Private Lessons Ch. 07-10

"Or maybe that is what you want. You always have had a chip on your shoulder about your father going away; and now you've got a nice fat rich Daddy who can boost up your career at last. Just what you've always wanted. That is if he keeps you around long enough."

As much as I longed to throw my steaming hot bowl of wonton soup into Billy's snide face, I showed remarkable self-control. After all, this loser really was not worth getting an assault and battery charge thrown against me. Or being sued. Or whatever sort of sick malicious action he would take...

"I'd be careful if I were you," he continued. "After all, he's a celebrity. And guys like him will eat little southern belles like you up for breakfast."

"I'm sure you all know about it," I retorted, standing up from the table. It didn't matter. I had completely lost my appetite now. "Bye, Billy. See you around."

What had I ever seen in that guy in the first place, I wondered as I walked back to the office. I must have just been with him out of sheer loneliness. But those days were over now.

Still, I could not help but fume over Billy's nerve as I typed away at the various expense reports. Yes, the guy was a hopeless cause but he had said something which stuck in my head. Was I just a fun little diversion for Mr. C while he passed the time teaching the Master Class Workshop in New York? All along, I had suspected as much. And I was cool with it. Really. But for some reason, hearing it said out loud made it hurt.

"Jeez, did your pet dog just die?"

The snarky voice of Mark Richmond intruded on my thoughts. I gave a sigh of irritation. Joy and rapture! Just what I needed to make my day even worse.

Mark Richmond was one of the execs I worked for at my latest boring temp job. Don't ask me his position because I don't keep tabs on that stuff. I had only been at this particular office for one week. Besides, when you float from one job to the next, job titles mean little. And it didn't make sense to try to make friends or enemies with people as you might not even see them from one week to the next. But I was pretty sure he was a Vice President of some such department or other. Regardless of what the title was, his job was usually fairly stressful and he would always take it out on the nearest unsuspecting temp. In this case, me.

Actually, during the week that I had this particular assignment, he had never really insulted me. Believe me, in my time, I had worked for some real characters. People that would insist that I take down the minutes for their meetings and then get all snippy when I can't understand what they're saying because they're talking so fast. People that liked to throw telephones and beat up fax machines for fun. People that gave me hard assignments, got annoyed if I asked questions and got angry when everything went wrong because no one would tell me how they wanted stuff done.

Mark Richmond wasn't that bad. Really, I suppose the most annoying thing about him was that he was always having me do the most menial stupid tasks that it would take him two seconds to do. Like sharpen his pencils or open his mail. I secretly suspected that he got off on ordering me around. Being ordered around by Mr. C with our clothes off was one thing. Being ordered around in an office just made me cranky.

I merely glared at my temp boss and shrugged.

"Cheer up, why don't you?!" he snarled before going into his office and shutting the door.

Good.

If the door was shut, that meant that he wouldn't be bothering me.

At first, I did not detest Mr. Richmond so much. For despite his hostile manner and bossiness, he was kind of attractive in a quirky sort of way. He reminded me a lot of Chandler Bing on Friends, you know the one that Matthew Perry played. I never watched the show when it was really on the air. But I had received the first DVD set as a Christmas gift from my mom; and I had been hooked ever since. Now I was almost up to the third season. And I couldn't decide if I loved Chandler or hated him. He was an awful cretin and horrible towards women. These are the days before the thing with Monica. Yet I had more than my share of wet dreams about him.

Of course, the fact that Mark Richmond was his own man meant nothing to me. As far as I was concerned, he just looked like Chandler too damn much. And so I couldn't help but treat him as such. And Chandler was too much of a sarcastic ass to be bothered by anything that I would do.

At that point, my cell phone rang. If it was Billy, I swear that I would...

The Caller ID said Unknown Number. Probably a damned telemarketer. How did my number always end up on those lists?

"Hello?" I asked wearily.

"Maggie?"

My heart dropped in my chest. Mr. C!

"Hi..." I said breathlessly.

"I looked up your number in the Admissions Office. I hope that was okay."

Was he crazy?

"Sure," I said, trying not to sound too gleeful. "What's up?"

"Well, I was wondering..." There was a long pause. A deep breath. "Would you like to have dinner with me on Friday night?"

Why did I want to cry?

