Absolute Beginners (Absolute #1) (3 page)

“I’ll get you a beer,” he said. “Any preference?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t tell one beer from the other to save my life. Looking around the place, I was surprised to see that there were a lot of women here, as he had promised. I knew that Matt dated a lot of different girls but none exclusively, and it seemed he liked it that way. I saw him embrace several women on his way back to where I was sitting, and I had to admit that I felt a little jealous of him. My stepbrother was well-liked by everyone and had a way with the opposite sex that I had never possessed.

“Here you go,” he said, handing me a bottle. “See anything you like?”

He motioned around the crowded bar. I shrugged and started picking at the label, wondering how long I’d have to stay to fulfill my obligation to Matt.

“What about her?” he asked, nodding in the direction of a woman with very large breasts and a very short skirt.

Uh, no
.

“Just kidding,” he said with a grin. “I know her, and she’s
definitely
not boring—if you know what I mean.”

“I hope you used protection,” I muttered. “You can’t be too careful.”

Matt gave me a pointed look.

“Yes, Stephen, sometimes you
can
be too careful.”

I didn’t ask him what he meant. A rock song came on and I heard loud cheering in the back of the place. Both Matt and I turned in our seats to see what was going on, and I almost fell off my chair at what I saw. Ms. Wilde was dancing on a table with two other girls, and they were surrounded by a huge group of men, who were all looking up at them and catcalling.

Tonight, she was wearing a dress I hadn’t seen before: a red strapless contraption that I had no idea how it was being held up and knee-high leather boots. Her hair was in a high ponytail, and she wore red lipstick and the same black smudgy stuff around her eyes as she had in class.

“Holy shit, that redhead is hot!” Matt exclaimed next to me, letting out a low whistle. He was referring to Ms. Wilde’s friend, a tall, curvy girl with long, red hair. The third girl was short with dark skin and jet-black hair. The three had captured the attention of every man in the place with their dance routine on the table. I had the sudden urge to leave the bar before she noticed me. I didn’t want to see her—although I had to admit that she looked a lot better tonight than she usually did in class.

My jaw slackened when the three women started doing shots off each other, which made the crowd of men go wild.

“Err, are they allowed to do that?” I asked Matt.

“Are you kidding me?” he asked with his eyes fixed on the redhead. “Those men are going to come back here every night for a month, hoping for a repeat performance. I should put those girls on my payroll. I haven’t seen them in here before. I wonder who they are.”

“That’s Ms. Wilde,” I said, and instantly regretted it.

“The one in the red dress?” he asked incredulously. “Are you serious?”

I nodded.

“
She’s
the annoying one who isn’t your type? You are
so
full of shit, bro! You need to tap that, and then introduce me to her friend.”

I didn’t feel the need to “tap” anything and got up to leave.

“Where are you going? The game hasn’t even started yet,” he complained, pulling me back into my seat. “One beer, Stephen, you promised.”

“Fine,” I agreed, ducking my head. “I’ll finish the one I have and then I’m going home. I have things to attend to.”

“You can jack off later.” He laughed. “Your dear Ms. Wilde is providing you with a great image,” he added, motioning in her direction.

I looked over to where Ms. Wilde was busy licking salt off the redhead’s neck before she downed a shot and sucked on the lemon wedge that the other girl held between her lips. I felt a stirring in my nether regions and looked away, feeling disgusted with myself.

She’s ten years younger than you and, more important, your student. Plus, she annoys you like crazy, remember?

I turned my attention to the screen and, thankfully, the noise from the back died down when the game came on. After finishing my beer I told Matt that I was leaving, but made plans with him to have lunch the following day. I looked around for Ms. Wilde but it seemed that she and her friends must have left when the game started. As I walked outside, I drew a deep breath, thankful that the night was over.

“Son of a bitch!”

What the—

I looked in the direction of the voice, and who else could it be but Ms. Wilde, rifling through her purse, cursing loudly. She pulled out a cigarette, lit up, and inhaled deeply.

