Sweetie's Diamonds (4 page)

She frowned and hung up.
 
Damn Greg, she thought.
 
He knew that they had to move out of the house this weekend.
 
What did he expect her to do, haul everything herself?
 

She lifted the receiver again and dialed the home where she and her son would no longer be living after the weekend.
 

“Hello?”

“David?
 
I got your message.”

“Hi mom.
 
What about it?
 
Can I go?”

“Listen, David, we have a lot to do this weekend.
 
You know we're moving to the apartment tomorrow.
 
We might still have some things left to move on Sunday.
 
I need your help.
 
I can't do it all alone.”

“Aw, please?
 
I'll work extra hard tomorrow and we'll get it all done.”

“Well, you tell your father that you can go but only on the condition that we get everything finished.
 
That means you have to really help me tomorrow, and no goofing off.”

“Sure, mom.
 
Thanks.”

Diane hung up the phone and then dialed the number she knew by heart.

“Greg Boston's office.”
 
It was Tina, Greg's secretary.
 
Diane suspected Greg of having had an affair with her but couldn't prove it.

“Is Greg there?” she asked.

“Oh, hi Mrs. Boston,” Tina said, much too mellifluously.
 
“Just a sec…”

Diane growled to herself as the call was transferred.
 

“This is Boston.”

“Greg, why did you ask David to a ballgame on Sunday?
 
You
know
we're moving out of the house this weekend.”

“Oh, hi Diane.
 
Well, I got this extra ticket and he's been at me to take him to see the Cubs.
 
Come on, can't you get everything done before Sunday?”

“Are you going to come over and help us?”

“I can't.
 
I gotta be here tomorrow.
 
It's a big sale on pickups and—”

“I don't care what's on sale, Greg.
 
Look, I told him he could go but only if we get everything done tomorrow.”

“Why don't you get some of your students to help you?
 
I'll bet there are dozens of adolescent boys who would love to see you in shorts.”

“Very funny.”
 
Very true, too, she thought.
 

“I'm sure you two can do it.
 
There isn't a lot of stuff that the movers aren't moving.”

“How the hell would you know?
 
You've been out of the house for over a year.
 
You have no idea how much stuff we have to get rid of and how much we can keep.
 
That apartment is less than half the size of the house, Greg.
 
You know, Scotty was willing to ask the judge for an increase in your support payments so we could keep the house.
 
I told him not to bother.”

“Diane…”

“And David can't do a lot of work, you know that.”

“Diane, I think you protect him too much.”

“Yeah?
 
Well,
your
father didn't die from a heart attack at the age of thirty-one!”

“Christ, Diane, there you go again.
 
Will you just take it
easy
?”

She caught herself and shut her mouth.
 
Every now and then she had a temper that sprung from nowhere.
 
It was one of the reasons Greg had left her.

“Look, I'm sorry,” she said.
 
“I gotta go.
 
I'll have David call you on Sunday morning to let you know for sure if he can go.”

“All right.
 
Good luck with the move.”

“Thanks.”

Diane hung up and muttered, “Bastard.”
 
After fourteen years of marriage, he was the one who had to walk out, claiming that he needed a “new lease on life.”
 
She figured that he had been having an affair with his secretary at the car dealership that he owned.
 
Typical mid-life crisis bullshit.
 
He had also accused her of “keeping secrets” and “not being totally honest with him.”
 
“Distant in bed” was another one.
 
More bullshit.
 

She picked up her handbag, left the classroom, and walked down the hallway that was bustling with teenagers.
 
Lincoln High School had a student population of nearly 4,200, making it so huge that it needed its own zip code.
 
Sometimes she felt that she was in the middle of a major university campus rather than a suburban high school.
 
Nevertheless, it was a prestigious place to work.
 
Being head of the Social Studies Department had its advantages.
 
She had one less class than the other social studies teachers so that she could attend to administrative duties, of which there were practically none.
 
This usually amounted to an extra free period a day.
 
Diane also felt privileged in that she was generally well liked by the students.
 
She was proud of the Favorite Teacher award that was presented to her.
 
She was surprised, though, at the jealousy this manifested among her colleagues.
 
People could be so superficial, she thought.
 
It wasn't as if the award meant that she was to be given a raise in salary or anything.
 
It was just a nice thing to hear from the students.
 
She didn't let it go to her head.

One of the school cheerleaders, Nancy Hawkins, approached her.
 
“Mrs. Boston?”

