Date: Wed, 26 Sep 2007 12:21:33 -0700 (PDT) From: Matt Wess Subject: Double E: Part Eleven The hours leading up to my meeting with Ms. Fisher, I was nervous as hell. Obviously the truth was, I wasn't having trouble with understanding James Joyce and I think Ms. Fisher knew that. So how was I going to handle tonight's meeting? At dinner my fork kept on slipping out of my jittery fingers and sweaty palms. After the fourth time it clattered to my plate and peas ran freely across the table, my mother finally demanded to know if something was wrong. For the most part, Eliot never missed a beat. I felt like he was a vulture, swooping around me, watching my every move. Before I told my mother that everything was fine, I noticed him glaring at me from across the table. It's been days since we spoke. Luckily, during the car rides to school we had Genevieve to talk with. At school and at home we were able to avoid each other. It's not what I wanted; in fact I wanted us to get closer. But with each passing minute we were drifting further apart. "With those shaky hands you could never use that gun properly," my grandmother spoke up from her seat. This time my hand knocked over my whole glass of milk. Eliot's forked was half raised to his mouth, as he continued to stare daggers at me. "Wait a second," my father said. "What did you just say, mother?" "Elijah has been practicing to get his grandmother's shooting abilities," she said proudly. All eyes around the table swiveled around to look at me. I felt awkwardly isolated. Trying to shrug it off, I casually reached for a napkin to mop up the spilt milk, saying, "It's no big deal - really, I just wanted to join the rifle team." My mother was shaking her head. "Well, I won't hear of it. No son of mine is going to learn to use a gun. Those things are dangerous!" I wasn't about to protest. My silence ended the conversation. Sensing another confrontation with Eliot later that night, I was glad after dinner that I was leaving the house to go meet Ms. Fisher. I stayed dressed in my school uniform, grabbed the James Joyce book and set off for school. By the time I got there, the sun was slowly setting, the parking lot was empty, except for a few cars, and my heart was pounding fiercely. Even when I was walking in through the front doors I felt hot around the collar. I expected someone to stop me and ask what I was doing at school so late, but there wasn't anyone around. The sound of my own footsteps echoed down the empty hallways that are congested daily with students. There was no sound of a slamming locker, giggling girls, boys rough housing, it was just me. And that set my nerves on edge. I arrived at Ms. Fisher's room and was surprised to sense my dismay when I saw the light on. Perhaps I was looking for a reason to turn around. But there she was, sitting behind her desk, typing on the computer. No one else was around. I had a hard time comprehending that. Shaking all nerves from my body, I knocked twice on her door. "Come in," she said sweetly. "You're right on time," she said, without turning from her computer. "I just got back from my meeting," she smiled at me from over the monitor. "Please, pull up a chair." I did as I was instructed, nervously pulling up the chair next to her desk. "So did you get a chance to read through the short stories?" "Well," I stammered, "No, not exactly." "In that case, we'll start with the short story Eveline. During his days, James Joyce was very anti-Dublin, the city in which he lived in. So you'll find that a lot of his characters are trying to break free from their surrounding, which is usually Dublin." Ms. Fisher flattened the book between us on her desk and wheeled closer to me. I could feel the heat rising from her body; see her chest rise and fall as she continued to explain about James Joyce. "Now Eveline is stuck in choosing between being faithful to her family and stick around in Dublin or run off with the man she loves." "And what does she choose at the end?" I asked, meeting Ms. Fisher's eyes. "She stays with her family in Dublin." "Dublin isn't a bad city," I said and immediately thought my comment was idiotic. Nevertheless, Ms. Fisher smiled. "You've been there?" I cleared my throat, pulled at my tie nervously. "Once. I didn't mind it. I could live there. Why did Joyce hate it so much?" "That's an easy question, Elijah. He lived during a different era. I expect Dublin is more developed and livable now. Anyway, throughout the text he uses a lot