Things That Go Hump In The Night (60 page)

Her second class proved better. No regular teachers babysitting their students, and she was free to assert herself without fear of being chastised. As soon as her kids heard that they could get out of their assigned seats if they were quiet, she had her leverage point. Now all she had to do for peace was threaten to put them back at their normal stations. She was great at white lies. She faked “taking names” which still ironically seemed to work no matter what the generation was. It was this class where she received the question that would tickle her throughout the day.

“What’s your real job?”

Hearing that she went from school to school teaching just amazed them.

“You mean there are teachers who don’t have permanent homes?”

Oh great, now she was a stray. She had felt like a stray her first day but not today. Today she knew where things were, who she needed to befriend to get more assignments, and where important things such as the bathroom and the coke machine were.
Canned Cokes for $1, what were they thinking?

At 11:30, her kids scurried back to their normal classrooms. It was time for her lunch break. Her pre-lunch snack of leftover Halloween candy didn’t seem to help the void of skipping breakfast for the extra snooze-time. And it was cold in the music room. Dreadful, blue-fingered cold. The thermostat read 70 degrees, but she knew it lied. 70 could never produce such bone-chilling air. She hoped the lunchroom was warmer. She made her way into a slightly larger room, hoping her butt would fit into the Lilliputian chairs. She crossed her fingers for palatable food.

The lunch line was new to her. She hadn’t eaten at a school before while subbing. Sadly, she found none of the promised chicken salad plates, so her meal was a calorie filled deli hoagie with ranch dressing, peanut butter and graham crackers, and a chocolate chip cookie. It dawned on her why most of her little students were a bit over their desired weight. After lunch, she was assigned to Lunchroom Patrol, and it was then she saw where the chicken salad plates were hidden. Ah well, she was full, and that was all that mattered. Now to get through thirty minutes of watching kids try to eat without throwing it at a nearby enemy or asking to go to the bathroom twelve times.

It was the third showing of “Peter and the Wolf”, and by now she could have cued when the class would and would not laugh. There were two different versions of the video. One was animated by Disney for the kindergarten and first grade, the other a puppet version for the second and third grades.  Gabby found herself much more amused by the Disney version.

She had ten minutes left in her day. She knew that the closer it got to the end of the school day, the more restless its natives got. It was the part of the day when the term “ankle-biter” truly got its meaning.

The one variant in today’s assignment than previous ones was that there were two classes in her room at a time for four periods. Eight completely different sets of kids meant eight different groups to getting used to a new face and a new teaching style. By the time she got through to one set, they’d be whisked away, and a new untrained group would appear. How hard was it to behave when you are getting to watch cartoons for a class? Evidently, harder than she thought.

Finally, the clock read 2:10 and it was time for the children to line up, single file, and march back to their respective rooms. Teachers would shepherd them out of the music room, voicing hope that they hadn’t been too rough on her. Gabby saw the last child out the door and began a quick sweep of the classroom for neatness, put the videos back in their respected slots in the media center, left her after class summary of the day for the teacher, and gathered up her notebook and purse to leave.

At the end of the day, Gabby would earn $50; averaging just over $6.25 an hour. It was slightly higher than the legal minimum, yet a paltry sum considering the Quick Trip down the road was hiring for $8 an hour to start. Still, she knew she didn’t do it for the money. She did it for the flexibility of working when she wanted to, not when some company demanded her to show up. She did it for days like today when she was able to write the entire day; nearly without interruption. She did it for the interaction with the children she'd never have.

She leafed back through her notebook.
A very good day indeed
. She resisted the immediate urge to word count or start an edit. Pages of content, though. By tonight, she should have enough to pacify her editor.

Quietly, hoping not to draw attention to herself getting to leave an hour prior to the rest of the staff, she made her way down the festively decorated halls. She passed Indian villages, Mayflowers, turkeys of every size, and stacks of canned goods for the holiday food drive. She had heard in passing that the class who raised the most food donations would be treated to throwing a pie in the principal’s face. A true prize indeed for a third grader.

Outside the chill of the air stung her face, but she smiled despite it. She was free of obligations for the remainder of the afternoon, and her day was now her own. Before, with Tim, she'd have taken this time to buy him something nice from the store and surprise him. Now, she bought a pint of ice cream to eat on the way home and tried not to think about how she still felt so very alone.

Chapter Four
- The Book Signing

Gabriella both feared and looked forward to the day that was at hand. Her first real book signing. Her publisher had an annual gathering of authors, not all their own but notable for that year, where they highlighted books in their catalog. Every year, the event brought tens of thousands of dollars in profit for them and hundreds of book buyers for their authors. The powers-that-be were estimating an audience of roughly 400 for that afternoon. They had already sold tickets to a pre-dinner held the evening prior to the book signing and tickets to a luncheon held at the hotel directly following the signing.

She felt as if she had asked hundreds of questions about the event so as not to look like the new author she was. She wanted to walk into the event confident.

She made her way into the hotel and to the main conference hall. The signing would be held in an open conference hall that would be visible and accessible to any guest who went onto the second floor. She crossed the distance of two football fields to get up the escalator to where she found a hint of posters and tables.

There it was. In the corner of the room, there it was. A poster board of her first novel’s cover. It lay next to a small table with about thirty copies of the actual book. She browsed the table to get used to her surroundings for the next three hours. Two black felt tip pens, two pencils, a stack of information cards for the buyer to fill out (so as not to misspell names and such), and a pack of “Autographed Copy” stickers lay on the edge of the table opposite the stack of books. She felt petrified and small. As she looked around, she saw writers whose books she had received off her book club, one in particular that she would be clamoring to get to sign her newest library addition.

