Leave the Night On Pt. 01

"Hey, principal Isherwood, Mr. Song and I met at a club where he used to fuck me in bathroom stalls every Saturday night." Of course I would lose both my job and dignity if I ever told her that.

I will a cleave on the ground to appear, big enough that it drags me down onto the earth's lava core so I don't have to be here right now. "It's...Ah...We..." Fuck. What do I say? Think, Pearl. Think, think, think.

"College," Julian blurts.

I gape at him. For a second there, my eyeballs are in serious risk of bulging out of their sockets. I shake my head at him, panicking. He gives me an elusive nod of encouragement that is barely missed by Mrs. Isherwood. Given the situation we're in, I have to admit his excuse although shit, it's still better than anything I'm presently able to conjure up. "Yes! We met in college. Ages ago," I say, waving a dismissive hand like I didn't just lie to my principal's face.

Principal Isherwood's eyes flicker from Julian to me, no doubt seeing us for the bullshitters we are. "I see," she mutters. I don't know what she sees, yet I would bet my very last dime it's more than she's letting on. She turns her eyes on Julian. "Mr. Song, Miss Jones will answer any questions you have in regards to Hannah's education. If you need anything I'll be in my office." She presents me with one of her warning glares, closes the door behind her, and then I'm alone with him.

I know his full name now. Song. Julian Song.

He is standing a mere few feet from me and he looks good. Really, really fine. Even more handsome in real life size than in the memory I have of him. A memory colored by neon, throbbing lights. I've never seen him in broad daylight. Only in that dimly illuminated night club.

When I met him, he had his hair in a crew cut. Now it is longer, in waves that have a dark blue sheen to them I couldn't have noticed before. He's taller than I remembered. God, and he's got such great skin too. All golden and smooth, without a single blemish. No wonder he felt so soft and firm, and fuck, I'm thinking about what touching him is like. A rush of warmth crawls up my neck as an unwanted recollection plays in my mind; my sequin skirt all bunched up around my waist, his fingers digging into my thighs, the force of his hips making me gasp...

The sound of his chuckle shatters my delirium. "Look at you, my Pearl," he says, licking his upper lip. "Sweet little teacher by day, sexy little vixen by night. Who would've guessed it?"

I remember now. I know him and I kind of hate him.

It makes my blood boil just how familiar he dares be. My Pearl. How dare he call me that after what he pulled on me? I want to kick him in the balls so bad I taste something bitter in my mouth. "It's Miss Jones to you, Mr. Song, not Pearl," I warn him, in what I hope is a deadly serious warning.

"Miss Jones," he repeats, in that same tone he used to whisper obscenities in my ear, eyes traveling the length of me with open appreciation. My traitor of a body responds to it with a shiver. Hopefully, he mistakes it for pure hatred. "I can't believe I found you," he says.

"Wow." I'm so taken aback my nostrils flare a little. "Found me? Are you fucking kidding me?"

He puts a grin on I remember seeing just as he was about to eat me until I was woozy from it. "You're Hannah's new teacher." He shakes a disbelieving head, completely overlooking my acridness.

Hannah.

He has a child. A daughter. "Oh my god, are you married!?" I sound horrified. I do a frantic search of his hands for a ring denoting his commitment to another woman. It's bad enough that I fucked him, but if I fucked a married man with a child I am for sure going to hell.

He raises his eyebrows, seemingly amused by my panic. "No, Pearl, I'm not married."

My shoulders sag with relief. I don't even reprimand him for using my name with such intimacy. Instead, I scrape together the little information I have. He's got a daughter around the age of six. He isn't married. Is he a single parent? What about the mother? What does he even do for a living to support a child? I know next to nothing about Julian.

As I realize what I'm doing, I rebuke myself for it. I shouldn't care a thing for his personal life. It's not my problem. He's a parent. Also, his being here has nothing to do with a sudden desire to see me. He's here to talk about his child's education, not to reminisce our past encounters.

I straighten my back, turning on professional mode. "As principal Isherwood must have already informed you, this year is bound to be a challenge for Hannah. Kids are used to the routine they had in kindergarten, but here things are little more dynamic. I'll explain to you how this school year is going to progress. Did you bring Hannah with you, Mr. Song?"

My formal use of his name puts a cocky half-smile in his mouth. It's infuriating. "No, she's with her mother."

