I TURN, BEER still held to my mouth, and I swallow. “Lara,” I say coolly. I don’t feel the need to remind her that I’m a science teacher or that this is a celebration of science educators, so I just stand, expectantly, as she clings to the arm of her date, a man in skinny jeans and Converse sneakers. At a formal dinner.
The guy looks between Lara and me and makes a face. He eventually sticks a hand out. “Lance Dallas,” he says. “I’m here with Voyager.”
I return his shake, hoping my hand is cold and wet from clutching the beer. “AJ Trachtenberg,” I tell him. “I’m here with Public Schools of Pittsburgh.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “For real? Wow, man. That’s noble of you.”
“That’s me,” I clench my jaw again. “Noble.” I watch Lara’s hand as she traces Lance’s pec, and I note the glistening skating rink on her left ring finger. She sees me see it and I don’t miss the look in her eyes. A smug expression that conveys see? I found myself a real man with real ambition who buys me real jewels I deserve.
I’m spared from continued small talk with my ex when someone clinks a spoon against a glass and asks us all to find our way to our seats. “Guess I’ll have to catch up with you later,” I say, but I don’t look at either of them as I shoulder my way to my seat. Margot is bouncing in her chair when I arrive.
I try to rein in my foul mood, but it’s difficult. I keep looking across the room at Lance and Lara, even when I know I’d rather be looking across the room at Samantha Vine. Why do I always seem to choose the path that punishes myself?
“Mr. T did you see Ms. Vine is here? And she remembered me from the field trip!”
“Well I’d hope she’d remember you. It was just the other day.”
She sighs. “Yeah, but there were like 100 of us. She knew my name.”
Margot’s mother beams. “Your name is on the program, too, toots.”
“That’s true! Mr. T, did you see?” She waves a program in my face so I can see her name typed on the order of speakers, right after Samantha Vine’s remarks. It occurs to me that, as title sponsor of the event, Samantha’s company has given more money to the cause than Lara’s fiance gave. I don’t like how that makes me feel smug. I look back at Margot’s name, reminding myself to stay focused on my students. The light in my life. Everything else is just a fruitless distraction.
“They spelled it right and everything,” I say, plucking a roll from the basket in the middle of the table. I give a wave to my colleagues from neighboring schools and we chat as the wait staff passes out the salad course. Once everyone is chewing, Samantha makes her way to the stage.
I’m supposed to focus on her words, I’m sure, but I can’t get past the sight of her in a dark green wrap dress. It nips in at her waist and flares out, stopping right below her knees. The neckline isn’t scandalous by any means, but the way it hugs her chest makes my pants feel uncomfortably tight in the crotch. I adjust my tie as she begins speaking and I find myself jealous of the microphone that gets to be pressed so close to her ruby red lips.
This whole experience is like a sine wave for me. I vacillate between rage and distracting lust. Leo is definitely right, I decide. I need to jump this woman’s bones. Or…ask her if she’s interested in that. I don’t even know how, but my body needs me to try. Nevermind the fact that every time I speak to Samantha, we wind up snipping at each other. She doesn’t need to consider me as relationship material. Everyone needs a good time once in awhile. I could give Samantha Vine a good time.
I listen as she talks about what an honor it is for Vinea to fund summer learning opportunities for children as well as professional development for educators. I’d be lying if I pretended not to be excited about the summer workshops in chemistry and biology. Eventually Samantha calls Margot up to the makeshift stage and leads the applause. Samantha stands off to the side, listening attentively. Margot talks about opportunities like the field trip Vinea sponsored and mentions a summer coding camp she’s evidently earned a scholarship to attend.
The room laughs at Margot’s self-deprecating poverty jokes and applauds at the poignant moments. And then I stop listening because I watch Samantha pull a cell phone from a pocket in her dress and stare at the screen instead of listening to Margot. I practically growl as Samantha backs off the stage, making her way out of the room while Margot continues speaking, unawares.
