The Professor

Rundown: Molly has approached her former professor on whom she has a deep crush. They exchange stories to explore their fantasies and philosophies as he attempts to rein in her emotions.

Sunday, Day 3 From a Distance

After dinner, we took a break for our (my) work to read our stories. “So, two people interacting at a distance.

Molly replied, “I think I can relate to that since we have kept our distance for three years. But that is not at all what I wrote about. My first idea didn’t work out. This one is pushing the limits of our theme.”

Dancer

The party at table five was getting a bit tipsy. The center of attention there was an older man in a very expensive suit. Two younger men obviously deferred to him and the women hanging onto them looked like cheap mistresses. A mob boss and his entourage, she thought. Still, a customer is a customer, and the gentleman seemed pleased by her service. Ellen was used to serving such customers, but his question gave her the creeps: “Did you used to be a dancer, honey?”

“For just a couple years. Then I got serious.”

“You just have such a graceful way about you. I would love to see you on stage.”

That was all he said and he left a $300 tip. She could forgive him that small invasion of her privacy. Unfortunately, after she added the tip to the pool with the rest of the evening staff, it only came to less than $25. Still, every bit helps on her budget. She wasn’t expecting the visit the next day.

She had come home from her department store job and had only 45 minutes to rest and change for the restaurant. Only five minutes after she entered the apartment there was a knock on her door. She recognized one of the minions from the party the night before.

“Miss Winters? Sorry to bother you, Ma’am, and I can try to make this quick. I have a company proposition for you. May I come in?”

Her desire to be polite overruled her instincts and she let him in. He sat on a living room chair. She winced every time she looked at the holes where the upholstering had worn through, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“My name is Jimmy. You remember me from the restaurant?” She nodded. It seems my boss was quite taken with you last night. I guess you are just his type. Anyway he has a big birthday coming up and we are planning a little party, and he wonders if he could hire you to dance for him.”

The expression on her face must have made him uncomfortable because he quickly tried to backtrack a bit. “Oh, nothing illegal or anything, just a little fun. Just a show. No one would touch you. And he would make it worth your while. Say a thousand dollars for maybe a half hour? Not more?”

“How did you get my name? How did you find out where I live?”

“The boss knows people. He doesn’t mean any harm.”

“Get out. I don’t know who you think I am, but that is the most insulting suggestion I have ever heard.”

He stood up, hat in his hand. “Don’t take it that way lady. Tell you what. You can name your price.”

“Get out!”

He backed toward the door. “If you change your mind or want to talk it over, here is a card. Call me.”

“I’ll call the police first!” she shouted.

He dropped the card on the table and got through the door just before it slammed on him.

She was still shaking when there was another knock on the door. She looked cautiously through the peephole. It was Sam, the neighbor downstairs. He was a sweet man who had been relentlessly asking her out, but she didn’t have time or energy for romance or relationships. When her parents died in an accident six years ago, she had dropped out of school to take care of her sister. Now she was working two jobs to put Abby through school. One job or the other required her every day without a break. She couldn’t afford to get sick and was too tired to go out. She opened the door.

“Are you all right? I heard you shouting.”

She sat down. “Yes, I’m fine. Thanks, Sam. That man just made me an indecent proposition. He’s gone.”

“Should I call the police?”

“No, he’s gone.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I never want to think about it again.” And she burst into tears.

Sam put his arm around her until she calmed down. “You’re exhausted. Can I tuck you into bed?”

She was touched by his genuine feeling. “That’s what I need, but I have to go back to work soon. It is 4:30 already? Shoot. I have to change. Thanks for coming up.” She closed the bedroom door and Sam let himself out.

She took a quick shower, then put on an appropriate dress, albeit a slightly more modest one than she had worn the previous evening. At the restaurant that night, she kept looking for the mob boss, afraid he would approach her again, but he did not show.

Two days later, Friday afternoon, she had again just returned from her store job, when there was a knock on her door. Distracted, she opened it and Jimmy stepped in.

“Please go away.”

“I don’t want to bother you. I just want to know if you have thought about my offer.”

“Were you waiting for me to get home? I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Name you own terms.”

“Go away!”

“Calm down. Just let me . . .”

She reached for the nearest object at hand — her answering machine — ripped its cord from the phone and hurled it at him. He dodged and disappeared, closing the door behind him.

