re absolutely correct Miss Standing,” said Owen, “Did everyone get what Miss Standing said? It is, in fact, the grounds upon which the shareholders were suing. They said before making a decision to liquidate there should have been and accounting by an outside auditor. Of course the managers of the company rebutted with the fact that they thought an accounting of the company by an outside auditor would cause needless delay and the impending regulations about chemicals in fertilizers would erode shareholder value.”
“This is just a follow up question,” said Owen, “But whom do you think should pay for the accounting?” Georgia had proved her point. She knew the material. She didn’t want to overdo anything. In fact, she stayed mostly silent for the rest of the class. She had to. Georgia wanted to get the attention of Professor Spice without gaining the suspicion of her classmates. She didn’t need to be seen as trying to get the professor’s attention. It could ruin her chances altogether. The professor might back away from her, if he felt that other students were noticing he was partial. Georgia wanted him to maintain that impartiality. She needed to be seen as impartial, as well. It would make her job easier. Nothing between her and the professor could seem mechanical. It all had to be organic. That was her job. The mechanics had been planned out by the Agency. They weren’t stepping on her toes, so she wouldn’t step on theirs. Georgia was just another student who knew her material. That was it.
After the lecture, Georgia stood outside the main entrance to the Business School Campus. She stood smoking a Pall Mall cigarette, trying desperately not to look at her watch. She didn’t smoke but she had started smoking, as part of her training. Pall Mall was the same brand that Professor Spice smoked. It was meant to be something they had in common. She smoked in front of the same door that the professor had exited out of on Monday but he was late. She finished her second cigarette and lit a third. As she smoked, she began to walk down Cathedral Street toward her building. She peered into the rear view mirrors of cars parked along the street to see if Professor Spice was walking out of the building entrance behind her. He didn’t. She kept smoking her cigarette, slightly frustrated. She had, no doubt, stood out for the professor. She wanted to top it off with some added face time. It wouldn’t happen. The professor’s schedule on Thursdays was apparently different than on Mondays. But she was comfortable with the fact that others were able to witness her smoking outside the entrance to the Business Campus. If she somehow bumped into the professor while smoking outside, it wouldn’t ring an alarm. She did it often, always with Pall Mall. If Pall Mall happened to be a familiar brand for the professor as well, it was only a coincidence. Not seeing the professor was a letdown. Being seen by others was a bright spot.
As she walked back toward her building, she thought about how she should spend her next few days. She had no classes on Fridays or the weekend. Nights in the library were necessary but there was such a thing as too much of a necessary thing. She didn’t have the privilege of being a university post-graduate student. She had the necessities of pretending to be one. Socializing was out. She thought about the ones she really wanted to socialize with, her teammates, the other Peers. They were no doubt far away but perhaps not as far away as she thought. She just didn’t know where any of them were. And she realized it was for the better. If Yvette or Tanis were somewhere in Europe, she would be more than tempted to stop by. In all likelihood, one or more of them were somewhere around Europe, operating. She took comfort in the thought that if she was thinking about the others, the others must have thought about her from time to time. She didn’t want to spend weekends in her dorm. Her flat mates might get the wrong idea. She wasn’t at Uni to socialize. They would no doubt have parties on weekends. She didn’t mind it. The more they could count on her being gone, the better. She wouldn’t see Professor Spice again until Monday morning. She had to find something to do to kill time during the weekends. She already settled on the library capturing some of her time but she had to be seen as more than a single dimension. She had cousins. She couldn’t visit them. She decided she would look into the cultural events that were taking place in the city. She felt like she knew enough of England but not so much of Scotland.