"You're asking me out on a date?"

"Well, I guess we have been doing things sort of backwards...but yes, I suppose that I am."

Oh, Mr. C!

"Well, let me see..." I said, actually pretending like I had anything close to resembling a social calendar. "I'm pretty sure that..."

"If you're too busy..."

"No, no..." I said frantically. Jeez, it would be just like me to play it so coy that I blew the whole deal! "Um, I'm pretty sure that...yes, I am definitely able to go to dinner Friday night."

I tried to ignore Mr. Richmond storming past my desk, his eyebrow lifted inquisitively. Damn office policy! If he had a problem with me taking a personal call, he could just let me go. This was too important!

"Shall I pick you up at your pad?" he asked, sounding so foreign.

"Um..." I hesitated. God, the sight of my shabby abode would scare him off right away. "Actually...how about I meet you? I'll be over in that part of town anyway." I was lying like a rug and didn't care. This was too important!

"Sounds lovely. Do you like Italian?"

"I love Italian," I enthused, hoping that the Diet Gods would not strike me dead for even contemplating lasagna.

"It's a date then."

"Okay," I said, feeling hopelessly shy and awkward. Apparently, I could be his sex slave with no problem; but when it came to a date, I was feeling like a gawky kid from high school. "I'll be looking forward to it."

"Me too."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Fred Astaire was singing in my head: Heaven...I'm in heaven...and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak...

"Well, don't you look like the cat who ate the canary?" Mark Richmond said, interrupting my fantasy ballroom dance. "If you can spare all of your admiring beaux a few moments, would you mind faxing this out for me?" He whisked the paper upon my desk. "Mucho gracias."

I really disliked that guy. In fact, I was quite sure that I would fuck Chandler any day of the week over him. And twice on Sunday.

But as I floated over to the fax machine, I could not help but smile with a silly grin. It didn't matter. Nothing could upset me now.

WEEK TEN – STAGE FRIGHT (Part Two)

The rest of the week went by too fast and too slow at the same time.

On the one hand, I couldn't wait to see Mr. C again. This last encounter of mind-blowing sex had truly pushed me over the edge. My ability to compartmentalize had gone all to hell. All I could think about was how good the sex was. No, 'good' did not describe it. I know it sounds cheesy, but I felt as I finally understood what the big deal was. Before I always thought that the idea of being sexually fulfilled was just a phrase used in romance novels and Cosmo. But that last time, I truly was satisfied.

Again and again, I would remember fondly that feeling of being cuddled against Mr. C's chest, looking out the window out at the snow. I took sadistic pleasure in being so warm and (dare I say it?) happy, my body singing with afterglow feelings while lazily peering out the window, watching the poor schmucks out on the street slipping and sliding in the snow.

Like a drug addict, I had the worst sort of craving to repeat the experience: both the sex and the afterglow.

But I had to have time to get ready. This wasn't a quick tumble in a black box theater basement. This was an honest-to-God date! Things were getting serious; and I had to look dazzling. Even if I did only have adequate material and meager funds to work with.

Usually, I could not stand spending a lot of money on buying clothes in Manhattan. I would much rather take a trip out to New Jersey. You didn't pay sales tax; and there was more of a chance that you would find real clothes for real people out there. But there was no time for a mall in Jersey. No, I had no choice but to hit the Manhattan stores and find something that would fit the bill.

Gritting my teeth, I went to Macy's, figuring at least there would be a lot of selection there. No matter what I would pick, it would mean more debt on my worn credit card. Ultimately, I found the perfect dress for the occasion. A burgundy slinky silk dress with spaghetti straps. Apparently, my obsessive dieting and working out paid off as I actually looked pretty good in it.

In theory, it was a good idea. In practice, I was freezing my ass off as I walked along the New York streets to Mr. C's apartment. Even my black winter coat felt as thin as silk against the biting gusts of winter wind. Oh, well, better to look good than to feel good, right? I just hoped that I wouldn't get a relapse with my illness.

Too miserable to be nervous, I frantically rang the buzzer.

"Come on in," Mr. C smiled. He was wearing a suit and looked fabulous. I got that silly dreamy feeling just looking at him.

"Take your coat off and relax," he said invitingly. "I just need to finish talking to my agent."

"Okay."

