School Daze 8

"Tommy Richardson is that you?"

The policeman looked up, after a moment his memories clicked with the image standing before him.

"Mrs. Arnold?"

"Yes, Tommy, but I think you are old enough to call me Emily."

"Gosh Mrs... Emily, I had no idea you were back in Spring Falls!"

"It's a boring story actually, Tommy. I split from my husband two years ago and moved back home to take care of my aging mother."

"You look great, M... Emily!"

"Thank you, Tommy, I must say that you have grown into quite a handsome young man. How long has it been?"

"Well let's see, I had you sophomore year English, that would have been what? Eleven years ago?"

"I think that's right, Tommy."

"I had such a crush on you back then!"

"Schoolboy crushes are an occupational hazard for female teachers. I suspect you were not alone, Tommy."

"I'm sure I wasn't Emily. You haven't changed a bit!"

"Liar and flatterer! I tried to instill honesty and sincerity in my charges."

"I'm totally serious, Emily!"

"For the present, we will allow that fiction to stand, young man. What have you been up to since I saw you last?"

"Well, I graduated about the time you moved away. I went to State U. and majored in criminal justice. You will be happy to know, however, that I minored in English. I've written a few things, a half-dozen short stories and an essay or three in some small literary art magazines. Sometimes they can only pay me in extra copies of their magazines, but it is such a kick to see my name in print other than on police reports. Anyway, I joined the force three years ago and this year, my name was drawn to canvass this neighborhood and try to sell tickets to the policeman's raffle. First place is a Mac book Air. There are various other prizes including, ear pods, headphones, and Kindle Fires."

"How much are they, Tommy?"

"Fifty bucks a ticket."

"That's a bit steep, Tommy."

"Yes, but, the handsome police officer stared at the still enchanting willowy redhead, "you know what, Emily? This one is or me, I'll buy two tickets and put your name on them!"

"Tommy, that is a nice offer, but I can't allow you to do that."

"I WANT to do it, Emily. I consider it a thank you to you for opening English literature to me."

"Again, with the flattery!"

"I'm serious, Emily. Before I had you as a teacher, I was a reader, but not a deep one, you opened the world of literary allusion, metaphor, Shakespearian sonnets, allegory, and epiphany. You made me the writer and addict of words that I am today."

"Really, Tommy?"

"Gospel truth."

"I'd like to read some of your work. There is no higher tribute for an English teacher then producing an authentic writer."

"I'd love to show you my writing, Emily. Here's an idea. How about I pick you up when I get off duty at eight? We can find a quiet booth at Antonio's and you can take some time to assess my work, or at least get the flavor of it."

"Tommy, people will talk."

"We are both adults now, Emily. Principal Lazarus isn't watching anymore!"

The tall well-endowed former teacher giggled and replied, "That much is certainly true! O.K. Tommy it's a "date" though why you would want to be seen in public with an old hag like me is a real mystery. Won't your wife object?"

"I'm not married, Emily. The girl I was sweet on left me for a fireman."

"You, poor dear!"

"No, I think she did me a favor. See you at around eight-fifteen, remember that Antonio's has a strict dress code, wear something swanky."

"Oh, Tommy! I will, though folks will probably think I'm your mother."

"I seriously doubt that Emily!"

Officer Richardson continued to canvass the neighborhood but with little enthusiasm. His mind was focused or the past. Spring Falls High School, he was a tall, imposing, but terribly shy lad, who had few friends aside from books. At first, he was happy to be assigned to Mrs. Arnold's class simply because she was the prettiest teacher in the entire school. Tommy took sidelong glances as Mrs. Arnold wrote on the white board. She always dressed smartly, in skirts that were nicely, but not overly tight and usually fell above her knees. She tried to keep the boys from focusing or her prodigious breasts by wearing blazers and oversized sweaters, without success. For the first two weeks of class, Tommy focused on her pretty face, radiant crimson hair, and cat-like green eyes, hopelessly in love. Then, something peculiar happened. The words Mrs. Arnold was speaking began to percolate through his lust and began finding fertile soil in his soul. She had the class read "The Dead" by James Joyce and explained why it was considered the greatest short story in the history of the English language. Tommy had been moved not only by the longing and ache of the story but also by Mrs. Arnold's elucidation and careful deconstructing of the plot and the devices Joyce used. It was in Mrs. Arnold's class that Tommy had decided that one day he would be a writer. He would write even if he never became famous because he was driven to it as sure as he was committed to breathing. His interest in police work came later. Even as a cadet at the academy, Tommy read up or authors who had begun as cops, detectives, lawyers, or federal agents. Even working on a small-town force had breathed life into his stories which tended to be about down and out men and women with somber endings.