Shaken, she felt a need to talk to someone. She called Abby. There was no answer. She picked up the answering machine, now in three pieces, took a look at it and threw it in the trash. Then she had a good cry.

The next morning, she called Abby. No answer. Out so early? She usually sleeps in on Saturday. That evening at the restaurant, she felt uneasy about her sister. She called during her break, but with no luck.

Sunday, she woke herself at 9 to call Abby. She knew she would catch her in bed, but Abby did not answer. Now she was really worried. Waiting until after noon, she called one of Abby’s friends, but she had missed her also. She had an afternoon shift at the store and had to leave for work, but she kept calling Abby’s number every chance she got. When she came home, she knocked on Sam’s door and told him about her fears.

“It’s just not like Abby to ignore my messages. We always talk once or twice a week.”

Sam did his best to comfort her and offered her a glass of wine, which she gladly accepted. She went upstairs, tried calling one more time, and got ready for bed. As she hung up her dress, her eye wandered guiltily to a pink box in the corner of her closet. She took it down, sat on the bed, and opened it. Her toe shoes. She hadn’t seen them since – well, honestly two weeks ago when she had peeked in the box. A dream she had put apart.

She took one from the box and slipped it on her foot. Almost unconsciously she began lacing her ankle. The motions were still automatic and brought back memories of the studio, with other dancers around her stretching and warming up. She put on the other shoe. Could she still stand en pointe? Self-consciously, she tried a few moves, naked, as she was. The thrilling mix of pain and triumph returned. For just one moment, she was on stage again, dancing as Giselle, her one starring role. The crowds applauded. She took her bows. The stage dissolved back into her dingy bedroom.

Monday afternoon she came home from work and saw Jimmy sitting in a car at the curb. She ran upstairs and he knocked shortly afterwards. She could not pretend she was not home.

“Go away!” she shouted through the door.

“What do I have to do?”

She was about to tell him what to do when a horrible wondered struck her. She opened the door. “What have you done with Abby?”

“What? I didn’t . . .”

“Where is she? If you harm one hair I will personally come after each and every one of you.”

Jimmy held out is hands innocently. “I’m only a messenger. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

Ellen sank into a chair. “Oh, God. What do you want me to do?”

Jimmy was surprised by her changing mind, but quick to take benefit of it. “Next Monday, on his boat. I know the restaurant is closed then so you’re not working. Here is the address. He just wants you to come and dance for him. Honest. It will be a very small party. You name your price. You please him and he’ll please you, I promise. Oh, and if you want any tips on dancing or what to wear, you can call this lady. She will be very helpful. This will cover it.” He put down another card alongside two hundred-dollar bills and then ran out.

Ellen sat with her head in her hands for a long time. She would do anything, absolutely anything for Abby. But this? She looked at the second card: ‘Madame Titsy. Exotic Dancer.’

“Hello.”

“Is this, um, Madam Titsy? My name is Ellen. A mutual friend suggested I call you.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Uh, I think I want some lessons.”

On Tuesday she called in sick so she could visit ‘Madam Titsy.’ She found the address in a run-down trailer park. Madam Titsy (“call me Mabel”) was a bit run down herself, about 50 and hiding her sagging face behind too much make up. Nevertheless she was friendly enough and willing to talk. Ellen explained that she wanted to dance for a party, but wasn’t experienced. Mabel lit up at the possibilities.

“First, let me see you move.” She put on some modern music and asked Ellen to dance freely. “Lot’s of potential here. Honey, you’ve got the right stuff. Better than I ever had. But now let’s talk about what men want to see.”

Ellen scheduled two more sessions with Mabel, plus a shopping trip with her for props. She was introduced to pasties with tassels and a G-string and bought a gauzy semi-transparent costume. Ellen taught her moves and how to remove her clothing ever so slowly and tantalizingly. She helped her pick some music.

Whenever she was home during the weekend, Ellen was practicing. It was fun to dance again and as she watched herself in a mirror, she had to admit she was pretty sexy. She could almost look forward to the dance, if she could only forget about the audience — and Abby. Four times that week Sam knocked on her door when she was playing the music. She felt terrible turning him away, but she certainly didn’t want him to see her in the costume. He was such a wholesome man and she felt dirty.

