By the time I paid and picked up my laminated student ID outside, I was exhausted. I hadn't slept well the night before. I've suffered from insomnia most of my life, aggravated by the need to be alert to a call in the night from my mother or father for so many years. I'd managed to doze fitfully for a few hours before dawn, but I hadn't gotten any real rest. If I waited to buy my text books till classes began, or even till tomorrow, there was a chance I wouldn't get what I needed.
The college bookstore was on the other side of the campus. I trudged toward the walkway, debating whether or not I had enough energy to walk there when I would then have to walk back the way I'd come to return home.
The parking lot was almost empty, only a couple of dozen cars, widely scattered. There was a small, meticulously maintained forest green Jaguar parked at the curb in front of the steps, and I admired it as I approached. The driver was half turned toward the passenger side, attending to something on the seat, but I recognized the back. Professor Thomas Landley.
He must have heard my feet crunching on the gravel, because he looked around. I read recognition in the slight downward turn of his mouth. *I'm not thrilled and overjoyed to see you either,* I thought. Thus I was a little surprised when he got out of the car and waited for me to approach. I could tell he was waiting for some form of acknowledgment or greeting. Instead, I let my eyes slide past him and swerved around the car.
"Excuse me!" The tone of voice didn't go with the polite semantics of the words. It wasn't an inquiry, it was a demand for attention.
I stopped and looked at him across the car. I made my voice syrupy polite. "Yes?"
"You're in two of my classes."
"I know that."
"I was just wondering if you knew what you were getting into. I have very high standards for my students. You might be better off with a more lenient professor."
"Maybe so. All things are possible. But there weren't any other openings, so I guess we're stuck with each other." I waited a beat. "Who are you, anyway?" He scowled in obvious disbelief of my ignorance
.
"I'm Professor Thomas Langely."
"Oh. the Professor Thomas Langley. Well, Professor, I'm afraid I'm not hooked into the college grapevine. I didn't have anyone to tell me what instructors to avoid."
"You're not earning any points here."
"I wasn't aware anyone was keeping score. Look, from what little I heard back there, you pride yourself on your ability to teach. If that's the case, you aren't going to let a little personality clash influence how you grade. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go fight for some textbooks."
"The bookstore is a long way off. Where's your car?"
Was it any of this man's business? "At home."
"And you're going to try to walk all that way with your limp?" He indicated my right foot. The ankle was swollen, puffy and tender. I'd need to soak it when I got home. "Not very sensible."
"Unless you can teach me how to fly real quick, that's how it has to be."
"I'll drive you over." He opened his door.
I leaned back a little in surprise. "I don't know you."
"It's broad daylight, and a half dozen people saw us talking. You're infinitely safer with me than you would be walking cross campus, now that it's getting dark."
I couldn't argue with that. Campus security tried, but there were occasional muggings, and one girl had been raped when she was practicing in a music room late at night.
"Come on, I don't have all night." He got in and closed his door, calling. "It's unlocked."
I was tempted to keep walking, but my aching feet won out, and I got in. I'd hardly shut the door when the engine revved to life, and he took off, spraying gravel.
I watched him drive out of the corner of my eye. The leather interior of the car almost matched the brown-gold of his hair. He didn't speak, and I certainly didn't feel obligated to make conversation. He was the most consistently rude man I'd ever met.
Langely was an aggressive driver, but not too reckless. When we were halfway there, he said abruptly. "What's your name?"
It was on the tip of my tongue to say Puddin' and Tame, ask me again and I'll tell you the same. "Emily Benoit." I could be just as terse as he.
"You're a little old for a freshman. How old are you?"
The man's lack of tact was stunning in it's magnitude. "Tell me, do you get slapped very often?"
We'd stopped at a light, and he looked over at me. He seemed more startled than I would have thought the comment deserved. "What do you mean?"
"That's the classic rude question, asking a woman her age. I don't mind telling, because I'm proud I survived every one of those years but it's still as rude as hell. I'm forty-two."
Again there was that quick, assessing look. The light changed, and he pulled out. "You don't look that old." Talk about backhand compliments.
When we pulled into the campus bookstore lot, I could see customers milling behind the windows. This wasn't going to be any more pleasant than registration. We'd stopped with a jerk, and the papers I'd set on the seat beside me slid off onto the floor. I stifled a swear and bent down to get them. I'd left the top button of my shirt undone, as usual. As I bent over, the second one slipped out of the button hole, and the front of my blouse gaped at the top.
Nothing more was exposed than what could be seen every day at the swimming pool, or even in some of the more liberal classes. I'd worn my bra, of course. It was sturdy, but the white nylon was satiny, and there was a tiny, pert red bow between the cups. I kind of liked that bow. I take a 44D, most of it unfortunately in broad back and deep chest. I don't tan, and the tops of my breasts were almost as white as the nylon that encased them.
I sat back up, pulling the edges together, trying to button it with one hand. Then I noticed that Langely was watching me. His gaze was, for the first time, interested. I realized that he'd had a clear look down my cleavage. As if I didn't realize this, I shoved the buttons home and got out without saying thank you.
As I started toward the store, I heard him say, probably to himself, "This may be an interesting year after all."
