Chapter 6

It was Monday afternoon and Martin was keeping his office hours. He had been looking for Irene since morning but hadn’t seen her. Now, sitting in his office was a young woman.

Irene charged in. “Martin -- we need to...” She stopped short at seeing he had a guest. The girl was of moderate build with blue eyes and long blonde hair. She was young with a button nose and round, apple cheeks. “I’ll wait outside,” Irene said.

“See you at six, Martin,” the girl said and stood. He embraced her and kissed the top of her head. Then, she headed down the corridor.

Irene stepped in, her arms folded. “Who was that?” she asked. “She called you Martin -- not Doctor Lang.”

“She always calls me Martin.”

“I saw you kiss her.”

“So?”

“Who is she, Martin?”

“Her name is Molly.”

“Humph,” Irene snorted. “She doesn’t look like a Molly.”

“Why? What’s a Molly supposed to look like?”

“A blue-eyed brunette, a bit on the pudgy side.”

“Pushing a barrow down streets long and narrow while crying cockles and mussels alive, alive-o?”

“Don’t get smart. Is she a student here?”

“No, she is not.” he replied.

“Is she legal?”

Martin chuckled. “Yes, Irene. She turned eighteen two weeks ago.”

“Two weeks! How long have you known her?”

“A while.”

“You never mentioned her.”

“I didn’t think she had any bearing on our friendship,” he replied. He leaned back and locked his hands behind his head. “You do remember our ground rules.” Irene glowered at him and clenched her jaw. “I don’t have much of an opportunity to see her. She lives in Denver -- don’t you think she looks like a skier? She looks like those Nordic girls you see on T.V. during the Winter Olympics. And you know she’s a real blonde -- her eyebrows match her hair. She’s gorgeous, don’t you agree?”

“I thought you preferred olive-skinned brunettes,” she replied testily.

“Blonde is good, too. She’s young and all youth is beautiful.” He drew in a deep breath and sighed. “You know how rough a long-distance relationship can be. But, we keep in touch. Last time I saw her was on her sixteenth birthday. We spent a week together in Orlando.”

“You took her to Orlando?”

“Of course. She really wanted to go there.”

“Martin ... Do you love her?”

“Oh, I do,” he replied. “It’s been tough with her being so far away. But, with a little luck, all that will be changing. I’ll be seeing a lot more of her.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s applying here for her undergraduate study -- this department. Department of Arts and Sciences.”

“I suppose you’re pulling strings?”

“Oh, indeed. I’m pulling as many as I can as hard as I can. She’s here for her interview.”

“How do you think Dean Barnes would react if he knew one of his faculty was pulling strings to admit some undergraduate just so he could have an affair with her?”

“I’m sure he would blow his stack.”

“Martin ... I’m ... I’m ... appalled...”

“Molly and I have a date tonight. If you’re free -- maybe you’d like to tag along and make it a threesome.”

Irene’s jaw dropped. She turned on her heels and headed for the door. “I don’t know whether or not to report this, Martin. I am ... shocked. I never expected this from you!”

Martin started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Irene -- I’ve known Molly since she was this big.” He held his hand about three feet above the floor. “She’s my niece ... Julie’s niece to be precise, but we’ve been close ever since.”

“You son-of-a-bitch! You were stringing me along!”

“No worse than you’ve ever strung me along. Irene -- if you can’t take it -- then don’t dish it out.”

“Can’t take it, huh? You can take this!” She advanced toward him and lifted her hand to slap him. Martin caught her by the wrist and held onto it.

“Not in the face.” Irene struggled free of him. He looked in her eyes. Her jaw was trembling, her neck was reddening and a vein protruded in her forehead. “Irene -- what’s wrong? I’ve never seen you in this state.”

Tears began to well in her eyes. “I ... I just want to hurt someone!”

“If you need a punching bag, I’m happy to oblige.” He stood and faced her. “Give me a good one, right here...” He patted the sides of his abdomen. “I can take it ... just not in the face.”

Irene punched him hard above his navel. “Ummph!” he grunted, “You’re packing a wallop.”

She stood, slack-jawed and staring at him. “Oh, my God! Did I hurt you?”

“Not much.”

“Oh, Martin!” He opened his arms to her and she fell into them, shaking and sobbing.

“Irene, Irene -- calm down. Does this have something to do with your conference?”

“Uh-huh,” she wailed, nodding.

“Did your meeting with Mister Right not go according to script?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Martin reached behind his back and grabbed a facial tissue from a box. He handed it to her and she began daubing her eyes. “Oh, God, Martin. This was the worst one yet. The humiliation...” She began sobbing again. “I’m never going to another one of those conferences and I hope I never have to set foot on Weir’s campus! I’m so embarrassed. I feel like such an idiot.”

“Calm down,” he said. “We’re friends. You’ll be okay. Tell me what happened.”

“I can’t,” she blubbered.

“Let me guess. You had a misunderstanding. You thought you were in love but he had a different interpretation.”

“That’s the gist of it.”

“I’ve been there ... believe me.”

“You have?” She started to calm.

“Indeed I have. The last time I think I was in the eleventh grade.”

“I guess I’m a really slow learner.”

