Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows (57 page)

Maggie ran her index finger around the neck of the beer bottle. “You have any money, George?"

“Of course I have money."

“I mean on you—here in the house."

“Maybe a few dollars."

She nodded. “Did you get any sleep last night?"

“Not much."

She stood and drained her beer. “Here's the plan. Are you listening, George?"

He smiled. “Yes, ma'am."

“There are a few things we should have done while I was rooming with you, but didn't. We are going to remedy that tonight. After you have eaten every bite of your lunch, go to town and get a haircut. Stop by the garden shop and sign a contract with Frank to look after your lawn. It's a mess. Go to the bank and cash a check—a large one. If you don't already have at least a dozen, go by the pharmacy and buy a box of condoms. Come home, take a nap and then put on your dancing shoes."

“Maggie, I..."

“Don't argue with me George Bennett, damn it. I'll pick you up at seven. We're going to the Savannah Club in Charlotte. You're going to buy me the most expensive meal on the menu and then we will dance until our legs collapse. I'm spending the night with you George and I think you can guess what we're going to do when we climb into your bed.” She headed for the door.

“I don't like your plan, Maggie."

She turned and glared at him. “No arguments, George Bennett. Today I'm the boss."

He shook his head. “We're going to the club in my Cadillac—not your Blazer."

She grinned and turned back to the door. The last thing George heard her say was, “It's not too small, George. I've seen it. Remember?"

June hesitated in front of classroom 613. She checked her registration form to be certain she was in the right place. Three times she lost her way on the unfamiliar campus and once she tripped, dropping her textbook and notebook, but hanging onto the laptop computer.

“It's about time for the class to start. We'd better find a seat."

She turned and looked at the man who was smiling at her. He was tall, reasonably handsome and older than she, but then this class was for older students. She thought he would look better if he used less grease in his hair.

“I understand the professor is a nice guy. You don't need to be afraid of him."

She smiled and walked through the door he held open for her. She sat in a student chair at the back of the room and watched him walk to the front and pick up a piece of chalk.

On the board he wrote, “Jay Foster is a nice guy."

He turned and smiled at the twenty students. “My name is Jay Foster and I really am a nice guy. I know that most of you haven't been in a classroom in a long time and are a little skittish tonight."

The class laughed their agreement.

“I read your entrance data,” he continued. “Some of you are here just to kill time. You will drop out after a few nights. Sorry ‘bout that. Some of you are unemployed and some are underemployed. You hope that this class will lead to better things. I do too. One of you already has a job lined up as a bookkeeper. Congratulations!"

He picked up a small, brown, record book. “As I look around, I see some of you have not yet bought your textbook. If you read your syllabus, you know that having the textbook with you tonight is a requirement. I see only one laptop computer in the class. Owning a laptop is not a requirement—you may use the computers in our labs—but it certainly will be helpful."

He walked to the front of his desk and leaned against it. “Let's see how many of you read tonight's assignment. What is it, specifically, that we will be studying in this class?"

He paused for raised hands. There were none.

“No one read the assignment?"

There were still no hands.

“Miss Laptop Owner, did you read the assignment?"

Even from the back of the room, June felt as if his gray eyes were burning into the depths of her soul.

“Yes, sir,” she timidly replied.

“Then what is the answer to my question?"

“The introduction said we will learn single and double entry bookkeeping and how to use a software program that will handle all the mathematical formulas accurately."

“Miss Computer Owner,” he said as he moved down the aisle towards her, “please stand."

She slipped out of her seat, pressing her hands to her thighs so he would not see them trembling.

“I cannot continue to call you Miss Computer Owner. Your name, please."

“June, sir. June Dinkins."

“Is it Miss or Mrs.?"

“Miss, sir.” He was so close she could hear him breathing.

He smiled. “Miss Dinkins,” he said as he opened the record book and searched for her name, “you have an A for this first class session."

He put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder a little too tight. He pulled her next to him, a little too close. His cologne smelled so good. She wanted to buy Frank the same brand.