“Hi Nancy.”

“Are you going to be teaching the self defense class for girls again next fall?”

“I sure will.
 
You coming back?”

“You bet.
 
I can throw Brian over my shoulder, you know.
 
That keeps him in line.”

“Geez, Nancy, Brian weighs what, two hundred and thirty pounds?”

“Well, he
is
a first string tackle.”
 
They both laughed.

“Just be careful.”

“Thanks, Mrs. B!”
 
The energetic girl turned and ran off to join her friends.
 

Diane felt good about the self-defense class.
 
In many ways, it was more fulfilling for her to teach girls to defend themselves than it was to teach social studies.
 
Anyone could teach social studies.
 
It took a black belt to teach a girl how to survive against an attacker.
 
College campuses were the most common places for women to be sexually assaulted.
 
Diane armed her girls with the right amount of knowledge and physical prowess to do a little damage to a bad guy and get away with their lives.
 

She reached the front office and checked her faculty mailbox.
 
Nothing there.
 
She didn't stop to chitchat with other teachers but instead headed toward the front of the building and the parking lot.
 
Unfortunately, she saw Peter Davis standing at the doors with Heather Cook, one of the more popular seniors.
 
The way he was leaning over her didn't particularly evoke the traditional teacher-student relationship.

Davis looked up and saw her.
 
“Well, there's Mrs. Boston, the most dangerous teacher alive,” he said.
 
Heather giggled.

“Mister Davis.
 
Heather.”
 
Diane barely paused as she made straight past them.
 

“What's the hurry?
 
Got a hot date tonight?” he asked.
 

Diane quietly shuddered.
 
Peter Davis had been one of those jealous colleagues when she had received the Favorite Teacher award.
 
He had been vying for the position of head of the department for some time as well.
 
When she got the job in 1999, his displeasure was not a pretty sight.
 
On top of that, when the word got out that Diane was separated from her husband, he had had the audacity to ask her out on a date.
 
It had not gone well.
 
She had felt obligated to go because Peter Davis was the father of her son's best friend, Billy.
 
The man was slightly younger than she, single, and not bad looking, so she gave it a shot.
 
The guy was more of a jerk off campus than he was on.

Mustering up as much friendliness as she could, Diane answered, “David and I are moving out of the house this weekend.
 
Got a lot to do, boys and girls.”
 

“Oh?
 
Where are you moving to?” Davis asked.
 

She didn't want him to know, although her address would be readily available in the teachers' directory soon enough.
 
“Just a measly apartment near Town Center.”

“You don't say?
 
Those new places that went up over the winter?”

“That's them.”

“They're pretty nice.
 
You'll probably like it there.”

“They're nice but we're used to a lot more space.”
 
She quickly changed the subject.
 
“How are you doing, Heather?”

“Fine.”
 

Heather was one of those gorgeous sexpots that had probably done more than her fair share of experimentation before her time.
 
Her family was rich and she was a spoiled brat.
 
The guys swarmed around her like dogs and she encouraged them.
 
The way Peter Davis was eyeing her indicated that men of all ages were not immune to her charms.
 

“Where are you going to college in the fall?” Diane asked.

“Northwestern,” she said, haughtily.

Of course.
 
One of the more expensive schools in the State.

“Good for you.
 
Well, I must run.
 
Stay out of trouble.”
 
She looked at Davis.
 
“Both of you.”

As she went out the door, Davis called to her.
 
“You really should get out more, Diane.
 
If you don't, you'll lose your girlish good looks!”

Diane wanted to give him the finger but didn't.

W
hen they had finished with the pizza that was delivered from Papa John's, Diane and David washed up and began to tackle the unpacking of more boxes.
 
They had spent the day driving back and forth from the house to the new apartment, transporting small items and clothing to save money.
 
The movers were moving only the large pieces of furniture that Diane was keeping—their beds, dressers, the television, and the like.
 
The pepperoni pizza had reinvigorated them, but Diane was feeling the exhaustion.
 
Because David was unable to lift all but the lightest boxes, Diane had ended up doing most of the hard work.
 

“Why don't we just open the kitchen stuff and call it a night?” she suggested, eyeing the chaos that the move-in had created.
 

“Sounds fine to me,” David said.
 
“But can we hook up the TV?”

“I think the movers did it already.
 
Turn it on and see.”

David stepped over several boxes and found the remote.
 
He switched it on and sure enough, the TV shot on.