“Miss Amelia, this just isn’t working out,” said Marie. “We’ve got to find an alternative solution.”
She sat in a folding metal chair next to the old lady’s hospital bed.
“Why? Is my Logan not behaving himself?”
Marie recalled the scene in her last seminar and struggled for words that would do it justice. “Noooo,” she said cautiously. “That’s not exactly it.” She picked at her cuticles, managing to create a nasty hangnail on her left thumb. “It has more to do with my other students’ reaction to him.”
Miss Amelia grinned. “Logan is one hot hunk of burning love, isn’t he?”
Marie choked.
The old lady reached out a bony index finger and poked her playfully in the ribs. “Aha!”
“There’s no ‘aha’ about it.”
“Ha! The ‘aha’ shows in your blush, girl, so don’t try the ‘huh-uh’ business with me.”
“Huh? I mean, what?”
“You find my Logan very attractive, don’t you?”
Marie opened and closed her mouth like a fish. “He’s handsome, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Miss Amelia shook her head, as if clearing memories, and clucked her tongue. “Those quads,” she said, dreamily. “His grandfather’s were the same before the wheelchair. Thick, and meaty and muscular. A man’s stamina is all in the thighs and buttocks.”
“I—uh—can I get you some water? “Marie asked, bolting into the old lady’s private bathroom. She fanned flaming cheeks.
“Charles was good for an hour, at least…”
Marie knocked both faucets on, trying to drown out Amelia’s mischievous voice, but it continued inexorably, at a higher volume. “…all the Xavier men are very well hung. I haven’t seen Logan nude since he was about seven, but judging proportionally…”
Marie splashed water onto her face and stuck her index fingers in her ears. Aghast, she looked into the mirror to find that her freckles had all run together, the dots connected by a blanket of scarlet.
Water dripped down her forearms, soaking into the sleeves of her sweater and pooling at the inside of her bent elbows.
“Are you all right in there, dear?”
“Yes,” she croaked.
“I’m a dirty old woman, aren’t I?”
“Uhm, no. Not at all.”
“Liar,” said Miss Amelia cheerfully. “Come on out of there. I promise I’ll stop.”
Marie mopped at her face with a wad of paper towels, and tried to blot the worst of the water from her sweater sleeves. Then she emerged.
The old lady cackled. “I had no idea you were uptight about these things. It’s usually old birds of my generation that I shock into pathos.”
“I’m not uptight,” Marie said.
“Yes, you are, dear. But that’s all right. It’s very sweet.”
“I’m not sweet, either.”
“Right. You’re a regular old sourpuss, a nail-spitter. An absolute ghoul.”
“That’s me. Now, about this teaching situation.” Marie cleared her throat. “It’s not so much Logan that’s the problem. It’s the young women.”
“Flirting desperately with him, eh?”
That was one way of putting it. She nodded. Even though the old lady probably wouldn’t bat an eye, she didn’t feel like telling her about the nipple-flicking incident. “Their attention certainly isn’t on the subject matter I’d like to teach them.”
“I’m a little surprised that the liberated women of West Point College would pay much attention to my grandson, good-looking though he may be.”
“Women today know what they want.” Marie searched for a tactful way to put things. “And they’re not… shy… about going after it anymore. In other words, we’ve come a long way, baby.
Miss Amelia lapsed into thought for a moment. “Fine. I’m sure that you’d like to have order back in your class, and I certainly understand that. So, there’s nothing else for you to do but tutor Logan privately.” Her eyes gleamed.
Tutor Logan one on one? Marie’s blood ran cold, then hot. Then it just ran, draining out of her face entirely. She could feel it. “That’s really not a good idea,” she managed.
“It’s an excellent idea,” maintained Miss Amelia. “It solves your problem.”
Yes, but it creates an entirely new one. Once again, Marie opened her mouth, then closed it. How could she tell the old lady that she and Logan had, uh, embraced in her office?
Jubilee’s voice suddenly mocked her. Embraced? Nuh-uh. You did not embrace that man. You sucked face, you mashed with him, and you all but got down in a horizontal boogie.
“I don’t think he likes or trusts me, Miss Amelia. I’m probably not the right teacher for him.”
Hah, Jubilee would say. You’re just afraid he’ll make you bark like a dog.
Marie’s eyes popped, and she chased all thoughts of her friend out of her head. Dear God, it was true, though. Logan was the type of man who could elicit barnyard animal noises from a nun. And she was no nun. In fact, she seemed to be developing all the characteristics of her mother, the shameless hussy of yesteryear.
“Logan doesn’t like or trust most people. So don’t feel that he’s discriminating against you, my dear Marie.”
She was outrageous. “I’m afraid you don’t understand. Logan thinks that I’m in league with the chair, and that I’m only using you in order to get my paws—or the college’s paws—on your paintings. He’s very protective of you.”
Miss Amelia broke into peals of laughter. “Poor boy. He’s without a clue, isn’t he? He has no idea that I was using you, both for Charles’s sake and for my own. You’re not only a top scholar and evocative writer, but excellent company for a lonely old bird.”
Marie shook her head at her, unable to suppress a smile.
“Now,” added the old lady, “I should make it clear that the usage ended when I discovered how much I liked you.”
“Thank you. The feeling is mutual. But I still don’t think I’m the right teacher for Logan.”
Miss Amelia had looked fairly healthy and robust until this comment. Now she adopted a helpless expression, sinking lower into her bank of pillows. “Oh, but you promised, my dear. And,” she paused, “then there’s the tiny matter of that binding legal document. Not that I would be so crass as to throw that in your face.”
She was something else. “Of course not.”
“Regardless of how you may feel at the moment, you’re good for Logan.”
Marie blinked rapidly and said nothing. What could she say to this lovable, lipsticked locomotive?
“You’re getting him to confront the past, battle his demons.”
“Miss Amelia, perhaps you could tell me more about these demons? It might help me get through to him. What happened with Logan and your husband?”
The old lady went completely still and closed her eyes.
Marie waited, assuming she was contemplating how to phrase things. But as the moments stretched on, it became clear to her that she wasn’t going to phrase anything at all.
A tiny faux snore whistled past her thin magenta lips, and Marie grappled with the knowledge that once again, she’d been outmaneuvered.
Damn that Miss Amelia!
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