With his arm still around her he said, “Class, be honest. Did anyone else know the answer to my question?"

All eyes were on the two of them. No one responded.

He smiled and locked his eyes on June's. She wished he were looking at her breasts. Why did I button the blouse all the way to my neck? she wondered.

“Miss Dinkins is the one who already has a job lined up as a bookkeeper,” he said. “She is highly motivated."

He released her and strolled back towards the front of the class. “Motivation,” he said, “is the key to success in this class—not IQ. If you are properly motivated, you will benefit from the class. If not, you are wasting your time and mine."

He turned and smiled at June. “Your assignment for Wednesday is in your syllabus, but I am giving you an additional task. I want you to consider very carefully your motivation for taking this course. If you are here just to kill time, please drop the course before Wednesday night's session. You can get a full refund of your tuition."

He tossed the record book on the desk and sat in the chair. “Since only Miss Dinkins read tonight's assignment, we must waste valuable class time. Read the assignment now. Those of you without a textbook, twiddle your thumbs or beg your neighbor to let you read over his shoulder."

June caught the twinkle in his eye. He's pissed with everyone but me, she thought. Why is my heart beating so rapidly?

After twenty minutes, Jay stood and began to lecture. June tried to write down every word.

At the end of the first hour, he said, “Take ten, everybody. You cigarette addicts may feed your habit and those with small bladders will find restrooms at the end of the hall. Miss Dinkins, would you remain one minute, please?"

As the class hurried to the door, Jay approached June and propped on the back of the chair in front of her. She fiddled nervously with the buttons on her blouse.

“Miss Dinkins,” he began, “I have taught this class many times. I always try to pick out the best students during the first session. Sadly, you're it for this class. You will do well. I promise."

“Thank you, sir."

“Miss Dinkins, may I make a suggestion?"

“Yes, sir, and I wish you would call me June."

He smiled. “Please call me Jay. June, I noticed you trying to write down everything I say."

She beamed and nodded.

“Don't."

“But you say so much and I..."

He put his finger to his lips. “Listen, June, listen. Ask questions. If you don't understand something I've said, stop me. Jot down a word or phrase that will trigger your memory when you review your class notes."

“Yes, sir."

“Do you smoke, June?"

“No, sir."

“I thought you were going to call me Jay—I hate ‘sir.’”

She smiled. “I'm sorry, Jay."

“I don't smoke either,” he said, “but I am one of those people I spoke of who has a small bladder—among other things.” He winked and walked out the door.

When the second hour ended, Jay again asked June to remain behind. She joined him at his desk, standing in front of it. She felt as if she were merchandise on display, the way he looked at her. She liked it.

He smiled up at her. “Did my method of note-taking work for you?” he asked.

She laughed. “I'll let you know after I've reviewed them."

“June,” he said as he leaned back in his chair, “I have taught this introductory bookkeeping class many times, but you are the first student who already has a job keeping books. Why are you not taking a more advanced course?"

“Jay, I don't know anything about bookkeeping. Frank, my fiancé, recently opened a garden shop and lawn care business in Dot. I want to help him, but I want to keep my job as a waitress too."

“You are a waitress and live in Dot?"

She nodded.

“It seems to be a nice little community. I paid your town a brief visit this past Saturday."

“You were in Dot?"

He smiled. “I spend my weekends going to yard sales. I am a collector of many things and sometimes I find real bargains at yard sales. I struck gold at the sale your neighbor, Buzz Adams, had. I bought too much and paid too much. There was a half-naked woman working with him. She absolutely refused to negotiate."

He opened his briefcase and stuffed inside his lecture notes and record book. “How long has your friend been in business?"

“Almost a month now, and ... and..."

He smiled. “And?"

“Billy Frank—he owns the gas station in Dot ... two of them now—he wants me to keep his books too."

Jay shook his head and stood. “Sounds to me like you have a solid foundation for a lucrative business in Dot. Tell me, is there a tax consultant in your little community?"

