You Should Smile (2 page)

His voice, seemingly deeper than before, drawled, “Please, call me Thad.”

I couldn’t help it.  I glanced up and met his eyes.  Then he did it again – gave me a full-out, creases smile.  I felt the rush between my legs.  Good lord, who
was
this guy?

Without thinking, I blurted out, “So what type of work are you doing for Dean Sullivan, Thad?”

I don’t know why I said it that way and as soon as the words left my mouth I realized how ridiculous they sounded.   I just assumed he was a laborer or something from the truck he drove, his casual demeanor, and his hands....right?

His eyes flashed confusion for a second before they smirked with something else – realization at my stereotyping.  The smirk was back now, full force, as he held my gaze.  I despise uncomfortable silences.  All moments, in my mind, exist to be filled with something, yet this guy seems perfectly content with hanging moments as if he’s got all the time in the world to fill them with whatever he wishes.

He still stared at me, smirking.  Finally, Dean Sullivan ended the silence.  “Well, Shay,
Doctor
Reeding is actually being offered a position as an assistant professor in the Psychology department.  We need someone in the position right now.  He’s currently at a nearby college and I’ve been trying to steal him away for years.  He’s a helluva teacher and researcher.”

Mmm Hmmm....I just bet he is.  As my brain filtered this new information, I suddenly had a vision as to how ridiculous I looked – standing there with a drenched t-shirt, hard nipples, mouth open, and staring in awe.  This was the perfect time for my patented, awkward and hasty retreat.  “Well, of course you are!  Of course you are a psychology professor.  Why wouldn’t you be?!  Most Pickup Grinners are, I suppose.  Uhhhh....nice to meet you and, uh, good luck.  Good to see you again, Dean Sullivan.”

Did I just call him Pickup Grinner out loud?  Yep.  Sure did.  Maybe no one caught it. 

I turned around quickly and headed toward the door.  Of course, Grant stood by the door, watching the entire fiasco as it transpired.  I met his eyes and gave him the meanest, most badass don’t-mess-with-me-right-now-motherfucker stare I could muster.   He grinned broadly, chuckled, and theatrically held out his arm as he escorted me toward the door.

As we left, I heard a low, sexy-as-hell voice say something, but I couldn’t make out what it was.  Something fluttered in my chest.  I tried to convince myself it was heartburn from the pizza.

The next morning, I headed up to the political science department floor.  I had a meeting with the Department Chair, Dr. Grambling, for the final approval of my dissertation committee.  Ph.D. grad school basically works like this:  You take classes for three to four years and then you start working on this huge paper called a dissertation.  No, it’s not “like a thesis” or “some paper you wrote in undergrad” or that “thing you wrote when you got your master’s degree online.”  It’s hundreds (some are thousands) of pages long and it takes years – years.  Many give up altogether and I was starting to see why……and I was just at the beginning of the process.  I was already done with classes and I’d already passed my oral exams, which put me at what’s called “ABD” status (“All But Dissertation”).  Creative title, I know. 

So, I just had to write the actual dissertation.  No biggie, right?  My first step that fall was to set up my final dissertation committee.  Basically, you get one faculty member who does research in the area of your topic to be your main advisor and then ask four to five other professors who also do similar research to join your committee as other members.  Once you finish writing the dissertation, you go before your committee to “defend” it.  They ask you a bunch of questions about your project and you basically have to “defend” it by answering the questions to their satisfaction.  If they’re satisfied by your defense, you become a full-fledged Ph.D.  At least that’s how it all worked at my university.   

Anyway, so I was trying to get my committee finalized to start the dissertation process.  The main advisor I would’ve chosen just retired and was in poor health, so Dr. Grambling wanted to meet with me to talk about a replacement.  Grambling was an old, pompous ass who hated women – and made the fact that he thought we belonged in the kitchen and not the field of political science pretty clear. 