I pretend not to pick up on that particular detail. "You'll find every information you need here," I continue, handing him the school's official schedule. "Drop off time is 8h15 and pick time is 14h15. We don't tolerate tardiness, Mr. Song. So be here in time, if you can manage." I don't control my acerbic tone; I just can't help it. It's the being around him.

"Pearl. Look at me." My name on his lips makes me react to him in a way I know I shouldn't. It's like a command I can't fight. I glance up at him, chin up, because I will not keep my head down. "I'm sorry I didn't come," he says, softly.

I wanted to hear him say that. I'm sorry. For weeks I resented him. Then once my initial anger faded, all I wanted was an explanation, an excuse. I wanted him to call me, to tell me why he hadn't shown to our date, to say he was sorry he kept me waiting there, planted to that chair, all by myself, waiting and waiting and waiting for him. The people in the diner whispering to each other "That idiot of a woman is waiting for a man who's never coming", until I couldn't take it anymore and rushed out of there before I exploded. I see myself back there and relive the mortification I felt that day. When I was torn between my anger towards him and the anger I felt towards myself for caring so much.

"I wasn't there." I lie. I don't know why. Out of spite, probably.

"You were. I went there the next day." He takes a careful step my direction. I don't move. "I described you and the waiter told me you'd been there. I even left my number so they'd call me in case you ever came back." His voice is so tender I'm tempted into believing him. He's good at that. Tempting me. "I looked for you, my Pearl," he says, and only then do I register he's close enough that I can feel his warm breath on my face.

I take a step back and my ass bumps on my desk, my fingers curl around its edge. "Stop calling me my Pearl. I'm not yours. You barely know me."

Seeing I'm trapped, he comes closer. Every little hair covering my arms stands up in anticipation. My body only knows one purpose for his nearness. "I know you better than you think. You really believe I purposefully didn't show? Pearl, I've be-"

"I don't care, Julian," I interrupt him. He's too close. I can smell his cologne. I can't think straight. I hate that, even as I tell myself I detest him, I'm still so affected by his presence a familiar longing tugs at my center.

His eyes widen at my harshness. "I can explain."

"I don't need an explanation. I'm your daughter's teacher now. That's how you know me. That's all you know about me. Do you understand?"

"We'll see each other every day now. You can't pretend nothing happened between us."

"Wanna bet?"

We hold each other's gazes across the classroom. The patch of skin in between his perfect eyebrows crumples. He opens his mouth to speak, I hold myself in anticipation, but then he presses his lips into a hard line.

I let out a sigh, relieved I don't have to waste time countering any of his words. My pulse is hammering in my throat. I need to find an excuse to make him leave. I open the drawer on my desk and pull out a sheet of paper. "Here's a checklist with everything you need for Hannah's first day," I say. He reaches for the paper and his fingers brush mine. It lasts only a second, the contact as sudden as an electric discharge. I pull my hand away immediately. "If you need anything school related you can contact me."

Julian makes a quick inspection of the words printed on paper. "Your number isn't here. I can't contact you if I don't have your contact info."

I don't know if he's trying to be funny or plain sadistic. "My email is right there. And you already have my number, Julian." And I still have his.

"I lost it," he says, already taking his phone out.

I scoff, skeptical. "You lost it?"

"Yes." He looks up at me. "I searched for you, Pearl. I really did." His eyes give me the impression of honesty, as they always did. I want to believe that the charming guy I met at the club isn't just an asshole who would stand me up without even a mere text as means of explanation.

I give him my number, not half as reluctant as I think I should be. "It's only for school emergencies," I say, feeling like that needs to be made crystal clear.

Julian keeps his eyes on his phone's screen.

"You may leave now, Mr. Song." I invite him out. I need him out so I can breathe in peace.

He shakes his head, fingers typing fast. "If you want to avoid me, fine. But it's not going to be easy," he says and a ping!, signaling a text, comes from my phone. He gives his back to me and, before walking out, he turns and smiles that mischievous curl of lips responsible for dropping my panties almost a year ago. "Love the hairdo, by the way."

Once the door shuts behind him I take in a deep breath. But the air still smells like him.

In my phone there's a text from him.

I MISSED YOU, MY BLACK PEARL.

***

THE POOR porcelain plate I vigorously rub the sponge on is the recipient for my still lingering fury. I imagine Julian's face on it. It's actually a blessing that Cami is against dishwashing machines -something about them being hazardous to the environment, she says. That way I have something to do every night before bed.

