Love, Lust, and Other Mistakes

Love, Lust, and

Other Mistakes

ELIZA LENTZSKI

Copyright © 201
2 Eliza Lentzski

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1480272701

ISBN-13:
978-1480272705

DEDICATION

To C

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My thanks go out to members of the BnF writing community who commented and gave me feedback on earlier drafts of these chapters.  A special thank you to TA and the DMD for their continued support of my self-indulgent hobby.

A funny thing happened

on the way to South Dakota

My heels click loudly on the marble tile of the hotel lobby.  I pass by a hallway mirror and adjust my outfit, straightening the lines of my pencil cut skirt.

I’m a recent PhD graduate on a campus visit at a potential college employer.  It’s a good-sized university in a college town in the Heartland.  When my flight was landing last night, I couldn’t help but note how
flat
everything looked.  I’m used to flying into cities like Boston, New York, or Chicago.  I’m a little out of my comfort zone geographically.

In the lobby I meet my campus contact, Tom.  He’s a tenured faculty member in my potential department.  We’re supposed to have breakfast with a graduate student before my first meeting of the day.  Technically though, even my planned meals are interviews.  I have a feeling I won’t be eating much over this two-day visit.

“We’re just waiting on Andrea,” Tom tells me with a smooth grin.  “She’s the grad student joining us for breakfast this morning.”

As soon as the words come out of his mouth, a young woman about my height walks out of the sunlight and through the sliding automatic doors of the hotel lobby.  My eyes widen just a bit at the sight of her.  She wears a fitted leather jacket that’s feminine enough to be fashionable, but with just enough of an edge that I immediately question her sexuality.  Beneath the material I can see that her arms are thin, toned, and her wrists are small and delicate – runner’s arms, I silently muse.  Around her neck is a thin piece of leather and a single, heavy green stone rests against the hollow of her throat.   Her hair, the same length and texture as mine, is
just beyond shoulder length – dark brunette with natural shades of lighter brown twisting along her tempered waves.  Her jeans are fitted, but relaxed, and her heels are a surprising splash of vibrant yellows and greens like a Jackson Pollock painting.

Please don’t let that be her.
I find myself wistfully praying.  I have a hard time remaining professional around attractive women my own age.  It’s one of my character flaws, I guess you could say.

“Ah.  And here she is
.” Tom smiles as the woman pulls off her sunglasses and walks in our direction.

I hope my audible gulp wasn’t truly audible as she greets me.  Her hand is dry and warm despite the chilled weather outside, and I squeeze it in a handshake.  “It’s nice to meet you, Andrea,” I say, giving her a lopsided grin.  She smiles, but doesn’t say a word.

Tom turns his direction back to his graduate student. “Andrea, why don’t you meet us at the restaurant?  I’ll give Dr. Bethel a ride.”

And as soon as we’ve met, we’re suddenly on our way to a new destination.

We exit the hotel’s front lobby and I give my campus host another glance.  Tom is a tall man, broad-shouldered, probably in his late 50s.  He wears a cowboy hat without irony.  I can tell just from our brief interaction that he’s one of those “western gentlemen.”  Kind of a mixed breed of southern chivalry mixed in with a cowboy farmer.  I bet he has a wife who sits at home and irons his shirts and patches his jeans. 

He points to an oversized Ford 150 in the parking lot. “Hope you don’t mind climbing into that,” he says.

“As long as I can ride shot-gun, I’ll be fine,” I reply with a coy smile.

He looks a bit taken aback. “No, I didn’t mean you had to ride in the back.”

I nod and allow myself a short laugh.  Not to self:
Save the jokes for
after
the interviews. 

+++++

Andrea’s already at the restaurant when we arrive, sitting at a booth set for three people.  She waves her hands to garner our attention and then looks slightly embarrassed when the small restaurant’s other patrons look in her direction to check out the erratically waving girl.  It’s a small mom and pop shop that I’m sure has inexpensive, yet delicious all-day breakfasts.