“Ms. Elliott,
my dear,
let’s talk about your committee.  Your dissertation concerns political communication, so I think our new hire, Dr. Hanover, will be perfect as your main advisor.  You should walk over to his office and introduce yourself to him today.”  This was more of a directive than a “discussion”, I quickly realized, but he was right that the choice made sense.  Dr. Hanover’s specialty was political communication. 

“Your remaining committee members you’ve listed are fine, but you still need a faculty member from outside the discipline.  Interestingly enough, there’s a new political psychologist hire with a direct interest in your study.  I’d like you to add him, as well.  His name is Dr. Reeding.”  He was looking down at me patronizingly.

My heart lurched.  No, no, no, no, no.  I couldn’t work with Reeding all the time!  Dear lord, I’d die.  Or implode.  Or something. 

“Uhhh…..I, uh…..What about Dr. Forrest in Psychology?”  Dr. Forrest was the first person I could think of.  He was around sixty years old and had a bunch of long, wiry hairs that hung out of his nose.  He was perfect.  I didn’t care what his specialty was.

“Dr. Forrest??” The condescension dripped from his voice as he peered at me above his horn-rimmed glasses.  “He doesn’t do any research in your area.  Academic specialties exist because people become experts in those areas, Ms. Elliott.  You want to explain why you don’t want someone who’s a perfect fit on your committee when he’s here and available?” 

I coughed out loud at the words “perfect fit” and “available”.  Was Dr. Reeding “available”?  I had no idea, but he’d tried to hit on me less than a week earlier.  And I liked it.  A lot.  Heck, I wasn’t technically “available”.  Decent Pete loomed in my mind.  I tried to break up with him again, but it still didn’t work.  I had to be more forceful and I hated being mean….but still, I technically wasn’t “available”.  What a strange word. “Available.”  There I went again, off in random thought. 

I shuffled my feet and stared at the floor.  Dr. Grambling was right.  Plus, I wasn’t about to explain to a man who still lived in the 1960s that Dr. Thad Reeding lit me up like a freaking Christmas tree just by shaking my hand.  Grambling probably would’ve had a heart attack right there and I didn’t know CPR – and I was
not
giving him mouth-to-mouth, either. 

So there I was.  I had no choice. 

“Okay.  I’ll talk to Dr. Hanover and see if he’ll serve as my advisor……and I agree that Dr. Reeding makes sense.  I’ll talk to him, too.”

“Good girl,” Dr. Grambling gave me a fatherly smile as if I had pleased him.  In the 1960s, I bet he would’ve just slapped my ass as he told me I was a “good girl.”  I wondered if he used to do that back then.  Probably.  I heard the squeak of his chair turning around and realized I’d been dismissed.

I headed off to Dr. Hanover’s office first.  I was going to put off the Reeding meeting until later.  I just didn’t want to face him yet.  I turned into a blithering idiot when he was around and I needed time to prepare. 

Dr. Hanover’s office smelled like Old Spice.  Old Spice is terrible.  It reminds me of rednecks who think Applebee’s is a fancy restaurant.  He was behind his desk, head down, unpacking something from a box on his desk.  I knocked softy on his door and he looked up at me. 

He smiled.  His front top teeth were a little bit crooked and his smile was just ‘okay’.  He wasn’t a bad-looking guy – sandy-blond hair, well-built, around 6 feet tall.  It did nothing for me, which was good.  The last thing I needed was to think my main advisor was hot, too.

“Hi.  Can I help you?”

I quickly explained to him my situation and my topic before asking if he’d serve as my advisor. 

His eyes lit up with something I didn’t like.  I couldn’t place it, really, but it was weird.  It was like he was a little
too
excited about working with me.  You know how in movies you get that weird feeling about a character early and then they turn into a psycho or something later?  That’s the feeling I got. I tried to tell myself it couldn’t be that bad, but when he shook my hand and his eyes started to roam over my body, my “perv” radar was going way off.  This was going to be a long dissertation process, I thought. 

After the creepy feeling I had from meeting Dr. Hanover, I decided to keep delaying the Dr. Reeding meeting.  It could wait.  I needed to get ready for the semester kick-off party that night anyway, so I headed home.

