Live Love Rewind: The Three Lives of Leah Preston (14 page)

your sensuality, but offer him nothing more. 

– Sun Zu,
The Watcher

She didn’t know if she had the courage to do this.

Suck it up,
Leah told herself.
You wait until you’re in the classroom, everyone has taken their seats, all eyes are focused on the model’s folding screen, and
now
you wonder if you’re ready to go bare-ass in front of the world?

Actually, this was far from the first time she’d wondered about this next step.

“About the next chapter,” she’d told Astrid, the night before. “The whole Watcher thing.”

“I love what you’re doing,” Astrid said. “It’s so clever.”

“That’s a nice way of looking at it.”

“Do
not
even think about backing out,” her friend insisted. “Don’t pretend you’re sick, or you have a better idea, none of that crap. I’ll know the truth.”

“But….”

“Your plan is brilliant. Life models have to do it in the nude. I think I saw that line on a bumper sticker somewhere.”

“Did you ever try the Watcher part?  With Josh?”

“I followed the book to the letter. It’s your turn now.”

You’d so better be worth this, Ian Parkins.

His back to the screen she could hear him as he talked to her classmates. “Serena should return by next session. Until then, one of our own has agreed to act as her stand-in.”

While he was distracted, she shifted the mirror resting behind her. Once she moved it a little more to the left, it would be exactly where she needed it.

“Are you ready?” Ian asked her from behind the screen.

“Almost.”

He returned to his desk. Peeking at the angled mirror, she saw him take his chair. If he glanced in her direction, he’d see her reflection in the mirror. Knowing this, Ian was making a concerted effort to keep his eyes averted.

Removing her blouse, Leah felt the room’s air conditioning brush over her exposed breasts. If she’d worn a bra, it would have left lines across her back. She unsnapped her pencil skirt and let it slide to the floor. Balanced on her high heels, Leah firmed her resolve.

Show time!

Taking her garter belt, she unhooked a three set of gold bells. She dropped them to the floor and they jingled musically.

Ian reacted to the sound, his head following the noise. His eyes found the mirror and, in it, Leah’s image. Dressed only in stockings, a garter belt, and the sexiest pumps she could stand upright in, she acted as if she was unaware of his gaze.

Slowly, seductively, she reached down to collect the bells. Once she had their strings laced between her fingers, she removed the rest of her clothing. Pretending to be unaware of his attention, she faced the screen.

Softly, she said, “I’m ready.”

Professor Parkins remained at his desk, unmoving.

“I’m ready for you, Ian,” she repeated.

Slowly, he stood up. He held himself awkwardly, trying to hide his erection. Clutching an Art History textbook, he covered the view before folding the screen closed.

Glasses on, glasses off?
Leah wondered. Her legs crossed, she faced her classmates. They stared at her, surprised to see one of their own as the model.

If I remove my glasses, everything will blur out nicely
, Leah reflected
. I won’t see the silly smirk on Astrid’s face. I won’t see the look on Derek Boswell’s face, either.

Early this semester, Derek didn’t seem to realize I was part of this class. Last week, once I started dressing for Ian’s attention, I caught his as well. Not in a good way.

Now he appears stunned to discover I have the usual female bits and pieces. If he doesn’t close his mouth, he’ll drool all over his table.

She decided to leave the eyeglasses on. If everyone was going to watch her, she’d watch them, too.

Timidity hadn’t brought her happiness. It was time to be bold.  

It probably wouldn’t look very professional if I covered my breasts with my hands,
she thought.
But it’s cold in here. Now I know why Serena’s girls were always pointing out in greeting.

Behind her, Ian told the students, “If, um, anyone needs...uh, anyone....”

She looked at him. The professor kept the Art History book locked between his fingers, solidly covering his crotch.

He avoided her eyes.

“So,” he said to the others. “Let me know. If. Help is needed.”

Thank you, Sun Zu.

Chapter Nine

Mary Ellen said, “I need a change.”

“What kind of change?”

“I’m thinking of getting my hair permed.”

“Remember the last time? It made your face look like a balloon.”

“That was a hundred years ago. Thanks for reminding me.”

“That’s what friends are for,” Leah said into the cell phone.

“I’d like to come see you. If this is a good time for a visitor.”

“The weather’s all sticky this time of year. Last time you were here, you said you’d never return.”

“Things have changed.”

She knew that tone of voice. “What’s changed?”

“Ted has changed. Ted Cushing, the rancher?”

“Fantasy man.”

“He came to Wednesday night services,” Mary Ellen said, “totally out of the blue. I’d have called that night but you were in your class –”

You were in church
, Leah thought,
and I was in my birthday suit. Much to the amazement of Mister Derek Boswell, who asked me out the microsecond after class ended.

I’d never seen him act like that, all warm and desperately friendly. On him, it didn’t seem natural.

Ian heard him ask for a date. He also heard me say ‘no’.

“– so he sits in my pew and, before the main sermon, he strikes up a conversation. He talks about line dancing, he chats about genealogy. He touches my shoulder lightly, he leans in close, and I’m positive he’s about to take the conversation in a personal direction. Suddenly, Apple Baugh joins us.”

“Her first name is Apple?”

“Like the fruit,” Mary Ellen said flatly. “If I was her mother, I’d have named her Cumtwat.”

Leah laughed.

“She’s had more boyfriends than I have sets of underwear. Changes them about as often, too.”

