Like so many things, teaching at the Fantasia School for Foreign Students had seemed like a good idea at the time.
But New York – as I quickly discovered – is an expensive city and, even with my tiny attic apartment, the meagre salary that I was being paid was hardly sufficient to cover my costs let alone support any form of reasonable life-style. Being as lazy as I am, it went against my better judgement but there seemed only one answer – private tuition.
I was quite proud of my advertisement when I saw it in the classified section of one of the free supermarket magazines. It was nestled between “Drain Cleaning A Speciality” and “Exercise Equipment For The Elderly” – English Teacher Requires Foreign Students. Reasonable Rates.
Short and to the point, I thought. I had already worked out a scale of charges and sat back waiting for the telephone to ring.
The first few callers were standard enough: A young Spanish lad in his twenties, a Brazilian woman and a tall, beauty from West Africa. I had seen them all at my small apartment and had signed them all up quite effortlessly. I was just waiting for my next prospective student to call and thinking how well everything was going when there was a knock on the door.
The Asian woman standing in front of me introduced herself as Mia Cheng. Her English seemed virtually perfect but, to be honest, I wasn’t really paying much attention. My eyes feasted on the beauty before me; the long, jet-black hair framed a pretty oval shaped face and the tight red dress she wore did little to conceal a lithe, sensual body. The skirt of the dress was short – above her knees – and I couldn’t stop my eyes wandering downwards to admire her long, slender legs.
Quickly attempting to regain my composure, I opened the door wider to allow her access to my modest apartment. I was just about to close the door behind her when a small, much older Asian man trotted up behind her and followed her inside.
“Mr. Cheng.” The little man stated simply and extended his hand.
I looked down at the proffered limb, confused, as if the man were offering me a dead fish. And then things began to clarify in my mind. I smiled and shook the fish.
“Mia’s father!” It was a statement rather than a question. I thought I had all the answers.
“My husband.” Mia Cheng corrected me in an off-hand manner.
My confusion returned for a moment but was quickly replaced by bitter disappointment. I’ve always thought that I acted most professionally with my students – well, almost always, if you don’t count the pretty Russian ballet dancer from last year! – But Mia Cheng had awoken a stirring in my loins that reminded me how long it had been since I’d last got laid!
I coughed in the most professional way I knew.
“So. What can I do for you?”
“You teach wife English.” Mr. Cheng stated.
I turned towards the small man. It was tough to tear my eyes away from his wife, but I had to try.
“It sounds like Mia - er.. Mrs Cheng – already speaks very good English.” I replied.
“No! Books, poems. Teach literature, yes?”
My heart sank.
“I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong person. I teach language not literature.”
“She speak good English. Like me. She want books. Poems!”
Actually, from what I had heard, Mia Cheng’s spoken English was much better than her husband’s. He seemed to have a dislike of the definite article to the point of omitting it from virtually every sentence.
Before I could reassert my previous point, Mr. Cheng stated in on me again. He seemed to be getting quite angry.
“You teach wife. She good learner. Books. Poems. Shakespear! You teach her, she make you happy! Make you happy now!
Cheng’s last few words were eventually filtering through to my brain but didn’t seem to fit in with the context of the conversation so far.
“I’m sorry,” I started, “I don’t quite follow. Make me happy?”
“Teachers not too smart!” Cheng laughed.
“No, I’m one of the stupid ones.”
“It’s quite simple.” I turned again as Mia Cheng spoke. Facing her was much more pleasant than facing the wrath of her husband.
