My Roomie

By Philip Lear

Millie was short and thin with hair the color of corn silk. She was kind of cute in her blue denim coveralls that looked four sizes too big for her. She could have passed for a fourteen-year-old. Her skin was fair and spotted with large brown freckles and her eyes were liquid gray. When she stuck her head in the door of my office I thought I recognized her.

"I'm from your writing seminar, " she said.

"Oh yes. What can I do for you? "

"I’ve finished the first chapter of my novel and I’d like you to take a look at it.”

“Why don’t you present it in class?” I suggested.

“I'm scared to show it to those vultures. I don’t like the way they’re tearing everything apart. I just wanted you to take a look at it first."

"I'm sorry you feel that way about it. I know that criticism can be intimidating. Look, I was just going for lunch .Why don't we take your chapter and go down to the Corner Tavern."

“That would be great,” she said.

The tavern was one of those old beer and burger places. The mellow aroma of years of suds hit me as I walked through the door. We sat at one of the high-backed booths across from the bar.

She slid her chapter across the table. “Here it is.”

While I was reading her chapter she watched me closely.

The chapter was the beginning of a period novel set in the mid eighteenth century with horses and stagecoaches. Amelia, her main character, was running through the streets trying to find her 8-year-old brother John. And as she went from street to street, I could feel her panic building. It wasn’t a bad start.

"Millie, this story is engaging. I could feel Amelia's anxiety grow as she went on looking for her brother.”

"Professor, you’ve taken a big load off of my mind. You really think it's good?" she said excitedly.

"Call me Jack. And yes, it’s a good start."

"I'm thrilled," she said. "I didn't know if I was going anywhere with it."

“A writer can go for years not knowing if what they’re doing is any good. That’s one of the things that drive writers nuts. It’s one of the valuable things about a writing seminar. They give you feedback. And as far as your fear of being torn apart, you're writing doesn't have to take a backseat to anyone's."

"Thank you so much."

After that, Millie started to participate. And as the semester unfolded, she became more spirited and was no pushover for her critics.

Occasionally she’d drop by my office and we’d go for a beer and a burger. I liked being with her because she was so passionate about her writing.

****

I hadn’t seen her in a few weeks when she dropped by my office. Her face looked splotchy and there were rings under her eyes.

"Are you alright Millie? " I asked.

"I haven't slept in a week."

"That’s a long time not to sleep. Are you sick? "

"No, it’s my roommates. They're bringing guys into the apartment day and night and I can't study or sleep. I need a place to stay."

At that point I was a middle-aged college professor and my life was quiet and perhaps a little on the dull side. I’d teach my three hours a week and spend the rest of the time reading journals and critiquing papers. I didn’t mind leading a quiet contemplative life. But there were long lapses when things got dull. Maybe having Millie around wouldn’t be a bad idea.

"I have that back bedroom in my apartment," I said. "If you want to crash there for a while you can."

"That would be wonderful. I’m in such dire straights.”

“There’s just one thing. If I brought a woman up what would you do? “

“Don’t worry about that Jack. I’ve got plenty of friends on campus that I could stay with for a night here or there. I’d make myself scarce. And on weekends I go home to be with my boyfriend, Rusty. "

Later that afternoon she moved in. All she had was two suitcases and her laptop.

"Don't worry. You won't be sorry," she said.

“Your room’s back there,” I said pointing down the hall.

She went into her room closed the door and started to study or maybe sleep. I didn't see her for three hours. At dinnertime she came out and fried up some ham and eggs and made a pot of coffee.

****

Later that night I was in bed reading when she came into my room. She was wearing pink panties and her little nipples were standing at attention like two pencil erasers.

“Put down your book professor. It’s time for recess,” she said as she climbed on top of me.

I was surprised by her boldness but didn’t try to stop her.

Her mouth was wet and musky and as we kissed me my concerns about impropriety, my faculty status or our twenty-five year age difference started to fade. And as we sunk deeper into the mattress I forgot about everything.

Millie was mischievous and would surprise me at the most ungodly hours. But I didn’t mind. Why should I? I had to be the luckiest guy on campus.

“I just wanted to keep you on your toes Jack,” she said one time as she crept into my bed at three in the morning. She was as playful as a little puppy dog.

Now that Millie had moved in, my life was blissful. When I thought about her during the day a sense of elation would sweep over me and I couldn’t wait to get home and see her. I felt like a kid again.