On Saturday there was a message from her Housemistress left on the door to her room. There was a main telephone downstairs on the ground floor in the building management office. Georgia didn’t know it but it was a good idea to check with the building management for messages because the building had only one central line. It was possible to pay for an individual line to her room but she would have to pay for it herself, unless the Agency paid for it instead. But Georgia quickly realized the Agency wouldn’t want her talking about program details in her flat. And she knew if she had a phone, her flat mates would be asking to use it. It would be more trouble than it was worth. The note was simple. Your father wants you to call him back. Georgia’s real father didn’t know she was at Strathclyde but Mark Miller did. He said that he would always communicate with her as her father. It was the easiest way to explain the relationship between a man his age and a woman her age. Mark Miller was a good ten years older than Professor Owen Spice.
Georgia ran out of her flat to find the furthest phone box. She walked until she was almost tired, when she spotted a phone box on a corner intersecting Howard Street, a few blocks from the River Clyde. She fished for Mark Miller’s business card in her wallet. She wasn’t supposed to have it. She felt bad for not having the business card memorize, like she was supposed to. If the card were discovered for any reason, she was supposed to use the mock internship interview as a cover. She dialed the number from the card, memorizing every digit.
“How’s school, Georgia?” asked Mark, “Tell me everything so far.”
“Classes are going well,” said Georgia, “Still waiting to get my student ID so I can get my books but otherwise I’m just using the books available at the campus library.”
“So you like your classes,” said Mark, “How about your professors?”
“They’re good,” said Georgia, “Knowledgeable. I’m thinking about an assistantship if it becomes available.”
“I wouldn’t advise that,” said Mark, “Give your professors some breathing room. But make sure they know who you are by now or the coming week. You want to make a good first impression. And you have less time because you’re starting late. You wanna move quick to get in your professors’ good graces. It may or may not help your marks but you always want to be on your professors’ good side. You can maintain a relationship even when you’re no longer a student. Just hit the books and show up for all your courses and make sure you participate in class.”
“I understand,” said Georgia, “I’ll do my best.”
“I’ll see if I can make a phone call or two and get this matter straightened out about your student ID,” said Mark.
“Thanks Dad,” said Georgia, “I really appreciate it.”
“That’s what dads are for,” said Mark. The line went dead. The conversation was hard to decipher from the point of view of an eavesdropper. But the message was quite simple—don’t rush but get his attention. Georgia was advised that she could always get closer to Professor Spice when she was no longer his student. She just had to make a big enough impact in his class, while she was his student. It made the whole program take on a different atmosphere. She knew she was three weeks late in the semester. It made her anxious. It gave her three weeks less to become acquainted with the professor. The Agency was rolling the dice, hoping the novelty of being the final student enrolled outweighed three weeks of extra face time with the professor. It was a gamble that Georgia had to make sure paid off. But the idea had only just occurred to her that she could be the Professor’s student while she was his student. She could set the trap for him later. It would be more organic and put less pressure on the professor. He couldn’t be attacked on the grounds of carrying on a relationship with his student, if she were no longer a student. In fact, another idea sprung into Georgia’s mind. She d
idn’t know if it was viable or if the Agency would agree to it. She thought about dropping out of the University at some point in the spring because it would suit the professor better. If she were no longer a student, it wouldn’t make a difference who she was. It solved another problem as well. Shane and Liza were Georgia’s line managers and their theory was that the document was most likely in the professor’s flat in Leeds. Leeds was a little over 200 miles to the south of Glasgow. But it was about 200 miles north of London.
Georgia thought of something her managers hadn’t. If searching the professor’s flat in Leeds was the priority, then she should move back to London. Leeds was exactly halfway between London and Glasgow. With the professor in Glasgow and Georgia in London, if he wanted to see her, the ideal place for them to meet was his flat in Leeds. Georgia thought it was a better play than staying enrolled in Glasgow and hoping the professor would one day invite her to Leeds. She decided on doing it her way. It was better than what the Agency had mapped out. The Agency was a collection of individuals and individuals were prone to mistakes. There was no saying the Agency hadn’t made one. She knew they had. But she wanted to spend more time in the field before she told them that.
