taught, first picking up and folding the Teacher's clothes, which had been left in the front room. She removed a ginseng mahuang smoothie from the tiny fridge, strained it into a glass to remove excess pulp, then arranged the vitamins in a grid on the serving platter. The napkin she folded into a crisp triangle.
After washing the hair from the shower soap, she ran the water so it would be hot when he was ready. She removed a fresh toothbrush from the cabinet and squeezed onto it a straight worm of Aquafresh. She plucked a premarked Dixie cup from the stack beneath the sink and poured mint mouthwash to the indelible-ink line drawn precisely an inch and a half from the bottom. She rested a new razor on the towel beside the sink and wiped the excess from the nozzle of the shaving-cream can.
You have been chosen, she told herself. You have been singled out. You are special.
The door to the Teacher's bedroom creaked slightly as she pushed it, balancing his breakfast tray with her other hand. His slumbering form lay beneath the king duvet. She set the tray on the nightstand and knelt at the side of the bed. She slid her hand inside the Egyptian-cotton sheets and gripped his erect penis.
"Wake up, Teacher," she said softly. Then she repeated herself, a little louder, barely recognizing her own voice. "Wake up, Teacher."
He stirred and stretched, arms shoving up against the massive headboard. He settled back, hands laced behind his head like Huck Finn. His facial skin was youthful, even taut, stretching his lips into thin strokes. A slender man with sharp, intelligent features, he had no wrinkles at all. His closely set eyes were hypnotic, captivating, prying; when he spoke to her, she tried to watch his hands or forehead instead. Now she kept focused on the task at hand, the silky duvet rising and falling a foot and a half in front of her face.
"Now, not too firm," he cautioned, his voice low and soothing. Then, a bit more sharply, "Relax."
At once her mind went blank, her breathing smoothed, and her hand moved of its own volition, butterfly soft, doing what it somehow knew to do.
"There, now," he said. "There, now."
His hips rocked slightly on the cushioned mattress, and then he shuddered and it was done. She withdrew her hand, wiping it on the sheets. Still she avoided his eyes, but the energy coming off him was approving, and her insides went warm with relief and gratitude.
Keeping her head bowed, she said, "Good morning, Teacher."
He reached down and stroked her hair gently, forgivingly. "Please," he said, "call me TD."
Chapter ten
When Tim woke up half an hour later, Dray was on her side, leaning over him, hand near his face. He jerked, startled by her proximity, and she quickly rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom.
"What the hell was that?"
The shower flipped on. "Nothing."
Tim went in and leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching through the glass as Dray pretended to be absorbed in the lathering process. Finally she glanced up. "Look, I put my hand in front of your mouth sometimes when you're sleeping to feel you breathing." She stepped back into the stream. "So it's kind of freakish...."
"You're worried I'm gonna die in my sleep?"
Furiously lathering a knee, Dray fought an embarrassed smile from her lips. "No. Yes. I don't know."
"We have a deal, remember?"
"Die in our sleep when we're ninety. The same night."
"Right. So cut me a break until then, huh? You're overloading my pacemaker."
The shower door slid open, and a sudsy washcloth hit him in the face before he could get his hands up to block it. He pulled it off, laughing and coughing.
Dray poised her leg on the tub's edge and ran a razor up its slick length. "I wouldn't have to do it if you'd just snore like a real husband."
Dray, standing behind Tim, punched a fork into a hunk of his Eggo and mopped it through a pool of residual syrup. She had to angle her head to get the bite in and even still wound up dripping on his
After washing the hair from the shower soap, she ran the water so it would be hot when he was ready. She removed a fresh toothbrush from the cabinet and squeezed onto it a straight worm of Aquafresh. She plucked a premarked Dixie cup from the stack beneath the sink and poured mint mouthwash to the indelible-ink line drawn precisely an inch and a half from the bottom. She rested a new razor on the towel beside the sink and wiped the excess from the nozzle of the shaving-cream can.
You have been chosen, she told herself. You have been singled out. You are special.
The door to the Teacher's bedroom creaked slightly as she pushed it, balancing his breakfast tray with her other hand. His slumbering form lay beneath the king duvet. She set the tray on the nightstand and knelt at the side of the bed. She slid her hand inside the Egyptian-cotton sheets and gripped his erect penis.
"Wake up, Teacher," she said softly. Then she repeated herself, a little louder, barely recognizing her own voice. "Wake up, Teacher."
He stirred and stretched, arms shoving up against the massive headboard. He settled back, hands laced behind his head like Huck Finn. His facial skin was youthful, even taut, stretching his lips into thin strokes. A slender man with sharp, intelligent features, he had no wrinkles at all. His closely set eyes were hypnotic, captivating, prying; when he spoke to her, she tried to watch his hands or forehead instead. Now she kept focused on the task at hand, the silky duvet rising and falling a foot and a half in front of her face.
"Now, not too firm," he cautioned, his voice low and soothing. Then, a bit more sharply, "Relax."
At once her mind went blank, her breathing smoothed, and her hand moved of its own volition, butterfly soft, doing what it somehow knew to do.
"There, now," he said. "There, now."
His hips rocked slightly on the cushioned mattress, and then he shuddered and it was done. She withdrew her hand, wiping it on the sheets. Still she avoided his eyes, but the energy coming off him was approving, and her insides went warm with relief and gratitude.
Keeping her head bowed, she said, "Good morning, Teacher."
He reached down and stroked her hair gently, forgivingly. "Please," he said, "call me TD."
Chapter ten
When Tim woke up half an hour later, Dray was on her side, leaning over him, hand near his face. He jerked, startled by her proximity, and she quickly rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom.
"What the hell was that?"
The shower flipped on. "Nothing."
Tim went in and leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching through the glass as Dray pretended to be absorbed in the lathering process. Finally she glanced up. "Look, I put my hand in front of your mouth sometimes when you're sleeping to feel you breathing." She stepped back into the stream. "So it's kind of freakish...."
"You're worried I'm gonna die in my sleep?"
Furiously lathering a knee, Dray fought an embarrassed smile from her lips. "No. Yes. I don't know."
"We have a deal, remember?"
"Die in our sleep when we're ninety. The same night."
"Right. So cut me a break until then, huh? You're overloading my pacemaker."
The shower door slid open, and a sudsy washcloth hit him in the face before he could get his hands up to block it. He pulled it off, laughing and coughing.
Dray poised her leg on the tub's edge and ran a razor up its slick length. "I wouldn't have to do it if you'd just snore like a real husband."
Dray, standing behind Tim, punched a fork into a hunk of his Eggo and mopped it through a pool of residual syrup. She had to angle her head to get the bite in and even still wound up dripping on his
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