Sarah's Education (32 page)

Applause. Jon smiling at the crowd. Jon shooting his cuffs and beginning to speak.

It was hot in the auditorium, but that wasn’t why Sarah suddenly felt faint.

He was leaving.

‘We’ll start with the graduating students in the Bachelor of Arts in Philosophy, Honours programme …’

There was no time to faint or cry. She’d be up there in a moment, shaking his hand, taking her diploma from him. He must not see how shaken she was by this news.

Sarah watched the first student ascend the stage, stride to the podium, shake Jon’s right hand with his, take the diploma with the left hand, and exit the stage on the other side. It
looked
impossible. She was growing huge, she could feel it, her bulk filling the chair in which she sat. She’d be stuck, unable to rise when her turn came.

Sarah fanned herself with her programme. Penny glanced at her as she rose from her seat in the front row. Sarah flashed her a thumbs-up sign. Penny ascended the stage.

Good. No need to infect Penny with her blight. Penny’s last name was Dickson. From D to M – how much time did she have? God what was happening? OK. Talk it through. Quick. Maybe somewhere in her subconscious she’d harboured the hope that once she wasn’t a student or an escort, she could date Professor Trelawney. Now he was leaving, so that hope, if she’d harboured it, had set sail. Deal with it. Now.

Penny raised her diploma high and shook it triumphantly as she crossed the stage. The crowd laughed. The next name was called. Greenwood. There weren’t a lot of honours students. She’d be up there in a moment. Parents in the crowd. Sister. Make them proud. Just one more time, Sarah. Make them proud.

So the sadistic prick was leaving town. So what. There were others. She’d find someone else. Unless, like David, no decent man would want her now. She’d set up shop, maybe in New York. Make the bastards pay to punish her and call her filthy names. Do that until she was too broken to go on.

Sarah stifled a moan. Fucked. Sarah Meadows, fucked. OK, so Sarah Meadows Fucked, make ’em proud.

‘Sarah Meadows,’ said Jon.

She rose, ordering herself not to be huge. It worked! Sarah miraculously made it to the stage without tripping on her robe. Jon waited, degree in hand. Take it. Shake his hand. Down the stairs. Done.

Black-robed figures descended on the quad like a murder of crows. Mortar boards flew. The noise of hundreds of young people, free from the formal graduation ceremony and clutching, at last, their hard-earned degrees, was deafening.

Sarah joined her family. David was with them, of course,
playing
his part. He stood stiffly as her parents and sister hugged and kissed her. Picture time! Sarah posed with her dad, with her mom, with both parents, with her family. She smiled and smiled for the camera. She posed with David, keeping her promise, not touching him. Penny joined them and a new round of photos began.

‘Are you OK?’ Penny patted Sarah’s flushed cheeks with her palms. ‘You look weird.’

‘I am weird.’

‘Aren’t we all?’ Penny hugged her. ‘Keep in touch. I’m not kidding. If I email you and you don’t – Oh my God, here comes Trelawney.’

‘No!’ Sarah clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Don’t leave me.’

‘Got to, babe. The future’s calling!’ Penny was swept away by the crowd, leaving Sarah alone to face Jon.

‘Sarah,’ he said. He touched her elbow. ‘I need to talk to you.’

‘Mom, Dad, this is Professor Trelawney.’

Her dad piped up. ‘You’re the one who took over when the existentialist went cuckoo, correct?’ He circled his temple with an index finger.

Sarah willed herself not to be embarrassed by her family in front of Jon. Who was he, after all, but her ex-client and ex-professor?

Her mother sashayed closer, extending her hand to Jon. ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for my daughter. She worked terribly hard for years and years to get this degree.’ She practically swooned as Jon took her hand for a moment. Who could blame her? Jon was a very handsome man. I’m her mother, this is our younger daughter, Donna, and Sarah’s fiancé, David.’

‘Mo-ther!’ It came out sounding like the whiny complaint of an adolescent. Damn.

‘Oh dear, have I let the cat out of the bag? Fine, they are as good as engaged. David is a teaching assistant here at Seneca.’

David left Donna long enough to shake hands with Jon, then retreated to Donna’s side again.

‘I didn’t get a chance to talk to you about your paper, Sarah. Have you a few moments?’ Jon tried to draw her away with his hand on her elbow.

‘No.’ Sarah shrugged him off.

