It got worse. So help me, it got worse. I'd discovered Langely's little secret on a Saturday. The next Monday I was in class as usual at seven. Drowsy, I was drinking a Coke, hoping that the caffeine and sugar would jump start me. Around me, the rest of the class chatted idly. Most of the other's sipped the muddy coffee available from the vending machine down the hall.
Langely came in just before the bell rang, as usual. As usual, he was impeccable: pants creased, shirt pristine, tie straight, pocket handkerchief crisply folded. His hair was getting longer, I noted, remembering how it had fallen into his eyes Saturday.
The coffee drinkers began to make their way to the front to dump their cups before class started. Langely zeroed in on me and said loudly, "Miss Benoit, I believe you know that there is to be no food or drink in class."
The quiet buzz of conversation died. He quickly glanced at the others, saying as almost an after thought. "You all know that. I've been too lax in enforcing the rule." He spoke to everyone, but his eyes went back to me. "I'm surprised at you, Miss Benoit. I would have thought you'd have more discipline."
I was thinking it was an odd choice of words even as I protested. "I'm not the only one, Pro-fessor Lang-lay." I hadn't used the sarcastic pronunciation since he'd started tutoring me, but I was stung.
"No, but you're the eldest here. You might want to set a good example. Dispose of that."
As I think I've said before, the man makes me crazy. That has to account for what I did next. I wasn't even thinking. At least not anything except, I'll show you, you pompous, condescending prick.
I drained the last of the sweet fizzy liquid in one long swallow. Then, the rush of caffiene and carbonation making my head buzz, I crumpled the can and heaved it. I was sitting right in front. The crushed can made a neat arc and landed in the desk side wastebasket with a hollow clang. "Two points, my score."
The bell rang, and the other students hastened back to their seats. They huddled silently, waiting for the explosion.
It only showed in his eyes, and the whiteness of his knuckles as he pressed his hands flat on the desk. I stared back at him, meeting those hot turquoise eyes dead on, not flinching. We'll see who blinks first, Thomas, I thought. I wondered if the class knew that they were witnessing a pissing contest.
The bitch won this round. Langely didn't drop his eyes, but he turned away and began to write something totally unnecessary on the board. He was quieter in class than usual, letting the students spend most of the time discussing word origins. He spent most of the time staring at me. It made me nervosa, but I did my damndest not to show it.
The bell finally rang, and I was past ready to go. I wanted to make a quick escape, but I had a stack of materials to move to my next class, and it slowed me down. Before I could get it gathered up, Langely was beside my desk.
"We need to talk." His voice was low. Other students passed without interest. They assumed he was chastising me for my earlier actions.
I finished stacking books. "No, we don't"
"Miss Benoit, Saturday night..."
"I saw a movie. Whatever it was, I have an alibi. Excuse me." I brushed past him. He was wearing some sort of spicy aftershave. I resisted the impulse to lean over and nip him on the neck.
Dear God, Benoit!
I hurried away, putting distance between us.
I ate lunch off campus, unwilling to risk meeting him in the cafeteria. Okay, it looked like the was feeling threatened because I knew about his kinky extracurricular activities. It had been stupid to tease him, I suppose. The best thing to do would be to keep contact to a minimum and hope he'd cool down. I really didn't need to be on this man's bad side.
I still needed approval for the book I was going to be reviewing next, but I didn't want to have to speak to him in his office, alone. Since a teacher couldn't be available around the clock, each office had a cork note board on the outer door. I tacked a note on Langely's door when I knew he was consulting with another student, then got off campus.
It wasn't easy dodging him the rest of the week. I didn't go to Tuesday night class. There weren't enough people around in the evening for me to be sure of a proper buffer between us. I didn't go to class Wednesday till the last possible moment. I hid up a stairwell till I saw him enter the class, and went in just as the bell rang.
He glared at me as he checked roll. He was awful in class, snapping and snarling at the most innocuous remarks. I felt a little guilty. I knew the class was suffering because he was pissed with me. When the bell finally rang, I grabbed my books and almost ran.
He left his things on his desk and followed me out into the hall. Langely never left his briefcase unattended. You would have thought that it was genetically attached. "Miss Benoit." I kept walking. "Emily!" His voice was sharp, almost desperate.
I stopped, turning back to face him. The early morning students, most still half asleep, swirled around us. It was like we were on a tiny island, isolated from them. "What?"
He fidgeted. "Not here. Come back to my office."
"No. I have a class."
"You didn't get my approval for your book review."
"I left a note on your door. You were busy. It wasn't a best seller, so I assumed you'd approve."
"And you missed your tutoring session." He paused. "I waited."
"I'm caught up, and I'm staying with it. Thanks for the help, but I don't need it anymore."
His voice was raw. "Did you stop and think about what I need?"
Alarm bells went off in my mind. No, I thought. No, I'm not having that. I turned and walked away without replying. I was grateful that he didn't follow. I had no idea what I would have said or done.
I stayed away from campus till it was time for the evening workshop Thursday. Then I wheedled Kurt into going with me by premising to read some of the domination themed poems I'd been writing. Our last assignment had been poetry about a lover's relationship.
