Coercion (17 page)

Her father seemed impressed. “We never miss your father’s services. Do we?” He looked at his wife.

“No.” Valerie’s mother shook her head. “Your father is a wonderful man.”

Valerie fidgeted with the salt and pepper shakers on the table, moving them farther apart then closer together, unable to continue pretending she cared about the conversation taking place around her. Her parents traded praises about Pastor Vartanian with each other while Valerie’s gaze burned into Michael, who ignored her quickening breath and trembling body.

Despite her best judgment, Valerie opened her legs wider and rotated her pelvis. Michael responded immediately by centering fully on her clit, working with more speed. Almost immediately, Valerie’s fork clattered to the floor, and she gripped the edge of the table and let out a moan accompanied by a shudder.

Her parents stopped speaking and turned to look at her. Michael grinned at her from across the table, his eyes glowing. He quickly took a swig of Tab, as if to prevent himself from laughing, and she heard him jam his foot back into his unlaced boot. Her face flamed as she gulped from her water glass, nearly choking on the liquid. She couldn’t believe she had just come in front of her family. She still bucked underneath the table.

Her mother leaned forward and put her hand on Valerie’s arm. “Honestly, Valerie! What’s wrong? Are you developing allergies?”

Michael coughed discreetly into his napkin before balling it up and tossing it on his plate. “Thanks a lot for dinner, but I gotta get going.”

“Right now?” Valerie’s father looked at the wall clock. “But we’re not done eating. And you’ve barely touched your meal.”

“I know, but I have to go. My dad’s expecting me.” Michael stood and pushed in his chair. “Besides, the sauce has meat in it and I’m a vegetarian.”

Her mother’s face fell as she turned her attention to Michael. “Oh no! I wish you’d told me.”

“It’s okay. I still had a good time.” Michael gave Valerie a wink and slid his aviator sunglasses back into place. Before anyone could convince him to stay, he was gone, the front door slamming behind him.

“That was odd.” Her mother frowned and turned back to Valerie. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Valerie nodded, fighting to remain calm. She pushed her plate away and stood. “May I be excused? I don’t feel well.”

Her father studied his only daughter. His expression was that of a man who just realized Daddy’s Little Girl was now a woman, a beautiful creature with a body designed for sex, as well as an appetite for boys like Michael Vartanian. He scowled and looked down at his dinner as if he knew there was nothing he could do and resented it.

Valerie bounded up the steps, her legs feeling much like the spaghetti her mother had served. She shut her bedroom door behind her and leaned against it with a sigh, letting the aftereffects of her orgasm pervade her body. Then she made her way to the window, half hoping Michael would be standing amid the snow, leaning against a tree with one hand buried in his coat pocket and the other holding a cigarette. But her street was devoid of people. Not even Mr. Krauss was outside.

Friday

March 7, 1975

Michael lingered in the empty hallway outside his advisor’s office, twisting his notebook into the shape of a telescope and pretending to read the bulletin board of upcoming student events. None of the advertised clubs and organizations seemed familiar, a fact that made his mood plummet further. The only event registering with him was April’s Spring Gala, a semiformal presented by the Student Activities Council. The theme was
Nights in White Satin
, which also was one of Breeze’s favorite songs to fuck to, although she never had the patience for the extended version with the orchestra and poetry. She was a girl who was probably looking forward to going to the Spring Gala. Not with him, though.

Thinking of Breeze made his stomach drop like a defective elevator. He was almost glad he had an appointment to see his advisor—it gave him something else to worry about instead of whose lap his ex-girlfriend had her blond head in now.

Michael shook his head, as if trying to wake himself from his own bad dream. Knowing he couldn’t delay the inevitable forever, he finally gave a reluctant knock, announcing his arrival before twisting the office door’s metal knob. He stuffed the rolled-up notebook in his back pocket as he stood before Professor Steele, who sat at her large wooden desk, hovering over a plastic container of buttery pasta.

“There you are, Michael!” Professor Steele lowered her fork and dabbed the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin. “Please excuse me, I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up for our little meeting so I started my lunch. Did you lose your way?”

