Divine: A Novel (14 page)

“Whatever,” she puts her hand in my face
and leaves the bathroom. “Your bedroom’s boring, by the way. Why don’t you hang
some posters or something?”

I hear the back door shut and her heavy
footfalls along the stairs. Now, what the fuck to do with the other one?

“I’ll take her home,” Dan says. “To my
parents’ home. I think it’s time for an intervention and a wake up call for
Little Miss Bridgette. She needs to get the fuck out of that sorority house and
back in the dorms.”

“Some students do well on their own and
others can’t handle the freedom,” I say.

“My parents aren’t using their savings
for her to walk around shit-faced and break into people’s homes. She needs a
swift kick in the ass.” He looks at me with apologetic eyes. “It sucks that
they did this to you, but thanks for not calling the cops.”

“I still might.”

He nods. “And I’ll understand if you do.
You sound like a great teacher. It’s too bad you’re struggling with Margaret.”

“You really liked her?”

He shrugs. “She was fun.”

“Yeah, but did you learn anything? Did
you make anything? Did you do
anything
in her classes?”

He thinks for a moment then looks at his
sister. “No, we just hung out. I guess I was too young to notice, or it was an
easy A, so I didn’t care.”

See. I know I’m right about this woman.
“You need some help?” I ask. “Should we put her in my truck? It’s closer than
yours.”

“No, I’ll carry her. She already threw up
on your carpet and in your tub, I don’t want her to infect your truck as well.”
He shakes his head and takes her in his arms. “Sorry again, Div. This isn’t how
I wanted to end our night.”

I hold the bedroom door open and he
kisses my cheek on his way out.

“See you. Good luck with her,” I say.

“Div,” he stops and looks back. “What
type of collections do you have in the guest bedroom?”

“As I mentioned to your parents, pop-up
books.”

“Oh, goodnight,” he winks and disappears
down the stairs.

I lock the door and run to the front
bedroom where the light’s still on. I know they were in here, but I hope it was
just Bridgette.

A box is open and one of my books is on
top. One of
my
books. This room not
only has erotic pop-ups on display, but it’s also storage for the paperbacks
that I sell. Fucking shit, I can’t believe one of them opened the box and took
a book out. They saw it. One, or both of them saw it. Damn it.

Those
wenches aren’t smart enough to make the connection. They haven’t a clue those
are your books. They’ve probably never even heard the term ‘nom de plum.’

Why don’t you ever say anything during
sex or when I’m in an argument with someone, like Margaret? You’d think I’d
hear more from you then, in those moments, instead of now.

Because,
that’s when I actually like being you and I can just sit back and enjoy the
ride. There’s no need for me to talk to you when you’re doing okay on your own.

I count the books to make sure they’re
all here then check my pop-ups. Someone was playing with them. I know when my
things have been moved or fiddled with, and I can tell the figures have changed
positions. The people doing it doggy style are in the slide out position, not
in, and the mile-high club couple have lost their footing on the sink. That’s
their beginning position, not how I have them set to fuck with the woman’s feet
off the floor. This pisses me off.

I pick up my cell and call Dan.

“Hey,” he answers with music blaring.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“My sister has room spins so I’m making
the ride as excruciating as possible so she’ll always remember this as the
worst night of her life.”

“Don’t play around in the car, Dan.”

He turns down the music and I hear
Bridgette say thank you.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“Someone was in my front bedroom. Find
out if Bridgette remembers anything.”

“Like what?”

“Like the pop-ups, or... anything. I want
to know if she was in there, or if it was Hannah. It’s important.”

“Bridgette won’t say anything, I’ll make
sure of it.”

“I’m worried about the other one more
than your sister.” I say in a stressed voice.

“Hey Div?”

“What?”

“Smile.”

And I do. Dan’s good at that. I shouldn’t
smile or be happy right now, but hearing his voice and his request to let go of
my frown is certainly helpful.

I have massive feelings for this man.
He’s wonderful.

Like,
what kind of feelings? Love?

Like. I like him.

Whatever.

“Goodnight Dan.”

“Night, Div.”

CHAPTER
TWELVE

M
arketing, writing, reading, Facebook,
that’s how I spent my weekend. Dan called to let me know Bridgette believes she
was the only one in my guest bedroom, but she’s not a hundred percent certain.
He asked about the petition too, and it took some time to explain the situation
with Margaret and my students. He seemed sympathetic.

And Dan’s parents are furious. They moved
Bridgette out of the sorority over the weekend and back home for the remainder
of the semester, not giving her much of a choice. Either she commutes from home
and gets her shit together, or they’re done paying her tuition.

Good.

I like the Kellers.

But now, I’m sure that’s another student
who hates me. It’s my fault, right? She had to move home because of me? Yes,
well, that’s how it goes.

It’s Margaret’s fault that the students
think I had something to do with Luke’s death. It’s not like they broke into my
home all on their own... just because. Well, Cole, my dead fly collection from
the windowsill in my office is growing and soon I’ll take the brown lunch bag
filled with them to your building and dump them over your head.

