Moonlighting: A Thanksgiving Story (5 page)

Charlotte
suddenly felt lonelier than she’d ever felt in her life. Apart from anonymous
postings on chat boards, she’d never told anyone about her submissive
tendencies or fascination with spanking. Even her family did not know, and it
wasn’t something she felt she could share with her mother. None of her friends
from college knew; they’d have been mortified, she was sure. The only person
who knew was Nigel Longbridge, and he was the last person she could phone to
talk to.

And now here she
sat, just a few days before Thanksgiving, confused, lonely and terribly sad.
She began to cry, yanking a handful of tissues from the end table as she
settled onto the couch. Tomorrow was the big day for the kids. There would be a
big Thanksgiving feast around lunchtime, followed by the long-awaited play and
then an early release. And then?

The phone rang,
jarring her thoughts. It was Charlotte’s mother, and she could tell right away
that something was wrong.

“Hi sweetie!”

“Hi, Mom. What
are you doing?”

She heard a sigh
on the other end of the line. “I’m at the hospital.”

“The hospital?
Is everything OK?”

“It’s your Aunt
Kit. She was in a car accident this afternoon.”

Charlotte
gasped. Aunt Kit was her mother’s twin sister. She lived in New Jersey.  “Is
she going to be OK?”

“She’s going to
be fine. Her foot’s broken and she’s in surgery now. She was lucky. I’ve seen
the car and….”  Her mother’s voice trailed off.

“I guess you’ll
be with her for Thanksgiving instead of coming here…”

“Oh, sweetie…you
know I’d be there if I could. But with Ray still deployed I can’t leave Kit.
She doesn’t have anyone to help her. You understand, right?”

“And Grady?”
Charlotte held out hope that perhaps her brother would still come.

“He’s with me,
sweetheart. He wanted to go to your place. I know it was important. But you
know with my eyes how hard it is for me to drive at night and he’s such a
help.”

“Sure, OK. I
understand.” But she sniffled as she said it, and her mother began to cry.

“I wanted to be
there. I really did. We promised your father before he died that we’d always
celebrate together.” She paused. “I’ll buy you a plane ticket if you want to
fly out to Kit’s.”

“Mom, you know
it’s too late to get a flight now.”

“Maybe the
train?”

“That would cost
a fortune, and don’t ask me to drive because my car won’t make it.”

“Sweetie…” Her
mother’s voice trailed off.

“Look, it’s not
your fault. Just let me know how Kit is doing. I’ll be fine here.”

“I’m sure you
have friends from school to celebrate with, right?”

“Oh, tons of
them,” she lied. “I won’t be alone.”

“That’s good to
hear. Well, I’d better go. I think the doctor’s coming now. Talk later?”

“Yeah, call me.”

“Will do, hon.
Bye.”

Charlotte put
the phone down on the table. She picked up a construction paper turkey with a
leaf tail that she’d used as the model for the one the kids had made in class.
It had made her happy just to look at it before. But now it was a reminder that
Thanksgiving was coming and, for the first time, she’d be completely alone.

The atmosphere
of the school was buzzing with excitement the next morning. It was a crisp,
fall day and the trees in the schoolyard blazed bright red and orange against the
slate grey sky. A breeze dislodged several dozen as Charlotte walked up the
stone walkway to the front doors of Falmont Academy. The leaves swirled around
her. This was her favorite time of year and she’d started that day determined
not to let her circumstances bring her down. No, her family couldn’t come
visit. The very thought of running into Mr. Longbridge in the hallways filled
her with a sense of trepidation and embarrassment. But she had a job and - she
hoped - things would get better if she just focused on that.

She stopped off
at the break room to find the teachers in a heated discussion.

“Well I, for
one, think it’s unacceptable.” Sue Ellen Forrester was standing by the coffee
maker, her face flushed and pinched with anger. When she saw Charlotte, the
older teacher approached her. “I’m glad you’re here. Have you seen the memo?”

“I just got
here, Sue Ellen,” she said. “I haven’t had time to see anything.”

“It’s in your
box, but you can read mine. It says the same thing.” She shoved the paper in
Charlotte’s hands.

Dear Faculty
and Staff,

Several days
ago, an excerpt from a fictional work in progress found its way into a
teacher’s private mailbox here at Falmont Academy. After an exhaustive
investigation, I have determined that while some may have been offended, there
was nothing within the piece of writing to implicate any faculty member here at
the school. Therefore, I am deeming this matter closed.

I expect the
staff to remain discreet, professional and to abstain from gossip or innuendo
both on and off grounds. Those who truly prize the Falmont traditions must
surely know that speculation can damage reputations, and any behavior to that
end will be dealt with through disciplinary actions.

Thank you for
your understanding.

Sincerely,

Nigel
Longbridge, Headmaster

“Can you believe
that?” Sue Ellen Forrester asked.

The other
teachers were looking at Charlotte now. Some seemed curious as to her answer.
Others - mostly the younger teachers -  just looked bored with the whole
matter.