I walk down the narrow column towards where Andrea is seated.  I always hate this scenario.  I can either sit next to her or across from her.  I try to quickly weigh my options in my mind.  If I sit next to her, I won’t get caught up in that cute little smile, slightly upturned nose, or deep chocolate eyes, and I can concentrate on Tom’s questions.  But then again, I’d be sitting
next
to her. 

Tom walks behind me and he immediately sits across from Andrea, effectively making up my mind for me.  I slide into the booth besides Andrea.  Her jean-encased knee nudges innocently at my bare thigh beneath the table as I get settled.

Our waitress, without asking, brings three black coffees and takes our order.  Andrea orders a short stack of pancakes with fresh blueberries – exactly what I was going to order.  Sitting next to her, I can’t help but feel as though we’re in competition with each other for Tom’s approval.

I’m comfortable with breakfast silence, but I know that’s probably not the best strategy to get hired.  I set my sights on Andrea again, turning to her slightly.  “So, Andrea,” I start, “I noticed from the department webpage that you had a busy April.”

Her eyes perceptibly drop.  I can immediately tell she’s the modest type and it endears me to her even more.  “Yeah,” she quietly laughs. “I was at the big Social Science conference giving a paper on my dissertation. And I just had a presentation on campus about a project I worked on over the summer.”

Our waitress promptly interrupts the fledgling conversation and brings us our food – an omelet for Tom and pancakes for Andrea and myself.  I wait patiently while Andrea drips thick, maple syrup over her breakfast.  I catch myself staring when she licks at her fingers with the tip of her pink tongue.

I give her a smile of thanks when she passes me the syrup without having to ask.  I’m not a big fan of syrup, but I like a little sweetness with my breakfast. I cut into my pancakes and take my first bite. Fresh blueberries burst in my mouth. It’s delicious, but I suddenly worry my teeth and tongue will be purple the rest of the day.  Great. 

+++++

We wrap up breakfast after some more polite breakfast conversation.  Tom surprises me when he passes me off on Andrea for the rest of the morning, excusing himself about previous meetings and having to teach a class.  I’d been under the impression that he would be my guide the rest of the day.  It’s momentarily jarring thinking about being alone with Andrea, but I check myself, reminding myself that I’m a professional. 

Yeah right.  Professional pervert.

Tom stays behind to settle our bill and Andrea and I leave the restaurant, side by side, to my next destination.  She’s dropping me off at the local historical society so I can meet with the archivists.  I walk a half step behind her in the parking lot, not sure which car is hers.  She walks up to the drivers’ side of a dark blue car, a Honda Civic or something equally non-descript.

It’s a little messy on the inside, and she hastily apologizes for the clutter and throws the bag that sits on the passenger seat into her backseat.  “Sorry about the dog hair,” she states, brushing down the seat covers.  “I brought my dog to the Nevada conference with me. I tried to clean up as best as I could, but she’s just a shaggy mutt.”

I don’t see any visible dog hair, but instead of arguing or insisting it’s fine, I tell her about my cat instead. “I know,” I laugh, climbing into the passenger side and fixing my skirt so I’m not showing too much thigh.  At least I had the sense to not get lazy with the razor during this morning’s shower. “I have a cat and it seems no matter how much I vacuum or sweep I always find tumbleweeds of cat hair.”

She smiles and nods knowingly, turning the car on.

It would be so easy to bond with her because we’re practically the same age.  In fact, I might even be one or two years younger than her.  I have to remind myself, however, that I’m not here to make friends with graduate students.  I’m here to set myself apart from them.  We make polite conversation the short ride between the restaurant and my next campus meeting.  For the rest of the morning I do my best to act the part of an adult, even though something about this girl makes me feel like a fraud.

+++++

The afternoon has been filled with visits to various archives and museum collections and interviews with numerous faculty members within the department.  I’m now at my final activity of the day – giving a lecture to a group of about 120 undergraduates.