Grant showed up at my door later that night at a quarter til seven.

“I hate it when you do that.  You come just early enough so that I’m not fully ready, but still within the time frame where I feel guilty for making you wait!”   

He frowned.  “Princess, please tell me you’re not wearing that dress tonight.”

I looked down at the plain brown dress I had on.  “What’s wrong with it?”

“Oh, honey.  First of all, brown is
not
your color.  Second, it doesn’t show off the goods. Third, you never know just who one might see at these functions.”  Before I could even reply, Grant sashayed around me and began rummaging through my closet.

“No......No......Ugly......Hideous......Gross.....AHA!  Here we go!”  He pulled out a cute red dress and handed it to me.  “You shall wear this, my love.”

Then he grabbed a pair of silver strappy pumps from the bottom of my closet.  “And these.  Off you go....”  He nudged me toward the bathroom.

I was still too stunned by the day’s events – and Grant’s comment about just who might be there tonight – to argue.   I slipped into the dress and put on the shoes before taking a look at myself in the bathroom mirror.  “Not bad,” I muttered, avoiding saying it loud enough for Grant to hear.  No way was he getting that satisfaction.

I stepped out.  “Okay.  This will do….but what the hell is wrong with the rest of my wardrobe?”

We argued over styles and shades and shoes all the way to the banquet.   One thing we will never, ever agree upon:  There is a time and a place for a girl to wear a worn out baseball cap.  Keep it to a minimum, of course, but it shall remain in the wardrobe.  Grant just didn’t get it.  I mentally reminded myself to hide my baseball caps, lest he go on a “what not to wear” trashing spree of my closet someday.

***************

The College of Arts and Sciences holds a grand banquet at the beginning of each semester.  It’s a chance to mingle with others in the college, network, talk about research, and try to one-up one another.  “Oh, you were published in a national conference journal in sociology?  That’s great.  You know, it’s so strange, in political science, our regional journals are becoming just as prestigious than the national ones.”  Claws will come out.  Pissing contests will ensue.  And so it goes in the world of egos and academia.

An academic!  That’s it!  I turned to Grant excitedly.  “I’ll tell you who has the balls to try to pick up a girl at a gas station in a pickup truck – an academic!  Only academics could possibly suffer from such delusions of grandeur.”  Grant beamed with pride, then his smile faltered as he looked past me.

Immediately, I knew that Dr. Reeding was behind me – and that he’d heard everything I just said.  Slowly, I turned around to face the inevitable smirk.

Yep, there it was.

Goodness, did he look fine, though.  If I thought Pickup Grinner in jeans and a t-shirt looked yummy, I should have held out for Dr. Reeding in a suit.  He wore a black pinstripe suit with a royal blue button down underneath and a silver tie with an inlaid blue design.  I’m not sure how his shirt made his eyes appear even bluer, but it did. 

Please don’t blush this time, I begged my traitorous body.  Silence hung in the air again as he smirked and held my gaze.  Finally, he spoke.

“Would one suffering from delusions of grandeur drive an old pickup truck, though?  Wouldn’t something, say, like a Range Rover be much more ‘grand’?”

Ignoring my inner pleas, my face blushed at his obvious cutting remark about Pete’s vehicle.  The blushing is what finally did it.  I was getting tired of feeling like a fool around this guy.

“Well, I think it’s entirely possible that someone driving, say, a pickup truck could believe he is ‘grander’ than he really is – because he is in fact delusional.  On that same note, let’s say someone in a position of authority hits on students for fun.  Would that person suffer from delusions of grandeur or something else psychologically messed up,
Doctor
Reeding?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grant grimace, turn his back and slip off into the crowd.  Queen Benedict Arnold!  And though it felt good getting all of that off my chest, I thought, for the briefest moment, that I saw a look of hurt run across Pickup Grinner’s chiseled face.

Then the smirk came back.  No creases.  Just the slight smirk….and the silence.  The awkward, awful silence, hanging….