Tommy returned to the station in an elated mood. He took a hundred-dollar bill from the wallet in his locker and inscribed Emily Arnold's and address or them before tossing them into the sale money box with the few other tickets he had sold. He whistled while he showered in the locker room. The other guys tried to engage him in conversation. but Tommy was not in their world. He thought about his encounter with Emily this afternoon. The years had been exceptionally kind to her. She was still every bit as pretty as she had been in tenth grade! He hurried back to his apartment and into his best suit. After grabbing a satchel to house his writings, Tommy realized he had just enough time to swing by Morrison's Florist and purchase a bouquet of roses and mums, two flowers that he recalled Mrs. Arnold had kept in vases in her classroom.

He arrived promptly, just as night was setting in. Nervously, he depressed the doorbell. Emily answered the door in a midnight blue gown. It clung nicely to her anatomy. It did not have much in the way of décolletage, but it did have a slight slit up the left leg!

"Flowers, Tommy?"

"I couldn't arrive empty-handed, Emily, now could I?"

Emily laughed nervously before vanishing from the vestibule a moment to place the flowers in water. She allowed Tommy to take her arm and escort her to his car.

"You certainly are a gentleman, Tommy. You seemed so shy when you were my student."

"I hadn't figured out who I wanted to be back then, Emily."

Tommy settled Emily in the passenger seat before sliding behind the wheel. He could not help but notice from the corner of his eye, that the slit in Emily's dress exposed a bit of alabaster thigh!

"So, Emily, how many children do you have?" he began.

"That is a bit of a sore subject, Tommy. Phil, my husband, was incapable of fathering children. I thought I could bear with it, but now that my time has essentially come and gone, the mutual grief is one of the reasons we broke up."

"I'm truly sorry to hear that, Emily. You would have made a wonderful mother."

"Can we talk about something else, Tommy, like when you first knew you were a writer?"

"Hold that thought, Emily, Antonio's is just ahead."

"Holy cow! After living so long in the big city, I keep forgetting just how small this town is!"

"Spring Falls High draws from a large geographical base if you recall."

"Yes, Tommy, I remember. The miles I had to drive sometimes for parent-teacher conferences!"

Tommy again took Emily's arm once his car was parked and both were or the sidewalk in front of Antonio's. Tommy had had the foresight to phone ahead and reserve one of the quieter tables in the back, which the maître de obsequiously led them to.

Tommy held the chair for Emily before seating himself. Emily smiled at Tommy. He felt his insides suddenly go soft. After a long moment, Tommy collected himself.

"Picking up where we left off, Emily, I first knew that I would be a writer in your classroom."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously! You opened the world of literature to me. I knew that I had to create something that the English language offered the most expansive tapestry in the world!"

"Poetry, from shy Tommy Richardson! My stars! And all that time in my classroom I thought you were focused only on my rack!"

Tommy turned a brilliant scarlet for a moment. "Was it that obvious, Emily?"

"I caught you undressing me with your eyes or more than one occasion."

Tommy's mouth fell open in a wide "O."

Emily laughed heartily, "You weren't alone young man, but unlike the other roues you shared the class with, I knew you were studying hard as well."

"I'm sorry, Emily. I..."

"Think nothing of it. Time has made me consider it sort of flattering. You never gave me any real trouble. You were near the top of the class as I recall."

"Cindy Jenkins had a higher grade point average and her essay got published in Spring Falls High's literary art magazine, not mine!"

"Whatever happened to Cindy?"

"She lives by the railroad tracks. She has something like eight children and a husband who beats her when he is drunk which is often."

"Really?"

"Yes, on more than one occasion, I or one of my fellow officers have had to stop by her house because of a domestic abuse complaint. Cindy loves the bastard though and won't file an arrest warrant no matter how much we plead."

"That's terrible!"

"Yes, he never lays a hand on the kids and they are all seemingly well-fed and adequately taken care of so there is very little we can do."

"But Cindy was so smart and driven, I thought sure she would have a bright future!"

