Truths of the Heart (29 page)

“Why was I not told about this sooner?”

“Listen to you.”

“He looks old enough to be your father.”

“You're repeating yourself.”

“He is.”

“He is only forty-five.”

“Only! How do you know?”

“He told me.”

“He TOLD you!”

“Listen to you.”

“You're not going to Milan.”

She shrugged and said, “So how is the apparition coming along?”

“It's not, was, wasn't an apparition at all, only a fictional joke in a
sappy novel that nobody in their right mind would believe or maybe they would
and that is why our fuzzy and warm little world is so much with us or without
us or … matter of fact it's similar to this scene I'm in right now. A young
violin player and a graying Italian stallion....”

“Seth!”

“...about to become a Nora Roberts' novel. Reality is no fun anymore,
it's virtual rah rah, get your kicks on Route 666, dirt holes and sex du jour,
sixty time six is for slobs. You have to slice a throat now and then, sleep
with a witch, eat yesterday's pea soup with Damien's cousin, make goo goo with
beasts.”

“Geez, that bad huh.”

“Worse.”

She looked at the paint on his hands, “So what have you been doing, painting?”

“I quit.”

“What?”

“I quit, left all my equipment in a farmer's field.”

“What?”

“I quit it all.”

“Oh no you don't, buddy boy, no.”

“I....”

“You go right this minute and get your equipment, now.”

“You're not going to Italy.”

“Bet me. Now go, this minute, and get that painting equipment. Now, or don’t
ever speak to me again.”

She went to the stage picked up her violin and began playing “Arrivederci
Roma”.

CHAPTER SIX

Last formal meeting of Com. 501, Seth arrived at the Olds Hall
classroom five minutes past the scheduled start time of 2:00 P.M. The other
students chattered about and Seth imagined they blabbed about what students
blab about when yet another academic year is completed.

Blah blah blah
.

But No Rachelle.

“Figures,” he muttered.

He sat in the seat he had sat in on the first class meeting. He looked
at the window he had opened at Rachelle's request. He looked where she had
written on the chalk board, the table she leaned on, stood behind, paced
around.

A rustling, he tensed and Kay Jackson came into the room.

Seth bit his lower lip.

Kay spoke, “Dr. Zannes will not be here today. Some bug. She asked me
to tell you that you may pick up your projects at her Bessey Hall office.”

Figures.

Kay: “That's it, see some of you next year.”

Student mumbling, grumbling, sighs, smirks, they stood, milled around. Kay,
looking in Seth's direction, called over the din, “Seth.”

Seth, staring out the window, looked her way.

Pointing to her chest, she said, “Would you stop by and see me before
you leave?” She looked over the buzzing students. “If there isn't anything
else, any questions, have a good summer vacation. Grades will be posted next
week, be in the mail same day.”

Seth waded through the students who were exiting the room. At the front
of the room he said to Kay, “You wanted to see me?”

“Hi, Seth, remember me?”

“How could I forget?”

“You are such an asshole sometimes.”

“I know.”

She said, “We've been trying to get in touch with you, don't you have a
phone?”

“No.”

She looked at him queerly, then said, “Z wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, what did I do, break some rule?”

Sigh, “It's about your project.”

“That bad huh?”

“Jesus Christ, she wants to see you.”

“About what?”

“I don't know.”

“I'm busy, I've got a ton of things to do. By the way, you probably
read my stuff, what grade did you....”

“For Christ's sake, chill out will you. I don't give out grades and I
didn't read your stuff. Probably not worth a whit anyway. You are such a cry
baby.”

“I think the operative word these days is whiner,”

“You said it.”

“When?”

“When what?”

“When does Z want to see me?”

“I don't know, call her.”

“I thought she was sick.”

“She is, call her at home, she said she'd probably be in the office tomorrow.”
She hesitated then whispered, “Between you and me, I think that asshole husband
of hers is the sick one.”

“Not my problem.”

“Wanna go get a cup of coffee, I'll buy.”

“No.”

“Be that way, dip.” She started to leave.

“Hey?”

“What?”

“Got her home number handy?”

“You are such a dip.”

“I know.”

“313-224-4454.”

“Thanks, have a nice day.”

Seth mulled it, thought about it, kicked it.
Maybe I should just
wait and go to her office tomorrow. Tomorrow may never come. Original. Kaysee
said call her. If you flunked the course, you'll be able to hear it in her
voice. But she's sick … what did that comment about her husband mean? Call her.

He went to a pay phone and pressed Rachelle's number. Male voice answered:
“Yah.”

“Is Dr. Zannes there?”

“Who's this?”

“Who's this?”

“Carl Bostich, her husband, who's this?”

Philip Marlowe, dick head
. “I'm a student of hers, Seth Trudow. I was told she wanted to see
me.”

“Just a minute.”

Grumbling, shuffling, after thirty seconds, Rachelle answered, “This is
Dr. Zannes.”

She sounded tired. Seth said, “This is Seth Trudow, Com. 501, Ms. Jackson
said you wanted to see me.”

“Oh yes, Seth, hi, I’ll be in my office tomorrow afternoon. Could you come
in around 1:00? ”

“Is this something ominous?”

