Chapter 37

With the Christmas break over, the second half of my junior year of high school began. Debbie and I walked to school mostly in silence. Usually we were excited the first day of school after being off for an extended period of time and wouldn’t stop talking. But Gina wasn’t with us. That weighed heavily on me, and I’m sure on Debbie as well. One thing Debbie did bring up was that George Papadopoulos had asked Wally to get my telephone number. She asked me if it was okay to give it to him. I told her I didn’t know and would think about it. Not that I needed to think about it. Why hadn’t I just told Debbie no? I didn’t want to date George. I was in love with Mr. Roman. But how could I really love Mr. Roman if I had cheated on him? That troubled me.

My cheating remorse reached its peak when I went to my Band class. Mr. Roman was all smiles, but I kept avoiding eye contact with him. I felt so guilty. Why had I done it? The sex with George hadn’t even been that good. I told myself that it was Mr. Roman’s fault. He should have been with me on New Years Eve. But blaming him didn’t really help.

Mr. Roman called on me a few times during class. My terse answers were, “Yes, Mr. Roman,” or “No, Mr. Roman,” or more frequently when it wasn’t a yes or no answer, “I don’t know, Mr. Roman.” No emotion. Quite unlike me. So much unlike me that my Band teacher raised an eyebrow several times or frowned and stared at me longer than necessary. Did he know I cheated? Could he see it in my face?

One time when I told Mr. Roman that I didn’t know the answer, he glowered and said rather loudly, “Julie, see me at the end of the day!” and turned to face the class. I heard the snickering from the other students. They knew I was in trouble.

I fretted the remainder of the school day. Why was Mr. Roman mad at me? I was mad at him for not taking me to his New Years Eve party. If not for that, I wouldn’t have fucked George. It wasn’t my fault. It was his.

At the end of the day, I told Debbie to tell my mother on her way home that I needed to stay after school. That a teacher wanted to talk to me. I didn’t bother to mention which one. The halls were emptying out as I trudged to the Band classroom. I opened the door without knocking.

Mr. Roman was sitting behind his desk. He looked up at me. With my bookbag slung over my shoulder, I stopped with one foot in the classroom. One hand was at my side holding my clarinet case and my other hand was still gripping the doorknob.

“You wanted to see me?” I asked.

“Yes, Julie, come in.”

I entered the classroom and the door swung closed behind me. I walked halfway to Mr. Roman’s desk and stopped.

“What’s the matter?” Mr. Roman asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what happened today in class?” He held his hands in front of him, palms up. “You weren’t you. I don’t know who you were. What’s the problem?”

Mr. Roman stared at me. As if he could see right into me. My bottom lip quivered so I bit down on it. I shifted side to side. His stare was like Wonder Woman’s lasso of truth. I crumbled under the strain and couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Mr. Roman leapt from his chair and rushed over to me. He held me in his arms.

I couldn’t be mad at Mr. Roman. I loved him. And I knew he loved me. I kept secrets from Debbie and Gina and my parents and everyone, but not from Mr. Roman. I had promised myself that wouldn’t be the case with Mr. Roman. No secrets between us. We were soulmates.

“I cheated on you,” I blurted into his chest.

Mr. Roman stiffened, but then held me tighter. “What do you mean?”

“I went to a New Years Eve party and I met a boy and we had sex.”

“Do you love the boy?”

I wrestled free from his grasp. “No, of course not.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Mr. Roman asked.

“I fucked him.”

“But you don’t love him.”

“I don’t even know him.”

“So it was just sex.”

“Just sex? I fucked him!”

Mr. Roman studied me before saying, “I told you people like me, Beats, believe that sex is liberating. There’s nothing wrong with having sex when you want it.”

“Did you have sex at your party?”

“Would it bother you if I had?”

I thought about that. Mr. Russo had sex with other women. That hadn’t bothered me, but I hadn’t been in love him. Not like I loved Mr. Roman. But Mrs. Russo loved her husband and it hadn’t bothered her. And Mr. Russo hadn’t cared that his wife had sex with other men even though he loved her. It was all so confusing.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Then that’s something we are going to have to talk about. But as to New Years Eve ... to be honest, I’m not sure. I got drunk. Shit-faced, fall-down drunk. That’s why I couldn’t take you to the party.”

“Because I’m a kid?”

“Because I wouldn’t be able to take you home. A bunch of us always get shit-faced drunk on New Years so I knew I wouldn’t be able to drive you home. I crashed there and knew you couldn’t spend all night with me. And I wasn’t going to send you home alone on the subway.”

“Oh my god, I thought you were embarrassed for your friends to see me.”

“Julie, sweet Julie, why would you think that? I can’t wait for my friends to meet you.”

I dropped my bookbag and clarinet case and flung my arms around Mr. Roman’s waist. I buried my face in his chest and cried. His arms returned to holding me and he rocked me while stroking the hair on the back of my head. We were like that for a while and then I backed away, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him down until his lips were on mine and his tongue was inside my mouth. We kissed for several minutes before Mr. Roman pulled away.

“It’s late,” he said, “you better go home.”

I gazed into his eyes. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Julie, more than you know.”

“Mr. Roman?”

“Yes?”

“The couple who taught me about sex were married and had sex with other people, but I don’t think they were Beats. They didn’t talk like you or dress like you.”

Mr. Roman chuckled. “They were probably swingers.”

“What’s that?”

“It means they enjoy sex and like having it with more than one person. So even though your friend loves her husband, she likes having sex with other men. Same for the husband with other women. I’m guessing he had sex with you, right?”

My eyes dropped and I nodded.

“And his wife didn’t mind?”

My eyes shot up. “Are you crazy? She was the one who set it up. She was even there most of the time.”

Mr. Roman cupped my cheek and gazed into my eyes. “You’re a very lucky girl to have known them. But it’s late and you need to get home.”

“I don’t want to.”

Mr. Roman leaned down and kissed my lips. “I don’t want you to go either, but you must.”

“Just a little longer ... please?”

The door squeaked.

Mr. Roman dropped his hand to his side and looked over my head. I spun around. The janitor came into the classroom rolling a wheeled metal bucket of water, using the handle of the mop in it to maneuver it. He wore denim overalls and a dirty, ragged New York Yankee baseball cap on a bald head. The stub of a cigar that was no longer lit stuck out of the corner of his mouth and bounced as he chewed on it. He stopped when he spotted us.

“Sorry,” he said, “need to clean the room.”

“Don’t worry, we were just leaving,” Mr. Roman said. He turned to me. “You go. I have to gather my stuff.”

I picked up my bookbag and clarinet case and left. I had to walk around a large trash can on wheels in the hallway. I couldn’t wait to be done with school and marry Mr. Roman. And I needed to finish the talk we had left hanging. Were we going to have sex with other people when we were married? Like Mr. and Mrs. Russo. Did that interest me or upset me? I needed to talk to Mr. Roman about it.

Life was good. Very good. Every chance I got on the weekends was spent at Mr. Roman’s apartment. We talked about everything, including our future together. We cuddled while listening to jazz or simply the sound of each other’s heart beating, and we had sex. Lots of sex. Just what my psyche needed for my insatiable appetite. I masturbated like crazy during the week, but Mr. Roman satisfied my sexual needs on the weekends. I couldn’t wait to graduate from high school, marry him, and spend every night making love. Then life would be great. Perfect.