“Tell me all.”

The fire went out of Mary Ellen’s voice. “Long black hair, wide blue eyes, and she dresses like the word ‘budget’ doesn’t exist. In her universe, maybe it doesn’t. Plus, she’s almost ten years younger than me. At least thirty pounds lighter.”

“Not fair.”

“What’s not fair is the full-on press she gave Ted.”

“Mary Ellen.”

“I can’t compete with her,” she said. “I need a place to hide and lick my wounds. Somewhere with lots of wine and plenty of tissues.”

“Is Apple interested in genealogy?” Leah asked.

“You think Ted cares? Old ancestors can’t compete with youthful, skinny and siliconed.”

“Sun Zu would disagree.” She’d read his words the night before.
Beauty fades. The art of seduction flows from the mind.

“Is this Sun Zu single?”

“Don’t buy an airline ticket just yet. I might have an idea or two.”

“It’s too late for the idea stage,” Mary Ellen said unhappily. “I need to spend some serious personal time with my best friend, a roll of refrigerated cookie dough, and a few glasses of wine. A
case
of wine.”

“I’ll call later, I promise.” Leah checked her wristwatch. “I’m late for an appointment with my art teacher!”

Chapter Ten

Your power is growing. Brush against

your lover as if by accident. Lead his

body in a dance of touch and retreat.

– Sun Zu,
The Aggressor

Ian didn’t understand what was happening.

“My name is Parkins,” he told the travel agent, repeating his name for the second time. “Not ‘Perkins’. This is my third call to your firm tonight. I keep getting dropped.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Parkins, we’ve had some computer problems. How can I help you?”

“I’ve never received an email confirming my flight. I’d like to know if my reservation is in your system.”

He’d used this travel agency twice before and they’d always been smoothly efficient. He prized efficiency. It left him feeling in control.

From somewhere in the cyber universe, the agency employee tapped at a keyboard. Finding him in the company logbook allowed her to acknowledge his electronic existence. Her tone grew less mechanical and more welcoming.

She read back his flight number and travel date. “You’re in the system,” she said politely. “You have a one way, nonrefundable ticket for Heathrow Airport, exactly as scheduled. Feel free to pack those bags.”

Two months ago, going on-line to book his ticket, Ian hadn’t hesitated to select the nonrefundable option. It was almost two hundred dollars cheaper. On that particular evening, completely and forever done with the United States of America, he couldn’t wait to walk up the passenger ramp.

Now he felt less certain about his choice.

Ending the call, he heard
her
coming down the hallway, her heels clicking lightly over the tiled floor. His sex stiffened at the thought of seeing her. He was aroused at the mental image of her legs, her body, even her shoes, all unseen this evening; unknown, really.

What would my bastard dick do if she showed up in sweat pants and a pair of stained tennis shoes?
he asked himself.
Would it shrink as I sit here?

Or would it grow perversely stiffer, knowing what lay beneath those clothes?

“Professor?” Leah Preston said.

She leaned into the opening of his office. She was wearing a subdued blouse, cream-colored and draped alluringly over her breasts. A black pencil skirt caressed her highly desirable ass and silk stockings ran down her legs into the perfect pair of shoes. White straps, gold buckles, white spikes.

His bastard dick pressed hard into the fabric of his slacks, reminding him of its presence.

Leah’s one of your students
, he told himself
. Simply another student. Treat her appropriately.

“When I took this course,” she said, “I had no idea I’d have to write a final paper. All semester, most of us expected you’d cancel the project.”

“If it were my choice, I would have,” he told her, his voice sounding distant and distracted. “I’m just obeying my Master’s voice.”

Harlan Etterman’s nagging, nasal braying is one reason I booked my flight
, he wanted to tell her
. It was probably the biggest reason.

The administration at this school buries their teachers under an avalanche of commands, all disguised as ‘suggestions’ or ‘ideas for improvement’. Every week, there are new suggestions, new opportunities for improvement.

New rules.

We can’t park in the empty lot behind the sports field, for example. No reasonable explanation offered, we just can’t. We shouldn’t be seen passing pamphlets or offering support to any particular candidate or cause, no matter how worthy.

Outside of the classroom, we’re to avoid socializing with our students.

Etterman particularly dislikes it when a professor meets a student in a social setting. He mentions this personal irritation at nearly every one of his meetings. He has suggested we dash from a room, should we stumble across a pupil in a casual setting.

All nonsense, of course, but that particular suggestion never truly bothered me. Until now….

“Writing about one of the early masters won’t be a problem,” Leah said. “I’m thinking Donatello or Bernini. But I’m lost when it comes to a modern artist, someone from the last hundred years. I don’t want just anyone. I want someone interesting.”

“The textbook isn’t much help, is it?” Ian asked. “The author acts as if all significant art ended in the 18
th
century.”

He looked up at the ceiling, as if seeking an answer to her question. Somehow, he seemed incapable of clear thought. It was as if all the blood had rushed from his brain to other areas. “Have you talked to any of your classmates?”

She sat on the corner of his desk. “They’re all doing one of the standards. I’d like to write about somebody different.”

Her body, curvaceous and tantalizing, taunted him. A noise jingled and he saw she was wearing an ankle bracelet, a tiny bell in its center.

Which made him think of the bell on her garter belt. Which brought his eyes to her fantastically desirable legs.

The smell of bergamot and vanilla gently wafted from her.
YOLO?