of important symbolism that points to the suffocation Eveline feels from society." I let out a snort. "Eveline and I would have been terrific friends - I can relate to her feelings." Ms. Fisher arched her eyebrows. "You're not fond of Jamestown?" "Or my family, really. I mean some of them are fine, but others..." "Like Eliot?" Ms. Fisher asked quietly. "He's told me quite a lot about you." She crossed her legs, straightened her skirt. "Elijah, why did you really take this class? I have a feeling you have a firm understanding of Joyce. So it can't be because you have questions." I felt the walls closing in on me. I always thought Ms. Fisher was smarter than she let on. And now she was a hound dog sniffing out my secret. I could tell just by the way she studied me from across the desk. It was a mistake coming here. That much was clear to me. Maybe I wasn't wearing Eliot's shoes. If I was, I wouldn't feel like such a fool. "I told you, I'm an English freak," I responded lamely. "Uh-huh." She wasn't buying my story. "Elijah - I know must guys like you just take my class because of me." Ms. Fisher let out a small laugh. "I don't mean to sound self-centered. Really, I'm not, but I can't tell you how many kids have asked me for detention or private tutoring lessons." If it was possible, I felt more idiotic. I wanted to run from her room. Maybe apologize first, then run. Somehow I found my voice and said slowly, "So why did you agree to meet me?" She simply shrugged. "I'm quite fond of Eliot. And I used deductive reasoning that his brother is probably the same." "Please, don't compare me to him." Her laughter helped ease the tension from my body. She leaned across the desk, her cleavage more visible than a neon sign. "He knows Elijah," she said in an audible whisper. "I guess I should say - we know." "Sorry?" I played dumb, but I knew perfectly well what Ms. Fisher was getting at. "You drive a red Cherokee, right? The same one that followed me the other day." Mentally, I began spacing myself from her. Physically, I was glued to my chair, frightened by her words. "Sorry," I said again, "I'm not sure what you are getting at." I adjusted my collar, feeling the temperature of the room rise drastically. She rested her chin in the palm of her manicured hand and smiled at me. "Its okay, Elijah. You're allowed to be curious. Eliot almost went home when he saw that you were camping out. I suggested you join us. He refused, straight out refused, actually. Are you and Eliot on good terms?" "Not exactly, no." It felt good to tell the truth about something. Ms. Fisher let out a small laugh. "That's what I figured." She got up from her chair and began moving about the room, pulling down the shades on each window. "I told Eliot you signed up for my class," she turned to absorb the growing sickness in my face. Ms. Fisher smiled. "But I didn't tell him about tonight. He probably figured out things for himself." "Why would he care that we were talking about James Joyce?" She laughed again, pulling down the shade for the door window. "Is that why you really came here tonight, Elijah? If so - we barely talked about him at all." She came to the desk and gently closed the Joyce book, her painted nails lingering on the cover. I gulped nervously. She was standing awfully close to me. I could smell the soothing perfume drift from her body. Her relaxed breathing created a rising and falling sensation within her chest. "So, do you drive a red Cherokee," she asked again, walking behind me. I shudder as her nail sensually drifted from my one shoulder to the next. I stared directly up at the board. "I do." She stood to the left of me, bent down, her cleavage brushing up against my arm. "And did you come here tonight to talk about James Joyce?" Ms. Fisher's sexual persona drugged a truth serum in me. I could not lie to her. "No." "I didn't think so," she whispered. Her tender fingers caressed my arm through my white dress shirt. "I know you don't want to be compared to Eliot - but he used the excuse with me. James Joyce, as well. It was the first time I said yes to a student. Eliot has the looks, don't you agree?" "Er..." "You can tell me the truth, Elijah. Because your brother truly does have the looks. I know you agree." "M-maybe I should go," I stammered. "Eliot sat in that very same seat you are sitting in right now," she continued, pretending I said nothing. "Dressed in his school uniform. Acting like the perfect student." I felt her two fingers slide in