Chapter 9: Somewhere Out There?

About ten years after high school, I was on a book tour that took me back to my old home town. Coincidentally, there was a reunion being held, and I told my agent to clear my signing schedule so that I could drop in for the opening night mixer.

The gym smelled as badly as it always had, a mix of old sweat, dirty sneakers, and something else that we always said was a body under the floorboards—some poor freshman who had never been able to climb the rope. I picked up a badge at the reception desk, and pasted on the obligatory 'Hello, My name is... ' sticker, then got a beer at the bar, and wandered around to see who else had decided to throw themselves to the mercies of those long ago 'freaks and geeks'. The crowd was somewhat sparse, but I did recognize a few of my old classmates, and shared a beer with them as we swapped lies and old war stories.

Inevitably, the subject of old teachers came up, and of course that meant a discussion of Mrs. Ball's wondrous attributes. I grew a little quiet during this part of the discussion, trying to avoid drawing any untoward attention to myself. As the conversation got a little cruder, I felt a hand on my arm, and turned to see Debbie Wilson from all those years ago. She had been the only student who suspected that something might be going on between me and Mrs. Ball. Although I had denied it at the time, I was never sure that Debbie believed me, and I was always careful to make sure that Mrs. Ball and I were never in close proximity when Debbie was around.

After saying hello, and congratulating me on my success, Debbie moved right to the heart of the reason why she was standing in front of me. "You were looking for her, weren't you? You were hoping to see her again."

I kept my face devoid of expression as I replied. "I'm not sure I know who you're talking about."

"Yes you do—Mrs. Ball. And don't deny it. I could never prove it back then, but I always suspected there was something going on between you two. And I was right, wasn't I? You and her—you were having an affair, or something, weren't you?"

I steered Debbie over to a quieter corner, and lowered my voice, hoping that she would speak in somewhat quieter tones. I was fairly sure that there had been enough background noise to cover her initial outburst, but I really didn't want anyone else to hear this discussion.

"I suppose you won't let this go until I say something, eh? After all, it seems you've hung onto it this long."

"I knew it! You were sleeping with her."

I looked at her somewhat sternly, and then realized that she really wasn't going to let it go, and that I needed to put this to rest. I sighed, and said, "Yes. We had a very brief affair. It only lasted for a couple of weeks, and then..."

"That's right. You moved away in the middle of term. I had forgotten about that." She paused and a look of something... astonishment? came over her face. "You don't know ... you weren't here when it happened." Her mouth gaped open for a moment, and a strange feeling started to put pressure on my chest.

"I don't know what? What happened? What are you talking about?"

"I ... I'm sorry. I shouldn't be the one to tell you this ... there was a ... I guess you'd call it a scandal, after you moved, just at the end of term." I waited patiently for her to continue, but it took her a couple of moments to gather her wits before she could go on.

"About a week or two after you left, we noticed that Mrs. Ball seemed to be acting a little strangely. She was always quite focused when she was teaching, and she seemed to be losing her concentration. She would stumble when she was talking, and forget what she was trying to talk to us about. One day she even ended class early and nearly ran out of the room. It looked like she wasn't feeling well. The girls thought she might have been on her period, and we didn't think too much about it.

"Then a few days later, one of the girls saw her in the washroom fixing her makeup, and she said that it was obvious that Mrs. Ball had been crying. I got a few more pieces of the story a couple of days later. One of the girls in my math class worked as a volunteer in the office, and she told me she had overheard a discussion between Mrs. Ball and one of the Vice-Principals. Apparently, Mrs. Ball was pregnant, but her husband was divorcing her, and it was her fault. I didn't know what it all meant at the time. Mrs. Ball only stayed at school until the end of the semester, and then no one ever saw her after that."