“I’m not going
to believe anything one way or the other,” Charlotte said, handing Sue Ellen
the memo and turning back to her own mailbox to retrieve papers. “It seems
pretty cut and dried to me. Mr. Longbridge has closed the matter and it sounds
like he’s telling us to forget about it.”

“Forget about
it?” Sue Ellen gasped. “We’re just supposed to forget that we have a sick,
depraved….pervert walking around in the school? Around children?”

Charlotte
rounded on her. “That’s quite enough, Sue Ellen,” she said coldly. “Regardless
of who this person is, they’re obviously writing under a pseudonym, which means
it’s separate from other aspects of their lives.”

“I don’t care!”
the older woman screeched. “In fact, I think we need to sign a petition
demanding that Mr. Longbridge get to the bottom of this or we’ll take it to the
board.”

“For what
reason?” Charlotte asked. “Just because you don’t think people should write or
read certain things?”

The other
teachers who had been watching began to murmur in agreement.

“She’s right, Sue Ellen,” said Claire Dodgy, who served as the school’s
librarian. “Just let it go.”  The other teachers were nodding.

“I don’t like it
any more than you do,” pointed out Melissa Tillman. “But I like all my
colleagues and after thinking about this I wouldn’t like a single one of you
any less just because she was writing racy stories on the side.”

“Well I would!”
said Sue Ellen Forrester. “So who’s going to help me to get this petition
going?”

But the other
teachers had turned her way and were filing out of the break room, leaving just
Sue Ellen and Charlotte.

“It’s you, isn’t
it?” she asked. “You’re the nasty little pervert who wrote that vile stuff?
Fine. I’ll just go to the board myself..”

Charlotte shook
her head. “You’re the disgusting one,” she said. “All that time in church and
you’re the most miserable, judgmental person I’ve ever met.”

“Ladies…” Mr.
Longbride had entered the room. “That’s quite enough. I believe that I
instructed everyone to put the matter behind them? And just so you know, Mrs.
Forrester, I have spoken to the board and they quite agree with me. But feel
free to stir up trouble if you like. Just remember that you don’t fall into
your own brew.”

Sue Ellen
stomped out, muttering angrily as she went.

“That was
reckless,” he said.

“She doesn’t
care,” Charlotte said.

“I was talking
about you, Miss Tetter.”

“Me?” She looked
up at him, stunned.

“Yes. You let
her provoke you. I’m sure she suspects you. You’re single, attractive and have
resisted the urge to attend her garden club and church. That alone has probably
raise red flags for her.” He smiled a bit, and that helped put Charlotte at
ease. But then he grew serious. “However, I gave orders for the matter to no
longer be discussed and that applies to everyone. Miss Forrester will receive a
written reprimand. But you…”

“Mr. Longbridge.
I…”

“We don’t need
to discuss this now. If I am correct, you have a class waiting?”

“Yes sir.” She
turned away, deciding she could not ponder the headmaster’s veiled warning
without becoming totally distracted. Her classroom was full of excitement when
she arrived. Several mothers had come to help volunteer for the day’s events
and the mood grew increasingly festive throughout the day.

The cafeteria
had been decorated to look like a pilgrim village. Murals lined the walls and
baskets of corn served as centerpieces on the lunch tables. The children had
been allowed to dress as either Indians or Pilgrims for the day. Most of the
boys had opted to be Indians and now ran around the cafeteria whooping war
whoops as harried teachers sought to keep them in line. It was the noisiest and
most adorable lunch period Charlotte had ever seen, and she was again thankful
for her job.

After lunch,
everyone headed to the auditorium. Charlotte and Sue Ellen Forrester got the
kids ready for the play. The older woman was taciturn and when she did speak to
Charlotte she was abrupt. Charlotte knew she was angry that things had not gone
her way and resisted the urge to engage the older teacher whenever she made a
snide remark. Instead, she concentrated on getting the kids ready for what she
hoped would be an impressive performance.

And it was.
Every single child remembered their lines. From behind the curtain, Charlotte
smiled with appreciation as she watched the parents’ delighted reactions as they
clapped or taped the performance. Her first year as Thanksgiving Play producer
was turning out to be a complete success.

Afterwards
parents and other relatives came up to congratulate her for a job well done.
She hugged each of her students goodbye and wished them all a wonderful
vacation. In their excitement, several had left their costumes lying on the
floor and now she walked around picking them up. Sue Ellen Forrester announced
that she would not be helping with the cleanup, and smirked as she left Charlotte
to do it alone. But Charlotte didn’t care. Most of the teachers were leaving
with the parents and she was alone, not that it mattered. There was no flight
to rush for, no relatives to anxiously wait. The turkey and other preparations
would be too much for just one person now. She decided she would fix the meal
and then freeze portions for her school lunches, which meant she’d be eating
her Thanksgiving dinner through Valentine’s Day.

A tear rolled
down her face before she even realized she was crying. Charlotte wiped it away
and sniffed.

“You should be
cheering, young lady. Not crying. The play was wonderful.”

She startled. “I
didn’t see you,” she said, wiping her face quickly again as she sniffled again.

“Apparently not.
What’s wrong, Miss Tetter?”

“Oh,
just…disappointment settling in. My mother and brother were supposed to come in
tonight, but my aunt broke her foot and so they’re staying behind to help her.”