Monday came around at last. A seven o’clock a limousine arrived and Jimmy knocked on her door. Ellen wore a raincoat over an evening dress and carried her costume in a bag, along with a boom box for her music. They drove in silence to the harbor and she followed Jimmy onto the boat. He showed her a cabin where she could prepare herself. He would be back in 20 minutes or so when it was time.

Ellen dressed and paced nervously. She tried to rehearse her moves, but her anxiety mounted. Relax, she told herself. Just listen to the music.

Jimmy came and led he onto the deck. She recognized the boss. There were only a half dozen other people present. Thank goodness. The boss’s face lit up as soon as he saw her. “I’m so glad you agreed to come, Miss Winters. Jimmy said he had a bit of trouble persuading you, but I assure you this is all in fun.”

Ellen’s stomach turned in knots when she heard that. She could not even look him in the eye. She simply set the boom box down and started the music. Think about the music, she told herself.

She was about 15 minutes into the performance, had only taken off part of her clothes when he interrupted her. Miss Winter, why so glum. “This is a party, not an execution. The least you could do is smile for us.”

She lost it. “How can you ask me to smile when my sister is missing? Where are you keeping her? This is not at all fun. . .” She stopped in midsentence at the look on his face. He was clearly shocked and uncomprehending.

“What about your sister? There must be some mistake. Jimmy, what’s this all about?”

“I don’t know, Sir.”

“How can you say that,” Ellen screamed at him. I don’t know what you’ve done with her, but . . .” She turned to the boss. “He kidnapped my sister so I would come here.”

“Jimmy, explain.”

“I didn’t. I never told her that.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I don’t know where she got that idea. I just didn’t contradict it.”

“James, if you value your job, discover her sister right now.

“Yes, Sir.”

“I mean this second.” He turned back to Ellen. “Please sit down, Miss Winters. There has been a misunderstanding. I’m sure we can sort it out.”

Five minutes later, Jimmy returned with a telephone in his hand. “Miss Winters, your sister is on the line.”

“Abby? Thank God you’re safe. I’ve been so worried about you.”

“Didn’t you get my message?”

“What message?”

“A week ago. I’ve been on Spring Break. I went home with Sandy. I told you all about it on your answering machine. I called several times, but you machine isn’t working.”

“And you’re back and you’re all right?”

“Sure. We had a great time. Classes started up again today.”

“Let’s talk tomorrow night, OK, sis?”

She was mortified. The boss was mortified. Jimmy was out of sight. The boss tried to smooth things over. “So you really didn’t want to come this evening. I’m very sorry. How can I make it up to you?” He pulled out a checkbook. “I can’t, I know, undo it. What I did was in poor taste. At least this will show you I didn’t mean you any harm. Peter will see you home.”

The trip home was in silence again. She thanked Peter and made her way up the stairs to her apartment. Sam’s door was ajar as it often was on nights when she worked late. She continued to her door and then looked at the check he had written. For a moment she had to sit down. The check would cover the rest of Abby’s schooling and give her a begin on her own. She could even give up one of her jobs.

As she removed her coat, she realized she was still wearing her costume. She laughed at the absurdity of it all. The feeling of being sexy returned. Might as well celebrate. She picked up the boom box and made her way down to Sam’s door. She pushed her way in and closed it behind her. Sam looked up from his computer as she turned on the music and began to dance.

“I don’t know whether it fits the assignment, but I liked it better. This one ends happily. And you used your dancing slippers.”

“That was for you. Did you like the stripper?”

“No. I don’t want a stripper.”

“OK. I’m just trying to get a little inside your head, Professor. So now you can read me your story.”

He fanned a thicker set of pages. “I’m afraid I got a bit carried away this time.”

“I’m all ears.”

Remote Control

April 24 05:37:21 EDT

Altan: Anyone there?

Gameboy: I’m here

SPD3945: pretty quiet at this hour

Watchman: I haven’t seen your alias before.

Altan: This is my first time in a chat room. What are you all talking about?

Watchman: Whatever you want to talk about.

Gameboy: mostly we wait for someone to log on

Altan: I want to know what happens in the world at 5 a.m.

Watchman: It’s 2 a.m. here.

SPD3945: no personal information

Altan: I can not say that I live east of Chicago?

Gameboy: where do you live?

Altan: East of Chicago

SPD3945: 2shay

Watchman: Why are you up at 5? Are you up late or early?

Altan: I’m up early. I don’t go to work until 9, but I couldn’t sleep.