She was happy to be here and realized how close she came to not making the event. A bout of flu had landed her in the Emergency Room was still weighing her down with a slight fever and a mighty cough. She hoped she didn’t look as nervous as she felt. She had carefully selected a black turtleneck with a chocolate A-line skirt, hoping for the moody, creative look. She even pulled her hair back with a clip for that more refined appeal. The clock ticked noon, and she took her seat.

At least the book is on a table
, she thought. Many others were just in a flyer or in the publisher’s catalog being handed out to attendees. Excitement flurried all around Gabby; people hustling to get that coveted signature and the stray writer-hopeful carrying their manuscript looking for their ticket to publication. There were multitudes of questions for her.

Where did she get her ideas?
Who knows
… 

How hard is it to write a book?
Very
…

Did she do this as a fulltime job?
No, unfortunately
…

People were curious about the whole procedure. Gabby, on the other hand, was merely curious if she’d get through the entire day without screwing up spelling a book buyer’s name in the inscription.

She had kept every email where her publisher had said “yes” and agreed to publish her book. She even took screen shots of the book’s listing on online bookstores. A week didn’t go by that she wouldn’t call up one of the local bookstores to see if they had it stocked; and if so, how many. She was always thrilled to walk by the stacks and see her book. Her finger would trace its spine while it sat safely on the shelf. It was one of the single most magical moments she ever felt. An author. Truly an author now.

The lines were steady, and she was happy to see the turnout. There weren’t many that came around that she knew, but she did see the same man that had bumped into her at the gas station about a third of the way into the line. He was holding a copy of her book flipping through it while the line moved.

"So does Billy get a sequel?" he asked as soon as he hit the table. She had to give him credit. Either he was a very good skimmer or a voracious reader.

"You'll have to wait and see," she replied. "Who do I make this out to?"

"It's Landon. We met at a party two years ago and then recently again at the gas station, but you probably don't remember me." His brown eyes looked away for fear being so close to her again would send his leopard into a frenzy. He longed for her today as much as he had the past two years, ever since that first meeting when she was with Tim. He could still see the sadness around her, the need to go on with her life and yet the need to stay in the memory. He wished he could help and make things better.

"Oh right, yes. How are you?" she asked, as she scrawled a message in the front matter of the book.

"Doing well, thanks. You look stunning."
He thinks I'm stunning
, she thought. Someone who looks at her curves and sees beauty?  She was taken aback for a moment.

A flash of red coated her face.
Was she blushing?
He hoped he hadn't offended her somehow and dashed off a quick, "Again, seriously, I'm enjoying the book and can't wait to finish it when I'm able to sit down."

There was something about his smile that captivated her. She hadn't been interested in men, hell she hadn't even paid attention to men since Tim's death. But here she was, holding out a book not realizing he'd taken it ages ago, and she was still holding on.

"Care if I just leave this here for you, just in case?" he asked, sliding a card toward her.

"Not at all, thanks again Landon, and happy reading." She watched him walk away, barely hearing the next person in line as she brushed the pen over the paper in an automatic gesture, not fully there at the signing any longer but mentally trailing out the door with him.

She absent-mindedly thumbed the card for the rest of the day. Sliding it around, propping it up, even once shaking it to see what was inside. She didn't have enough of a break in the line to find out until the end of the hour. She couldn't understand why it was so compelling. She was mesmerized by him, that half smirking smile of his, and the casual way he stayed in her thoughts long after his body left.

Finally, the last autograph was done, and the table and chair were being packed away. She flipped open the envelope and pulled the card out.

Congratulations on your book signing. I know you don't know me, but I'd like to get to know you. If this is something you're agreeable to, text me at -x- and let me know. Again, love your words.

She toyed with the thought. It
had
been a while now since Tim died, and while there will never be another to take his place in her heart, a simple trip to the coffee shop to get to know Landon certainly wasn't a trip down the aisle. After enough excuses, she punched in the number and left a simple text message:

Coffee? Sacred Grounds and Tea, perhaps? I'll be there tomorrow about noon, if you'd like.

Immediately, the answer filled her small phone screen:

Sounds like heaven to me, see you then.

She had just a few minutes to prepare for the post-signing luncheon and then would be able to wrap up the day and head back home.

Journal Entry
-
July 12, 1948

Mamma may have married at 16, but it took me until 20 to find someone. What a fine someone he is too. Robert Lee Taylor asked Daddy for my hand last month. I’ll be Catherine Elizabeth Court Taylor in just three hours. He is a solid provider, journal, being a banker over at Farmers & Merchants. Mamma sure is taken with him. Good paying job, owns a fine two-bedroom house at the edge of town, and now has a car as well. Robert Lee, who was named after that great civil war general, bought daddy’s Plymouth, and we use it to take trips into the heart of the city on the weekends before church services. Bobby usually buys me a malt at the ice cream parlor and asks for extra cream on top since it’s my favorite. I was right about the glassware I got at the movies too. He does like the collection. He even said that I was “most mature” to think of such details so many years before my marriage.

What a fine wedding it will be, journal. We’re taking vows at sunset, and Mamma made my dress. Ivory lace and linen, tufted at the sleeve and hem. Mamma wanted me to carry fresh white roses, in honor of my sister, Rose. I insisted on daisies. It was daises that Bobby first brought me when we were courting, and it is daisies that I want when I marry him.

Sister is going to walk with me down the aisle, and then will fix my veil and train at the start of the service. Reverend Bishop says it’s very important the job sister does at the service but seems like window dressing to me. She gave me a “little revelation” I never heard in Sunday services about the wedding night though it may be what was meant by cleaving unto your husband.

My whole family will be at the chapel tonight, people from as far away as Atlanta. I haven’t seen such a turnout since the 1940 Court Family reunion. I met cousin after cousin that day. Now they’ll be lining the pews of the chapel for prayer, fellowship, and my passage into wifehood.
~CEC