Chapter 10
I considered the proposition Sheila laid out to me the day before; the more I thought about it the more ridiculous it seemed. I thanked heaven and hell I hadn’t accepted her invitation to mayhem, closed my eyes, and tried retrieving some of the delicious slumber that had enveloped me just minutes before. But instead of snoozing, I began to consider the conditions I’d make plain before going through with her offer.
Money hadn’t been discussed in our conversation, though I expected a considerable fee for my troubles. I still wasn’t sure what she had in mind, but being somewhat of a risk taker and without much to lose, I was ready to do anything to kick-start this private detective business. I needed a few references as well as some sort of a resume to get things going. Besides, I’d never been to Montana.
By the time I got through all that consternating, I had to make haste to get to my new gig. I washed up and threw on a pair of blue jeans, tennis shoes and a black polo shirt; it was all I needed to look presentable for the environment I was about to enter.
After walking Homer a little longer than usual, I arrived at Jackson High fifteen minutes late. I got a dirty look from the secretary, an ancient sight with short white hair, spectacles, and wrinkles that folded up in layers on her face, like one of those funny-looking Chinese dogs. She was on the phone, and I assumed from her bitter disposition that she’d been trying to get another substitute to replace me. I apologized profusely for the trouble I may have caused, which toned down her mood and softened the folds on her face. But not enough, it seemed.
“You need to get here by seven thirty-five from now on, Mr. Klayman.”
“I’ll be here on time tomorrow, no problem,” I assured her.
“I know. But I have to dock you fifteen minutes.”
I fell silent, seething inside. But I didn’t grumble about it.
“Here are the keys and bell schedule. Return them to me at the end of the day,” she said, stiffly. I took the items and walked away in haste.
I checked the teacher’s mailbox for material. It was empty except for the homeroom folder, the Holy of Holies around here. I picked up a free newspaper that was lying in a stack on a side table and proceeded directly to my duties, passing the main desk on the way and catching a another sneer from that menopausal secretary.
“Why the hell don’t they ever smile?” I muttered to myself.
When I got to the classroom I found stacks of worksheets and homework papers laid out on the teacher’s desk, as well as a blackboard full of instructions and review questions. There wasn’t a lot for me to do except read the teacher’s lesson plans, return their graded homework, and hand out worksheets.
I took care of that business immediately after offering up a short introduction, and within fifteen minutes everyone was settled into a social studies assignment. I sat back in a comfortable and sturdy oak swivel chair and tried relaxing for a few moments, knowing that my next month’s rent would now be paid and food would be on the table. I also had a week to decide whether to go to Montana and risk life and limb for little Joe. My eyes started to close as I began to snooze off.
I was asleep for what seemed like a few seconds, but when I opened my eyes a young lady was standing over me with a mischievous smile on her face. The students were giggling and whispering to each other. I was currently the center of their attention. Luckily for me these were high school seniors and they took my little nap in stride. It clearly didn’t warrant the breakout of pandemonium that would likely have occurred if it were a younger group I was babysitting. That would have brought the attention of an assistant principal or two to sort out the ruckus and presumably end my weeklong assignment. Nevertheless, I felt embarrassed and sat there bug-eyed for a long moment, staring back at all the looks I was getting.
“You fell asleep,” I heard the young vixen say. She was dressed in a low-cut blouse that coddled her large fleshy breasts and showed off a firm but slightly flabby midriff. Her long legs stretched out from cutoff jeans, which seemed to fray just below her crotch.
“Couldn’t be.”
“You did,” came a chorus of howls from the classroom.
“Just for a minute or two,” I protested. “Don’t get carried away.”
“Ten minutes! We were watching you, mister,” came a clear and confident voice from somewhere across the room.
“All right, forget it. It won’t happen again.”
The young lady smiled at me once more and sauntered back to her seat methodically, keeping all eyes perched on her till she finally sat down at her desk. She had long dark hair with platinum highlights, black lipstick that outlined her lips, and mascara you could see a mile away. Despite the tacky makeup, she exuded quite a bit of sex appeal. This girl knew how to market herself very well.