“Fucking hell,” she groaned, closing her eyes as she exhaled the smoke into the night air.

She has a foul mouth
and
she’s a smoker. Wonderful. The “things I don’t like about Ms. Wilde” list keeps getting longer and longer. Before the semester is through, it’ll look like Kerouac’s
On the Road
scroll
.

For a second I thought I might be able to slip past her undetected, but she opened her eyes again and broke into a smile when she saw me.

“Stephen,” she said, flashing me her lopsided grin. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s Professor Worthington,” I said automatically.

“We’re not in school now,” she countered, taking a drag.

I couldn’t stop myself from staring at her insanely red lips as they wrapped around the cigarette. I decided not to say anything else about my name.

“It’s my brother’s bar. I mean, my stepbrother.”

“Well, what is he?” she asked, clearly amused. “Your brother or your stepbrother?”

“I don’t know.” Our parents had been married for almost twenty years and I could hardly remember a time before Matt. When was it appropriate to leave out the “step” part?

“Huh.”

This conversation was going nowhere.

“I never pegged you for the sports type,” she said, looking me up and down while taking another drag.

“I’m not, and I’m leaving. Good night, Ms. Wilde,” I said curtly, and started walking toward my car.

“Wait. I don’t have enough money for a cab and my friends already left in the other direction. Can I have a ride?”

I didn’t want her in my car. It wouldn’t be appropriate at all.

“Hey, never mind,” she said before I could answer. “I’ll just see you in class on Friday.”

When I turned around, she was already walking away.

Is she going to walk home? Alone? Wearing that dress?

“Ms. Wilde,” I called after her. She turned and looked curiously at me. “Come on,” I said, motioning her over to my car. She smiled brightly and walked back toward me. I couldn’t help but notice the way her hips moved and the smallness of her waist. Her ponytail swayed from side to side with each step she took, and I decided that I preferred this hairstyle to the others she had worn to class. She got in the car and I immediately noticed that she was still smoking.

“Would you mind not doing that in my car?” I asked, pointing to her cigarette.

She threw it out the door and put on her seatbelt. Rifling through her bag, she fished out a pack of mints, popping one into her mouth.

“Where do you live?” I asked as we pulled out of the parking lot.

She gave me the address in a neighborhood where I knew there was a lot of off-campus housing.

“So, Stephen,” she said, turning to me. “Do you do this sort of thing a lot?”

“What sort of thing?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the road.

“Rescuing damsels in distress,” she joked. “No, hanging out in bars on a school night.”

“Technically, it’s not a school night for me, and no, I don’t do it a lot. It wasn’t really my scene back there.”

“What
is
your scene, then?”

I shrugged. Most nights I spent at home with a cup of tea and a book. Sometimes I would go see a movie if anything good was playing, or go to my parents’ for dinner. That was pretty much the extent of my social life, except for the few times that Matt dragged me out with him. Naturally, I didn’t tell any of that to Ms. Wilde and kept driving. I was anxious to get her home as soon as possible and be rid of her. I didn’t want her to know my private life. In class, I knew what to do, what to say. I always had a good answer to the questions I was asked. I was the Professor: respected and even feared at times. Here, in my car, outside the classroom, I felt like the class nerd, roped into giving a ride to the prettiest girl in school even though she’d never give him the time of day.

I glanced in her direction. She really was pretty tonight. The pale skin on her bare arms looked so soft and smooth, and the dress clung to her, showing off her figure.

“Why didn’t you bring a jacket?” I asked with a frown, returning my attention to the road.

“I forgot,” she said. “That was a fun class today, huh?”

“Fun” isn’t exactly how I’d put it. Frustrating? Yes. Irritating? Definitely. Fun? No
.

I gave her a grunt of acknowledgment but didn’t say anything else.

“Well, I sure had fun,” she said, and let out a small laugh. “I can’t believe that some people would actually have something against the author.”

“It’s not the first time that’s happened,” I said. “Ellis received a number of death threats after writing
American Psycho
.”