“You mean income taxes, like H & R Block?"

He nodded.

She shook her head. “There's a lawyer in Dot—Susan Kimel. She used to do tax returns for people, but when she did mine last year she said I'd have to find somebody else. She just doesn't have the time anymore."

“Every December I teach a one month course on income tax preparation. Combine that with bookkeeping and I believe you have the foundation for a lucrative bookkeeping service, June. Your days as a waitress are numbered."

“Oh, I don't know about that."

“Are there other businesses in Dot that might be interested in your services?"

“Tim and Sandy Dollar own most everything,” she said, “and their lawyer does their bookwork. But there's the newspaper, pharmacy, discount house, clinic, beauty parlor, barber shop, pool hall..."

He laughed, interrupting her. “The list seems endless, June.” He moved beside her and placed his hand on her arm. “Where did you park?"

“Lot J10."

He frowned. “From now on, try to get into the L10 lot. It's closer and well lighted. J10 has no lights at all. I don't mean to alarm you, June, but there have been several sexual assaults in J10. May I walk you to your car?"

“I ... I didn't know,” she said as he steered her towards the door.

“I'm a little concerned about this garden shop thing, June. If your friend has been in business for a month, receipts and records are most likely stuffed into a cigar box."

“Paper bag,” she said.

“The longer you wait, the bigger the mess becomes."

“But I don't know..."

“I can help,” he interrupted. “If you will bring me all the records—receipts, unpaid billing, loans, checkbook—anything of a financial nature, I can set up the books for you on your computer and show you how to make daily entries until you understand what you are doing."

“Jay, I appreciate that, but I can't afford..."

He laughed. “Although I am a college professor I often do not make myself clear. I'm offering my services, not selling them."

“Could you do it for the service stations too?"

“Of course,” he said. “What do you know about withholding taxes and sales tax reports?"

“Absolutely nothing."

“Oh, boy. I'm afraid we do not cover those procedures in our introductory course, but I can teach you."

“When will you have time for all that? When will I have time?"

“How about Tuesday and Thursday nights?” he suggested.

“When will I study?"

“You may have to set your alarm clock an hour or two earlier than usual and spend less time with this Frank person on your days off."

“Where will we meet? In the classroom?"

“No. My place I think. I live in the faculty apartments. It's easy to find—building A, apartment one."

“That's easy enough to remember. Are you sure your wife won't mind?” she asked as they approached her car in the pitch-black lot.

“I'm not married,” he replied. “I was once, a long time ago."

“I, uh, Jay, I don't know."

“I could come to your place in Dot,” he offered.

“No,” she said. “I don't want to put you to that much trouble. What time do you want me?"

“Is seven-thirty too early?” he asked, taking the books and computer from her while she opened the trunk of her car.

“I'll be there,” she said, watching him place her things inside.

He stood erect and looked at her in the glow of the trunk light. He pulled her to him and clasped her buttocks.

Her body felt like Jell-O. She could neither move nor speak.

He kissed her forehead as his hands roamed to her breasts. His tongue teased her lips. She felt his hands unbuttoning her blouse. She tried to speak and his tongue filled her mouth. His hands fumbled with the catch between the cups of her brassiere and she felt the night air stiffen her nipples. He kissed each one gently.

She heard the trunk lid close and felt her body bending backwards over it. His hands were working on her slacks and then roaming over her damp crotch of her panties.

She began to cry softly. “I can't do this, Jay."

He pressed the fabric against her engorged clitoris. “You want it as much as I do."

“Yes,” she sobbed, “but I love Frank."

“I'm not asking for a lifetime commitment. I just want us to enjoy each other's bodies for the next few weeks."

His finger continued its magic effort and his lips returned to her breasts.

“I ... I've never been with anyone but Frank."

His hand was inside her panties. “I can teach you so much, you beautiful creature."

She knew she was about to explode. “No!” she forced herself to say.