I couldn’t stop looking, either. After a minute of that I realized I was breaking every school code in the book. A couple of guys were looking at me curiously and I caught a little smirk settling on their faces, so I picked up the newspaper and started reading the front page again.
The next thing I knew I was walking around the room to keep from falling back to sleep, and more often than not my gaze would fall back on the young vixen. I couldn’t help myself. She had her antennae out too, it seemed, and returned my gaping with her own curious looks.
“What’s your name?” I asked to my own surprise as I sat back down. A nervous feeling rolled around my gut. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be doing this.
“Maria Castro,” she replied. That smile was still pasted on her face.
I quickly scanned the roll book till I got to her name and birth date, then swiftly calculated her age. A tingle ran down my spine when I realized she was legal. It suddenly dawned on me how dangerous things could easily get.
The bell rang and everyone filed out of the room in no apparent haste, particularly Maria, who was the last one to leave. It was a sudden opportunity to chat her up, and I felt sure her intentions were like-minded. I was feeling some kind of perverted entitlement as her teacher, even though every damn alarm bell in my head was going off.
Just as she was about to leave the room, she turned around and locked on to my gaze. I lost control and moved through the aisles ready to give her a compliment regarding her hairdo. I had all the words lined up and ready to go, but when I reached the back of the room she turned and slipped out the door.
“What the hell was I thinking? Thank God she had enough sense,” I muttered. It was going to be a tough week ahead, I realized. And with everything else on my plate, I had to get teenage girls off my mind pronto.
At lunchtime I found my way to the cafeteria and got on a long line that stretched all the way back to the entrance. Everyone seemed to know each other, which made me feel left out. I scoured the room like a hawk from his perch, looking for someone to sit with. I noticed a teacher I’d worked with before. He was chowing down on a sandwich in the corner. That lonely feeling fell away; I could hardly wait to get to his table and start up a conversation.
With only ten minutes left for lunch, I finally made it to him with my chicken nuggets and side of cabbage, an apple, and a small orange drink. But I wasn’t feeling all that conversational anymore.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he chirped.
“I’m starting to get steady work,” I said, feigning enthusiasm. I took a seat next to him. “I’m sorry but I forgot your name.”
“Steven Brewer, and I forgot yours.”
“Bob Klayman.” He stuck out his hand and I shook it. “You get a lot of work here, Steve?”
“I’m practically a regular.”
“It seems like a good school. Relatively speaking, of course.”
“There are a few bad apples, but it’s better than most schools. I’m glad to hear you’re getting more work.”
“More than I can handle,” I fibbed.
“Good. Just keep taking anything they give you. That’s the way to get on their A list.”
“Yeah,” I replied, not thinking. I doubled back. “A list? What’s that?”
“That’s the list of teachers they call first each morning who get the better assignments. If you’re not on that list you end up going to more than your share of troubled schools. You get the bottom of the barrel. It really pays to be on it,” he said quite casually.
“How much worse than this could it be?”
“Much worse, believe me.”
I was feeling some kind of pressure from this guy. My mind was wandering now. I watched some of the other teachers as they finished their lunch and got up to go back to their classrooms. I couldn’t fathom myself in their shoes, suffering through the same rigmarole day-in and day-out for twenty or thirty years. It seemed unfair with such a short human life span. I started to feel a little nauseous.
He got up to leave. “It was good seeing you again. Maybe we’ll have lunch again tomorrow.” I was just starting on my chicken nuggets.
“Yeah, I’ll look for you,” I replied.
He suddenly sat back down. “Let me give you some advice. I’ve been taking credentialing classes in the evenings at Daedalus University. Not too expensive, and they break early. You never have to stay late. I’ll be done next semester and I’ll probably start looking for a position here. It really beats day-to-day subbing. It’s less stressful working in one place, knowing where you’re going every day, and it pays better, too.”
“I guess so.”
“Well, just the same, I thought I’d tell you.”
“Congratulations. I’m sure there’ll be lots of positions waiting for you at this school,” I said through a mouthful of chicken nuggets.
