Shock, tinged with a bit of fear, as I peeked through the window and saw students putting their hands on one another, some on the ground, others squaring up.
Wonder, seeing an attractive woman standing her ground, a blue-eyed empress in her element, a tempting siren alluring me with her call, her confidence disguising her ultimate unpredictability.
Frustration, after moving around the classroom and seeing the student work.
Anger, at her poorly disguised contempt and insolence outside the classroom, her squaring up to me, eyes flashing, her head tilted all the way back because of her height in relation to mine.
Bewilderment, afterwards, that I couldn’t stop thinking about the way her eyes flashed brilliantly. The tiny mole above her lip. The way her bottom lip was much fuller than the top.
I shake my head.
Next step: ride her ass into the ground.
SIX
Georgia
I am homethat evening with Eloise, the two of us sitting side by side on the red velvet couch (the Porn Couch, I call it) in our massive pre-war apartment, eating ice cream from the cartons that Eloise had delivered (“we deserve delivery ice cream tonight,” she said), binge watching reality television.
The apartment was bequeathed to her from her grandmother (RIP Nana), via her parents, who still lived on Long Island. We’ve lived here together for the last ten years, coming here right after college, and the angel and best friend that she is and always has been only asked that I split utilities and taxes with her monthly, which is something my teacher paycheck has wholeheartedly agreed with. Not that it made a difference to her, anyway. Eloise is a programmer for a massive ‘hedge fund’ (whatever that is) in Manhattan, raking in almost half a million dollars a year after bonuses.
Which means I am on my way to building up a hefty amount of savings (bless you, both Eloise and personal finance self-help books). Well, re-building, really. Whichthen will mean complete and utter financial independence. Even after my shithead of an ex-boyfriend, Jake, fucked it all up.
Because my naïve ass thought that just because Jake was wealthy, he knew how to handle cash.Ididn’t know what to do with my savings, that’s for sure. So my previously uneducated ass gave Jake access to all of it. He made what I know now to be a shit ton of poor investments, using it to make outrageous gambles on the stock market (if I have to hear the wordapesout of the context of an elementary school science unit one more time, so help me). He did the same with my inheritance after my parents passed. Then he dumped me a few weeks later, after I found out he’d been cheating on me for months. Lesson learned: just because someone has generational wealth, doesn’t mean they know what to do with money. But it may mean they’re an asshole.
After crawling my way out of that hole for a few years, I’m finally close to having enough to put a down payment on an apartment. Job stability is absolutely one hundred percent crucial now. This directly translates to new job desperation.
“Why couldn’t you just pick up some shifts at that romance bookstore over in Park Slope, like you’ve always wanted to do, and I could have supported us while you found another school?”
“BECAUSE HEALTH INSURANCE! And my down payment!” I cry. I pause. “Although that does sound like a dream. They would hire me based on my Goodreads profile alone,” I add on, thinking of the meticulous records I keep of the hundreds of romance novels I read and review a year. “But Weezy, I would never ask that of you. That’s both unfair and unreasonable. Even if you are my life partner.” I tell her.
“George, shut the fuck up,” she answers. “I may not be able to make medical decisions for you in the event you become incapacitated, but I sure as hell will support you inevery way I can otherwise. Besides, it would just be for a little bit.”
“I want this school, Eloise. I need a new home. You know how shitty my last school was. And it’s harder for older teachers to get hired at new places, because we become too expensive for schools to pick up. I could see myself thriving at this one for a really long time. Maybe for the rest of my career,” I tell her softly. “I dunno. Maybe I should just be your tradwife.”
“That’s an option,” she croons. She takes a scoop of her ice cream. “Why don’t you talk more shit about that principal?” she offered. “You seemed happiest when you were doing that.”
“He was such a fucking dick!” I burst out, not for the first time this evening, blood pressure rising again. “A condescending, arrogant, patronizing?—”
“Okay, Ms. Tier-3-Vocabulary,” she cuts in, living with a teacher for so long that she has become familiar with educational vernacular.
“Technically, that doesn’t apply to this situation, but thank you for trying,” I sigh. “I can’t believe the way he shut me down like that, in his stupid suit, and perfect hair, and stupid tooth, and light eyes, and jaw that could cut glass, and?—”
“I get it. He’s not only a dick, but he’s a hot dick, which makes it even more infuriating.”
“YES!” I moan. “And to make matters even worse, he even seems like one of the Good Admin, one that actually cares about the kids. You should have seen the way this class calmed down for him, from his mere presence alone. They love him!”
“I fucking hate that for you,” Eloise coos appropriately.
“And he hated me and told me I was a bad teacher and that he was hiring me out of sheer desperation.”
“And you’re going to see him all the time,” she adds on. “And he’s going to be on you all year.”
I sniff.
“This is like a would you rather game. Would you rather work at your old school for a bunch of nasty rich women who hate kids or at PS 2 for a nasty hot guy who loves kids?”
“Who will be so far up my asshole I’ll be able to taste him,” I add on.