Yes, I’m back at the university and just
as angry as I was last week. I thought the long weekend would bring about some
peace in my life, but not after the Hannah and Bridgette incident. I’m not
ready to see or deal with either one this morning, but there they are, sitting
in the front row of my classroom, wearing their pink Greek lettered shirts,
with clasped hands on top of their desks, bright eyes, and big grins. Why so
happy?

Shit. They’re getting a thrill from the
fact that the Dean and my Chair are in the back row, probably here for a
teaching evaluation. They can attend any class on campus whenever they want,
unannounced, and as an untenured faculty member, all I can do is smile and be
polite.

I’m fucked. I have nothing planned for
today. It’s a workday, which means the only interaction is if one of my
students has a question. On days like this, it’s common to go through the
entire class period in silence.

“Happy Monday, everyone,” I say in my
most pleasant voice. “I hope you enjoyed your weekend and...”

“My boyfriend died,” Hannah cuts in.
“What you just said is rude and inconsiderate. You know I didn’t enjoy my
weekend, so why would you say such a thing. You’re not a good teacher.”

That
turd face! Smack her! Who cares if you get fired and arrested, knock her on her
ass.

“Hannah, I apologize.” I fumble through a
folder, trying to keep my cool, but uneasy and nervous with her taking control
of my class. “You know my door’s always open if you need to talk about any
personal matters. And that goes for everyone in this room. I’d like to remind
all of you, and for our freshmen who may not be aware of this, we have a
wellness center on campus that also offers counseling services. It’s a
wonderful...”

Hannah grunts and cuts me off. “I can’t
believe this. Now you’re saying we’re crazy and need a shrink. You’re the
disturbed one and I saw all that porn in your house.”

“Eww,” the class rumbles in unison as the
seats are filled with wide eyes, whispers, and laughs. Oh God, Hannah
was
in my guest bedroom.

“Hannah, my dear,” I gaze down at the
desk, ready to snap, but remaining as friendly as possible. “Why don’t you tell
everyone how you got into my home?”

“Eww,” the students say again.

The Dean takes notes on his iPad and my
Chair, Richard, has closed his eyes. Shit. I guess he can’t bear to watch, or
maybe if he shuts his eyes the disaster in his department will vanish. Poof! It
will all just disappear.

“Hannah, please step outside for a
moment. The rest of you can continue working on your assignment from last week.
I’ll be back to answer any questions you may have.”

I step outside and Hannah follows... and
Richard.

“This behavior and the disruption of my
class comes to an end now,” I state in a firm tone.

“I’m paying to be here, so I have a right
to voice my opinion.”

“Opinion about what?” I ask.

“That I don’t think you’re a good teacher.”

“Fine, you’ve said that and everyone’s
heard it, so let’s get back to work.”

“No, I want a different professor,” she
whines.

Goddammit, these worthless shits have
some nerve. I would’ve never been so impolite to any of my professors, and if I
had, I would’ve been kicked out of the class. Just like that, the professor
would’ve wiped his or her hands clean of me, but not here, not at a dipshit,
tiny school where every
body
, every
filled seat counts.

“Hannah,” Richard says. “What seems to be
the problem? Be specific.”

She tosses her hair over her shoulder
like she’s blowing me off. “All we do is work. Nothing in this class is fun. We
have assignments and readings and tests. It sucks.”

Richard smiles and I laugh. I mean, I
laugh hard. I laugh my ass off. That dumbass kid.

“Go back to class, Hannah,” he says.

We watch her return to the room and when
she’s out of sight, he places a hand on my shoulder. “That was...painful. I’m
going to talk to Dean Whittaker and explain the situation. Sorry, Div. Some
students aren’t ready for college, but their parents force the idea down their
throats. Hannah’s a perfect example. I found out recently that both of her
parents are alumni, wealthy alumni, if you get my drift. Make the best of it
and the semester will be over before you know it.”

Easy for him to say.

I return to class and start to relax
after Richard whispers something to the Dean and the two of them leave. Hannah
continues to bitch under her breath, but I ignore her, and luckily there aren’t
any other major outbursts that hour.

And thank fuck, it’s over. Get out of my
way and out of my face sorority girl. I’m heading back to my office to type my
resignation letter.

Check
your book sales first. Don’t resign without a backup plan. You don’t want to be
living in your truck. Hell, I don’t want to be living in your truck.

I’m selling a hundred books a day. After
taxes that’s close to three grand a month, about equal to my salary at the
university. I could do it... but I won’t.

It
won’t last. You have to write more books, Div. Eventually sales will dry up and
everyone who wants the books will have them, and then what? Don’t be foolish.

Still, it feels good to write the letter,
which is how I spend my afternoon. It’s therapy to put my concerns and feelings
into words, even if it’s just for myself. And it’s long. When I finish it’s
three pages... I had a lot to say, but I also know no one cares. Out with the
old, in with the new, the wheel spins, people get on and off, come and go, and
nothing ever changes. Isn’t that sad?

“Anyone home?” I hear a voice coming
toward my office. “Div, you here?”

Margaret. Great. I must’ve summoned her
with my resignation letter.

