The Morning After

Brenda woke with a smile on her face. She could feel it. How unusual. Where was the tense nervous energy that usually drove her to sit up, throw off the covers, and jump out of bed before she even achieved full consciousness?

Then she remembered last night. Not the hands on her back, though they were nice enough, and tremendously relaxed her, but the face she saw when she closed her eyes. The insulting smirk, the little hitch in the corner of the lip, the beady eyes undressing her from the other side of the desk.

He didn’t just look like Bill Clinton, he exuded that thing nobody could name, no matter how much they talked about it, and talk they did. Every woman who walked out of his office was convinced he had the hots for her.

She closed her eyes and let herself sink back against the pillow. Ohmigod, she was seeing him today! In his office. Probably alone. What in the world did he want? She wouldn’t give it to him. But she’d always felt he had a special feeling for her.

What to wear? She went to the closet that held her collection of pants suits – the whole line of Early Hillarys. She wondered if Mitchell Wagman noticed, whether he even identified. Maybe not. But she had supported Hillary on behalf of all women, and had not succumbed even to the allure of working for the nomination of the first Black… the first African-American president.

The long-jacketed suits... she wished she had something… something sexier. She’d wear the signature yellow one, with a cami underneath, and open the jacket just before she entered the office. Yes, that would do.

It wasn’t until she was fifty seconds into the recommended two-minute brushing of her teeth that she began to worry. He said not to, but maybe that was because there was something to worry about. He said it was good. But maybe he’s going to compliment her, then assign her to Special Ed because she’s so good at what she does. The school year is almost over. This would be the time to spring it. Ohmigod!

She did not wear the yellow suit. She wore a simpering light blue, and added a lace dickey up to the chin. She sat primly, with her knees together, and a handkerchief between her hands like a Victorian servant called on the carpet.

She was afraid. Not of the boss. Not even of the man. Just afraid of what could happen. Of what happened in her mind when she thought about him. Which she shouldn’t, of course, but he was her boss. He came up every day. Ohmigod! How could she think such things?

He was behind the desk now, with his back toward her, having just completed a jovial phone call. He swiveled around, his arms locked behind his head, his mouth open in a big grin.

“Well, little lady, how are ya?” he asked, looking deep into her face to find the answer.

“Good. I’m good.” Stupid thing to say. Ungrammatical. She’s a teacher!

“You certainly are,” he says. His jaw drops just a tad, so he looks, for a second, lustful. Somewhere in her belly, there’s a quivering response. It subsides.

“Thank you.” What is this? She’s no little lamb to be petted. She’s had more education than he’s had, taught longer and harder, she can do math, and she knows for a fact, he can’t. Why should she be deferential? Because he’s the boss? That’s out the window because he’s also a man, and it is against her creed to play up to a man. “You wanted to see me?”

“I certainly did.” The leer has turned into frank, confidential admiration. He keeps it on his face forever, leaving her to break the spell. But she can’t think of what to say, and continues looking at it. Finally exasperation takes hold. “About what?”

He comes around the outside of the desk. “Excuse me, excuse me. I’ve just been picturing you in your new role. It’s marvelous. You’re marvelous.”

He looks way down at her and takes her hand. Uh-oh. It is
Special Ed. Goddamit!

She’s not going to be pushed around by this brute! The big creep!

“I’m not doing it,” she says firmly. Or is she shouting?

“I’m not going to do it. I’m an excellent math teacher, and you are NOT, do you hear me? You are NOT going to send me somewhere I don’t want to go, even if I should want it, no matter what you think!

He looked shocked. And hurt. Then his expression turned mean. His eyes became narrow slits. “Who told you? Did Samuels tell you? I told him to keep his big mouth shut, that I’d take care of it.”

Samuels was the head of the teacher’s union. She had nothing to do with him; he hadn’t said a thing to her.

“No. I figured it out for myself.”

“You what? You listen to me, Ms. Independent, this isn’t an offer you turn down just like that. This is an opportunity. And not only for you. For all of us. For the school. The town. It’s incredibly selfish of you.”

Normally it might have made her cry to have her dedication called into question. But she’d seen too many teachers go down the tubes teaching what they weren’t meant to teach.

“I can not spend my day with people who don’t know which end is up. I’m a math teacher.”

Now he looked shocked. He pulled up an extra chair that sat alongside the desk. Her head was down. He dipped his to peer up at her. His big face was right in hers.

“Now Brenda. I know you don’t mean that. You’re a very dedicated person. You love your fellow man. You would not reject a call to serve. Of course, you’re superior. That’s why we want you.”

Just as she thought. He knew he was exploiting her.

Her sense of self-preservation flew to the fore. “For once, I’m going to look out for myself. Because you know what? If you ruin me, if you drive me insane, if you stick me with an impossible task, I won’t be good for anything, ever again.”

“Please, Brenda. Mrs. Shapiro. Please. I told them I was sure you would want to give whatever you’ve got. I thought I knew you.” He looked at her quizzically, as if for the first time.

“I know people,” he said. “I still think I was right.”

So. She’d surprised him. It felt good. Everybody took her good nature for granted. They used her. Tired her out. Wasted her. Everybody thought they could walk all over her. Brenda, the good girl. Brenda, the girl who wipes up the messes, the girl who volunteers, the girl who holds your head when you have to vomit. Well, it wasn’t going to happen this time.

She summoned all her will and stood up, right past the bushy eyebrows. He leaned back to give her room.

“I suppose I’ll be looking for another job now,” she said.

Once more he looked shocked.

“Why?” he asked. “Aren’t you happy here?”

“I’m happy teaching math.”

“Then continue to do so,” he said. “Just because you don’t want to play ball with me doesn’t mean you’re out of the game. I thought it would be good for you. Good for all of us.”

“It would be good for everybody but me,” she said.

“I’m very sorry to hear you say that. I thought you’d enjoy the campaign.”

“Campaign? What are you talking about?”

This time his look told her she sounded deranged.

“I’m talking about running for public office. What are you talking about?”

“Teaching Special Ed.”

Silence while both sides replayed the conversation. He was the first to burst out laughing. She followed, and sank back down in her chair. As they sat there convulsed, because the tension had built to quite an intolerable level, the door opened and Madge, his secretary, came in.

Madge was tall and skinny, wore big butterfly glasses, and her hair pinned back over her ears and piled elaborately on top of her head. She looked suspiciously and disapprovingly at the flushed duo.

The laughter stopped. Brenda backed away from her boss, still squatting on the chair he’d taken, the better to see her with. She stood, drew herself up and resumed a refined demeanor. Taking her cue, Wagman also stood, and held out his hand.

She took it. Instantly, she realized she had never touched him before. His hand was warm, powerful, and very large. Full of life, and strength. She held on to it, then felt compromised, and quickly dropped it.

But it was too late. He’d already felt whatever was coursing through her. The smirk was back.

“Then you’ll consider it?”

Consider what? Had he propositioned her? Then the reality hit. Yes, he had. Mightily. What should she say?

“Yes, of course,” good girl Brenda answered for her. Always mind your manners.

Before returning to her classroom, she ducked into the Ladies’ and took out her phone. She called Jason. “He wants me to run for public office.”

“What public office? You’re not going to, are you?”

Up until that moment, she hadn’t thought so. But there were no congratulations, there was no pride, there was only selfish in his voice. She was sick of selfish. Everyone was selfish. Nobody else matters. Only me, me, me. Maybe she would give herself after all. A feeling of great abandon came over her. Yes, she would give herself to Mitch Wagman. Not to him exactly, but to his fine idea. To his idealism. To his vision of her. She much preferred it to Jason’s.