“Yeah, I know. I was thinking I might do my thesis on New York writers,” she said conversationally.

I just nodded and sighed with relief when we turned onto her street.

“Well, good night,” I said, staring straight ahead.

Get out of the car, get out of the car, get out of the car
.

“Listen, Stephen, it’s still pretty early. Would you like to come up for some coffee or a drink?”

My heart stuttered in my chest. Why would she want to have coffee with me?

No. No, no, no. Definitely not
.

“Yes,” I gulped.

What the hell am I doing?

Ms. Wilde smiled as she exited the car, and I found myself following her up the stairs to her apartment, as though my legs suddenly worked independently from the rest of me.

What am I doing? I should
not
be doing this
.

“Come on in,” she said, opening the door.

I was met by a sweet smell that seemed to permeate the place. Not unpleasant, but definitely exotic.

What is that? Flowers?

I looked around as I entered, instantly horrified. Her place was a complete mess. It was small with just three rooms, as far as I could see: a tiny kitchen, a bathroom, and a large room that doubled as a bedroom and a living room. I stared at her bed and wondered what on earth she’d been thinking when she decorated it. The thing looked like it came out of a pornographic version of
One Thousand and One Nights
, complete with a deep purple bedspread and huge pillows in gold, pink, and purple hues. It even had a canopy. At the foot of the bed there was a large wooden chest with exotic-looking candle lamps in the same color scheme and a holder for incense sticks.

Ah, that explains the smell
.

I turned to look at her, and she was clearly waiting for me to say something about the monstrosity.

“Your bed is very, uh, interesting,” I offered, which was the nicest thing I could say about it.

“Thank you.” She smiled. “I know it’s a little over the top, but I like to have a nice place to sleep.” She lit the candles in the lamps and looked at me again. “And to do other things that don’t involve sleep,” she added.

I blinked a few times, trying to figure out if she realized the innuendo of her statement. She looked perfectly at ease, still lighting those candles everywhere, as though this was a perfectly normal conversation.

“Would you like a drink, Stephen?” she asked, blowing out the match.

I felt perplexed, again. I had never been in a situation like this before. “T—that’s why I’m here,” I stuttered. “You offered me one.”

“So I did. Wine? Beer? Coffee? Tea?” She threw the options at me.

“What are
you
having?” I finally asked.

“You,” she said with a smile.

What did she say? Women don’t say things like that in real life. I must have misheard her
.

“And some wine, I think,” she added, walking into the kitchen.

I looked around for the hidden cameras, feeling like I was on an episode of
To Catch a Predator
—only I wasn’t the predatory one in this situation. I found no cameras, only clutter. Everywhere.

How can she live like this?

The neat freak in me was on the verge of a mild panic attack. The girl clearly lacked the ability to pick up after herself. Everywhere I looked I saw disorder: books haphazardly stacked on every surface, articles of clothing hanging over chairs, and a small desk covered in papers and still more books. The place wasn’t dirty, exactly, just disorganized, and I really didn’t like it. Everything seemed a little worn except her laptop and other electronic devices, which looked brand-new. She came out of the kitchen and handed me a glass of red wine, and I noticed that the glass she was holding didn’t match mine.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she placed her drink on the nightstand and started to remove her boots. I took a sip of wine and to my great surprise found it to be delicious.

“I helped make that, you know,” she said, pulling off a boot.

“Make what?”

“The wine.”

“Oh,” I said, not quite sure how to respond. “Up in Napa?”

“South of France, four years ago,” she said, removing the other boot. “I worked in a winery the summer after I graduated from high school.”

Her response was completely unexpected, like most things about her. It was unsettling.

“Why?” I asked.

“Why not?”

This was, without a doubt, the strangest conversation of my life. I took another sip of wine, silently praying that Ms. Wilde hadn’t had her feet in the grapes as was sometimes shown on film. I glanced at her naked feet and decided maybe that wouldn’t be so bad after all. They were small and delicate and looked well-groomed.

She gets pedicures but puts on her makeup with a spatula? It makes no sense
.