Michael gave her a smile that was more like a scowl as he sat and slouched in an uncomfortable wooden chair in front of the pale, yellow-haired woman with the smear of coral lipstick on her mouth. He ignored her question and how her office had the unforgiving stench of bargain perfume and burnt popcorn as she opened a folder on her desk with delicate fingertips.

“It seems like we have quite a file on you, Michael.” Professor Steele flipped through the stack of papers in the folder. When her comment failed to bring about a response, she sighed. “I’m going to be frank with you. This isn’t looking so good.”

He stifled a yawn. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your attendance, your grades, your entire college career, your future. The possibility of you ever graduating.”

Michael inhaled impatiently, craving a cigarette. “What does that mean?”

“That means that there’s a very good chance you won’t be attending Kenton anymore.”

There was silence as the emphasis of Professor Steele’s words hung in the air. Michael stilled, then cleared his throat and straightened in his seat. “I’m flunking out?”

“More or less.” She closed the file and folded her hands on top of it, smiling slightly, evidently pleased at having finally gotten his attention. “You were put on academic probation last semester, but your grades are still nothing to brag about. In fact, according to your record, they’re even lower than before.”

“Just tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

“I’m not sure there’s anything you
can
do at this point, unless you start acing all your tests and devote every second of your life to make-up work—on which the highest grade you can get is a seventy percent, at most.” Professor Steele reached inside her desk drawer and removed a beige leather purse, from which she retrieved a tube of lipstick. She positioned a small mirror on top of Michael’s file. “I just don’t understand. Did you think this would all be easy? Did you think you could just show up—sometimes—and get all the glory without doing the work?”

Michael stifled an aggravated growl. That was pretty much exactly what he’d figured. Wasn’t college supposed to be fun?

“We need to start thinking realistically.” She paused to uncap the lipstick and applied an unnecessary coat. “I think the problem is you don’t know where you want to go, thus you’re not going anywhere. It’s high time you start planning your future, so let’s have it. Where do you want to see yourself in ten years?”

“I don’t know.” His knee bounced. “Look, I’m not like everybody else, okay? I don’t obsess about the future.”

Professor Steele smacked her creamy, matte lips together. “Giving something a little thought every now and then is hardly obsessing.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Plans only get screwed up anyway.” He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his thighs and clasp his hands together as his gaze fell to the floor. “No matter how much you want to make something happen, something else happens to mess it all up. Nothing ever turns out how you expect it or want it to, so why bother planning? Why bother caring?”

“Was being in the position you’re in today what you hoped to achieve by not caring?”

“All I know is that I don’t want to be here.”

“Then I’ve got good news for you. Keep doing what you’re doing and your wish will come true faster than you know, Mr. Vartanian.” Professor Steele put the cover on her lipstick and dropped it into her purse while looking pointedly at her door.

Michael pushed himself out of his chair and left her office without another word. He could hear the blood rushing through his head as his feet took on a life of their own, leading him outside and across the quiet campus toward Myle Hall, where his Speech Communication class was—if his memory served him correctly. The days when he’d been to class had been few, and the times he’d been there sober were even fewer. He paused in front of the two-story brick building and stared at its white double doors and its fat round columns, trying to recall it. The fact he even had to do so scared him more than he thought possible.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there before students trickled out of the nearby buildings. The campus soon crawled with activity, and the quiet that had surrounded him morphed into rowdy shouts of excitement. An unexpected sense of helplessness fell over Michael as he viewed his peers. He didn’t recognize any of them, and he didn’t feel like he was like any of them either.

As if beckoned by fate’s cruel finger, Breeze materialized from the crowd, sauntering down the paved path with a gaggle of girls flocking around her like ladies-in-waiting. She didn’t seem to notice him, engrossed in the flurry of conversation surrounding her. She looked happy. She looked like a queen. She looked like Michael Vartanian was the furthest thing from her mind.