“Door’s open.”

“Hey.” She looks around, standing before
me in her cake batter covered jeans and a white smock. Her hair’s short and
gray, thin and flat, and she looks anorexic, boney and fragile. It’s deceiving
to those who don’t know her. At first glance, she looks like a sweet
grandmother who’ll offer you cookies and a glass of milk.

“So,” she says.

“So, what?”

“Hannah’s not taking her petition to the
Dean and she’s staying in your class, accepting the grade she gets from you.”

“And?” I lean back and swivel in my
chair. “Is that a problem?”

“Well, I don’t know,” she shrugs. “She
worked hard on that petition so I don’t know why she’d just let it go. It
seemed important to her.”

“Important to her, or to you, Margaret?”

“I heard...”

“You hear a lot of things, that doesn’t
mean they need to be repeated or that they’re true. Is this the only reason you
came over here?”

“I heard,” she says slowly, in a more
direct and aggravated tone. “I heard you have erotic books in your home.”

“Oh Jesus Christ.”

“The students are offended. It was a hot
topic this morning in my class.”

“Why?” I steam. “Why did you let them
discuss it? Can’t they do actual work and not worry about my personal life? Get
real.”

“So it’s true,” she says.

“What do you care? Didn’t you just send
me an email that you were going to suggest my program be deleted?”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Bullshit.”

She picks at her rubber cement covered
fingernails then chews away at them nervously. I continue to swivel, not
backing down.

“We used to have a good program,” she
whispers.

“When?”

“When I started here.”

“That was fifty years ago and was
probably a hold-over from the former faculty. What about since then? You can’t
blame me if the program hasn’t thrived in half a century; I wasn’t even born
back then. What the fuck? Seriously?”

“Oh, the language. I can’t handle it.”
She throws her hands in the air and walks out.

“When are you retiring?” I call out to
her.

“I’m reporting your erotic books to
administration. You’re not a worthy representative of our university.”

“My private life is just that, private!”
I yell. A moment later the elevator dings and she’s gone.

What a bitch. I fucking need a drink.

Div
Hallowell

Anyone want to get drunk tonight?

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Violet
Cuddlecock

I’m getting wasted tonight, you Sluts!
Monday drunken special - get my book for .99!

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The beginning of a relationship is always
the hardest in terms of knowing when it’s okay to call the other person. I
don’t want to seem too needy or possessive, but I also don’t want to disappear
or act uninterested. Dan’s home. His car’s out front when I return from work
and he probably parked it there so I’d know he’s home, but then again, where
else would he park?

And it’s not only the call that’s
difficult; it’s also figuring out when it’s too soon to meet up to make out.
That’s personal; every couple’s different when it comes to how quickly or
slowly a relationship develops. Some people like to fuck on the first date,
while others wait days, weeks, even months, although I’d have to believe
waiting months is quite rare these days. I’m normally a second or third date
whore. I guess whatever happens naturally should be the answer. There’s no
right or wrong. If and when you feel it, go for it.

I don’t feel it. Not tonight. Mondays
pretty much suck moose balls. Besides, I’m in the mood to read in the tub,
which has been scrubbed clean from Bridgette’s vomit... twice.

Bubbles, soft music, wine, and an erotic
western, a nice ending to my day in Hell. I’m almost through book two of
Hayden’s trilogy, and yes, it’s dark. The main character’s a necrophiliac. He
dismembers his victims and gets off on, and in, their body parts. Hands, feet,
arms, legs... he puts himself inside and fucks away, using the blood as a
lubricant. It’s nasty and I need a break from it before I seriously do have a
nightmare. I wonder if that’s why Dan gave it to me? Because of his foot
fetish? No, can’t be. That’s not the same.

So, Hayden’s tucked away next to the bed,
and
Wild Wagon Train
is with me in
the tub. Here we go. Sip wine, close eyes, relax, take a deep breath, now smile
and read.

“Hot.”

“What’s hot, Uncle Al?”

Al looks around at the circle of covered wagons. His eyes
stop on the one owned by Doc West, who sent for his two wives to join him in
the big Cali-forn-i-a. They’re traveling alone, and Pete can tell they’ve been
without a man, a real man, for months, maybe even years. Who knows how long
it’s been since the doc left them back East.

“Willie Jean and Nelly. Them women have some hot baked
beans, don’t ya think, Petey?”

“Yessum, I reckin’ so, Uncle Al. Haven’t seen beans that big
in some time. I think they need some pork to go along with them beans.”

“That’s a fine idea. Petey, why don’t you go over there and
see if we can help them pretty ladies out with a who-ha-wallup.”

Petey scratches his ass as he struts over to the women. His
spurs clink and clank along the stone laden prairie ground.

“Mam,” he tilts his hat. “Other Mam.”

They giggle and whisper to each other while Petey turns back
to Al. Al waves his hand to keep going.

“Ladies, my Uncle Al and me can’t help but notice your
mighty fine wagon. Looks like it could fit four comfortably. You think you
could show us what you keep inside, maybe let us feel around a little bit?”