After Life (7 page)

only disappointed in Henry Young's handling of the cases he had referred

to him, but in the dispositions, which, Lee had to admit himself, were

far too lenient.

Students who had committed rather serious breaches of conduct were let

off with mild warnings. Everyone seemed to receive probation or a

gentle slap on the wrist. The most severe punishment Lee could find,

even for physical violence, was a day's detention, and even that was set

up at the boy's convenience. Apparently Andersen had reached the point

where he had decided not even to bother referring his disciplinary cases

to the principal; he handled them himself by meting out detention and

remaining after school or having the boys do things like police the

school grounds, whitewash walls, clean equipment.

On one occasion, however, it appeared as if Young were reprimanding

Andersen for doing just these things.

After being assigned a task as punishment for defacing a locker, a boy

had complained to the principal and the principal had informed Andersen

that having the boy clean the locker room was too severe. He claimed he

had given the boy a good talking to and that would suffice.

In his angry but tempered reply, Andersen reminded Henry Young that the

gym and the locker rooms were his responsibility, and as long as he was

the head of the department and the coach, he would, in effect, rule his

own kingdom. Henry Young simply returned his note with one line added.

Don't mean to give you a history lesson, but the gym and its environs

are like a state in the union, and I am like the president.

Lee grew angry just reading the correspondence. How infuriating it must

have been for a man like Kurt Andersen. At the end of this folder, he

found Andersen had started writing a letter of grievance to submit to

the superintendent and eventually, the school board. His general

complaint was the lack of support he was getting from the principal. He

had started to list some specific cases, but for some reason stopped

after three.

Perhaps this aggravation and tension had a great deal to do with his

surprising heart attack, Lee thought. Lee closed the files and sat back

in his desk chair. Henry Young had certainly not given him any

indication that there had been any bad feeling between himself and Kurt

Andersen. If anything, Young had led him to believe he had lost a

close, dear friend. And why did so many of the other members of the

staff rave about Young as an administrator. Even Bob Baker thought

highly of him.

It didn't make any sense.

A knock on his opened door snapped him out of his reverie. He had been

doing all this reading during a free period just before lunch, one of

the two periods a day he had for administrative work. He looked up

quickly and saw a very pretty brunette, whom he knew to be an English

teacher. She was about five feet three inches tall with soft,

rich-looking hair she kept brushed down and curled up at her shoulders.

Beneath the bangs that were trimmed just an inch or so over her forehead

were the two most alluring almond-brown eyes he had ever seen.

All her features were diminutive, almost doll-like. She had a very

fair, smooth complexion so clear and perfect it looked like alabaster.

Dressed in a rather tight pink sweater and black skirt, she reminded him

of girls in the fifties with their hard, pointed bras exaggerating their

bosoms. Her narrow hips were well defined in the snug skirt as she

entered his office. Her smile went a few steps beyond simply

friendliness; it was almost licentious, enticing. He felt a slight

tingling begin in his chest and shoot down through his thighs. His

first thought was how the hell does she stand in front of a classroom

filled with the sort of boys he had and try to teach English literature

and grammar?

Hi, she said. Do you have a few minutes?

Sure.

She snuggled into the small chair across from him and placed a folder on

his desk.

I'm Monica London, Miss Monica London, she added raising her eyebrows,

and I'm the orientation committee chairperson.

Oh. Hi, he said, and leaned forward to extend his hand. She looked at

it first as if it were nearly obscene and then took it into her small

one, her soft fingers not squealing so much as rubbing up against his.

Never had a simple handshake been so sensual and pleasurable. He

couldn't help being reluctant to let go, but she seemed to understand

and held on to him a moment more than anyone would expect. Then she sat

back, drawing her shoulders up. Her bosom lifted as the bra hoisted her

breasts like two cannons fixed on him.

Hi, she finally said, nearly mouthing the word rather than actually

pronouncing it. He couldn't take his eye off her wet lips until she

widened her smile. Anyway I've brought you all the information you need

about the teachers' union, dues, meetings, etcetera, and I've brought

you information about our sick-leave bank. We ask everyone to

contribute two days of their own a year toward it. Are you familiar

with the concept'

Oh yeah, sure. We had it at the school I was at on Long Island.

Good. I just hate having to explain every little thing.

Anyway, I've also brought you a copy of the grievance procedures, should

you ever need to bring one against the administration. No one has, this

year anyway, she said. He thought about Kurt's letter in the folder on

the desk.

What about last year? he asked quickly.

Oh, there was something, she replied, but it didn't go far. I'm not on

the grievance committee. I'm sure you know all about the dental and

medical plans. We just got eyeglass benefits added, so you might want

to read about it. It's all in there, she said, indicating the folder.

But should you have any questions about anything, I'm always available.

The way she said this and twisted her shoulder made his eyebrows rise,

but she didn't seem to notice or care.

You teach English, right?

Yes. Ninth grade. She smiled. It's the roughest year because both the

boys and the girls are really moving quickly from adolescence into young

adulthood. Their hormones are screaming, she added. He started to

laugh.

