With Dad’s sunglasses perched on her nose, resplendent in a black taffeta YSL that was a college graduation shopping spree gift and velvet bowed open-toed pumps, Katerina played a dub of the Enigma Variations compilation loudly on the tape deck, pressing to rewind her new favorite song: Redd Kross Citadel.

She loved the theme, harkening back to pre-teen years, listening to Fox on the Run by Sweet, longing for those memories of waiting pensively for the songs she loved to play on the radio. The song boosted her mood and assuaged her pensiveness, and Katerina had to play it again because she was picking Peggy up from Glencannon College to dinner with Professor Cummings.

That made her anxious: the three of them together. In the course of her first year in the program, Katerina’s crush on Peggy had settled to the point of discreet incertitude; she realized that Peggy was friendly but unapproachable, and—as Katerina came to discover in the first month—unattainable because it was clear that she was in a relationship with Professor Cummings.

When she did go out to the clubs, it was only to dance; she was disinclined for all-night one-nighters, and the girls were sketchy. The guys weren’t much better, so Katerina was dateless with busy fingers and faces, bodies remembered and desired, then forgotten while in the shower.

Candy and taffy, we are both well. Come see us in the Citadel—but not for me, not at this time, Katerina murmured as she listened to the chorus of Citadel again.

She thought about going to therapy, realizing that all roads led back to a high school disaster relationship and feeling she was stuck in a sideshow. Yes, Katerina realized, that girl fucked me up.

While Katerina admitted she loved her, Sherry was dominating, controlling, and manipulative. She stuck things in Katerina that remained inside, sometimes tearing at her whenever she felt interested in someone else. Yes, I cannot relate well with people, Katerina thought. It is too hard for me to connect, feel adrift whenever I’m with someone, not make friends easily, find it hard to get to know, and find it too intense to deal with in a conversation.

When she first took her out for a lunch of Bohemias and flautas at the corner taco stand, Peggy told Katerina that in a conversation, one person speaks, and the other listens. This was after Katerina opened the spigots of intellect with a torrent about class stratification in Austin.

Katerina and Peggy commented on engaging in conversation, smiling, emerald eyes twinkling. Katerina blushed, embarrassed, knowing Peggy had clearly observed Katerina’s insecurity every time the latter opened her mouth. Katerina’s heart melted, desiring to wrap itself around Peggy’s.

Peggy was older and wiser. Pretty—no, gorgeous, singularly so. Mom’s age. Where the former’s mystery was only apparently real, Peggy’s was just a dark miracle of obtuseness.

This appealed to Katerina as much as her looks. Peggy seemed outwardly like a dear old piney woods East Texas gal, years out of overalls and hammering nails into fence posts on some farm with oil derricks churning in the background, now transformed into this glamorous middle-aged woman with red hair, cascading over shoulders, wearing starched collar white blouses, straight skirts, and stilettos clicking louder than noir movies, a real turn on, those clicks on hard polished floors, the body silhouetted in the light from the windows at the end of the hall around the corner from her office.

Damned sexy, Katerina thought and kept the door open while working at her desk in Cummings’s office so she could hear Peggy walk. Katerina felt solace in knowing someone was nearby for the first time. Even with her parents, she didn’t feel like that; the comfort of another person being there just wasn’t the same, despite the reality that it was someone she could not have.

Until the day Katerina met Peggy, the idea she had kept for herself was, well, I loved Sherry, but if I am going to be in a relationship, it had best be with a man. A man like my father. The good ones never leave except feet first, like Daddy. Women, on the other hand, Katerina concluded, are pretty, but damned if I want another one.

But Peggy—Katerina licked her lips and nodded, reaching into her purse for a cigarette. Her hands shook, lighting after she pulled into her designated parking space in front of the Sociology Department. She pressed the rewind button on the cassette console.

Am I obsessed? Katerina asked herself while watching Peggy come out dressed for bear in shiny magenta satin, clipping down the sidewalk. Well, yes, yes, I am. So fucking what? Flags are flying, dollar bills. From the heights of concrete hills, you can see the pinnacles.

Katerina and Peggy met at Professor Cummings’s condo in River Oaks. Taking his vintage black Mercedes Ponton, Katerina felt stellar and stylish riding in the back, and they drove on to the Museum of Fine Arts. A friend of the professor, a Yugoslav diplomat, had invited them as guests to attend a soiree at the museum given by one of the wealthier new-money Texans. The party was sure to be boring, he said to them, but we can observe assholes in their habitat, cage-free scotch, and look at pretty pictures.

