By Philip Lear
She was short and thin and had hair the color of corn silk. Her denim coveralls and yellow sweater were two sizes too big . Though she was a grad student she looked like she could have been fourteen.
"And what can I do for you? Um!"
“Millie,” she answered.
“Oh yes Millie, I remember. You’re in my Writing Workshop. What brings you to my office?”
"I'm trying to write a novel and I’ve got the first chapter done but I'm scared to present it to the class. They're like a bunch of savages the way they tear everything apart. I have my first chapter with me. Could you look at it?”
“You don't want to mix it up with your classmates?”
“No, I just want to write.”
"Maybe you're not cut out for this. It's a tough business. You put your heart into something and you think it's good. Then your classmates tear it apart and later when you try to get it published you send out hundreds of inquiries and get rejection after rejection. You can go for years not knowing if you’re any good. And even after you’re published the critics eat you alive.”
“Is that why you're teaching here?” She asked timidly.
“It took me eight years to get 'Dark Sand' published and I sold ten thousand. Some reviews were good and others less kind. But it was a start. Three years later I published ‘The Fly on the Glass’ and sold over 100,000 copies and 20,000 more of ‘Dark Sand’. But it’s been a while since then and I need to eat.”
“Most of my work has been short fiction. And there's been some recognition but not much money. So here I am doing this writing seminar. I do have a new book coming out next month which hopefully will do well. I think it’s the best thing I’ve done. But it’s not what I think that counts. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that it will do well. Getting back to the class thing,” I continued, “this is one way to find out what the critical readers think of you work. And there is some valid criticism.” I looked at my watch and added, " It's lunch time. Why don't we go grab a burger and I'll take a look at your chapter."
The Corner Tavern was an old English style pub with a long bar and high-backed booths. We sat down in one of them and Millie slid her chapter across the table to me. I spent a few minutes studying it and as I read it I could feel her gray eyes zeroing in on me.
It was a historical novel with horses and coaches. Her main character, Amelia was running through the streets trying to find her 10-year-old brother, John. And as she went from street to street looking for him the dread that she'd lost him built.
I looked up at her. “This chapter’s not bad. I could feel the suspense building as it moved along. Amelia's anxiety grew each step of the way .”
She let out a sigh. “After that little session in your office I didn't know what to expect.”
"I don't know anything about the rest of your novel," I continued, "but the same story could be told in almost any city in the world. Have you thought about changing the setting?”
“What do you mean?” She said a little testily.
“Readers relate more to the darkness of a modern city than to one that's out of the past. Imagine what it would be like if they got separated in Manhattan. She looks for her brother as she feels the coldness of the city. Of course some readers like to escape to the past.”
“They have romantic images of how things were," she said .
“You really think it’s good?” She asked.
"Call me Wally. And yes, it’s good."
"I'm thrilled.” She said in her mid-western twang. "I didn't know if I was going anywhere with it. "
She reached to the back of her neck and undid a chain with a medal dangling from it.
“Here take this,” she said. “It will bring you good luck with your new book. St. Theresa’s my Patron Saint.”
“Even though I’m Jewish I’ll take all the support I can get.”
"And as far as being afraid of being torn apart by your classmates you don't have to take a backseat to anyone. "
I slid her chapter back to her.
"Thank you sooo much."
“No thanks needed. I’m only telling you what I think.”
After that, she became more active in the class and would frequently drop by my office to show me something new.
One day when she came to my office she looked really tired. "Are you alright Millie? Are you sick? "
"I haven't slept in a week," she said.
"My two roommates are driving me crazy. They're bringing men into the apartment day and night and I can't sleep."
Normally, I don’t like getting involved in these stories, but in her case I listened.
"They sound like undergrads. Have you tried to talk to them?"
" I have, " she continued, "but they don't give a dam. I've even thought about quitting and going back home."
"Give up grad school and a possible writing career because of a couple of lousy roommates? I think not."
"I'm at the end of my rope," She continued. “Maybe it's the sleep deprivation.”
"I have an extra bedroom," I offered. “You could catch up here.”
"If you let me use the room I’d be eternally grateful."
“ Anything to help a struggling writer,” I said.
"We can have some fun too."
“Fun’s okay with me,” I said.
"I'm 24. I’m no kid," she said.
"And I'm 40."
" You still have nice buns."
"Nice buns! " I repeated.
“And don’t think you'd be taking advantage of me."
"I'll do the laundry, cook and clean." Then she quipped jokingly, " And who knows?"
"And what happens when I bring other women up?" I said.
" I'll get lost," she continued. " I'll stay out of your hair. And on weekends I go away to my boyfriend Rusty’s and you can have the place to yourself. "
I liked the idea.
"What do you say?" She asked.
It might be fun, I thought. Having a little nymph like that running around my apartment.
"And you can always kick me out if it doesn't work."