“Heavens no.”

“Okay, thank you. See you tomorrow.” Before he hung up, he heard Carl say,
“Who was that jerk?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Carl golfing, just before noon Thursday, Rachelle dressed in tan
slacks, a white blouse, and brown pumps. She pinned her hair behind her ears
with gold Pisces barrettes and drove to her Bessey Hall office. Arrived just
after 12:30, attending to some paper work, she heard a tapping at her open
door. She looked up. Seth stood looking in.

She said, “Hi Seth, come in.”

Entering, Seth—hair trimmed, clean shaven, black Dockers, white polo
shirt, flight boots—said, “Where's Ms. Kaysee?”

“She took the afternoon off. Please have a seat.”

He sat in one of the blue-covered chair facing the desk and first thing
he noticed, Rachelle looked tired and her chin was red and bruised.

She smiled and held up his manuscript: “Seth, I read ‘Ben's Story’
.
”

“Did I flunk?”

“On the contrary.”

Her voice hypnotic, her face killing him, her words like a faraway
siren in a distant night, he wasn't sure he heard her. He said, “Contrary?”

“I like it very much.”

Stopped, he studied her amber topaz eyes. Gems. Alive. Warm. Drawing him
in.

You're killing me.

Rachelle, paused in the moment, imagined how wonderful it would be to be
young with so much talent, so much promise.

She said, “Very sensual.”

“You think … I … was it too much?”

“Not at all.”

Seth sensed her reaching out, a smile that was more than a smile. He said,
“What can I say, thank you.”

“Interesting character, Abigail Fuller,” she looked through him.

He didn't have to say it, she didn't either. She knew and he knew she
knew.

His breath quickened.

“Interesting how you handled a story within a story.”

“Thank you.”

“Your hero, Matt James, is another interesting character, real.”

“Thank you.”

“Steamy relationship with Abigail.”

Pause, smile.

Some stirring thing moving around between them, she picked up his manuscript,
stood and walked to the window: “Why the sad ending?”

He had followed her every graceful step and now, the afternoon sunlight
highlighting her soft hair and the side of her face, stared at her.

She turned and held the manuscript to her breasts.

Seth, mesmerized, fantasized being crushed there like the manuscript.

She said, “Humm?”

“What?”

“Why the sad ending?”

He leaned back, “It's all about endings, isn't it.”

“How so?”

“Life and then you die. It's all endings.”

“It's not that bleak, is it?”

“Isn't it? You're born without any say in the matter, go along, then
realize that one day you will die and you wonder why go through all this
messing around to get this and that, enjoy a little taste, a touch, knowing,
always, in the back of your mind it's going to end, living the rot for what, to
earn the gods' favor. Death is the only real friend we have. Life is nice but
it will leave us. Death is always near and will be there in the end, forever.”

“Where did all this fatalism come from?”

“Is that what it is?”

“I think.”

“My sister was killed by a drunk driver.”

Paused by the bluntness, she said softly, “I'm sorry.”

“Endings, always endings. If all this is an accident, it seems silly to
wonder through the heap like some sightless earth worm. Going on day to day to
do what?” He put his right index finger to his temple and as he pulled an
imaginary trigger, he said, “Then there is the smart one.”

Strong thoughts of her father's suicide flushed through her. Her face saddened,
she turned to the window.

Way to go, Seth, you blew it.
He stood and said, “I'm sorry if I said something....”

She raised a hand, composed herself, turned, walked to her desk, sat
and looked, it seemed, into him.

He blushed. “I'm sorry if I said....”

“No, nothing,” She leaned back, “Have you ever submitted to a publisher?”

“Hadn't thought about it, really?”

“Why don't you?”

Stopped, “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

Seth studied her face. “You mean Ben’s Story?”

“Yes.”

“But how....”

“I'll help you.” There was that smile again. “Speaking of which, I'm having
a reception Saturday night for Simone Simone, she's a local playwright. Have
you heard of her?”

“Simone Simone?”

“That's her pen name, just between we two, her real name is Mary Webster.
She'll be reading some of her work, chatting, answering questions … some 501
classmates will be there, a few other faculty, very informal, would you like to
come?”

Are you kidding me?
“What time?”

“Sevenish.”

“Oh, I have another engagement.”

“Oh, too bad.”

“But I think I can reschedule.”

She smiled, “It's at my home, Lake Lansing, do you know the area?”

“Yes, some.”

“We're on the south east side of the lake, 5900 East Lake Drive.”

“I'll find it.”

“Dress is casual. I think you will enjoy meeting Simone, she is a good person
to know, a little eccentric, but she's a treasure.”

Rachelle stood and extended her hand. “We'll see you Saturday night,
then.”

Standing, Seth took her hand. Her palm warm and soft, a tingling sensation
ran up his arm. He looked into her eyes. A little squeeze.

Damn
.

She released.

He said, “I was wondering....”

“Yes.”

“Nothing.”

Seth wanted to stay, but he didn't know what to do.

“Keep writing, Seth. Okay?” She smiled.

Say something, anything
.
“Thank you again.”
Good, really good
. “Thank you, Dr. Zannes.” He
reached to shake her hand again.