Immediately, I regretted my blurting stupid mouth.  “I..uh….I….I don’t know why I said that….”

He stepped forward, closing the space between us, still smirking.  He cleared his throat and his voice was low, so that only I could hear.

“It’s okay, Shay.  It was the white elephant in the room.  We need to talk about it.”  He ran his hands through his thick, dark hair and I glanced away, unable to watch him carry out even that smallest gesture for fear of my sanity.

He shook his head.  “I didn’t know you were a grad student.  I’m not like that.  I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d known…..I’m surprised I did anyway.”

I looked up and our eyes met.  “Why did you then?” I wanted to know.  I had to know.  I clarified, “Say something to me, I mean.”

He looked away.  I didn’t think he was going to answer.  The silence loomed again.

Finally, he whispered, “I don’t know.  I mean, yeah, I know why I wanted to say something.  You’re obviously gorgeous…” My heart leapt at those words.  He thought I was “gorgeous”?

“But I’m not sure what made me do it.  I’m not usually so brazen….not to hit on someone with her
friend
ten feet away…”  He looked at me and smirked again.

I blushed.  Dammit.  The stupid blushing again.

He noticed my embarrassment and gave me a huge smile, creases and all.  I could die of embarrassment and happiness at the same time.  I think it’s possible.  My death certificate would say, “Cause of Death:  Embarrassment with a Case of Happiness.  Too much for her to handle.”

He continued.  “I know it sounds weird, but I also felt like I’d seen you somewhere before, like I knew you.  I don’t know.  That sounds crazy, doesn’t it?….” He trailed off again and chuckled lowly before meeting my eyes once more.  “I think the biggest thing was that you looked so sad and bored.  I just wanted to see you smile.”  He smiled again and I couldn’t help but smile in return.

He stepped in even closer and I could feel the heat of his body next to mine.  I wondered if he could hear my heart beating erratically.  He whispered in my ear: “See?  There it is.  That’s what I’m talking about.” 

I swallowed and shifted my feet, uncomfortably aware of my wetness below.  I bit my bottom lip as hard as I could – just to remind myself of where I was and to keep from imploding into a mass of blithering lust in the floor.

He was still so close to my body, his hot breath in my ear.  With all of the courage I could muster, I turned my head and met his eyes.  Lost in them yet again, I unconsciously flicked my tongue over my sore lip.

For the first time since we’d met, he broke first and looked away.  “Please don’t do that.  Fuck.”

Startled, I whispered, “Do what?”

He ran his hands through his hair again as he shook his head, looking off to the side.  “Li..…”  He paused, seeming to catch himself, his voice taking on an air of bitterness instead, “Nothing…..Never mind.”

I stepped back, trying to maintain a safer distance between us.  The air seemed colder now, nearly freezing in comparison. 

He finally looked up again and met my eyes.  “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For saying that.  For saying that you’re gorgeous.  For making you uncomfortable, if I have…..I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t be saying those things.  I
can’t
say those things.”  He sighed.  “I talked to Dr. Grambling today.  I happened to pass him on campus after he’d spoken to you, apparently.  He told me about the committee position.”

“I…uh….I was going to ask you tomorrow,” I stammered.

He nodded, seeming to understand my discomfort.  “Yeah.  It makes sense, you know.  I think I can contribute some uh….insight….to help you improve your dissertation.”

I felt my head nodding in return, automatically.  I feigned a smile.  “Yes.  Of course.  I look forward to working with you.”

He met my eyes again and held them as he gestured between us.  “This – you and me – it can’t happen if I’m on your committee.  It’s unethical.”

I stepped further back.  As his words hit me, I suddenly felt offended.  “I know that.  I wouldn’t….I mean, I’m not like that….”

He shook his head adamantly.  “Oh no.  NO.  Shit, I didn’t mean it that way.  I was saying that for myself.  It’s something I needed to admit out loud, I guess.”

The silence returned.  The awkwardness ensued.  I had to fill it.  I had to think of something.  “What’s your favorite movie?”  I blurted.

