The subject was introduced to me over dinner at Clarence's place. His wife was a wonderful cook, we ate fresh asparagus from their garden and organic meat from the town's fanciest butcher.
I'd been in town a month, Clarence was pretty much the only person I knew. We'd met many years earlier at university and stayed in touch. Old buddies.
"So what are you doing with yourself when you're not writing?" He asked.
"I mean... I'm working out most days. 45 now, have to keep in shape. I do a little meditation. A little yoga. I've been hiking around here too. Its a really beautiful area."
"Lot of spare time huh?"
"I prefer to call it thinking time."
"Uh huh. I was wondering if you'd consider a little part time work."
"Work?"
"Teaching. Our son. Devon. He's 18 now. Set to study literature at Cambridge."
"Fantastic!"
"Yes but... I figure he could use a little extra tuition. Exams are next year. I'm sure the teachers are very good. In their way. But you.... well I'd take it as a personal favour if you'd work with him. You've a phd. You're a published poet. I know you could teach him a lot."
Clarence refilled my wine glass as I pondered his suggestion. I could use a little variation from writing, it was true. And like any decent guy I dont want to let down a friend.
As I was pondering, the dining room door opened. Clarence and Rachel turned, beaming, as a coltish, raven haired slender boy of 18 entered the room. "Sorry dad.... did I leave my Coleridge in here?" the boy asked.
"Come in Devon! This is the man I was telling you about" said Clarence. Evidently this was Devon. He had his mother's olive skin, and his father's strong jawline. He wore a black vest and joggers. I spotted a copy of Coleridge's collected works on the dresser next to me and picked it up.
"This must be yours?" I said. He stood opposite me. He was tall, almost my height. 5'11 maybe. He was fawnlike, with a wiry athleticism. Our eyes briefly met. They were big, doe like, hazel eyes. Innocent, but intelligent. I looked away quickly.
"Thank you....Mister...."
"This is Mr Dawson, Devon. The old friend I was telling you about," said Clarence from across the table.
"Thank you Mister Dawson."
"Its my pleasure."
Devon tried to play it cool but I could see he was a shy boy, and he blushed slightly as he left the room.
Clarence turned to me and beamed. "So what do you think?"
"I think he's a fine young man."
"Will you take him on?"
"I'm a little undecided Clarence."
"Whys that?"
Clarence and I went back a long way. We knew a lot about each other. But we didn't see each other that often and didn't know everything about each other. For example, Clarence didnt know that I was bisexual. I'd only dated women in college, but over the years I'd become more and more interested in men. Especially younger men. My marriage had collapsed after my wife had found me in bed with a 23 year old actor. She had been good enough to not announce this to the world. I had been on a few dates locally with a girl named Melanie, but as soon as I'd lain eyes on Devon I'd felt attracted to him. Accepting Clarence's offer was dangerous. The boy would surely notice me checking him out, even if he didnt wear that vest to our lessons. It could become embarrassing.
There again, I was 45. Surely i could control myself. I was old enough to be mature and professional for a friend.
"Actually, yes why not? Of course I'll tutor young Devon."
"Splendid!"
We raised our glasses in a toast.
Devon came to my place a couple of days later. I had prepared a few short lectures and a reading list for him. And prepared the long table in my dining room, so that we wouldn't have to sit too close together. But I couldn't stop thinking of that moment when our eyes had briefly met. There had been a spark in there. An electric flicker of mutual attraction. But it wouldn't do to keep pondering on it. Professionalism needed to be the order of the day.
He knocked so gently I almost didn't hear him. I opened the door and greeted him. He replied with a meek smile. The poor lad was nervous. Despite having the body of a fine young man he was still a boy really. I was relieved that he hadn't worn the vest and joggers. Instead he was dressed in his school uniform. Grey trousers, white shirt and purple and gold tie.
"I'm sorry sir, I didn't have time after school to dress properly."
"You look fine. I mean... its ok. And you don't have to call me sir, you're not in school now."
"Yes sir... I mean...Mr Dawson."
"You can call me James. Think of this as a chat between friends. Not a lesson. Its very casual."