I stand at the front of the lecture hall and students begin to mill into the room and take their seats.  When they notice me standing at the front of the room instead of their usual professor, they do a double take and whisper to each other.

At the back of the room, somehow I notice Andrea as she slips into the stadium seating.  Her hair is pulled back in a low ponytail and a pair of oversized sunglasses rests on the top of her head.  I’m surprised to see her there.  I knew a number of faculty members were attending to see me teach a class – all part of the interviewing process – but I didn’t realize graduate students would be attending as well. 

I resist the urge to wave at her.  We only had breakfast together, after all, and she gave me a ride to campus.  We’re certainly not BFFs.  I instead smile fleetingly in her direction and quickly look back down at my lecture notes, as if I’m afraid I’ll forget my rehearsed presentation if I make too much eye contact with her.

I give my lecture, taking time to make eye contact around the room as I go, making sure that undergraduates are staying awake in the dimly lit room.  But I avoid looking in the back of the lecture hall where I know Andrea sits.  This job is too important for me to get frazzled and lose my train of thought.

When I finish, the students applaud me, which I find odd. Students at my old school never applauded me, but I was presented to this group as a guest speaker, so I guess they’re just being polite. Everyone in the Midwest has been so polite.

I’m immediately surrounded by a bevy of other professors, all smiling and congratulating me on a good talk.
“Fine, just fine,” the professor in charge of the search committee drawls, clapping me on the back. When the last of the faculty members filter away, I release a deep sigh.  The day, full of interviews, meetings, and presentations, has been more exhausting than I expected.  I just want to get out of these boots and this skirt and relax. 

+++++

I shoulder my leather bag and walk to the nearest women’s restroom to pull my hair up in a ponytail before leaving the academic building.  The prairie winds are strong that day, and I’ve had enough of my hair whipping around in my face.  The bathroom appears empty and I stand in front of the long mirror hanging over the four sinks.  I straighten the hem of my skirt, absently.

One of the bathroom stalls squeaks open, and she exits. 

I’m feeling too tired to be intimidated when I recognize who it is. “Hi, Andrea.”

She looks momentarily startled to see me standing in the bathroom, but she quickly recovers and walks to the long vanity to wash her hands. “I really liked your talk, Dr. Bethel.”

“Thanks,” I say, smiling warmly at her mirrored reflection. “I honestly didn’t know a lot about the subject before they gave me the topic, but I’m glad it went so well.”

“What do they have you scheduled for next?” she asks.

“I actually get some free time now, if you can believe it,” I say laughing.  “I was thinking about maybe going for a run at the fitness center at my hotel and then grabbing some dinner downtown.”

             
he finishes washing her hands and turns to pull a piece of paper towel out of its plastic wall mount. “If you wanted to run outside, I was planning on doing a 5K tonight.  I could show you some of the running trails near campus,” she offers.

I’ve always hated running on treadmills, particularly at strange hotels full of strange people.  No one makes eye contact, and the machines are usually outdated or out-of-service.  And it would be awfully nice to run outside and get a better sense of what I’m potentially getting myself into out here.  But, that would also mean running with Andrea.  I’m torn.  She’s been nothing but nice, nothing but polite and accommodating. 

She’s not gay.
I tell myself for the billionth time since I’ve met her just hours before.
She’s just being nice because you’re a professor candidate.

Despite my original hesitation, I nod. “That would be great,” I say agreeably. “I’d love the company.”

+++++

The run is nice.  Nicer than I’d expected.  Andrea’s fast, but I’m able to keep her pace since my legs are slightly longer than hers.   We run a brisk 3 miles along winding off-road trails and now stand near the campus green, stretching out hamstrings and letting our bodies cool down.

She pulls the bottom hem of her tank top up to wipe at her sweaty forehead, revealing tight, flat abs.  And I was right about those arms that had remained hidden beneath her fitted leather jacket.  They’re just as toned as the rest of her body.  It’s rapidly making my professionalism fly out the window.