Too Good to Be True(39)
“Well,” Ava sighed. “Best of luck, Grace.” She smiled insincerely.
“Right back at you,” I said. I didn’t really dislike Ava—prep schools were such tiny little worlds, so insulated from the rest of the world that coworkers became almost like family. But the idea of working under her, having her approve or disapprove my lesson plans, rankled. Watching her leave with Paul, her ass swinging vigorously under a too-tight skirt, I found that my teeth were firmly clenched.
For another minute or two, I sat alone in the conference room and allowed myself a tingling little daydream. That I got the chairmanship. Hired a fantastic new teacher to replace Paul. Revitalized the curriculum, raised the bar on grades so that an A in history from Manning meant something special. Increased the number of kids who took —and aced—the AP test. Got more money in the budget for field trips.
Well. I’d better get started on a presentation, just as Dr. Eckhart suggested. Tight sweaters and easy A’s aside, Ava had a sharp mind and was much more of a political creature than I was, which would definitely help her. Now I wished I had chitchatted a bit more at last fall’s faculty/trustee cocktail party, instead of hiding in the corner, sipping bad merlot and swapping obscure historical trivia with Dr. Eckhart and Paul.
I loved Manning. Loved the kids, adored working here on this beautiful campus, especially at this time of year, when the trees were coming into bloom and New England was at her finest. The leaves were just budding out, a haze of pale green, lush beds of daffodils edged the emerald lawns, the kids decorating the grass in their brightly colored clothing, laughing, flirting, napping.
I spied a lone figure walking across the quad. His head was down, and he seemed oblivious to the wonders of the day. Stuart. Margaret had e-mailed me to say that she’d be staying with me for a while, so I gathered things weren’t better on that front.
Poor Stuart.
“WELCOME TO MEETING MR. RIGHT,” said our teacher.
“I can’t believe we’ve been reduced to this,” I whispered to Julian, who gave me a nervous glance.
“My name is Lou,” our teacher continued plummily, “and I’ve been happily married for sixteen wonderful years!” I wondered if we were supposed to applaud. Lou beamed at us. “Every single person wants to find The One. The one who makes us feel whole. I know that my Felicia—” he paused again, then, when we failed to cheer, continued. “My Felicia does that for me.”
Julian, Kiki and I sat in a classroom at the Blainesford Community Center. (Kiki’s perfect man had dumped her on Wednesday after she’d called his cell fourteen times in one hour). There were two other women, as well as Lou, a good-looking man in his forties with a wedding ring about an inch wide, just so there’d be no misunderstandings. His rhythmic way of talking made him seem like a white suburban rapper. I shot Julian a condemning stare, which he pretended to ignore.
Lou smiled at us with all the sunny optimism of a Mormon preacher. “You’re all here for a reason, and there’s no shame in admitting it. You want a man…um, I am correct in assuming you also want a man, sir?” he asked, breaking off from his little song to look at Julian.
Julian, clad in a frilly pink shirt, shiny black pants and eyeliner, glanced at me. “Correct,” he mumbled.
“That’s fine! There’s nothing wrong with that! These methods work for, er…anyway. So let’s go around and just introduce ourselves, shall we? We’re going to get pretty intimate here, so we might as well be friends,” Lou instructed merrily. “Who’d like to go first?”
“Hi, I’m Karen,” said a woman. She was tall and attractive enough, dark hair, dressed in sweats, maybe around forty, forty-five. “I’m divorced, and you wouldn’t believe the freaks I meet. The last guy I went out with asked if he could suck my toes. In the restaurant, okay? When I said no, he called me a frigid bitch and left. And I had to pay the bill.”
“Wow,” I murmured.
“And this was the best date I’ve had in a year, okay?”
“Not for long, Karen, not for long,” Lou announced with great confidence.
“I’m Michelle,” said the next woman. “I’m forty-two and I’ve been on sixty-seven dates in the past four months.
Sixty-seven first dates, that is. Want to know how many second dates I’ve been on? None. Because all those first dates were with idiots. My ex, now, he’s already married again. To Bambi, a waitress from Hooters. She’s twenty-three, okay? But I haven’t met one decent guy, so I hear you, Karen.”
Karen nodded in grim sympathy.
“Hi, I’m Kiki,” said my friend. “And I’m a teacher in a local school, so is there a vow of confidentiality in this class?
Like, no one’s going to out me on the street, right?”
Lou laughed merrily. “There’s no shame in taking this class, Kiki, but if you’re more comfortable, I think we can all agree to keep our enrollment to ourselves! Please continue. What drove you to this class? Are you past thirty? Afraid you’ll never meet Mr. Right?”
“No, I meet him all the time. It’s just that I tend to…maybe…rush things a little?” She glanced at me, and I nodded in support. “I scare them away,” she admitted.
Julian was next. “I’m Julian. Um…I’m…I’ve only had one boyfriend, about eight years ago. I’m just kind of …scared. It’s not that I can’t meet a man…I get asked out all the time.” Of course he did, he looked like Johnny Depp, and already I could see the speculation in Karen’s eyes…Hmm, wonder if I could get this one to jump the fence… “So you’re afraid to commit, afraid things won’t work out, so you can’t fail if you don’t try, correct? All right!” Lou said, not waiting for an answer. “And you, miss? What’s your name?”