"Love is blind. It is also deaf, dumb, and stupid!"

"Certainly not ALL love, Tommy!"

"Well, of course not, Emily."

The waiter took this moment to arrive. He took their drink orders and said that he would return in a moment for their selections. For several long moments, the age-disparate couple studied their menus.

"Dinner is on me, obviously, Emily. Have you decided what you want?"

"The fried calamari and linguini look divine!"

"I'm leaning towards the mussels marinara and the manicotti."

The waiter returned and took their orders before departing for the kitchen.

"So, where have you been published, Tommy?"

Tommy took a little magazine out of his satchel, which he had placed on the floor, and handed it across the table.

"Why, Tommy! I'm familiar with this magazine. It is very prestigious!"

"Thank you, Emily, but prestige does not have much spending power."

"Prestige is far better, Tommy than being a damned fiction factory, like James Patterson! He doesn't even write his own books; he just puts his name on them!"

Emily read the contents page. "Harmony's Triumph" what is about, Tommy?"

"It's a novella in which a woman from the wrong side of the tracks named Harmony and her repeated failures in love."

"What's triumphant about that?"

"Well, she has an epiphany at one point and realizes what a mess she has made of her life. She ends up at the bottom, but it is hinted that she will scale the mountain again and this time make it to the top."

"I had no idea you were so deep, Tommy. Can I take this home and read it?"

"By all means!"

Tommy produced another literary magazine.

"My story in this one won the Bridesburg Merit Award."

"Oh, Tommy, that is wonderful, what does the award entail?"

"A nice plaque and seven hundred dollars in cash. The biggest prize I ever won. As I said, many of these magazines pay me in extra copies. I won't get rich selling to the artsy set. BUT I am learning a great deal about myself and my craft."

Their dinner arrived and for the next several moments the two savored their excellently prepared meals. Tommy had a hard time not staring at Emily. He noted some fine, almost imperceptible, lines in the corners of her eyes and around her mouth but they did not distract from her beauty in the least. She was still the sweet, intelligent, and alluring woman of Tommy's past.

"Where do you see yourself as a writer in ten years?"

"Well, Emily, I recently started working on a novel, a change of pace. I'd like to crash the thrillers and the police procedurals in one go."

"Yes, you are a peace officer. You must have seen your share of danger, Tommy."

"There is not too much crime here in town, I mostly chasing down petty buglers and pulling over speeders, although we did bust up meth lab, and once I cornered a miscreant trying to steal a couple of hundred pounds of building materials from the mercantile and he drew a knife or me!"

"You didn't have to shoot him did you, Tommy?"

"No, I was wearing my Kevlar vest under my uniform, there was very little damage he could do to me with his weapon, so I let him get close to me and then cold-cocked him across the jaw. He fell like a sack of wet cement."

"I'm SO glad it ended that way, Tommy. I can't picture you as a killer, even if it is in the line of duty."

"How DO you picture me, Emily?"

The older woman flushed briefly before replying, "Well, you are tall, broad, and handsome. You have grown up a great deal since you were my student. You've gotten rid of that absurd haircut as well!"

"Hey, my haircut wasn't that bad,"

"It was atrocious, Tommy! It made you look like some alien mutant."

"O.K. I cede the point to you. What else do you think of me?"

"I think you are very sweet for looking past my age and taking me out as though I was a woman closer to your own age and confirming in such a marvelous way that my years in the classroom were not wasted."

"Fair enough."

"Now, Tommy, the same question; what do you think of me?"

"I think you are wonderful, Emily, intelligent, sensitive, and very beautiful."

"Beautiful, Tommy?"

"Unquestionably!"

"But I'm almost old enough to be your mother!"

"So? Beauty has no age limit."

"Oh, Tommy, you are full of surprises."

For a long moment, the two stared into each other's eyes both read the attraction and wonder exposed there. They ate in silence for a bit, for fear of shattering the moment.

The waiter arrived to clear away their plates and hand them the dessert menu.

"I see they still serve that scrumptious wild raspberry cobbler, Tommy. Some things about this town never change."

"I'm going for the lemon meringue pie myself."

"So, have any of your stories been collected in anthologies?"

"I was in a Pushcart collection once!"

"Oh, Tommy, I have to see it."

"Unfortunately, I left it back at my apartment."

"Too, bad, what was the story?"