“Don’t forget the Cubans,” Peggy added, referring to the diplomat always bringing Professor Cummings boxes of contraband cigars from Cuba.

“I hope they aren’t crushed this time,” he responded.

When they arrived at the museum, Professor Cummings waved away the valet, choosing to park the car himself. On the way in, Peggy stopped him, adjusted his tie, and took his arm, with Katerina trailing behind, surmising she was the stunt daughter, yet not minding.

The lobby was set up in Houston chintz, half cowboy shtick with greeters in bolos and boots, half-heartedly howdy calling, while the catering staff scurried in tight ass trousers and vests with ten years past their prime clip-on bow ties already hanging askew at multiple angles. In a rare snarky tone, Peggy bent toward Katerina and observed they must have missed last year’s Winter Olympics.

But here they were, two Texas ladies, maybe pretending to be mother and daughter with the debonair professor. After all, they were both redheads, and it wasn’t too long before they were already getting the “Is that your daughter?” in the introductions. Katerina assumed Professor Cummings had gotten off on it, but looking at Peggy’s expression, she wasn’t so sure. Peggy smiled graciously, and Katerina wisely took her cue. There was not much else to do.

Finally, she said to Peggy, “I forgot how to giggle. All those years at Rice with my nose in a book.”

“Don’t worry, hon’,” Peggy said. “Lips apart, teeth together. The tongue is firmly placed on the roof of the mouth. Act like a cotton town beauty queen riding in a Fourth of July parade.”

After a half hour of pinballing the various strata of Houston society and its hangers-on, all gracious, pleasant, and plasticized facile, they were rescued by the Yugoslav diplomat, who dragged them to the open bar. He was a fast talker and generous with his wallet, and they came away with a bottle of expensive scotch and two bottles of red wine. They navigated through the growing crowd to a table, and the four got very drunk.

The diplomat pulled out his gifts, promising several boxes of them after they left the party. All four of them were smoking Cohibas that the Yugoslav, Andrej by name, assured them were part of a contract thank you from the Castro brothers and not fakes bought off the beach. Peggy puffed on hers like a hot Texas mama, and Katerina tried to keep up. Though she knew not to inhale, she still coughed through the conversation while Andrej and Cummings laughed at her efforts between gulps of expensive single malt. Katerina thought of her dad when she saw the bottle. It was different from what he kept at home. When she tried a shot, Katerina felt the smoothness of the liquor slip foggily down. Katerina hoped he could know her senses, her feeling tenuously connected with him briefly.

Andrej excused himself to go to the bathroom and pick up another bottle of wine for the ladies. Peggy and Katerina were well sloshed, ready for more, but Peggy insisted on never mixing that Scottish shit with Cabernet, advice that Katerina assiduously followed, not wanting to be the lying drunken sorority girl embarrassing the parents at the public event.

“Yes, Mother,” she cracked.

Peggy looked at her appraisingly and smiled sweetly. “Yes, my darling daughter.”

Katerina returned Peggy’s smile, eyes focused on the crease between her breasts.

“God, I need to pee. Let’s go.” Peggy grabbed Katerina, and they left for the can. On the way, they ran into Andrej, carrying a tray of sliced ham and two sliced loaves of French bread from the catering table, holding it unsteadily with two bottles of Cabernet under each arm.

“Sweet sugar sassafras, let me get those,” Peggy said, yanking them away from Andrej. He smiled, slurring a thank you, and approached the table.

“Men are so cute like that,” Peggy said.

Katerina nodded. I wouldn’t know.

It took all of Katerina’s willpower not to make a pass in the bathroom. She did that once at the Golden Buddha during the sex grackle days at the university and vowed never to do it again. Also, they were drunk, which equaled lousy judgment. Besides, as tempting as it was, Katerina believed if there were any moves, she would be the one submitting to them.

They returned and were halfway through the second bottle Peggy had taken from Andrej. When it was agreed, they had all had enough. Professor Cummings had to cart Andrej to the car while Peggy and Katerina swayed behind them. Katerina was already in room-spinning mode and had to lean against the Mercedes trunk while the professor helped Andrej.

