"Don't you know that I'm the one person, the one man, who you could have, don't you know?"
Running out of words with which to express myself, I brought my lips those last few inches to hers, kissing her very lightly, with all the tenderness of my feelings for her. Susan raised her hands to my cheeks, and I could feel it all being returned to me. It wasn't more than a few seconds and it certainly wasn't passionate, but it was the best kiss I had ever known.
"Please," she said, tears welling in her eyes, "don't, not again."
"When the time comes, you let me know," I told her.
"Let's walk on the beach," she said.
We descended the steps leading through the seawall. I took her hand to help her through the deep, dry sand and when we got to the wet sand it seemed natural for us to walk holding hands. She made no motion to let go.
"If you're wondering," she said, "I'm twenty-four, and I'm not going to hide anything from you anymore. I got my master's degree a year ago and I knew right away that I was going to have problems.
"All of my life I've wanted to teach, to teach and to eventually be a good wife is all I've ever really dreamed about. But not just to teach any old place. I wanted to be the best high-school literature teacher in the world, the very best. It's all I lived for.
"And then, after all those years of school, of constant work and study, after student-teaching in grammar schools in classes I hated, I finally got the M.A. I needed to teach in a high school. So I filled out applications all over the state. I didn't even care where I lived if they'd just give me what I wanted. And what happened? Letters started coming back, 'Dear Miss Lawrence: Thank you so much for your application. We are sorry to inform you that at this time we are looking for teachers who are a bit older and more experienced than yourself. Perhaps in a few years, etc., etc., etc.' They all were worded differently, but they all said the same thing, thanks but no thanks.
"So I started substitute teaching, mostly in grammar schools and junior highs. I did have a few jobs in high schools, and I kept hoping that maybe somebody would see how good I was and keep me on after I had done my few days' work, or at least put in a request that I be assigned to their school in the future."
"Why didn't they?" I asked.
Susan stopped walking. "Why? Look at me, that's why. I look more like a student than a teacher. I taught in one school in Alameda where a little freshman girl stopped me in the hall and asked if I was going to a freshman briefing. Imagine, she thought I was sixteen.
"God! I can't even get a drink in a bar without a driver's license. And all of the school administrators thought it was a big joke. Who would hire a baby like me? Nobody ever took me seriously, and so I never got a chance to prove myself.
"Then I got a call to teach here, and the association said it looked like I would be working a long time. It was a good school and it was the one subject I really wanted to teach, so I decided that I would have to become older. I fixed my hair, paid thirty dollars for those stupid glasses, got some clothes that looked like they'd been turned down by the Savlation Army but covered me up well, and refused to let a shoe salesman talk me out of buying those clodhoppers I wear to class.
"And now I live in fear. One bad move, one slip, and I'm out, back teaching rhythm band in kindergarten. And I can't let that happen. I won't. No matter what price I may have to pay, I want to stay right where I am. I love it too much to let it go now. The day I get tenure and they can't get rid of me is the day I'll throw out all of that junk, but not until then."
We walked a bit further.
"Mr. Oaks told Hugh Barnes that your tenure is assured," I said.
"I'll believe it when I see it. Tenure is like a carrot that they dangle in front of you to keep you on your toes. The only way I could possibly get it this year is if Mrs. Gilchrist doesn't come back, which is a good possibility because of her age and bad health, but this whole business has made me a pessimist."
I smiled. "Did you know that the other teachers call you Queen Victoria?"
"I know they joke behind my back. Let them."
"You realize, of course, that the day you throw your costume in the garbage can and dress normally, half of the male faculty are going to have heart attacks when they see you."
Susan laughed. "It'll serve them right for calling me Queen Victoria."
Following an impulse, I pulled at her hand and we ran along the surf, splashing each other with handfuls of the cold Pacific and giggling. Finally, exhausted and coughing, our lungs full of clean, salt air and wood smoke from bonfires down the beach, we collapsed against an old log, sitting on the sand with our wet pants and using the log to support our backs.
Susan asked me to tell her about myself, not the vague comments and opinions she had heard from me over the past few months, nor the evasions to pointed questions, but to really tell her. She wanted to know why I was so different, and although she didn't say it she must have been wondering why she found herself so attracted to me.
I told her, and this time there was no bullshit. I didn't leave out a thing; I wanted her to know it all. I felt that it was important to both of us that she know. If any of it shocked her, she didn't let it show.
By the time I finished it was sunset. The entire western sky became a gorgeous panorama of every hue of orange and red imaginable. We tuned in a Corelli concerto on the radio and sat and listened and watched the sky in silence. Our silences had never been embarrassing. When we didn't feel the need for conversation we didn't speak, and it had never been awkward. Now, together, there was a feeling of contented wholeness between us.
As the colorful sky ebbed and turned dark we looked at each other.
"I know," Susan said.
Chapter 4
We wandered up the hill to the Cliff House, still hand in hand, watching the glow of wood bonfires on the beach, puffs of light against the dark sky. The world was a small, warm closet which divorced us from reality, and I finally knew the feel of love for a woman-. My insides were warm, as from a fine wine.
We entered the Redwood Room bar and took a table overlooking Seal Rocks, which were lit a brilliant white against the night sky by floodlights. I ordered us each an Irish coffee and the waitress asked Susan for her ID, which she produced, sighing in resignation, as if to say, "See? I told you so."
We watched the rocks until our drinks were brought, looking for seals and finding none. The horizon blinked with the lights of ships voyaging to and from the Golden Gate from all over the world. The only light in the bar came from a huge fireplace built into the north wall.
"Susan by firelight," I said. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" She smiled, a contented, honest smile. I reached across the table and took both of her hands into mine. "I love you," I said softly. It was the first time I had ever said it.
She took a sip of her Irish coffee, drawing the cream off the top. "I know. I've known for a long time that you think you're in love with me, but I wonder if you know what love really is?"
"The first person who defines love beyond doubt will win a Nobel Prize, at the very least," I said.
"Well, what I mean is that maybe your personal definition of love and mine are not the same. I'm not asking for any universals, but there are so few people today who define the word the way I do, and unless we both mean the same thing when we speak of love, then we're both lost before we begin.
"The physical attraction between us is overpowering, I know that. And we get along well together, we're harmonious, I know that, too. And we share the same interests and passions. But you're almost six years younger than I, and you're a student of mine, and there are so many problems caused by that, "
"Look, baby," I interrupted, "you asked me what I think love is. So before you go any farther, I'll tell you, okay?" She nodded. "It's true that I'm younger than you are, but far more mature in so many ways. I've seen more and done more in the last five years than you'll do or see in the rest of your life. I'm very protective of you. I think of you as something precious to me that should be shielded from hurt. I've got this consuming desire to take care of you. So maybe the best way for me to tell you what I think love is would be to tell you what I think it is not.