I can’t believe she’s running out while my student is talking. The very same student she greeted so warmly a few minutes ago. How rude can one woman get? I look up and catch Lara glaring at me as I glare at Samantha. I drag a hand through my hair, realizing I’m falling apart. I have too much baggage to successfully attend these sorts of community events for our school. Why in the hell does Principal Kellie Vinelli keep choosing me for her exclamation-point-peppered ideas? I feel like I can’t escape the lifestyle Lara was so desperate to pursue.
My chicken dish is served and I find I can’t even taste it above the depths of my outrage. Margot returns to the table, beaming, unaware that her new hero so rudely ignored her while she was speaking. That just infuriates me further. Once I congratulate Margot on her poise and excellent speech, I excuse myself from the table and prowl off in search of Samantha.
I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to say or do when I find her, but I hear her voice coming from a room off to the side. Following the sound of her shouting, I make my way along the dimly lit hall.
From the sound of Samantha’s muffled voice, she’s pissed about being asked to drive someone somewhere. Figures. She probably has a driver. I’m sure Lara and Lance have a driver. They probably all have butlers.
I’m so busy stewing in frustration…okay, maybe a speck of jealousy…that I shout when the office door suddenly flies open and Samantha bursts halfway out of the room. My shout startles a server carrying a tray of desserts as she passes me in the hall.
There’s a shriek and a crash behind me. Samantha gasps. I turn to see a tray of plated cake slices toppling to the floor as the server moans. “No,” she wails. “No, no, no not again!” She drops the tray she’d been carrying and covers her face with her hands.
Well shit.
I can’t have this woman losing her job over my nosy outburst.
“I’m terrible sorry,” I say. “This was entirely my fault. Please let me speak with your manager to tell them so.”
The woman shakes her head and sighs. “I’ll just dump all the cake in the trash barrel. This sort of crowd doesn’t ever eat it anyway. Maybe my boss won’t even notice.”
“NO!” Samantha and I shout it at the same time, startling us both. Samantha squeaks and I look over to find her still standing there, her face contorted in horror. “Did you say you’re going to throw this away?” Samantha stoops and begins picking up some of the plates of cake. She balances a few of them on her forearm like she’s been slinging plates in a diner her entire life. This woman is constantly shattering my expectations. Or something.
The server looks at Samantha strangely and starts trying to take the cake away from her. “Ma’am, this has been on the floor. Of course it has to be thrown away.”
“Oh, come now,” I say, putting on my best teacher voice. “Half of these landed plate-down. Nothing touched the ground.” I start picking up small plates, too, grateful the thick acrylic plates didn’t shatter under the decadent dessert. The cake slices are beautifully presented. Dark chocolate sponge with a fudgey icing and a raspberry sauce decorating the plates.
“We can’t just waste them,” Samantha says, and I find myself nodding in agreement with her. A moment later, the caterer backs away from us with half the floor-cake, muttering under her breath about “crazy-ass rich people.”
I look at the plate in my hand and realize she’s talking about me, both the absurd part and the presumed wealth. I guess I really do look good in this suit.
Samantha remains crouched next to me, working to stand without upsetting the balance of cake plates in her arms. She’s not being careful about the drape of her skirt, and I catch a glimpse of black lace between her thighs as she wobbles on her heels before finally making it back up to her feet.
She bites her lip and looks over her shoulder. “We can’t just waste these,” she repeats.
I’m breathing heavily now as I, too, stand up. “We definitely cannot.” She looks over her shoulder at me as I enter the doorway. Samantha starts stacking plates of cake on a desk in the office, and blushes when she sees how I’m watching her. I can’t help it. Between her reluctance to waste good dessert and the way she looks in that damn dress, I’m struggling to keep myself together. Samantha brushes past me, en route to gathering another armload of cake. Her breath hitches as she watches me stoop to pick up more plates. When I walk into the office to set them down, I see she’s begun digging in to one of the pieces of cake. She pauses to lick icing off her knuckle, and the sight is so hot that I finally lose my fucking mind.