“Are you interested in getting credentialed?”
“No. Not really.” I didn’t want another sermon from this guy.
“It’ll get you on the salary schedule and you could move up from there. You’re stuck in a box when you sub. You can’t make more than a first year teacher’s salary. Might as well get a real job and go full-time the way I see it. Unless you have another career you’re working on.” He was sounding like a Jehovah’s Witness, and I could sense he needed reinforcement for his own goals. Some people start telling you what’s best for you when they’re really trying to shore up their own doubts.
“I have another gig,” I said tersely.
“What’s that?”
“I’m a private detective.”
His face became slightly contorted. “When do you find time to do that?”
“In the evenings.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Sometimes,” I said quite casually.
“It sounds exciting.”
“That’s why I do it.”
“Where did you learn the skills to take on that kind of work?”
“There’s no credential involved,” I quipped. “It’s just a knack you pick up. Takes time, though.”
“Well...the best of luck to you.” He smiled politely and got up. This time he walked away.
I wanted to say something but I held back. Whatever it was, it quickly got lost in the shuffle. I had a lot on my mind now. Steady paychecks, pension plans, health benefits, vacations, real estate - all of that came rushing down on me like water from a crumbling dam.
That self-righteous upstart had gotten to me, and I started raging at all the conformity he was promoting. I stuffed my mouth with the last of my chicken nuggets and looked around the room in disgust. My heart was pounding like a bass drum on parade; I felt light-headed and dizzy, and my feet didn’t want to move. I had two minutes to get back to the classroom and I was having a god-damn panic attack. I tried but I couldn’t shake it off. Something was telling me I’d better get to a doctor or just get the hell out of the damn place. But as I made for the exit the panic suddenly lifted, and I settled down just enough to get back to class, feeling the worse for it, but I stayed till the last bell.
By mid-week things began to simmer down between the vixen and me. We must’ve realized we’d gone too far that first day, and by Wednesday all those sparks were damped down quite a bit. For one thing, she had on a new wardrobe with a lot less southern exposure, though her top hung low enough for me to glean over every now and then and still get a cheap thrill. Anything more than that was off the table, as I knew it should be. Sheila had called the night before and set up a dinner date at her home to discuss her business proposition in more detail. It seemed a lot more sensible to be around older women, period.
My lunch break was spent again with Mr. Brewer, but I steered him away from any talk about his teaching credential. When I mentioned in passing the little story of my snoozing and the hot little vixen that interrupted me, he gave me a juicy piece of business regarding her tryst with a physical education teacher that occurred the year before.
It seems that the young lady was caught in a compromising position in the weight-lifting room with this guy who took his job a little too literally. But his luck ran out when a hardworking janitor interrupted his little fling right after school let out one day. The janitor, like the good Catholic he was, reported the incident to the higher authorities at the school. And though the teacher should be in jail right now for committing fellatio with a minor, he’s currently teaching at another school in the district and our vixen is finishing up her studies here. I took it all in with relish, feeling like a saint next to someone like that, though not a little bit of lust flowed through my veins for the rest of the afternoon. Mr. Brewer also informed me that a number of female teachers at the school were quite hot to trot for available men. I looked at him like he was some sort of mental case.
“Look around and tell me who you would go to bed with in this cafeteria right now,” I demanded.
“Well,” he looked about with a grimace, “It’s hard to say. No one here right now. But I’ve seen a few. In fact I’m-”
“You’re what?” I challenged.
“You’re right. There’s nothing here but scraps, I suppose.”
“You’re damn right, old boy,” I said in my best Gatsby manner, “you’re damn right. This environment is detrimental to a lady’s disposition. It eats away at her, and before she knows it she’s a hag and a scold and an old bag, to boot.”
“Well, I better get going,” he said abruptly. “My class is way across campus.”
“Yeah, you better get going. Concentrate on your credential, old boy, and don’t get any crazy notions in your head.” I broke into a smile as he turned and walked away, but some kind of anger was welling up inside me and I was sure glad to see him go.