"Triphammer Summer, a heatwave causes a small depression-era city to erupt in violence and rage. It has a kaleidoscope view of events sort of like Rashomon."

"Now I definitely want to read that story!"

The waiter returned for only a moment before vanishing once more and returning with the desserts.

Tommy watched Emily take a bite. "Say that does look delicious, Emily. May I have a taste?"

Emily plunged her spoon into the cobbler and extended her arm across the table. Tommy leaned in and took the tip of the spoon into his own mouth.

"Wow! I can see why you like this so much."

"Can I try a bit of your pie, Tommy?"

This time the spoon journey traveled in the opposite direction.

"Very good but I'll stick to my cobbler."

The two shared a laugh and then ate with diligence and silence as they savored finishing off the climax of the meal.

When the waiter returned with the check, Tommy paid in cash and left a hefty tip.

"Police work must pay well, Tommy," observed Emily.

"I have no complaints. I also have no dependents."

"Not even a dog?"

"Well, I do have a large saltwater tank of tropical fish."

"Something unobtrusive, so as not to interfere with your work, I suppose."

"Saltwater tanks take plenty of work! My apartment won't allow furry pets, but yes, nothing worse than being in the flow of words and having Fido yapping to go for a walk. I can't turn it or and off like Lester Dent."

"Lester Dent?"

"Old-time pulp writer, he wrote those Doc Savage novels you saw in my backpack and cast aspersions on. Anyway, he had dozens of typewriters set up all around his house and he would work on one story for a bit, then move to another typewriter and work or another story and so on. He churned out nearly a million words a year that way."

"Amazing!"

"Yeah, too bad the pulps are out of business, I feel like I could have thrived in the writing arena of the 30s and 40s, been a full-time penny a word maestro."

"Perhaps both of us were born in the wrong era, Tommy."

"What's your dream era, Emily?"

"The 20s! Hobnobbing with F. Scott Fitzgerald and Hemingway in Paris. I would have made a grade A muse slash flapper!"

Tommy laughed and replied, "Well you certainly have the legs for it!"

"Tommy!"

"Hey, Emily. I wasn't blind when I was your student and I'm not blind now."

The older woman got a faraway look in her eyes and returned with, "You really think I am beautiful, Tommy? Those weren't just flattering words?"

"I've never been more sincere in my life."

Emily looked first at Tommy and then down or the table. To Tommy, her lovely face suddenly became an unreadable mask.

"Let's get some air, Emily," he said as he retrieved his satchel and placed the various magazines back inside it.

He held Emily's chair and they returned to his car. The moon was out. Tommy opened the moon roof, letting in the sweet southwestern air. He had no set destination and Emily was still in her reverie, so he drove to the overlook by the abandoned quarry. The small-town lights glistened like diamonds strewn across a sable coat.

"Penny for your thoughts, Emily." He stated at last.

"Nothing Tommy, I was just imagining the impossible."

"Such as walking on the moon sans spacesuit?"

"Nothing like that, Tommy."

The moon provided just enough illumination for him to gaze into her eyes. He saw something there that he, young as he was, had seen many times before. Mentally, he reminded himself that this could be the start of something big or else the universe would strike him with the force of a collapsing wall. Tommy was a fairly successful gambler. He leaned over and drew Emily's face towards his own lips and planted a soft, delicate, and very sincere one or hers.

"Tommy?" she said in a breathless voice.

"Emily?"

"Tommy..." He leaned in and kissed her a second time. She did not resist at all.

"Now we've stepped in it," she said as their osculation broke.

"We have, haven't we. I have no regrets. How about you?"

"I'm still thinking about it, Tommy."

Their third kiss was the best so far.

"Tommy, can we go somewhere? This place is where teenagers go to neck."

"We can go to my apartment. I can introduce you to my fish, let you read my story in the anthology."

"I suppose so, Tommy. My mother is settled for the night. But I don't want you to think that I am ordinarily the sort of woman who goes home with a man on the first date."

"I never imagined you were, Emily."

After another few kisses, Tommy put his car in gear and drove home. The silence was sweet and deep as they drove the few miles to Tommy's upscale apartment. Emily was delighted to find it attractively, if spartanly furnished. The fish tank was quite large, at least twenty gallons, and contained sea anemones and clownfish among other beautifully scaled species. In one corner of the living room was a modern-looking chair and desk, or which sat a Macintosh computer and writers reference books.