Bayview Heights Trilogy (16 page)

They both turned to Seth.

“I think Mitch is right.”

Fighting anger and hurt, she said, “I can’t
believe this.”

“I’m sorry if it upsets you. But I’m going
ahead with our plan. We’ll address the issue with the faculty on
Monday and then make a public announcement Tuesday to the student
body.”

Cassie stared at him openmouthed. “You had it
all planned.”

Mitch started to speak, but Seth cut him off
again. “I’m principal of this school, Cassie. I make the
decisions.”

“Not all by yourself, apparently.” Staring at
Mitch, she remembered the night in her living room when she begged
him not to approach Seth. She turned away, her heart pumping fast.
Damn him.

“Maybe you should talk to Johnny about this
before it hits,” Seth suggested. “He might take it better from
you.”

Cassie said nothing.

“Cass?”

“I’ll think about it.” Her shoulders stiff,
she angled her chin and faced Seth squarely. “Are we through here?
I’d like to leave.”

“Yes.” He looked at Mitch. “I want you to
stay, though.”

“Fine.”

Cassie stood. Woodenly, she made her way to
the door, emotions swirling inside her like a summer storm.

From behind her, Seth said, “Cassie?”

She turned around.

“I want you at the faculty meeting
Monday.”

That did it. Her temper flared. “I always
fulfill my teaching responsibilities, Mr. Taylor.” She couldn’t
keep her voice from climbing a notch. “For the record, I find your
telling me to be there an insult to my professional integrity.”
Forcing herself not to slam the door, she stalked out of his
office.

o0o

MITCH STOOD ON Cassie’s front porch for
several minutes, trying to summon the courage to ring the doorbell.
It had taken the kind of guts it took to face down a street punk
with a gun to get him this far. He stared out into the February
sky, at the stars twinkling overhead, but he couldn’t appreciate
the crisp beauty of the evening. He could only see her face this
afternoon when she’d looked at him across Taylor’s office.

Accusation had been there. He could take
that, had been prepared for that. It was the hurt in those misty
gray eyes that had sucker-punched him. He’d let her down just as
she was beginning to trust him. And trust didn’t come easily for
her.

Nor did it come easily to him. He paced the
ten-foot length of the porch, kicking up the frozen snow with his
boot, watching his breath swirl before him in big, fat puffs. He
and Cassie were kindred spirits. Both afraid of trusting. Both
slowly breaching their wariness these last five weeks. Had it all
been aborted on one dreary winter morning by a group of adolescent
boys who were biting off more than they could chew—and didn’t even
know it?

Thoughts of the kids at Bayview Heights High
School confirmed his decision. “This is the right thing, damn it,”
he said aloud. If he lost Cassie in the process, so be it. Sick of
quivering on her doorstep like a love-struck boy, he jabbed the
bell.

No answer.

He scanned the house. There were several
lights on in the living room and a small one burning upstairs. Her
car was in the driveway. She was home.

He rang again. And again. Just after he
pressed the buzzer insistently for the fourth time, she whipped
open the door.

Her face was flushed as if she’d been
running. Sweat beaded her face. She was dressed in a ragged white
T-shirt and faded red sweatpants.

Guess we’re not going to dinner
.

He said, “Hi.”

The surprise left her expressive face and she
closed down. Another tactic he knew well. “Mitch.”

“May I come in?”

Briefly, her eyes flared with some
emotion—anger at his presumptuousness? Surprise at his tenacity?
Fear? Well, if it was going to end before it really got started,
she’d have to do it right.

“Cassie? I asked if I could come in.”

“I heard you.” She didn’t answer the question
but moved aside to allow him into the foyer. Without asking to take
his jacket, she led him into the living room. His eyes immediately
sought the place on the floor where he’d not only kissed and
caressed her, but admitted he’d wanted to take their relationship
further. Tonight, it hurt to remember the hope he’d felt then.

There was no fire lit now. Instead, a movie
blared from the television, in front of which she’d dragged her
exercise bike. She crossed to the TV and lowered the sound but
didn’t turn it off—a subtle message that he wasn’t staying. He saw
Sidney Poitier’s smiling face and heard the soft notes of
To
Sir With Love
humming in the background. Always the teacher,
he thought.