‘Ah. Well, I’d be happy to give you a recommendation for graduate school.’

‘I’m not going to grad. school. I’ve left my job with the catering agency, too. I’m footloose and fancy free.’ She gave him a bright smile. ‘A will o’ the wisp.’

‘I’m surprised. About grad. school. Your paper was remarkable, as much because of your style as your ideas, although the concept, that this, um, Asperger’s syndrome might have affected many of the great philosophers throughout history, well, it’s – interesting.’

Mr Meadows interjected. ‘Donna has Asperger’s syndrome,’ he said proudly.

‘No I don’t, Dad,’ said Donna. ‘It’s too complicated. I think I just have allergies, like David.’ She smiled up at David. We’re allergic to pollen and lactose intolerant.’

‘Let me get a picture of you with your professor,’ said Mr Meadows.

‘No, Dad. No thanks.’ Sarah knew if a photo of the two of them existed she’d never get past the mixed-up way Jon Trelawney made her feel. ‘But Professor Trelawney, would you mind taking a photo of us?’

Jon was visibly taken aback, but, as everyone gathered around Sarah, he gamely framed and snapped the photo.

‘Thanks.’ Sarah took the camera from him. Their fingers touched. Tears sprung into her eyes.

‘I’m scheduled to fly out tonight,’ said Jon. ‘I’m going to –’

‘Good luck, Professor,’ she said, purposely cutting him off. The less she knew about his future plans, the better.

Jon looked as if he’d like to linger but there was no legitimate reason for him to do so. ‘I guess this is goodbye then.’

‘I guess it is. Goodbye, Professor Trelawney. It was nice knowing you.’

28

SARAH PLAYED HER
final line over and over in her head in the days following. ‘Nice knowing you.’ It gave her shivers of pleasure. She’d been cool, even arrogant and if her eyes had been a bit wet, well, it’d probably made them sparkle. She’d shown him!

She stood in the room that had been her quarters for most of the four years she’d been attending Seneca University. The furniture was still there, but without her things in it the room was already impersonal. She trailed her hand along the desk. He’d said her paper was remarkable and her ideas interesting. Ha!

It shocked her how much she hated Jon Trelawney. Rationally speaking, he’d done nothing wrong but her belly screamed betrayal. She didn’t want food, couldn’t handle it. She wanted revenge. Someday she’d stop hating him and then she’d be on the glorious road to recovery, but for now hate throbbed inside her with every beat of her heart.

Sarah checked the cupboard above the desk for liquor but she and Donna had cleaned that out days ago. Donna had made the move from the room across the hall to a modern one-room apartment. ‘I got my Bachelor’s too,’ she’d said. Sarah smiled. David had helped Donna get settled and find a job. Sarah had managed to slip the diamond ring he’d left with her into the pocket of his raincoat. She had a feeling he’d be needing it soon enough.

She closed the cupboard. Too bad. She could use a good belt to get her through the rest of the day. Sarah noticed something odd lodged in the corner. She picked it up. A mouldy old crab claw. Not thrown away, after all, just lost. She shuddered.

She’d been a girl when she’d had sex with Jack. Nine months seemed like nine years. One night with Jack and she’d created a love affair from what was clearly a simple transaction, goods, her goods, for money. She’d made that mistake at the beginning of her call-girl career and she’d made it again at the end. Idiot. Sarah tossed the claw into the plastic bag hanging on the doorknob, grabbed the bag and left.

She descended the stairs slowly, glancing around at each level to see if one of her housemates was still around. After years of not particularly paying attention to who they were she was belatedly ready to chat. But she was the last one out.

No surprise that. She was probably the only one of the bunch who had nowhere to go. She’d shipped her stuff to St Paul but she had no intention of following it there. She was all grown up now. She’d go to the bus depot, pick a destination she could afford and climb aboard. Rumble off into her future. At least she had plenty to wear.

Sarah tossed her garbage into the trash. Her luggage waited for her at the front door. She grabbed the handle and started rolling it out to the porch. The communal phone rang.

For a moment she considered simply continuing on her way. Instead, she left her luggage halfway out the door and returned to pick up.

‘Sarah.’ The unmistakable sound of Veronica’s sultry voice purred in Sarah’s ear. ‘I’ve received a special request for you. Triple your usual fee. Interested?’

29

SARAH LOOKED RIGHT
at home in the elevator of the posh Plaza Hotel. She was one of a few chic women with luggage, on their way up to their rooms. No one could guess that the room she was travelling to wasn’t hers. It was Jack’s.