He held her as she dabbed at her eyes. “I have an idea,” he said. “I was going to take Molly to dinner tonight. Why don’t you come along, too? Afterward, we’ll drop her off where she’s staying...”

“Where is she staying?”

“One of the seniors is hosting her at her apartment at the Village. You know where the Village is, don’t you?”

“Yes...”

“After we drop her off, we can come back to my place. I’ll make you a bubble bath...”

“A bubble bath? It’s been years since I’ve had a bubble bath.”

“And, then we can go to bed together. We’ll just hold each other. We won’t have to do anything else -- just cuddle and you can tell me all about it ... Or you can keep it bottled up. Whichever works best for you. Does that sound like a plan?”

“Uh-huh,” she said and nodded.

“I think you left a change of clothes from the last time. We have plenty of your supplies so there’s no need to go home for a case.”

“Okay. I can’t believe you’d want me after how I treated you.”

“We’re friends, Irene -- friends forever. This will be a change of scenery for you ... a chance to relax and forget ... no other agenda. Okay?”

She sniffled. “Okay...”

“Good. Whatever it was, whatever happened -- you’ll be okay. Okay?”

“Okay...” She rested her face against he shoulder. Martin looked up and saw a student standing in the hall, looking in through the open door. He did not recognize her.

“Looks like you have a customer,” he said.

“What?” Irene glanced over her shoulder. She dabbed her eyes dry and adjusted her hair and glasses.

“Yes, Kristin,” Irene said to the girl.

“Doctor Wagner -- I came by to ask you about this paper. Your office was empty but I saw you in here. I can come back later if this is a bad time.”

“Oh, no, Kristin. This is why I’m here.” Irene glanced toward Martin and mouthed the words, “OH! MY! GOD!” She turned back to the girl. “Let’s go to my office and we can discuss your paper.”

Martin heard the eeep-eeep-eeep of the horn on Irene’s Prius. He locked his front door and sat in her passenger seat. She backed out of his driveway and headed toward the Village. “Did Kristin say anything about what she saw in my office?” Martin asked.

“Not a word. I wonder how long she had been standing there.”

“I looked up and saw her. What harm is it for a student to see their faculty as human beings with human problems?”

“But we’re not human beings. We’re the gods and goddesses of education who live in ivory towers.”

She pulled into a complex of town houses built against a hill near campus. “Do you know which building?” she asked.

“10B21,” he replied. “That means, I think, building ten, B-wing, second-floor, apartment 1.” He craned his neck to regard the buildings. “There’s number ten.”

Irene parked in a lot near the building. She accompanied Martin to the apartment and rapped on the door. Molly answered, holding a flute. “Hi, Martin,” she said to her uncle.

“Molly -- this is Doctor Irene Wagner ... a friend.”

“Hello, Doctor Wagner.”

“Pleased to meet you, Molly. Call me Irene.” She regarded Molly’s instrument. “Are you applying to the School of Music?”

“Yes. Tomorrow is my audition. I was practicing it.”

“May we hear it?” Irene asked.

Molly brought the instrument to her lips and played through her piece. “Very nice,” Martin said when she finished it.

“Molly,” Irene said, “let me give you some advice. Try playing it a little slower, and put some emotion into it. It’s obvious you found all the notes. Let’s see if you can find the music.”

Molly nodded and played through the piece again. “Bravo,” Irene said, clapping. “Play like that tomorrow and they’re sure to accept you.”

“Are we ready to go?” Martin asked.

“Let my put my flute away,” Molly replied. She swabbed out the instrument and set it in its case. Then she followed Martin and Irene to the car.

“This is Irene’s car,” Martin said. “She’s driving -- she doesn’t like to ride in my SAAB.”

“Cool car,” Molly remarked as she sat in the back seat.

Irene looked at her in the rear-view mirror. “Molly,” she said, “at one time I wanted to be a music major. My instrument was piano. I worked so hard on my audition piece. I got there and I discovered I was up against kids who could sight-read stuff that was more difficult than what I had practiced for weeks. I was determined to show off my technical skill, so I played it as fast as I could. Of course, I was turned down, but one of the judges approached me and gave me the same advice I gave you.”

“Thank you,” Molly replied. “I’ll follow your advice.”

“Where are we going for dinner?” Irene asked.

“You’re driving,” Martin said. “It’s your pick and my treat. We should stay away from The Arlington, though.

Irene headed toward Martin’s house after dropping Molly at the apartment. “Molly is a delightful girl,” she said. “You must be proud of her.”

“I am. I love her very much. She’s the only family I have, now.”

“Why would she come here for music?” Irene asked. “The program at State is much better.”

“John Barnes wants to expand Arts and Sciences into the fine arts as well. Since they built new facilities for Engineering, the school wants to use some of the older buildings for a Fine Arts department. It’s a small department but Barnes hired a couple of good profs. The school is offering, how should we say, incentives for students to apply.”

“Let’s hope State never starts a school of engineering,” she remarked.

She pulled into the drive of Martin’s house. He stepped out and opened the door to his garage and Irene eased her car inside. She switched it off, stepped outside and he rolled shut the door. Martin unlocked the front door and she stepped in carrying her purse. “So, what did you do over the weekend?” she asked.