Michael bit down on his lip so hard he thought he would sever it. He ignored the warnings of Professor Steele as he headed for the parking lot, where he got into his truck. The roaring engine drowned out any remainder of Breeze’s carefree laughter, still echoing in his ears as he drove away.

* * * *

“Val!” Daniel Travato curled his notebook into a sloppy megaphone and called her name again in the crowded cafeteria in Farley Student Union, which hummed with the dull roar of talking, chairs scraping across the floor and soda cans dropping in the vending machines. “Valerie!”

Valerie turned, careful not to bump the other students in line with her tray. “What’s up?”

Daniel stopped in front of her. “I was wondering what time I’m picking you ladies up tonight.” He still spoke into his makeshift megaphone.

Valerie giggled and guided the notebook away from his mouth. “Excuse me?”

“Shannon invited me to some party she said you two were going to.” He held his notebook in place on the top of his head with his hands, giving his upper arms a stretch. “I offered to be the chauffeur.” His brow furrowed. “She didn’t tell you?”

“I haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet, but I will.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “Meet me at my house around eight, okay?”

Daniel’s worried expression dissolved into a relieved grin. “Sounds good. I’ll be there.” He walked backward for a few steps, tipped his notebook at her like it was a hat and wove his way through the crowd.

Valerie paid for her meal and joined Shannon at a table near the window. “So you invited Daniel out with us tonight?”

“I did.” Shannon popped a potato chip in her mouth. “I thought it’d be good for him.”

“Or did you think it’d be good for me?” Valerie gave Shannon a suspicious look as she sat opposite her friend.

Shannon looked angelically at the ceiling. “Think what you want.”

Valerie stared at her square of pizza, slick with puddles of grease and coated in a thin layer of congealed mozzarella. “It should be fun. It’ll be good to get my mind off things.”

Shannon grinned. “I absolutely agree.”

* * * *

Michael surveyed the party between heavy eyelids and gently bit the inside of his cheek to ease the dryness. The dim lights made shadows of the warm, drunk partygoers crushed together in the basement of the house Rooney shared with five friends. Rooney handed him the water pipe and a lighter again and Michael gratefully accepted it, not willing to face the crowd without a haze in his head.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind immortality so much.” Rooney addressed no one in particular within the circle of people forming around his and Michael’s identical lawn chairs. He strummed a few chords on the out-of-tune acoustic guitar sitting in his lap. “Some people might get bored, but not me. I’d just play guitar all day and get really good at it.”

“Finally,” said one of Rooney’s housemates—a boy with Jesus Christ strung-out hair. His words came in puffs of smoke after he took a hit from the water pipe Michael had passed him.

While the people around him laughed and joked, Michael’s mind wandered to his conversation with Professor Steele and Breeze’s apparent happiness. A flower of fear bloomed in the pit of his stomach, and he pleaded with his mind to think about something—anything—else. He buried his hands in his pockets to distract himself, and his fingers curled around an unfamiliar object. His heart leaped for a moment as he wondered if maybe Breeze had put something in his pocket as a surprise, but he realized it was just the army pamphlet Rooney had given him months ago. He had no idea why he didn’t just throw the brochure away. It served no use to him aside from reading material when he’d been bored in his truck while waiting for Breeze to come out of class, and those days were over.

“Someone’s quiet.” Rooney gave Michael’s shoulder a light punch, returning Michael to the present. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Sorry.” Michael shook his head. “I just zoned out for a minute.”

Rooney offered him the water pipe. “You want this or not?”

“Yeah, pass it over.”

Just before Michael’s fingers wrapped around the smooth glass pipe, he saw Valerie across the room, her dark hair catching the light from the bare bulb in the ceiling. His eyebrows lifted with surprise. He figured Rooney’s house would be the last place he’d ever see her. He was used to seeing her around campus, although he tried not to—he couldn’t bear her openly wounded stares. Her phone calls had ceased and she didn’t attempt to speak to him, but her eyes said plenty:
Why don’t you care
about me like I care about you?

Michael could never give Valerie the answer—he didn’t have one. He wished he could explain to her the purpose of their relationship, but was horrorstruck when he thought of his own unkindness.