It had to be. Veronica had refused to divulge the name but she’d clearly been pleased for Sarah. It had to be him. Besides, at that kind of fee she’d expected the client would want her dressed as an alien or something, but Veronica had said to dress for the surroundings, not the scene. ‘Anything nice will do,’ she’d said. It had to be him.

Had she conjured him up with that putrefied crab claw? She giggled but turned it into a cough. Giggling wasn’t sophisticated. But why had he come for her now, when it was too late? Still, if the thought of him didn’t make her heart sing the way it once had at least her pussy was purring. Jack was a lot of fun. Hopefully all he wanted was to exchange a wad of cash for a good fuck. Anything more than that would be difficult now. About as difficult as it was unlikely.

In response to her knock the door opened; the man on the other side was not Jack. It was Jon.

Sarah froze. He pulled her into the hotel room and shut the door.

‘I hate you,’ she whispered as he propelled her past the sumptuous living room and into the study.

‘I know,’ he said. He pushed her into the chair on one side of the desk and took the big chair behind it. ‘But I don’t know why. It doesn’t matter anyway because we’re here to discuss your paper.’

‘My paper?’ Sarah’s voice squeaked. ‘You’re kidding.’ She half-rose from her chair.

‘Sit.’ His voice was low but emphatic.

She sat.

‘I shouldn’t have given you an A in Ethics when you failed to appear for our appointment. I’ll rectify that now.

‘I found your paper interesting and the presentation fresh. Your ideas were clear, although some seemed a bit unsubstantiated. Nonetheless the topic is fascinating and some of the questions you propose in the conclusion, particularly the ethical question of
in utero
brain surgery potentially ridding the world not only of its greatest thinkers but of its most enlightened beings – well, these are good issues that bear further study.’

Sarah shrugged. ‘So, study them. Feel free to crib from my paper all you like.’

His brows knit in a frown so fierce it was funny. ‘That’s not what I’m suggesting. I’m suggesting you continue your course of studies. Abroad.’

‘Why abroad?’

‘Because that’s where I’ll be. I’ve joined a think tank in Switzerland. The local university has an excellent philosophy department. Come with me.’

‘I thought … Didn’t you already leave?’

‘I came back for you.’

Hate drained from her body so quickly her limbs felt weak. She couldn’t have left then if she’d wanted to. Which she didn’t.

‘Come with me, Sarah.’

‘As your mistress?’

‘As my wife.’

Jon was on the move now, coming around the desk to sit on it, close to her. Close enough to touch.

‘You’re kidding.’

‘Nope.’

‘What if I’m autistic?’

‘So?’ He laughed. ‘That’s your biggest concern? I don’t think we should worry about it.’

‘I don’t relate well to people.’ Even as she said it she recalled her Classique clients. Not the regular guys, but George in his wheelchair, Peter and his mink glove, the smoking fetishist, the swinging couples and Bengie, the infantalist. She saw their faces, knew their names. She cared.

‘Not true. Anyway, you like me. Or you did.’ Jon held out his hand. In it was a ring: three big diamonds marching along a gold band. ‘I wanted to give you this when you came for our assigned meeting. Once you were no longer my student. But you didn’t come.’

Sarah groaned. She plucked the ring from his hand.

‘I tried to convince myself you were better off with your young fiancé, but –’

‘David?’ It was Sarah’s turn to laugh. ‘He’s history.’

Jon grinned with obvious relief. ‘I knew you didn’t love him. But, do you love me?’

‘What is love?’

Jon groaned. ‘You’re not going to make this easy for me are you?’

She shook her head.

‘I have an answer.’

‘I expect you do. What is it?’

‘Plato talked about the three levels of pleasure, as I’m sure you know.’

‘Of course.’ Sarah spun the ring around the baby finger on her left hand, watching the diamonds sparkle. ‘
Eros, philia
and
agape
.’

‘I spent my youth looking for the one woman who embodied all three levels. The first, sensual, or physical pleasure.’

‘Sex.’ She cut him a glance from beneath lowered lids.

‘Right. The second, aesthetic pleasure.’

‘Beauty.’ She flashed him her sweetest smile.

‘And relationship. Marriage.’

‘Mmm.’ Sarah stopped playing with the ring. She tilted her head. ‘Level three?’