When Langely walked in and saw Kurt sitting next to me I felt the temperature in the room drop, but he couldn't say anything without contradicting himself. He'd told us at the beginning of the semester to encourage family and friends to come to classes to hear the nightly reading of assignments.
But he said stiffly, "Class, this has gotten too disorganized. I'll have to ask all visitors to sit in the back of the room." The visitors shifted, and I fumed as Kurt went to sit at the far end of my row.
Langely discussed sonnets for the next hour. I took notes. It was a fascinating poetic form, and I resolved to try some outside my class assignments. Creativity inside strict boundaries and controls, a fascinating concept. At last it was time to share the poems we'd written for class.
There was some good stuff. Lots of sweetness and sunshine, you are the love of my life, you are my inspiration stuff. A few oh, you bitch, oh you bastard rants. I didn't volunteer, but waited till the others had done their pieces and sat down.
At last, Langely said, "Well, Miss Benoit? Or didn't you have enough practical experience to write about a lover's relationship?"
There were gasps I heard a desk scrape, and knew that Kurt was getting up, preparing to knock Langely through the wall. "Sit back down, Kurt." I said clearly, not looking around.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure." I heard him take his seat again, and the class released a collective breath.
I got up and went to the front, standing beside his desk, like the other's had. "Where are your poems, Benoit? You're not wasting my time again, are you?"
I gritted my teeth, but kept my voice gentle. "I have copies. I'll turn them in before I leave. But I'm going to recite these."
"We wait with bated breath."
I stared at him a moment, then turned to the class and recited. I put my performing effort into that recitation, making my voice wistful and pained.
"Different Love. My existence was so empty, spending my life alone. Was I the only one with no one to call my own? I knew that I was different, that I had special needs. I kept them safely hidden. I know where frankness leads. Until that night when we first met and I could feel your heat. Eyes dark, hair full of shadows, crimson lips cruel, yet sweet. I spoke my fondest wishes, then waited for my fall. Laughter? Rage, or pity? Scorn? I have had them all. How could I know you'd understand and give my love your seal? But then you turned and locked the door, and slowly whispered, "Kneel."
The last word was a whisper, and it was very quiet in the room. Someone cleared their throat. One of the boys, the one who fancied himself the second coming of beat poetry, said, "That's fucking performance art. I know, I've seen people get paid to do shit, and that's art."
"Interesting." Langely's voice was hushed also. "You have another, Miss Benoit?"
I studied him. I had been intending to recite 'Semantics', a humorous treatment of an obsessed stalker who sees himself as a dedicated lover. Instead, I decided to go with one that was much stronger.
This time, I didn't look away from Thomas Langely as I recited the poem. "It's called 'Seducer.' No one understands you, baby, do they now? No one tries to see the you that's real, that's deep inside. You could have the love you need so easily if you'd just give up your foolish pride and let me in. Because I know you..."
My voice was soft, persuasive. I was every seducer who'd ever offered understanding and acceptance, for a little price.
"I know your pain. I know your hopes and your dreams. I know the deep and the dark of your soul. I know you're not what your seem and I want you..."
Sure, Thomas. I know what you're keeping hidden from all these other people. I know what you want. I know what you need. Scary, isn't it?
"People gonna tell you what you want is wrong, try to make and mold you into what they think they need. Cut you with their scorn if you dare to break away. Beat you with their guilt till your soul is bruised and bleeding, but..."
Langely's fists were clenched in his lap. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and he didn't look away.
"I know your pain. I know your hopes and desires, their like mine. Walk with me now through the fire to a place where love can be free. Let go the world and give in to me... You know you want to give in to me..."
The young man who'd called my first poem performance art spoke up, sounding dazed. "Mother fucker, that was beautiful. I got a hard on." I saw Kurt nodding agreement in the back row. Well, everything gave Kurt a hard on. The question was...
Damn, I thought. I miscalculated. He looked sick. His voice was ragged, "Class is dismissed." There was a moment of stunned stillness. Langely never dismissed early, not by a nanosecond. And if the bell rang while he was making a point, you'd damn sure better stay seated and attentive till he was done. Everyone rose and started out.
Kurt came up the aisle to meet me, as Langely stepped around the desk. Again he said, "We need to talk."
"Maybe you need to talk, Langely. I'm not so sure I do." Kurt was behind me, and I felt his hand on my shoulder.
Langely looked down at Kurt's hand. He went paper white, I actually saw the color drain out of his face. When he looked up at me, his gaze was a confusion of pain, rage, and heat. "Please."
I'd never heard him use the word except as sarcasm. I felt Kurt's hand tighten on my shoulder, and the pain in Langely's eyes kicked up a notch. Kurt whispered to me, "Possibilities, Emmie. Possibilities."
I've always heard that there are pivotal moments in everyone's life. I'd never thought of that in regards to myself.
I put my hand over Kurt's patting it. "Kurt, go on home. The professor wants a word with me. I expect he'll be willing to drive me home later."
"Have fun." Kurt winked at Langely and sauntered out. He was ambushed in the hall by a giggling redhead, and he had his arm around her waist as they left. The class room was empty, and we were alone.