"Let's give it a try," I said as I stroked the Saint Theresa medal.
Later that afternoon she moved in. She dragged her old beat-up suitcase and backpack into the apartment.
" Don't worry, Wally,” she said. "You won't be sorry."
I pointed down the hall. "Your room is on the left. The bathroom's at the end of the hall."
"I'm going to catch up on my sleep," she went into her room and closed the door.
I didn't see her for hours. At dinnertime she came out and made ham and eggs and a pot of coffee.
"How do you like the writing program?" I asked.
"How do you like the coffee?" She answered.
I could see that she didn’t want to talk shop.
Later that night I was in bed reading some literary criticism when Millie came in topless and wearing low cut pink panties. Her little nipples were standing at attention like two pencil erasers. How appropriate for a budding writer, I thought.
“Your reading time is over professor,” she said as she took the book from my hand.
She climbed on top of me. I didn't try to stop her.
“You're full of surprises,” I said.
I wondered if her roommates had been keeping her up or if it was the other way around.
After that first night Millie continued to come into my room once or twice a week and we'd make love. She was just what a forty year old bachelor needed. It lasted a couple of months. But after that things changed. My new book ‘Penguin on the Ice’ was published and word of it got around. I did a signing at the local college bookstore and became somewhat of a celebrity.
With my new found status women started coming at me from all directions. It was like a dam breaking. There was Sophie, the psychology professor, Janice, the linguistics Instructor and Beth, the musicologist. After giving Millie a ‘heads up,’ I’d bring them back to the apartment and just like Millie said she’d disappear. On Fridays she went to her boyfriend’s and I didn't see her till Monday morning. Our arrangement was working out well.
During the week nights when I'd come back from class she'd fix us a drink and some dinner. Afterwards we'd go for a walk on the bike path by our apartment or take in a flick at the local movie. Our lovemaking continued and seemed to gain in intensity as time went by. It went on like this for several more months.
One night I brought home Julie and as usual I called Millie to alert her. Julie had long legs and straight dark hair that came down over one eye like a later day Veronica Lake. When I opened the door there was Millie standing braless in her panties. Julie gave me a withering look.
"Who's this? Your daughter?" she said.
I smiled apologetically and said, "Julie, this is Millie, my house mate. She wasn't supposed to be here."
Millie looked surprised too and put her hands up to cover herself.
"Oh, I'm sooo sorry," she said. “I wasn’t supposed to be here."
"A likely story," Julie said as she left in a huff.
"Millie!" I said. How could you do this to me?"
She put her hand to her head, "Oh my God, I'm so sorry Wally. I was engrossed in my next chapter and totally forgot. I would never do this to you intentionally. Please forgive me."
I was peeved but I let it go. Maybe she really had forgotten.
Another month went by and everything was fine.
But then Millie started complaining about her boyfriend. "Rusty is such a dork. He wants me to quit school and come live with him in Revere. But I don't want to go back there. "
"What does Rusty do?"
"He works in his father's trucking business."
"Do you love him?" I asked.
"I did. At least I thought I did, but not any more," she responded. "We don't seem to have much in common. And besides that I don't want to live in Revere Kansas. It's sooo dull there. "
That weekend Millie didn't go to Revere. It was snowing heavily and we hibernated in the apartment for the whole weekend and watched the snow coming down sideways. I sent out for food and videos and we made love.
Sunday morning she cooked pancakes and put some blueberries on them. They were especially delicious. Not just because of the taste, but I also liked them because she made them. I was sorry when the weekend ended.
The following Tuesday I called Millie and told her that I was bringing someone up that night. Edna was one of the other instructors in the writing program. She was from Canada, a tall thin blond with long fingers.
"Millie, please don't forget," I said.
"Don't worry, I won't."
It was ten o'clock and Edna and I had enjoyed an Italian dinner and wine at the local restaurant. I could tell by the way Edna was stroking my arm that when we went back to my place we were going to have a great time. But, when I opened the door there was Millie standing topless in her red panties. They glared at each other. Edna's face flushed and she gave me an icy stare.
"This is very awkward, " I said pointing to Millie. "She's my housemate and wasn't supposed to be here."
Edna turned. "Why she’s topless. I guess I shouldn't be here either," she said as she slammed the door.
"You did it again! "I said.
She looked up at me and started to cry. "Don't you understand Wally? I can't help it."
I knew this had to stop.
"I can't stand to see you with another woman."
"We had an agreement. "I said.
"Screw the agreement. What about us? " She answered.
"Us? " I responded. "Haven't you noticed the other women? "
"Don't you care for me at all?" She was sobbing now.
"From the beginning I’ve tried to be up front with you about bringing women up here. And I didn’t mind when you went and spent the weekends with Rusty. But I can’t have you pulling this stuff on me."
The next day when I returned home Millie was gone. I thought about calling her, but deep down I knew it was over.