I'll bet.

But you know all about that, I'm sure. I have an apartment in the

Oakwood Gardens, she said as if the information had some relationship to

the previous statement.

I understand you live by the cemetery.

Yes, in the DeGroot House. Are you from Gardner Town?

She laughed as if to say, How could you ask such a silly questions?

Oh no. I'm from Westchester.

What brought you up here?

I was going with someone at the time and he lived in Fallsburg, the next

town over, so I started working here.

Oh. He didn't want to sound as if he were prying, but she seemed to be

comfortable talking about herself.

He died. We were in a terrible car accident. A tractor trailer

jackknifed on us, she said. Her eyes were wide, but her face revealed

no personal emotional pain. She could be talking about an event on a

soap opera, Lee thought.

jeez, that's terrible. I'm sorry. Were you hurt badly too?

I was in critical condition for about a week, but I was very fortunate.

The accident happened just outside of Gardner Town and Dr. Beezly was

at my side in minutes. They said my heart had stopped, but he gave me

cardiac resuscitation--she pressed the palm of her right hand over her

left breast and massaged it slowly- until my little heart just woke up

and started doing its business again. I would have died otherwise.

I see. Lee felt his own heart thumping.

Monica stood up slowly, drawing herself up off the seat like a puppet on

strings unfolding. She stepped closer.

I don't want to take up any more of your time. I know how busy you are

trying to get started.

That's okay, he said quickly.

And you've got a ball game only three days from now, don't you?

You didn't have to remind me of that, he said dryly Then he smiled. She

stood there staring at him. He had to shift in his seat. The office

had gotten so much warmer. He felt beads of sweat break out on the back

of his neck.

I'll see you later, she said. And don't forget, if you need anything,

anything at all, please come see me. She started toward the doorway.

His eyes were glued to the movement of her hips and the shape of her

small rear end. She stopped in the doorway and leaned against the jamb.

Oh, but I do know about the DeGroot house.

Pardon?

I thought that's what you meant when you asked if I was from Gardner

Town.

No, I . . . what about it?

It's famous, she said. You didn't know? The real-estate agent never

told you? He shook his head.

understandable. It probably would scare off most people.

You mean being right next to the cemetery? unfortunately I- No, I mean

about the murder. Kathleen DeGroot killed her husband in that house

nearly seventy years ago after she found out he was unfaithful. I think

it was the town's first homicide, and a particularly gruesome some one.

She cut him up afterward and buried him all over the cemetery. Some say

in at least ten different grave sites. Now that--Monica smiled--is a

woman scorned.

Pardon?

You know, 'hell hath no fury like . . ."

Oh, yes.

But it's a nice house. I'm sure you will enjoy living there, she added.

See you later. She twisted so he would have one full look at her

curvaceous body before she was gone.

For a long moment Lee could only sit and stare after her. Then he wiped

his face with his palms and let out his breath. He was shaking all

over. Was it because of the enticing Miss London or because of that

gruesome tale? Or was it a combination of both?

He was grateful for the piercing sound of the bell announcing the end of

one period and the beginning of another. That was quickly followed by

the thunderous roar of student voices as they shot out of their rooms

and stampeded down the corridors, some to their next class, some to the

first lunch period. The commotion shook him out of his state of anxiety

and reminded him it was time to give Jessie a call. He started to panic

when she didn't pick up the receiver. Then he remembered this was the

morning Tracy Baker was to come by and take her around. He would have

to wait until later in the day.

He began to put everything away when he noticed that Monica London had

scribbled her home telephone number on the teacher orientation folder

she had left with him. The numerals seemed to rise off the page. He

felt a titillation. It was almost as if she had left him the key to her

front door.

Jessie assured Tracy Baker she would be all right once Tracy guided her

to the front walk.

Are you sure? Tracy asked, still holding her hand.

Absolutely, Tracy. I've already committed the front of this house to

perfect memory. Lee says I have a photographic memory with or without

my eyesight. He credits it to my overworked imagination. She smiled

and then, as if to prove her words, began to describe the front. There

are twelve eighteen-inch flagstones from the edge of the street here to

the bottom of the porch stairway. The stairway has three steps. To the

left are two rocking chairs on the porch. The full-width porch has a

round railing running between the massive rectangular masonry supports

of the porch roof.

Yes, Tracy said, laughing. You know more detail about it than I, who

can see, do.

Jessie smiled and released Tracy's hand from hers.

Thank you for a wonderful day and a great lunch.

That homemade apple pie was the best I think I've had.

I'll have to tell Lee about that diner.

It's the only one in town, Tracy said. Not hard to find. I really

enjoyed our time together, Jessie. Like I told you, it's not easy for

me to find someone with whom I can hold an intelligent conversation

these days, and I don't mean to sound snobby or conceited.

I understand.

Not yet, Tracy said. But you will in time. I think you can count on

your fingers how many people buy the Sunday Times. Most get all their

news and culture from the idiot box. What surprises me, she added,

obviously not anxious to end their time together, is how Bob has