"That guy who stood you up?" Lil asks, loudly expressing her incredulity.

"He has a child?" Cami exclaims, clearly confounded by the idea.

"Yeah. Hannah. She's 6," I say, answering both questions.

It was an unsuspecting Saturday night, I was shamelessly shaking my ass on the dancefloor of my favorite club when I spotted Julian by the bar, ogling me. Our eyes met, he smiled at me and bam! I instantly decided I would drop my panties for him. Blame that smile. Definitely a panty dropping smile. The cutest smile ever. There were dimples, grooves and ears going up involved.

After I met Julian, I came home jumping up and down like a happy little bunny, telling the girls about what a funny, hot and smart guy I'd stumbled upon at the club. A few weeks later, after a succession of Saturday nights meeting him at that same club, I was telling my friends I'd discovered Julian was an asshole too.

"You didn't know about the kid?" Even Melanie is suddenly interested in the affairs of my life, dividing her attention between my drama with Julian and the painting of her toenails.

I don't take my eyes off my working fingers, already red and pruney under the sudsy water. "I knew nothing about him, except for his name and what a damn good dick he has."

"Is it big?" Cami asks, blue eyes large with blatant curiosity.

"Oh yeah." The image leaps to my mind as if summoned. It creates a single pulse that warms my very core.

"Didn't you say he was Asian...?" Melanie implies, earning scowls from Lil, Cami and I.

"Mel, that's kind of racist," Cami interjects.

I'm still too pissed at Julian to be bitchy to Melanie. Even though her comment is definitely racist. She doesn't know better, poor thing. She's a white suburban girl whose first non-white friend is me and she doesn't even like me that much. "It is big, Mel," I tell her. "It's pretty and it's big. Did I say big already"?

Lil makes a face, obviously trying to picture what Julian's dick looks like. "Pretty?"

"State of the art," I say, because I remember it clearly, and damn me if it wasn't the most well shaped penis God has ever created. "I've never seen a dick so pretty, actually. Not even in porn. And he works it like a pro." I might be wanting to murder Julian, but I can't lie. I can say he is an asshole with full authority, but I can't deny he was the most amazing fuck ever.

"I remember you liked him," Lil says, catching my ears.

I roll my eyes. "I was smitten with him, Liliane. It doesn't mean I liked him. I barely even knew him. Hell, for all I know, he might have lied about the little he told me of himself!" I protest throwing my wet hands up and sending droplets of water into Lil's face. Her answering look makes it clear she doesn't believe my bullshit for a second. She wants to convert me into a goofball of romanticism like herself. "Okay, I liked him a lot," I admit, because there is no point in lying to her. She knows my colors. "But he ruined everything after he disappeared without a word."

Cami takes a gulp out of one of the beer bottles she keeps stocked in the bottom of the fridge. "You had a weird Last Tango in Paris thing going on with this guy. Minus the butter scene," she muses in that way of hers that makes you wonder whether she's talking to you or to herself. "If you liked each other you should've dated like normal people. You know, go out for coffee, talk about your respective lives instead of no names allowed and obscure sex in dirty bathroom stalls."

"I knew his name, Cam." And he most certainly knew mine. My Black Pearl, he used to call me. "I don't know what I was thinking. I liked how mysterious the whole thing was. It made it all so...fun." Saying it out loud felt stupid, although at the time it was exhilarating to be with him, to touch him, meet him every weekend again and again and every time have it feel like the first time. I could imagine he was anyone, anything. I could pretend to be more than I was. Sexier, braver, prettier. I could ask him for anything I wanted and he'd give it to me.

"You liked him. You said he got you to believe in magical things like the G-spot, squirting and unicorns," she arguments. "That was a great slutty phase for you too. Every girl needs a slutty phase."

A plate slips from my fumbling hands and almost shatters into a dozen pieces on the sink. "I told you that under the influence of alcohol, Camille! And," I add, plate saved, "I have a slutty phase almost every weekend."

Melanie gasps, loudly. "Squirting!? Who is this guy? Santa Claus?"

I throw her a glance over my shoulder. "He's an asshole."

"He said he lost your number," Lil cuts in. "Maybe if you let him explain himself he'll have a good reason for not meeting you that day."

I tip my head back, cutting her a sideways warning glance. We had that conversation a dozen times. She was the one stroking my hair while I cried like an idiot after I came home from the date Julian never showed up to. "Lil."