SPD3945: this is the only time 2 B alive

Watchman: Have you tried counting pixels?

Altan: Why would I do that?

Watchman: Because it’s really boring. It will put you to sleep.

Gameboy: you into role playing?

Altan: What’s that?

Gameboy: that answers my question – good-bye

Altan: So what are the rules here?

SPD3945: no personal information

dont make rules

Altan: I can not ask questions?

Watchman: You can ask anything you like.

Altan: So tell me about yourself.

Watchman: Where do I begin? I was born in Mongolia on the back of a camel when my parents were following the Silk Road. That is why I am fluent in 17 languages and wear silk designer suits. I graduated from Oxford when I was 12 in molecular biology and from the Sorbonne when I was 16 with a doctorate in African philosophy. I won a Nobel Peace Prize at 23 for discovering a strain of rice that can feed all of China; but an agrotech business stole the patent and won’t let anyone use it. I made my fortune in artificial intelligence instead, designing robots to replace congressman. They don’t work. That’s why nobody can tell the difference. Mostly these days I am a consultant, solving international crises. In just the last six months I prevented three wars in the Middle East. Shuttle diplomacy gives me the opportunity to work for my real employer, but if I told you who that was I would have to kill you. For hobbies I play in PGA tournaments and jump out of airplanes when I am not building ships in bottles. I just published my 11th book under a pseudonym.

SPD3945: a literati

Watchman: Better than an illiterati.

SPD3945: 2shay

Altan: Aren’t you afraid of revealing your identity?

Watchman: There is nothing here you can not look up on the internet. Now tell me about you.

SPD3945: U prevented three wars? so why is the MidEast so fucked up?

Watchman: It’s a difficult work environment.

Altan: My parents were very protective, so I didn’t leave the house until I was 23. That’s why I’m shy. But it did give me a chance to memorize the Encyclopedia Britannica and translate it into Tasmanian.

Watchman: Darn it. I haven’t learned Tasmanian yet.

SPD3945: U must b lonely

Altan: Me? Why do you say that?

SPD3945: bcause U are talking 2 us.

people with 3000 friends are on facebook

people who are looking for 3 friends are here

Altan: I confess. I have danced all the roles of Swan Lake, but only by myself.

Watchman: A ballerina!

Altan: A former wanna-be ballerina.

Watchman: In the fantasy of cyberspace, you can still be one.

Altan: Sounds delightful. May I join?

SPD3945: I can do lonely, too

you can dance for me anytime

Watchman: Don’t be rude.

SPD3945: fuck off

Watchman: Don’t mind him, Altan.

Watchman: Altan?

April 25 6:05:02 EDT

Altan: Anyone here?

Cyberpunk: new life in the cosmos

Altan: Better than death.

Cyberpunk: a philosopher

Altan: Anyone can be a philosopher when they are bored enough.

Dreamfan: anyone here into Missy?

Altan: Who is Missy?

Cyberpunk: tween rock

thats all dreamfan cares about

Dreamfan: suck me

Watchman: Hi, Altan. Sleepless again?

Altan: And you, too, I suppose.

Watchman: Just getting off work. I’ll go to bed soon.

Altan: What do you do?

Altan: Sorry – no personal questions.

Watchman: That’s OK. I’m a night watchman.

Cyberpunk: duh

Watchman: Why is the internet like a disco floor?

Altan: I give up. Why?

Watchman: It’s a good place to meet someone, but you can not have a conversation.

Cyperpunk: ouch I didn’t realize this was a private room

Altan: Thanks for the advice. I have to go.

Watchman: So soon?

Altan: Some of us haven’t been to work yet.

Watchman: Later.

Altan: Later.

Cyberpunk: Later.

April 26 5:14:38 EDT

Altan: Hello

Watchman: I was hoping you would show up.

Altan: Why is that?

Watchman: Because you are the only one who writes in complete sentences with punctuation.

Altan: My mother was an English teacher. I can not do otherwise.

. . .

Stephen looked up from his paper. “I haven’t had time to develop this in the way I wanted to. The gist is that Altan and Watchman develop a long-distance friendship. He sets up a private chatroom where they can continue to correspond on a daily basis. He learns that she is a bored and lonely office worker in a tourist bureau in Cleveland. She doesn’t care much for her co-workers and her shyness keeps her from making outside friends. Watchman encourages Altan to go on a date.”