He pointed to a manuscript box on the dining table. “I finished proofreading my galleys.”

“Do you know what I was doing?”

“What?”

“Sitting at home crying my eyes out. I came home early from that stupid conference. I almost called you, Martin. I almost came over.”

“I wish you had. Why didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t ready to face the humiliation. I still feel like such an idiot.”

“I’m all ears when you’re ready to tell me about it.”

“I don’t know when that will be.” She sat on his sofa.

“I’m glad to have you back, Irene. You’ve become a fixture here and the place feels wrong without you. Ever since you threw up on my guestroom bed this place hasn’t been the same.” He headed for his bottle collection. “Care for a drink?”

“Yes, please. A stiff one if you don’t mind.”

“Coming up. Any preferences?”

“Anything so long as it’s strong.”

“How about a stiff brandy?” He handed her a snifter.

“Fine.” She sipped from it and pressed her hand against her sternum.

“Strong enough for you, honey?”

She nodded. “Smooth ... Oh, God, Martin. Why do I have to have such awful luck when it comes to love? God -- every time I think I’m in love my common sense seems to fly out the window. I regress into some infatuated thirteen-year-old.”

“I know what you mean,” he replied. “I had the worst luck in relationships. One after another in a long string of failures. By the time I graduated with my B.S. I had sworn off trying to find a mate.”

“Had you slept with any of them?”

“Not a one,” Martin replied. “I graduated a virgin.”

“You poor thing.”

“It was not for lack of trying, believe me.”

“How did you meet Julie?” she asked.

“That was luck ... pure, dumb luck. I was in grad school, pursuing my degree in Botany. There wasn’t any research money so I received a teaching assistantship. I taught freshman biology lab. I regarded it as a drudge. I was a disaster as an instructor my first semester, and my student reviews came back so negative I almost lost my TA.”

“You weren’t interested in teaching?”

“Not at the time, and especially not freshmen. They all looked like hairy high school to me.”

“I love teaching freshmen,” she replied.

“Second semester I did better, mainly because my advisor had put the fear of God and Satan, too into me. I had to keep office hours. One day, one of my students came in for help.”

“Julie?”

“Exactly. I worked with her all afternoon. She was having trouble grasping some rather basic tenets.”

“What, was she learning disabled?”

“No. She had a mental block we needed to break through. Finally the light bulb came on and she got it.”

“And, you fell in love with her.”

“Of course not. The school didn’t have any rules against undergrads dating grad students, but they did have a strict rule against instructors dating students. At the end of the term, my reviews were much better, including one glowing one.”

“You connected with her,” she remarked.

“The experience opened my eyes to the thrill of teaching. With everything else, I still teach sophomore organic chemistry, in addition to graduate-level courses.”

“How did you and Julie become an item?” she asked.

“My second year in grad school -- I was sitting in the student union between classes. She was passing through and recognized me. We talked for a while -- she told me how much I had helped her -- not only had I broken down one stumbling block for her, I had given her a new way of thinking about problems. We started dating and fell in love. We were married after I got my first PhD.”

“What was she like?” Irene asked.

“She was petite with naturally curly light brown hair she wore long so it framed her face like a mane. She had dark gray eyes and a little pattern of freckles on her nose. Here...” He removed an album from a cabinet. “I have some photographs. I haven’t looked at these since ... the accident.”

“Are you sure it’s wise to look at them?”

“I don’t know. I tossed a lot of memorabilia when I moved here. I couldn’t bear to throw this away, but I couldn’t bear to open it, either.” He opened the album. “Here she is. This was taken right before we got married.”

“She’s not at all what I envisioned,” Irene remarked. “She’s ... tiny.”

“She was a little thing -- not tall and willowy like you are.” He flipped pages. “We were married in a Jewish ceremony ... her family is Reformed and tolerant of her marrying outside her religion.” He flipped another page. “Julie’s family had some money. In lieu of a big, overblown wedding we elected for a honeymoon in the Bahamas.” He flipped to another photograph of the two of them in bathing suits.

“My goodness,” Irene said. “I remember you saying you liked flat-chested women. She’s flatter than me!”

“Yes -- she had to buy underwear in the girls’ department. She wore a size 30 double-A I think. I told you she was built like a twelve-year-old boy.”

“I can resonate with that. I wear a 34-A and it’s a nightmare finding that size.” Irene looked at more photographs. “Look at you -- how slim you were then ... not that you’re fat now, but...”

“I know -- middle-age spread.”

“She’s cute, Martin.”

“Cute but not what you’d call beautiful,” he replied, “Pretty in her own way. You should’ve seen her when she was pregnant with Jenny. By full term she looked like one of those roly-poly dolls that you push over and they spring right back up again. I was afraid she’d need a C-section but she delivered her the natural way.”

“This is Jenny?”

“Yes, at age five.”

“Julie got a B.S. in biology?” Irene asked.

“Yes, she did.”

“Did she do anything with her degree?”

“No. I went on for my second PhD in chem and she supported us. She got a job as a bank teller and worked her way up to assistant branch manager. I was proud of her.”