“I didn’t think you’d come tonight,” she said
without preamble.

He faced her squarely. “We had a date. For
dinner.” He scanned her outfit. “You’re not ready.”

Crossing her hands over her chest, Cassie
stared at him. “I just assumed you’d cancel.”

He stuck his hands in the pockets of his
jacket because they were fisting without his consent. “I didn’t.”
His heart racing, he asked, “Does this mean
you’re
canceling?”

The impassivity slipped. For a minute, naked
pain claimed her features. He wanted to drag her into his arms and
erase it. Before he could, the look was gone. “I’m not going out
with you, Mitch.”

The rejection hurt more than he’d expected.
Because it did, he found the nerve to ask, “Forever, or just
tonight?”

Silently, she began to pace. When she faced
him again, the mask was firmly back in place. She was so tough.
Really tough. And he knew in that instant that he wanted to be the
man to soften her. To make her melt both physically and
emotionally. To make her moan with pleasure and weep with joy.

“Forever, I think.”

Nodding, he turned from her and walked to the
fireplace. It took all the control he had not to sweep the pretty
knickknacks off the mantel. When he faced her again, he saw her
bite her lip. The vulnerability of that tiny gesture calmed his
violent urge. “Mind telling me why?”

“It won’t work, Mitch. We’re too different.
You’re so rule-oriented, and I see things in grays. I can’t think
like you do, and you’ll never understand how my mind works.” He
watched her closely. “There will be too many opportunities, like
this afternoon, to hurt each other.”

“If I hurt you today, I’m sorry.”

Again the mask slipped. “I was hurt because
my professional opinion and experiences—after fifteen years of
teaching—were ignored.”

“They weren’t ignored. Seth just disagreed
with you.”

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t alter our
differences—yours and mine. The whole incident confirms how
mismatched we are.”

Deciding to go for broke, Mitch crossed to
her. Softly, he brushed his knuckles down her damp cheek. “I wanted
more, Cassie.”

Mitch’s phrase reminded Cassie of their words
four nights ago.
More
, she’d uttered when he kissed her.
And later, as he caressed her breast, he’d asked,
More?

The hot sensuality of the moment zinged
through her. For a minute, she couldn’t speak. Honesty made her
finally say, “I could care about you, Mitch.” She’d wanted to tell
him
I do care
, but she couldn’t get it out.

His eyes burned with intensity. “Me, too,
Cass.”

Again, the trigger.
You feel so good,
Cass
. She wondered if he was doing it on purpose.

No. This hurt him. She could tell by his
rigid stance, his clenched jaw. He loomed before her in his worn
bomber jacket and forest green sweater underneath. It was thick
and...luscious.

She closed her eyes and moaned. Bombarded by
reminders of their intimacy, she took a deep breath, turned and
stepped away from him. “I can’t risk it.”

There was silence in the room. For too long.
Please let him leave
, Cassie prayed to a God she’d stopped
believing in when she was ten. She held herself still, her arms
clasped tightly at her elbows.
Please, please let him
leave
.

He came up behind her. His touch was tender
when his hands closed around her bare upper arms. And Cassie, who
hadn’t cried since she found out her mother didn’t know who her
father was, wanted to weep. Slowly, he brushed his fingertips on
the tender skin of her inner arms. Goose bumps tingled everywhere
he touched. He fitted his big, solid body to her back and tugged
her to him. She leaned against him shamelessly. His jacket had
retained the cold, and its contrast to the heat coursing through
her made her shiver. The reaction increased by volumes when he
nuzzled her hair out of the way and pressed his mouth to her neck.
She didn’t want to do any of this. Her mind raged against the
seductive invitation, but her body wasn’t listening. She tilted her
head to the side to give him better access.

Strong arms encircled her waist. “Reconsider,
Cass.” When she said nothing, he murmured against her neck,
“Please.” His voice inflamed her as much as the feel of him,
aroused and thick against her bottom. With a slice of blinding
desire, she wanted him inside her.