Glasgow had the Pollock House, a 200 year-old country estate donated to the city ten years before. It also had the People’s Palace, a museum on the East End, cataloguing the life of the people of Glasgow. There was even an observation room on the rear of the Palace. Georgia spent her first few weekends visiting the cultural institutions of Glasgow. On Sundays, she retreated to the library. Her class was on Monday morning and she had to prepare. She changed her strategy to fit with the longer time frame. She could memorize most of the chapters that were required reading. It made her better suited to engage both student and professor alike. It was fun absorbing all the material. She had been trained to exceed an average level of memory capability. She used a technique called Room Cleaning. She imagined a finite room with an infinite number of objects laying on the floor. Every fact associated with a certain topic would be put in a certain part of the room and be represented by an item. Everything dealing with corporate bonds, including warrants and convertible bonds were put on the mantle above the fireplace. Anything to do with equity was placed on the love seat. The room always stayed the same size in the same order. There was nothing to remember only recall. And the room was fact, not fiction. It was the living room of her parents’ Virginia home. She could walk it eyes closed. Seeing it in her mind’s eye was the same thing. On Monday, she arrived at 7:59am and smoked a cigarette outside the Business Campus. She expected the professor would be arriving to hang his coat in his office before heading to the lecture hall. She planned to smoke one and then head through the door. She still had no books of her own but she turned the pages of her notebook to check the arrangement of the living room in her head. Everything was where it should have been. Other students began to arrive. She wanted them to see her reviewing so that they would think her interest was class preparation. She took long drags off her cigarette, as she held her notebook in her left hand against her left arm.
“Good morning, Miss Standing,” said a man. Georgia’s heart stopped then started. She had been waiting for the chance encounter with the professor. But her ear told her the voice wasn’t a match. She looked up to see Russell, her classmate.
“Hello,” said Georgia, “How are you?”
“Good,” said Russell, “Yourself?”
“I’m good,” said Georgia, “Just reading up for class.”
“That’s why I was hoping you’d thought about joining our group,” said Russell, “It’s pretty dynamic. We rapid-fire questions at each other. You really would fit right in.”
“How many in the group?” asked Georgia.
“There are four of us,” said Russell, “Three blokes and one girl.”
“Perhaps I should join to give her some reinforcement,” said Georgia.
“I don’t think she’d mind the competition,” said Russell.
“Who’s competing?” said Georgia.
“No one,” said Russell, “There’s no competition there. You’d win hands down.”
“Hmmm,” said Georgia, “It seems you boys aren’t just interested in staring at your notes.”
“We’re interested in what all smart blokes are interested in,” said Russell.
“And what would that be?” asked Georgia.
“Pursuit of the things that qualify a good life,” said Russell, “And a decent education is just one of those pursuits.”
“Well said,” said Georgia.
“Thank you,” said Russell. Georgia didn’t mind Russell’s company but she did. If she were a student, it would be a good thing to socialize with other students. But she had a strong motive to be left alone. The motive was the season. It was mid September in Glasgow. The winds were cooling. Georgia was wearing a maroon scoop-neck lace camisole with dark jeans and an open gray herringbone peacoat. Her outfit was put together to give her cleavage clout. In a few weeks she’d have to close the peacoat. And she had cleavage that could benefit from being seen. As the season changed, it would be one less option on the table. She knew it wasn’t just about physical attraction. The professor was a forty-six year old former MP. He had seen a lot of pretty faces and low-cut dresses. Georgia was just the next pretty one with nice figure. She wasn’t lost to the fact. But in order for the trap to be constructed accordingly, she had to have him want every single thing about her. Brains. Body. Eyes. Lips. Everything. It was careful enough the way the Agency had set things up, making sure she was registered at the last possible time to be the last possible student he would have to meet. It was even the right semester. The professor taught only one course in the fall and Georgia was in it. It was all so careful. He had to head straight for Georgia, without asking why he was getting involved with a woman half his age. The answer had to ring loud in his head, too loud for him to ignore. The answer had to be because he wanted to. He had to know that from the start.