He laughed out loud.  “That was the worst change of conversation I’ve ever heard in my life.”

I grinned.  “So, what is it?”

“Ah, yes.  My favorite movie…..
Triangle.
  Have you ever seen it?”

“No.  And I love movies!  What’s it about?”

“It’s a movie about this abandoned ship and this woman’s life that continues in one circle over and over.  It’s based on the myth of Sisyphus.  She enters into her own sort of cyclical hell where she tries to change the cycle, over and over.  It’ll blow your mind.”  He grinned, wide and big.  I found myself smiling in return again. 

“Sounds really interesting.  I’ll check it out, for sure.”

“What about you?  Favorite movie?”

“Easy. 
To Kill a Mockingbird
.  Atticus Finch is amazing.”

“Hmmm, it is a great movie.  I love Atticus, too.  He always reminded me of my grandfather…..but that’s a pretty safe answer for a political science student.  It’s like me choosing
One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest
.”  He grinned again and I swooned inside.  I have to stop doing that.  He grins.  So what?  He’ll continue to smile.  I need to get over it!

“Fine,” I relented.  “Hitchcock’s
Rope
.  He edited it so it appears to be shot it in one continuous shot – brilliant script, brilliant acting.”  I waited for his response. 

His eyes pierced into my own and something flashed across his face for a second before he composed himself.  Averting my gaze, he smiled softly and stroked his chin.  “That’s one of my all-time favorites.” My movie taste has been affirmed!  Yes!  For some odd reason, I felt like I’d also passed some sort of secret exam of his own just then, but I wasn’t sure what. 

I felt a hand grab the small of my back and turned around to see Grant behind me.  “Oh, hey, Grant.  Let me introduce you to Dr. Thad Reeding….Thad, this is my friend Grant.  He’s also a grad student in the political science department.”

As they shook hands, Thad glanced at me with an arched eyebrow and said, “Another
friend
?”

Before I could reply, Grant piped up, “Yeah, Dr. Reeding, but this friend shares fashion advice with her and makes her drive around in his rainbow flag car.”

Dr. Reeding grinned another creaser and said, “Please call me Thad....or Pickup Grinner.  In some circles, I hear that’s what I go by.” 

I blushed again.  I could’ve died.  So much for him not noticing what I’d called him the other day.

Someone else came up to speak to Thad and Grant turned to me, shaking his head.  He whispered low, “Good luck with that one,” nodding toward Thad.  “I’ll be over by the coat rack.”  I looked over by the coat rack and saw the English department grad students hanging out there.  I rolled my eyes.  Grant was lusting on an English grad student but was too chicken to tell him.  It was pretty obvious to me and most others that the guy felt the same about Grant.  Grant was good at dishing love advice, but stubborn as hell about taking it. 

I hissed back in his ear, “He’s on my committee now, Grant.  Stop saying stuff like that.”

Grant’s eyes went big and he threw his arms around me and hugged me tightly.

“What was that for?” I asked him. 

“Because you’re totally screwed.  It’s gonna be hell trying to resist him every day….I give you all six months until the scandal….”

I pushed away from his hug and started to give him a piece of my mind, but he scampered off again, avoiding my wrath.  Biggest coward ever.  Why was he my best friend again? 

I turned to face the blue-eyed devil, just as the person he’d been talking to wandered off.

“Well, I uh, I guess I’ve got to go,” I said.

The awkwardness was so palpable that the room seemed full of cloudy gray air, just hanging over our heads.  Waiting.  Hanging.  Ugly. 

He finally spoke.  “So, uh….Why don’t we meet in my office tomorrow morning?  Around 10?  We can talk about your dissertation and go from there….”

I nodded, accepting this unnatural role of pretending not to be affected by him. Pretending that he wasn’t standing there in front of me, looking like something out of a movie.  Pretending like he didn’t do things to my insides that no one ever had before.  Pretending.  “Absolutely.  See you tomorrow….”