Mr. C went off into another room, closing the door behind him.

Trying to relax on the luxurious black leather sofa, I stayed huddled in my coat although I did undo the buttons. Again, I was in a starstruck condition as I looked about what I guessed was the living room. I noted pictures of Mr. C on Playbill Magazine , Time Out and People. There were publicity photos from some of his various film and television work.

I was reminded of the line from Sunset Boulevard. "That's Mr. C...and that's Mr. C...and that's Mr. C..." Going from one picture to the next, one award to the next, one tribute to the next...

What could it possibly be like to know such glory? What could it like to know so much of life?

"Aren't you going to be a bit cold in that?" The voice startled me out of my musings.

"The price of fashion," I smirked with a grin.

"You want to borrow one of my sweaters?"

I didn't know whether to smile or sigh in irritation. There goes Mr. C being my Dad again. It was sweet of him to care, but why did he want to go and tear down all that I had so artfully created at such expense?

"You don't like it?"

Mr. C gave me a smile that made me melt like butter as he sat down next to me. Even after all we had done, I felt a bit like Red Riding Hood being eaten out alive by the Big Bad Wolf.

"You're beautiful.." he whispered huskily, leaning towards me.

Gently he kissed me on the lips, stroking my hand with his fingertips. I grew all weak and shivery as his mouth moved to the side of my neck. The kisses grew more and more heated.

"We'd better go to dinner," he rasped. "We have reservations."

"To hell with the reservations," I sighed, pulling him back in my arms.

"Ssshhh...."

Mr. C put his fingers against my lips.

"Let me take you out like I promised," he cajoled. "I want to do this."

"Okay."

Like I could deny him anything...

------------------------------------

We went to an Italian restaurant, very posh and expensive with a name that I could not pronounce. As I perused the menu, I had to use all of my acting skills in order not to seem as awkward as I felt. Gnocchi, fettuccini, manicotti, linguini...hell, I would have been happy with spaghetti and meatballs. Sadly, that wasn't on the menu.

"What would you like to drink, Maggie? Does a bottle of wine sound good?"

"Sure."

"Any particular kind you like?"

God, I knew even less about wine than I did about pasta.

"Um, I like Pinot Noir," I answered, remembering Sideways.

Mr. C smiled with amusement as he ordered the wine. I guess he must have seen that movie too. The immaculate waiter bowed as Mr. C ordered for us. I had no idea what I was going to be eating. I just hoped there was no anchovies or mushrooms in it.

Could I have felt more out of my element?

"Why me?" I asked suddenly, immediately wanting to slash my wrists after the stupid question.

"What?" my teacher asked, taken aback.

God help me for being a fool, but I had to know. It was hard to say the words, but I had to get them out.

"You could have any woman you want. You could have...movie stars or...one of those blonde models in class. Why me? I'm..." I hated to say it, but I had to be honest with myself for once. "I'm nobody, just a struggling acting student. I'm not even particularly pretty. Why me?"

"Because I like you," he answered simply, taking my hand. "Isn't that good enough? And you're very pretty..."

I felt vaguely frustrated, like he was just skating around my question. Why did he like me? I knew what was in it for me, but I could not possible see what I had to offer someone like Mr. C. I didn't have a damn thing. Not money or connections or beauty. My self-esteem was suddenly sinking to subterranean levels.

Still, I fought to keep my insecurities from completely sabotaging my date as I murmured inanely about how good the bread was.

What was even more maddening was that I kept thinking about Monica Lewinsky. And believe me, the thought of her crouched under a desk in the Oval Office giving the President a blow job was doing nothing to increase my ardor. But I guess I felt like I was walking in her shoes. She was also a Nobody, just a White House intern. She was comely enough, but hardly a movie star or model. Why did Clinton fool around with her? Was it because she was easy and there? Because she inflated his ego and made him feel young? And I remembered how she became such a joke when all of the scandal broke out all over the place. I had always felt kind of sorry for her. Maybe she had just been overwhelmed with all of the excitement and let it go to her head where she got stupid...

I tried to push the image of her face out of my mind.

This wasn't the same thing at all. For one thing, Mr. C was divorced. In the second place, he was a Musical Theater star, not a President. And in the third place, I was smart enough not to breathe a word of our relationship to anyone.