Because the need was so powerful, because raw
fear told her if she let him, this man could do anything he wanted
with her, to her, she found the sanity to say, “No, Mitch. I
won’t.”

His whole body stiffened. He stepped back and
this time, she shivered with the loss of his heat. He stood
stock-still, and so did she. The clock on the mantel chimed seven
times and neither of them moved.

Then he finally said, “Damn you, Cassie.”

His boots clicked against the hardwood floor
in the foyer. The door swished open—cold air swirled at her
feet—then it closed with a soft and final snick.

Everything feminine in her screamed to go to
him, to stop him from leaving. Instead, she collapsed onto the
couch.

But she didn’t cry.

Cassie Smith did
not
cry.

o0o

JOHNNY GLANCED at the clock. It was 1:10 p.m.
He’d have just enough time to meet with Cassie, go home and shower
and get to the clinic by four. Though he felt like a sap, he walked
around the classroom whistling. He read some of the posters on her
wall. “You are the author of your own life story.” “Life is not a
dress rehearsal.” “Once you say you’re going to settle for second
best, that’s what you get.” “If you let them, kids have the energy,
imagination and intelligence to make a difference.” It was
sentiments like these that had gotten him through some really tough
times. He had this school, this classroom and now the clinic to
help him through the rest; he was on his way. As he learned more
about medicine in his new job, he became more certain that becoming
a doctor was what he wanted to do with his life.

Relaxed, he flung himself down into a desk,
stretched out his legs and closed his eyes. Then there was Mary
Margaret Mancini. Picturing her sweet face, he smiled again. Those
big brown eyes were so gentle, nobody would guess she had a will of
steel. The oldest of seven kids from a typical Italian family in
the Bronx, she’d overcome all the obstacles to getting into the
pre-med program at Columbia: her traditional family, the Catholic
school she’d attended, the general stereotypes of her culture. A
sophomore now, she’d told Johnny that she was doing this clinic
work against her parents’ wishes. He shook his head. She’d go to
church and confess her disobedience to the priest, but three times
a week she came to Kurt’s clinic, anyway. She and Johnny had become
friends.

“What’s the grin for?” Cassie’s voice roused
him from the reminiscence.

The smile on his face died when he opened his
eyes. Cassie was dressed to kill in a fancy red suit and high
heels. But her face was drawn and her eyes shadowed.

He scowled. “I was thinking about the clinic.
What’s wrong?”

Wringing her hands, she shook her head.
“Nothing. I just wanted to talk to you before you left today.”

“You look exhausted,” he said as she came
fully into the room and sank down at a desk next to him.

“I am tired.”

He tried to tease her. “Wild weekend?” If
possible, the look on her face got even sadder. “Cassie? You
okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re all dressed up today.”

“I like this suit.”

“You told us once that when you felt your
worst, you wore the prettiest clothes you had.”

“Did I?”

He nodded.

“All right. I’m a little worried how you’re
going to take what I’m going to tell you.”

Johnny’s heart rate sped up. “You’re not
leaving Bayview, are you?”

“No, of course not.”

“Oh, good.”

“Johnny...” She reached out and touched his
arm. “There’s been some evidence of gang activity in this
school.”

Johnny went still. “Yeah? Who says?”

“Mr. Taylor.”

Let me tell you something, Battaglia. I’m
not going to let your gang buddies recruit anyone from Bayview
Heights. If I see any evidence of gang activity—colors,
paraphernalia, hand signals—at the high school, I’ll take you down
so fast, you won’t have time to blink.

Cassie was covering for the cop.
Interesting.

“What’s going on?” he asked, carefully
keeping his tone neutral. Fear hovered at the corners of his heart,
and he had to forcefully keep it out.

“A couple of the kids wearing the same
colors, a complicated handshake and a few other signals alerted the
administration.”

Johnny swallowed hard. “Who is it?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

She didn’t have to.
Hey, Battaglia, tell
me more about your pal Zorro...he’s definitely mongo.
Johnny
had asked DeFazio why he wanted to know.
No special reason,
man
. DeFazio also had a new haircut.

And he’d been wearing red and black a
lot.