"Pearl, your pride never got you anything."

I don't want to argue with Lil, which is the main reason why I say nothing. My pride isn't what's keeping me from calling him. I did call him after he stood me up. Every call landing on voicemail. He never answered. Never replied to any of my texts. Finally, I decided I had had enough of being an idiot and stopped bothering him. I have no reason to run after him now, because I certainly don't think he looks even hotter than when I first met him.

"Call him," Cami suggests. "A man who can tickle your whipple is always a nice luxury."

"What?" Lil and I both ask.

"A man who gives you the big O, meaning the screaming of obscenities accompanied by a rush of dopamine and oxytocin to your brain," Cami explains, all hands in the air and intellectual voice.

I laugh so hard my eyes water. "Oh, honey," I say, catching my breath. "When you're born a woman, the first thing you learn about your own body is that men are not a pre-required item for the occurrence of orgasms. You know that better than anyone."

"True," Cami agrees with a little wink, "but it's also nice to have it with company."

"Why are you opinionating so much anyway, you don't even like dick." Mel says from the couch.

Cami dashes Mel her heartbreaker grin. "Yeah, but I like talking dick."

"Can't get it out of her mouth," Lil teases.

I laugh at my roommates, feeling, for once, a little bit tired. I wasted a lot of my energy on imagining ripping Julian's pretty dick out of his body. "No," I say, decidedly. "Even if I liked Julian, I can't date him. He's a parent. Teachers can't get romantically involved with parents. It's one of the school policies." It's not really a policy. However, I'm pretty sure principal Isherwood would use the excuse of my involvement with a parent to fire my ass.

Cami huffs. "You tell yourself whatever makes you feel better, but we can all see how shaken up you are by this guy, Pearly Girl"

I am. She's right. I thought I'd never see him again. Julian was that one guy, that one encounter I didn't believe in. Someone I met and instantly felt a connection with. Even if it was purely sexual at first. I liked talking to him. He didn't seem to mind that I talked too much and too fast, didn't vanished after he made me come in some dark corner of the club, didn't act like I was just an easy conquest on a Saturday night. He was the one who suggested we meet in broad daylight, over a nice meal, so we could get to know each other better. He was also the one who ditched our date and disappeared from the face of the earth like the dinosaurs did after that big comet. And yet he seemed happy to see me today. Surprise, but happy nonetheless.

"I'm shaking because I hate him," I say to Cami.

"Denial" she sing-songs.

"Don't you go theorizing about this." Camille loves to mull over our lives, using us as lab rats for her philosophical theories.

"Whatever." She waves a dismissive hand my way, walking towards the couch to join Mel. Mallory immediately exchanges Mel's lap for Cami's. That cat is as fickle as they come. "You're all riled because he affects you and a person only has the power to affect you if you give two shits about them. You like him, therefore you're pissed at him. Plus," she adds, "sex is a great exercise for you, Pearly. You shouldn't waste all that stamina on cleaning this place when bouncing on his pretty big dick would sap you all the same."

"She's still talking dick?" Lil winks conspiratorially at me.

Cami is annoying me already. She usually does when she's right. "I can have sex with a million other people," I state.

"Yeah, but you like him and his pretty big dick. Okay, Lil, that was the last time I said it."

"Whose friend are you, Camille?" She's trying her best to get on my nerves today.

"Yours, honey. And aren't you late for grocery shopping? You better not forget my peanut butter this time. Just because you don't like it, it doesn't mean it isn't necessary in this home."

I groan, loudly. I hate grocery shopping week. "Is it my turn already?"

"It is, honey. Grocery shopping week comes for us all."

***

I WILL NEVER comprehend the undying love everyone seems to have for peanut butter. The thing is half fat, a quarter carbs and some murderous little nut. I stare, clueless, at the various jars lined, side by side, on the supermarket shelf. The variety of brands out there is truly a conundrum to me.

"The trick is to choose the one with the most colorful label." I whip around at the familiar voice.

Julian.

He's right behind me, smiling like a fiend. Damn him. He looks so handsome it's offensive. He's got a dark shirt on, sleeves rolled up to his elbows exposing forearms striated by those bulging veins I find so damn attractive. I have not the slightest idea what he does for a living, but I will confess that I've fantasized about him chopping wood all shirtless and sweaty. I mean, those arm muscles are no joke.