“Yeah, nine o’clock, right?” Mara said, looking at Jessica. Jessica nodded. “Nine o’clock.”
I returned to my office and finished packing up for the day, thinking over what Mara had said. Though I never refused myself the desire of a woman when it came to sensual passions, I hadn’t let myself get emotionally close to anyone in a very long time. But this was different. Mara wasn’t any woman; she was a student. My student. And yet I couldn’t stop thinking about her words:You have to do what you want.
And I wanted to speak with Mara.
Fuck it, I thought, I’ll go. I told myself it was only to test Mara again.
***
The Ego Trip was a bar downtown, situated close enough to the other bars that hordes of tourists, young and old, as well as local college students, could hop between them with ease. Usually, I went to Fremont Street to meet with members of the Afterglow, a drink before heading over to the club. But now, I was alone. Inside, the bar was decorated with long mirrors, flashing lights in every direction, and shiny pearl paint covering the exposed wall and ground. It was dim; vapor rose through the bodies, the smoke machine mingling with tobacco, adding to the atmosphere.
This wasn’t my crowd. It wasn’t simply that I was the only man in his forties that wasn’t wearing an expensive beaded motorcycle shirt. I was used to women in lingerie, men with their hands on leashes. I wasn’t meant to be here. I had to remind myselfwhyI had chosen to be there at that moment. Mara had invited me. I wanted to talk with her. To get to know her outside of the classroom. Again.
But this was stupid. I would find another way to speak with her. Not this.
Then through the crowd, I saw her: Mara’s round ass in tight pants, the soft glow of her lips and face as she turned towards me, the subtle dimple of her chin, her hair rippling under the flashing light, a cropped black blazer on her shoulders, a tight maroon shirt over her chest, still holding that torn book bag on her arm, empty now, relieved from the day’s books. Her mouth dragged, visibly upset, trying to hold back a wave of emotion. Then her eyes lit up when she saw me.
“Dr. Evans!”
I scowled, pretending to be annoyed that I was there. And I was annoyed. But as she drew closer, the frown drifted away. She smiled.
“I didn’t think you’d make it,” she said.
“It’s a surprise for me too,” I said.
“Well, maybe you can help me.” She patted Jessica on the shoulder.
“Help you with what?” I asked.
“Prove that I’m not the idiot child they think I am,” she muttered.
Jessica turned from her discussion with Dr. Smith and another student, and laughed. “Wow, Dr. Evans is here! Holy shit. We were talking about the Annual Lakehouse Retreat.”
“Lakehouse Retreat?” Mara asked.
Dr. Smith stuck out her hand. “Good to see another one of us out here,” she said. I shook it. I turned back to Mara.
“Thanks for the invitation,” I said.
“What’s this about this lakehouse?” she asked.
Jessica went on to explain the annual retreat, that a few of the professors, myself included, picked one to two students to join a scholarly engagement, discussing the finer topics of the humanities, over a copious amount of wine, cheese, and topped off with swimming in one of the lakes where I owned property.
“Nobody told me about this,” Mara said. She wrinkled her nose. “You didn’t tell me.”
“The details haven’t been worked out for this year,” I said, which wasn’t untrue. She stared at me intently. “I haven’t decided who I’m inviting.”
“That’s what it really is,” she said, her voice changing from disappointed to raunchy, as if she had discovered a dirty secret. “You want a beer?”
Did she really think she was going to buy me a beer? “Allow me,” I said.
I excused myself, ordering whatever local brew they had on tap, one for Mara and one for myself.
“To partnerships,” she said, lifting her glass.
If that’s what you called it. We both drank.
I observed each of their mannerisms. Dr. Smith had cornered another student, the two of them talking in hushed voices beside a statuesque mannequin. As for the rest of the group, Jessica was the centerpiece, always drawing attention to herself, be it to her style, or her stories. Some of the male students were trying to garner attention from the women, though a few snickered at Mara. As if she didn’t belong. Which of them had called her an idiot child? And as smart as she was, why couldn’t she read through it, and see that it was driven by insecurity? At least now, she didn’t seem to notice, completely absorbed in Jessica’s oration, or pretending to be. Though Mara hadn’t looked at me in a few moments, she was attached to my hip, never straying far off, even when the conversation moved. It was as if I had drawn a leash around her neck, keeping her by my side, when we weren’t even touching. She sipped her beer, halfway through it already, watching everyone from afar too, as if she felt out of place, even though these were her comrades.