But when my novel was published, things changed. It became an instant bestseller and that made me a celebrity. All of a sudden women were coming at me from all directions. There were media journalists, professors, and musicologists that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. And one was more beautiful and charming than the next.

There was Sophie, the psychology professor, Janice, the linguistics instructor and Beth, the critic. I brought them all back to the apartment. I’d text Millie and give her a ‘heads up’ and she’d disappear. And on weekends I didn't see her from Friday night to Monday morning. Our arrangement was working out well.

At night, when I’d come back from the University, she would fix me a drink and some dinner. And sometimes we go for a walk on one of the trails around campus. Every so often she'd come into my room and we'd make love.

One night I brought Janice home. I had called Millie earlier and alerted her. But when I opened the door there was Millie standing there braless in her panties. Janice was aghast and gave me a withering look.

"What's this? Your daughter?" she said.

"Jan, I’m as surprised as you are. This is Millie, my housemate. She wasn't supposed to be here."

"A likely story," she said as she walked out in a huff.

"Millie, how could you do this to me? Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is? "

She put her hand to her head, "I'm so sorry Jack, I forgot all about it. I would never do this to you in a million years. Please forgive me. Pretty please.”

I let her cool her heals for a few minutes and then forgave her. She might have made an honest mistake. And she meant a lot to me. Maybe she meant more than I realized. After that incident, a month went by and everything was fine.

Then Millie started complaining about her boyfriend, "Rusty is such a dork. He wants me to quit school and come live with him in Mayfield. But I don't want to go back there. It’s such a dead place."

“What does Rusty do?”

“He has a small trucking business.”

"Do you love him?" I asked.

"I did, but not any more," she responded. “We don’t have that much in common. Not to be snobby or anything but I think I’ve outgrown him.”

“It’s just the way things happen,” I said. I was overjoyed that she was thinking of dumping him.

That weekend it snowed and Millie didn't go back to Mayfield. She stayed with me. I sent out for Chinese food and we made love.

Sunday morning she cooked crepes with blueberries. They were the most delicious pancakes I’d ever tasted. Of course anything that she cooked would have tasted delicious. I was sorry when the weekend ended, though I was starting to feel a little closed in.

The following Tuesday I called Millie to tell her that I was bringing someone up that night. Helena was one of the other instructors in the writing program. She was from Sweden, a tall voluptuous blond.

“Millie, I’m bringing someone up about ten. Please don’t forget.”

“Don’t worry, Jack. I won’t.”

I took Helena to a French restaurant where we sat and talked and had a few bottles of Pinot Noir. By the time we got back to the apartment we were both feeling pretty good. But when I opened the door there was Millie standing braless in her panties. They looked at each other. Helena was in shock and I was steaming.

"This is very awkward, " I said pointing to Millie. "She's my housemate and wasn't supposed to be here."

Helena turned. Her face was flushed. "If she’s your housemate then why shouldn’t she be here?”

“Because I told her not to be here,” I answered.

“It’s all my fault. I wasn’t supposed to be here, ” Millie said.

“Then why are you here?” I asked.

Then Helena continued pointing to Millie, “ She’s in my nineteenth century lit seminar.”

“What a small world,” I quipped.

“The evening has been ruined,” Helena said as she walked out the door.

"How could you? "I said.

She turned away and started to cry. "Don't you understand, Jack? I can't help it."

"This has to stop."

"I can't stand to see you with another woman. You mean too much to me."

"What about our agreement? "I asked.

"Screw the agreement. What about us? " She answered.

"Us? " I answered. "Haven't you noticed the parade?"

Millie started to cry.

"Don't you care for me at all?"

"Of course I care for you. I care for you a lot. Maybe I care too much. But I'm not the guy for you. You need someone who will be your one and only. And I’m not that guy."

*****

The next day when I returned home Millie was gone. On the kitchen table was a brief note:

Jack,

You were right. You’re not the one for me.

Millie

If only things could have been a little bit different. If I had been a little faithful and not published that dam bestseller and not been so ancient everything would have worked out, I thought.

But that was a pipedream. Everything between us was wrong. She would have wanted someone younger who she could have kids with. She would have wanted to go to clubs and listen to noisy music. Millie’s leaving was inevitable. And cutting her loose was the best thing that could have happened to her, though it left me with an emptiness that I felt down in my gut. Still I couldn’t help fantasizing about how wonderful things might have been. I sat there in my apartment listening to the silence and feeling the raw pain of her absence.