Now it was my turn for my mouth to gape open. I had never known any of this. Our time together had always been idyllic. Sex with her had never been less than amazing as she taught me how to love a woman, and I showed her how apt a pupil I was, and how much knowledge I had gleaned from my own research into the topic. We never failed to bring each other to wild, screaming orgasms, and had typically needed a shower afterward to cleanse the sweat and sexual fluids from our bodies. I had loved her wondrous curves from the moment I had first seen them, and her flame-red hair had never ceased to be a distraction whenever I saw it shimmering in the sunlight. And now, she was not only gone from my life, but she might also have a piece of me with her.

Debbie had little else to say, as the information she had was little more than a few threads at best. She seemed to have a self-satisfied look on her face, and I imagined that, for her, being able to prove her decade-old hypothesis, and confirm her suspicions, was all that really mattered.

I made my excuses and fled the gym, suddenly finding myself unable to breathe. In my hotel room that night I paced the floor for hours, drinking heavily, trying to come to grips with what might be the reality that somewhere out there was a child of mine, being raised by the woman who was the first serious relationship of my life.

When I got back home, I hired a firm of private investigators, and set them the task of finding her, and the child. While they were able to find where she had gone on her first move, she had since moved several times and the trail quickly reached a dead end. No one could tell me whether she was still in the country, or still alive, and no proof of a child was ever found.

I spent my days looking closely at every red-headed child I saw, wondering if those might be my ears, or my nose, or my eyes. More than one cautious mother gave me strange looks, and pulled their child a little closer for protection. I wrote new books at a furious rate, even titling one of them 'The Princess of Fire', hoping that maybe my fame would find Mrs. Ball, and maybe ... maybe, she would reach out to me. If she could at least let me know that she was all right, and that my child was also all right, then perhaps I would be able to sleep peacefully again.

Another eleven years went by, faster than I would have believed. My writing had continued, sometimes in a seeming flood of nervous energy. In truth, it was because I had little else in my life. After failing to find Mrs. Ball, or even having any indication of her existence, I concluded that she must have changed her name, and arranged her affairs to make her impossible to find. In this day of the Internet, and social media, I would have thought it difficult to do, but apparently she had succeeded.

I became somewhat of a hermit, eschewing relationships in favour of long hours in front of a succession of keyboards and software packages, grinding out the words that formed in my brain. Whenever I wrote an erotic scene, I had an image of her in my mind. When I wrote dialogue between two lovers, I thought of the discussions we used to have, and the way the two main characters in 'The Princess of Fire' had interacted. Regardless of how much I tried to put her behind me even time did little more than dim the memories; they never went away.

The one calming influence in my life was a dog that I acquired quite by accident. She was an Irish Setter; even in my choice of pets I leaned toward redheads, and of course, I called her 'Princess'. Going for long walks with her relaxed me, and she seemed to enjoy my company. At home, she was always in the same room as me, and seemed to know when I was deep in the development of a plot. It was only when the prickly details had been ironed out and the demons slain that she would appear at my knee with her leash in her mouth. Then we would walk for an hour to clear my head and let me think about the next scene or the next chapter.

I started taking her on book tours with me, and she even appeared on a couple of interview shows, laying at my feet while I answered the same old questions about my latest bestseller, what my next book would be about, and where I got my ideas. Interestingly, the female interviewers seemed to love her, and they often fawned over her during the interview. More than once I had a beautiful girl on her knees before me as she petted my dog. I occasionally wondered what she would have done if I had spread my legs and looked at her expectantly. I had never actually done it, but it was another one of those memory triggers that took me back so many years in an instant.

On a dreary Tuesday I found myself in New York City, prepared to do a book signing at the Strand Book Store, one of the oldest independent stores that still survived. I had taken Princess for a walk along Broadway before I was due at the store, and we were enjoying the slight chill in the air, if not the lack of sunshine. In truth, it was good weather for a walk in a busy city, as the dreariness kept the crowds down, and the slight chill was just enough to keep us from getting overheated by the pace.