“So you’re
alone?”

“Yeah,” she
said. “Just me and a ten pound turkey.”

“Sounds like
we’ve another thing in common,” he said. “I’m not much of a joiner, and with
all my family being across the pond…”

“I’m surprised
the parents aren’t fighting to have you at their table,” she said.

“I avoid that by
making it clear that I cannot dine with parents on holiday,” he said. “I don’t
want to give the appearance of favoritism.”

“I understand,”
she said.

They grew quiet.
“Miss Tetter,” he said. “How about we make a deal. How about you bring your
turkey and - how do they put it here, ‘fixins',' to my house and we can have
Thanksgiving dinner together?”

Charlotte stared
at him, stunned. “Dinner? With you? Surely there are restrictions forbidding
the headmaster from fraternizing with staff…”

“Curiously
enough, there are not,” he said. “And even if there were, this whole business
with you and your side occupation has caused me to think long and hard about
what limitations this school places on its teachers. In fact, come the first of
the year I believe I am going to approach the board and insist that if they are
to continue such draconian policies prohibiting teachers from taking certain
kinds of outside work, they should be prepared to pay a fairer wage.”

“You’d do that?”

“Certainly,” he
said. “I may be strict, but I’m also fair as you will learn.”

She felt herself
flush. “What time tomorrow?”

He pulled a
notepad from his pocket. “You may come round at eleven if you like. We can cook
together. It’s supposed to be cold. I’ll build a fire and we can enjoy one
another’s company.”

She took the
paper. “Thank you, Mr. Longbridge. I look forward to it…”

“As do I,” he
said, and then nodded and left.

His car was
still in the parking lot when she left. Charlotte resisted the urge to go by
his office before leaving. She was awash in emotion - nervous, apprehension,
elation. When writing her own story, she’d angrily told herself that there was
no way the characters would actually get together. But now here she was, in her
real-life version - and Mr. Longbridge had invited her to share Thanksgiving
with him. But still she cautioned herself to be realistic. Perhaps he wanted to
prove to her that even in the same house they’d just be cordial acquaintances.
Perhaps this was just his way of reinforcing the boundaries before they came
back to school. It wasn’t a date; it was just two adults without family
enjoying the holiday together.

Still, she found
it hard to sleep that night. Charlotte had spent some time before bed picking
out an outfit to wear the following day and had chosen a fitted brown dress
with cute, corset-style black lacing in the back and black trim, and a pair of
black boots. She talked to her mother for an hour, assuring the guilt-laden
woman that she was fine and would be having Thanksgiving dinner with “a
co-worker.” She talked to her brother, who made her laugh with his impressions
of their relatives in Jersey.

It was the first
good night’s sleep she had in a while. The next morning she loaded her car and
pulled into Mr. Longbridge’s driveway fifteen minutes past eleven, having
gotten slightly lost in his neighborhood.

His house was a
tidy Tudor-style home. The lawn was immaculate. He was waiting for her outside
when she pulled up and helped Charlotte unload the car. They made small talk in
the kitchen as he helped her prepare the turkey and stuffing. Charlotte used an
old recipe her father had passed on to her that included bread, raisins,
chestnuts and oysters.

When the turkey
was in the oven, Nigel Longbridge led her into the living room. It was tidy,
with classic furnishings. It was very masculine décor. On the wall were
pictures from his village back home, his family. There were pictures of him as
a younger man riding horses and playing rugby with friends, pictures of him
hunting.

“I came from a
big family,” he said. “My father was head of the house, very old-fashioned. I’m
a lot like him. My mum was old-fashioned, too. I’ve been keen to find a woman
with her values.” He looked over at her. “It’s difficult, you know.”

Charlotte said
nothing as she took a sip of her drink. What she wanted to say was, “I’m that woman…”

“Now then,” he
said. “We have something to discuss, right?”

The question
confused her. “We do?”

“Indeed,” he
said. “My rules. At school yesterday you broke them again.”

“Mr.
Longbridge…”

“Nigel,” he
said. “I believe for today we can dispense with formalities. You may call me
Nigel and I shall call you Charlotte. It’s such a pretty name.”

“Thank you,” she
said nervously. “But given that we’re not at work, could we not discuss the
rules?”

“I’m afraid we
must,” he said. “Because the consequences for you are different than they are
for other teachers.” He paused. “Tell me, Charlotte. How much time did you
spend thinking about the time you spent over my desk yesterday?”

She flushed
scarlet. “I didn’t…”

“Don’t lie,” he
said.

“I thought of it
a lot.” The words rushed out. “Constantly, almost. For so long I’ve…”

“And did it
measure up to your expectations?”

“It hurt worse
than I thought it would,” she said. “But at the same time it was….”

“Go on…”

“I felt safe,
cared for. I know I’m grown up and I’m not supposed to crave having someone
correct me. But I have and the punishment made me fear disappointing you. But
it made me feel that you…” She put her drink down and put her fingers to her
temple. “Mr…I mean, Nigel. I’m not sure I can discuss this with you, sir. I’m
afraid of saying the wrong thing.”