“Peggy, catch,” Professor Cummings said, sliding Andrej’s car keys across the hood. “Andrej’s is the silver Buick rental behind you. Pop the trunk for me please, will you m’dear? My cigars are in the canvas bag. Also, take the leather brief next to it.” Turning his attention to Katerina, he added, “Now it’s your turn.” He gently guided her by the shoulders into the back seat, sitting her beside the Yugoslav, already slumped and snoring against the window.

When they got to the condo, Professor Cummings told Katerina she was staying over. After he and Peggy deposited Andrej on a bedroll in his study, they pulled out the sofa bed in the living room and set it up for Katerina.

The following day, Katerina awoke to Professor Cummings sitting at his kitchen table, smoking a cigar and drinking coffee. He stared at her through clouds of aromatic Cuban tobacco, second-hand courtesy of Fidel.

Katerina wore a tee shirt and shorts that were Peggy’s; the taffeta dress hung neatly in the bathroom. She got up and padded over to the kitchen.

“Morning,” she said, apprehensive. It was the first time she had crashed drunk in someone’s house without getting laid.

Even though his cup was beside him, Professor Cummings asked, “Katerina, could you get me a cup of coffee?”

The professor was easy. He took his like hers. Light. Single Sweet-n-Low. When she brought it to him, Professor Cummings said, “Now, drink it.”

She froze.

“Have a seat, Katerina. Enjoy your coffee. It’s delicious.”

He pushed his pack of cigarettes toward her. Chesterfield Kings. Katerina had run out of her Marlboros and felt chancy with them. Tough guy, old man, smokes. Why the hell not, she figured. Lit one and tried not to choke like she did with the Cohiba the previous night.

“You sleep with your arms over your head.”

“Uh-huh. I know what you are getting at.”

“Just an observation,” he paused to take another draw from his cigar. “By the way, I know you figured me out. You left the drawer open the other day.”

Katerina shuddered. “Yes, I was looking for something else. I’m sorry.”

“It was meant for you to find. I kept it unlocked for you.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Nothing to say, but I can spot a subgirl a mile away. People like me sense you coming.”

“But—“

“Boundaries, Miss Linsky. I’m not interested. I have one already, and we agreed not to have another. I don’t run a harem. Also, you are my damn graduate assistant.”

“I kinda thought that was the arrangement—you and her.”

She paused, “That’s good to know. I’d rather not mix interests.”

“True,” the professor pulled out a cigar cutter and neatly snipped the burning end of his cigar into the ashtray. “I thought it important to get this out because I saw how you looked at Peggy last night. Those round eyes of yours get too telling. Also, you have been dressing like her lately—you pull off pin-up well. But for your information, she’s straight, and in our relationship, she has strong-minded views regarding women. Believes if I were to request another woman, that would mean I was bored with her. We did try it years ago on a trip to Iceland. Hmmm, did I say she has strong views regarding women?”

“Why do I want to respond with ‘Yes, Master’?”

They chuckled.

Cummings sipped his coffee. “Because I sure as hell have no intentions to be; however, I am easy with the advice. All you have to do is ask questions. However, it stays there. Peggy likes you, and I see it is developing into a friendship. Honestly, Katerina, you don’t have much life outside my office. You really don’t, and I am saying that as a man, not as your thesis director. Let me reiterate, neither of us wants to give the department an excuse to get rid of me.”

“How do you know I do not have a secret life?”

Professor Cummings shook his head. “Because you don’t have secrets, Miss Linsky. You always give it away in the first ten seconds.”

Katerina stared at the ceiling.

“Whatever happens, happens, in regards to Peggy, but she is beholden to me. But she is an independent country. So, in short, be careful, Katerina. I haven’t said anything to her about it, but let’s not complicate our lives. Adhere to those boundaries, and well. Maybe you should pursue someone else. Peggy may have taken a shine on you, but Katerina, you must have a life beyond school.”

“I guess I should take you girls out to brunch once we all get our shit together. Oh, and Andrej, too. Dear Lord, I’ve known that man since the War. There but for the Grace of God.”

He stared at Katerina. “Okay, as I said, she is an independent country. But if you fuck up, you are going down the stairs.”

“Yes, sir.”

He pointed at Katerina’s cup. “Would you like another coffee?”

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  • Mike Lee is a writer and editor at a trade union in New York City. His work appears in publications. His story collection, The Northern Line, is available on Amazon.

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