About a block from the store we were waiting at a traffic light when I looked across the street and saw a swirl of red hair against a dark coat. The colour of the hair, its length, and the way it covered the owner's coat set off a flash in my brain. I nearly yelled across the street, and even Princess sensed that something was amiss as I felt her put tension on her leash. The traffic was too busy for me to try to run after the woman I had seen, and the crowds on the sidewalk soon swallowed her up.

When the light changed I raced through the crosswalk, bumping into people and getting sworn at by several of them. I pushed along the sidewalk, but saw no sign of her, finally convincing myself that the woman I had seen was too young, and therefore couldn't have been my long-lost teacher and lover. Dejected, my good mood gone, I steered Princess in the direction of the book store, which turned out to only be another block away.

The store had set me up at a table down in one corner, at the end of a jumble of shelves. It obviously looked like they weren't expecting too many people to show up for the autograph session. The route to the table would only permit a single-person wide lineup, and there were no signs indicating how to get to where I was. This particular store was well known for the surliness of its staff, so I supposed that I couldn't expect anything better.

An hour went by, during which I had signed no more than twelve copies of my book. I was also beginning to wonder who had the worst attitude—the staff in the store, or the customers who sought me out in my little alcove. My back was starting to ache from the chair they had given me, and I was thinking about taking Princess for a walk to escape the confined boredom of the store.

Just as a book dropped onto the table in front of me, I heard Princess give a little snort and lift her head from where it had been draped over her paws. I turned my head to see what she was reacting to as I automatically asked, "Who should I make it out to?" so I didn't see who was standing in front of me.

I heard a giggle, followed by, "Would you make it out to 'The Princess of Fire'?"

Hearing those words nearly made my heart stop. My head whipped around, and I automatically started to say, "No, I can't..." when my jaw dropped open and the words stuck in my throat.

Standing before me was Mrs. Ball. But it wasn't her. It was the woman I had seen on the street, which explained Princess's reaction. But she was Mrs. Ball ... Mrs. Ball of my memories. Mrs. Ball from high school. Mrs. Ball who had taught me so much.

All those thoughts went through me as I stared at this beautiful young woman, my open mouth making guttural noises, my mind refusing to comprehend what I was seeing. She giggled again, and I finally focused on her face—the same straight nose dusted by freckles, deep green eyes and a wide smile surrounded by full, soft, kissable lips.

I was still incapable of coherent speech when she giggled again and said, "Maybe I should introduce myself. I'm Penelope Backman." She stuck out a hand, and with a huge grin, said, "You might like my full name: it's Penelope Elizabeth Fire Backman".

A bolt of lightning went through my chest when I heard her full name. 'Elizabeth' was Mrs. Ball's first name. I had seldom used it because I always called her 'Princess'.

I finally found enough of my voice to be able to croak out, "Your mother ... she's Elizabeth?"

"Yes, she is." She paused, nibbling on her lower lip in a gesture I knew so well. "And ... and I think you're my father."

There it was, out in the open. All the years I had spent trying to find Mrs. Ball, wondering about the possible child that Debbie Wilson had told me about. Here she was. She was standing in front of me, and I was twenty years younger, seeing Mrs. Ball for the first time. I stood up and took her hand in both of mine, gently holding it, feeling its warmth and the silken feel of her skin. I locked eyes with her, and just stared for a long moment, trying to connect with her, not knowing if I should hug her, but wanting desperately to hold her in my arms and through her, connect to her mother once again.

"Your mother..." I started again, but the emotion of the moment overwhelmed me and I couldn't finish the question.

"She's a few blocks away, at our hotel. We came to the city for a little getaway, and to do some serious shopping. I gave her a spa session as a present. She doesn't know I snuck out."

"How ... how... ?" I was still unable to articulate a coherent sentence. My mouth and my brain would simply not connect long enough. Fortunately, she filled the gap.

"How did I find you? That part wasn't too hard, since you're somewhat famous. A little searching on-line took me to the web site your publisher runs for you, and from that I found the dates for your book signing. I had to do a little work on Mom to get her to agree to this trip, but even that didn't take too much finagling."