The problem was that Russell was blocking part of the professor’s view. The professor came up the steps in the middle, within close enough proximity of Georgia. Russell was standing in front of her at six-feet tall, six inches taller than Georgia. The professor was two steps down but looking forward. Georgia didn’t want to let on. She thought about saying hi but decided against it. She didn’t want to pique the curiosity of the man standing right in front of her. She didn’t know how Russell would respond. If she showed any interest in the professor, it could make Russell try harder to get her attention. She left it. She decided to let Russell see that he already had her undivided attention.
“I’m about to go in and grab my chair,” said Georgia, throwing her cigarette butt to the ground.
“You coming with?” said Georgia, stuffing her notebook inside her purse.
“Yeah,” said Russell. Russell followed Georgia to the lecture hall. He didn’t try to make small talk. She was glad for it. To make matters better, Russell didn’t try to sit near Georgia or switch seats with someone. Georgia got to sit in her seat unaffected.
Georgia had to make up for a lost opportunity and a closing window. She had a few weeks before the weather was too cold to instinctively wear a camisole. And everything had to proceed like natural. But Georgia had the upper hand, in terms of line of sight. She was sitting three rows up, where the professor had a good look at her. She left her peacoat on her chair and her breasts on the table in front of her. She leaned slightly forward to make her breasts mound on the table. Her skin browned easily on Virginia Beach but she got little sun afterwards. Her skin began to revert back to normal color and contrasted against the color of her maroon camisole. The difference was that of the inside of an apple compared to the outside. The contrast made Georgia’s breasts that much more noticeable and the slender shadow of her cleavage line was more conspicuous. She leaned forward two-hours long. The professor had to continue his lecture seeing her breasts bulge every time he looked up from his lectern. S
he just let him look. No one else in the lecture hall had his line of sight. No one else saw what he was looking at, as he leaned on his lectern to look relaxed, trying to look away. It was cat-and-mouse played out in silence in a room with more than thirty people. She toyed with him. She raised her hand while he was engaged in dialogue with another student. She did if for the attention. After he finished his explanation, he turned to Georgia. You had a question, Miss Standing. Professor, you already answered it. She spent the rest of the lecture in silence with one thought on her mind—made you look.
It was Monday. She didn’t wait outside the Business Campus, smoking a Pall Mall waiting for the Professor to notice they smoked the same brand. She didn’t have to. She was already in his head. She left the chance encounter for the next lecture, Thursday of that week. Thursday’s lecture was just as insightful as Monday’s lecture but there was one thing missing, Georgia’s cleavage. She wore a brown wool sweater that matched her hair and eyes. She knew earth tones looked best on her so that’s what she wore. She topped it off with hoop earrings. She looked good. It confused the professor in internal ways. He looked at her in her seat before he began. He had a bewildered look. No boobs? But he stared at her just a little bit longer than just to see if she was in her seat. On Monday, her hair was up. Now, her hair was down and she was covered up. The contrast was immediate and immediately sank in. But he looked around the room as if making sure enough students were in their seats to begin. He kept eyeing Georgia out of personal confusion. He began to feel a general attraction in her direction. He noticed when he found himself looking at her more frequently, frequent enough for him to take notice. It was tough on him. He wasn’t just trying to give nuggets of information to his students, in digestible amounts. He was trying to educate himself, to figure out what it was that had him continually looking in Georgia’s direction. It was a simple mathematical problem he was trying to solve. He knew it was simple. He just couldn’t solve it. He was trying to decide if the woman who sat in Georgia’s seat was less than, greater than or equal to the woman who sat in that seat on Monday. He didn’t know which version he preferred. She looked good with her hair down and her face slightly made up with a simple brown sweater. But with her cleavage in full view, he couldn’t stop looking. He didn’t know whether he wanted her to be good-looking in his class or with boobs out. It wasn’t something he should have been thinking about.