between the buttons of my shirt and land upon my undershirt. Her warm lips were brushing against my cheek. "Of course, Eliot gave in easier," she whispered. "I could see the lust in his eyes. Something that is not as strong in you." Her hand loosened my tie. "Perhaps if Eliot were to join us, you'd be more lustful." I do not know what came over me. I think maybe I wanted to prove that I could lust without Eliot. Maybe I really did want Ms. Fisher. My hand found its way to the back of her head and I brought her in for a long kiss. She did not pull away. Her miracle hands undid my shirt in a heartbeat. She pushed it back off of my shoulders and ran her hand up my undershirt. Goosebumps spread up my chest as I felt her hand circle around my nipples. I frantically pulled at her blouse, exposing a bright blue mesh bra. We began stumbling backward down the aisle between the desks. My body slammed up against the filing cabinet in the back of the room. Ms. Fisher yanked at my belt. Within in seconds are clothes were strewn across the classroom. Our nude bodies were slick with sweat as we blended together on the floor. I was impossibly hard while I moved inside of her. For the next few minutes we made love to each other like wild animals. Every once in awhile I was expecting the principal to burst in, then I'd be expelled and Ms. Fisher would lose her job. But those thoughts quickly vanished as I began to climax. I clenched forcefully onto a desk leg as she rolled off of me, her body still slick with sweat. Her breasts firm and rounded. She lay down next to me on the floor, smiling. "I'm glad you came here tonight. Tomorrow we'll be starting a new James Joyce story." Her fingers trailed down between my legs. "If you find that you are having trouble we could have another tutoring session." I kissed her body, saying, "I would like that." It was a lot later than I expected by the time I got home. My parents were already asleep. My grandmother was prowling the grounds for Ruby, so I had to slip inside quietly. The television was on in the adjacent room. I could just make out Eliot's silhouette lounging on the sofa. Another person who I tiptoed by, luckily I made it back to my room unnoticed. I was officially afraid of Eliot. As crazy as that sounded, afraid of your own brother. If he caught wind of my affair with Ms. Fisher - I shudder to think how he'll respond. Shoot me like Georgina? So I could never screw again. To tell you the truth, I rather enjoyed the night I had with Ms. Fisher. All I could picture was her nude body. It was perfect. Granted, maybe I'd enjoy the sex more if it had been Mr. instead of Ms. But I'll admit, she was damn good. As I collapsed on my bed, I actually felt morbidly satisfied. Then my cell phone rang. I rolled over, wondering who would try to call me at this hour of the night. The number was unknown. I hesitated, and then unfolded the phone; bring it up to my ear. "Hello?" There was no immediate response. Just harsh breathing from the other end. "Hello?" I asked again, getting ready to hang up. Finally the caller responded: "Elijah Temime we have some unfinished business." It was Rocky Katz. I sat up. "How did you get my number?" A thought dawned on me, before he could answer I said, "You sent those photos!" He was laughing. "Believe me - I know nothing about photos. Let's not point fingers, young fucker; you're going to get me in trouble. Been watching for your P.T. Cruiser to come around my place. Haven't seen it around, so I came here tonight to get some revenge." I paused and thought over his words: Came here tonight. Fear struck me. "What do you mean 'came here.'" "Look out your window," Rocky breathed. "You'll see. This is my one revenge - shot." The line went dead. I rolled off my bed and stayed in a crouch. The last thing I was going to do was expose myself in front of the mirror. I just had a mental image of Rocky's revenge shot coming from an actual gun. My hands curled around the windowsill. Slowly I lifted myself up and peered over the edge. The night was dark and ominous. I waited for the window to suddenly splinter as the bullet ripped into my room. But for seconds at length nothing happened. I heard my grandmother prowling the ground, yelling "Ruby!" Then Rocky Katz got his revenge shot. There was a tremendous bang that shook the house and rattled my nerves. In a blink of an eye, our tiny P.T. Cruiser erupted and was engulfed in a fiery ball of flames, licking their way towards the night sky.