And I was being entirely too neurotic about the whole thing. So Mr. C wants an affair with a younger woman who is no threat to him. That is understandable. We have a nice S/M dynamic going on which is also a major plus. Why was I getting so worried?

"Are you all right, Maggie?"

Wrenched back to the present, I looked at my handsome date and smiled, trying not to grimace.

"Sure."

"You're being so quiet."

"It was just a hard day at work," I shrugged with a lie. Actually, I had spent most of my day at the office, reading some new plays I had bought, but he didn't need to know that.

Mr. C asked me about my job, where I was from, et cetera. I was appreciative of the small talk as I desperately needed to relax and just feel normal for a while. The rest of the date was good. We didn't set the world on fire, but the nervousness had eased...at least, until the next catastrophe occurred...

We were walking off dinner, walking along the Promenade of the Winter Garden. This walk could be beautiful or depressing, depending on your point of view, literally. If you faced out towards the water, you saw colored purple and blue lights in the water. You saw all the ferry boats and ships. You saw the skyline of the surrounding boroughs. If you looked in the other direction, you saw the large amount of space where the World Trade Center used to be. And then the inevitable 9/11 flashbacks would kick in. I tried to keep looking out at the water.

And that was when I saw the billboard of That Movie.

That Movie was the film version of a very successful Broadway musical that Mr. C had been in. On stage, his performance had been legendary. What a treat it would have been for Mr. C to have been in the film version of That Movie, immortalizing his brilliance on film forever. As it was, the Hollywood Powers That Be in their infamous wisdom decided to cast a younger actor in Mr. C's part in order to bring in a "younger audience". Every time I thought about it, I practically got livid to the point of violence. And if I was so pissed off about it, I could only imagine what Mr. C must have felt about the situation.

With my arm linked through his, I could feel him tensing up.

"It's sort of cold out here. Maybe we should go somewhere else," I suggested desperately.

"It's all right," he said, rather tersely.

"Aren't you cold?"

"Maggie," he repeated. "It is all right. Don't worry about it. Really."

Still, the conversation and easygoing feelings dwindled away as we eventually made our way back to his apartment. I had pretty much written the date off as a disaster and was on the verge of a major anxiety attack. We would have to run into a movie poster of That Movie with That Actor. Now Mr. C was depressed and would forever associate this date as a bummer.

I was quite prepared to go home and get dead drunk to deal with the disappointment.

"I guess I should go home..." I said softly, standing with him at his doorstep outside of the brownstone.

"Oh?" Mr. C asked, genuinely surprised, taking my hand. "I thought...well, I was sort of hoping you would stay here tonight."

"Really?" I responded. "Are you sure?"

He smiled indulgently as he led me inside. Gesturing for me to sit down on the living room couch and take off my coat, he sat down next to me.

"I haven't been the best of company today," he said. "And I apologize."

"Yes, I guess I've been a rotten date too."

"But I'd like you to stay. Maybe we can turn the night around. Let's see what's on TV."

TV was good. Something to get our mind off of our problems and nerves. TCM was showing King Kong, the 1933 version. Great. Hardly a date movie.

"Perfect," I moaned.

"What's wrong?" he laughed, pouring us some glasses of sherry. "You don't like this movie? It's a classic."

Now it was my turn to smile with indulgence.

"Well, I liked it as a kid. And I know the film was an amazing technical achievement for its day, but now it all seems pretty silly."

"It's a fantasy. You're not supposed to take it seriously."

"I know, but surely that big monkey must know that the size difference with the little blonde is a serious problem that cannot be surmounted. He's constantly leering at her and carrying her around everywhere, but doesn't seem to have the sense to know that she is the wrong species for him all together."

Mr. C guffawed with laughter.

"And I thought I was a cynic!"

"Well, really, I don't see what the big deal is with this story."

"I am surprised that with your acting abilities that you can't see the forest for the trees where this story is concerned."

"Well, you don't need to get personal," I said, rather miffed. "I haven't had to audition to play a primate in some time."

Mr. C pointed at the large ape, roaring out from the TV screen.

"Think of what it must be like to be the last of your kind. A prehistoric creature from days gone by. Maybe he doesn't know about species because there is no one else like him. Maybe he can't even conceive of another female gorilla because he's never known one; at least, not one of the right proportions."