26. Some Serious Trouble

After reading Julian’s blog, she understood that he was struggling with his decision. She pondered, though only after hitting send, that she had gone way, way too far. Not only was she not being coy, she was being brazen in public. There was a word for this, but she couldn’t quite think of it at the moment. Was she a femme fatale? He’d sort of started it with that ‘muse’ notion. As far as her readership was concerned, she had forgotten about it except for the two readers she directly addressed. One, her husband, was not a known reader. The other, Julian, was used to having his mettle tested. Lana didn’t think you could teach literature in a college and not be somewhat heroic. Julian, after reading the latest on “Amy Tells All,” understood that she was forgetting how mainstream that blog had become. He could read that she appreciated some of the risk factor, but she clearly didn’t understand that she was live coast to coast. She had to be warned about that. He also understood that she was auditioning him for an affair. That she would propose this in public was terrifying. His students were all over that blog. His role as “admirer” would surely be guessed. This would get back to Dana via the gossip express. His behavior had to be exemplary. Lana had to be nurtured, but she also had to be stopped for her own sake, if not for Julian’s. Perhaps, as a supplement to his shaky will power, he’d totally fail to inspire her desire.

With his hands literally shaking, Julian dialed Lana’s number.
“Hello, Lana Andrews speaking.”
The voice was a bit more like an oboe than a violin. No trace of any sort of accent.
“Lana. This is Julian Gray.”
His voice reminded her of her father’s. He was warm, and spoke clearly. Just what she expected of a professor. He had only said his name. Let’s see how the rest of it would go.
“Professor! It is so good to finally hear your voice.”
“Likewise Lana.”
A pause.
“Lana.”
“Yes, Julian. May I call you that?”
“Of course. I would insist. Unless you prefer Jonathan.”
“But that’s not your name, is it?”
“My first name is John.”
“Right. ‘JJ.’”
“Lana, about that blog…”
“Oh, right, I went a bit too far today. My super ego collapsed.”
At this he laughed. Everything he liked (maybe even loved) about this woman was right there, ready for instant deployment.
“Oh, Julian. I love it when I make you laugh.”
“You can’t seem to help it. But the blog… I think you forget that all my students, my wife’s students, and everybody’s students, many people’s mothers, quite a few fathers, in short, half the bloody nation are reading that blog, hanging on to your every word. Where is that husband of yours that he won’t find out about this? You all but invited me out on a coffee date!”
“I know. I did. Will you please, please meet with me?”
“Let’s talk on the phone first.”
“OK. Talk to me.”
His careful arguments were cut to ribbons by her brilliant pirouettes.
“How are you?”
“See. That’s what I never hear at home when I walk in the door.”
“That’s not a good reason to commit adultery.”
“I agree, it’s not. Give me a better one.”
She gave a sultry giggle at her own riposte.
“No. I am not going to go there.”
“OK, but at least we’re talking.”
“Have you heard of the ‘rules?’
“Ellen and Sherrie? Of course. They’re idiots.”
“So you don’t think demure is a good strategy?”
“Strategy for what? How to catch a man that’s going to find out he hates you?”
“But you seem to be crowding out any hope of developing a friendship first.”
“Whoa, Julian. Did you read my text?”
“I did. More than twice. What did I miss?”
“That I need to see you.”
“I think I got that.”
“No, I mean, what you look like is important to me.”
“Oh. I’m almost sixty, Lana. Youth, for me, is gone.”
“I understand that, but that is not the whole of attraction, that youthful lack of wrinkles. That whole idea is cultural but that culture does not extend to me. I am talking about what, specifically, I think of you, all of you. So we need to meet.”
“That makes the first meeting almost impossibly fraught.”
“Yes, there is the possibility that we’ll be… “
“… underwhelmed.”
“So. If you don’t like the way I look, you won’t let our friendship develop?”
“That’s not it at all. Of course I’m not that shallow. If you refuse to meet me, I’ll still read you. I’d love to talk to you from time to time. It’s more like a timing thing. My husband is going to be away the whole week. I have this time. I already know I like you, that you’re just exactly as I imagined. I know it sounds crazy. Even I think it’s crazy. I am doing my damndest to practice what I preach, to be honest with you. The truth is, I want to know if I can…”
She wanted to say ‘fall in love,’ but stopped herself.
“…Stand to look at me,” Julian supplied.
“No.”
“And there is the risk that… “
“Your husband, and my wife, will catch on. You went too far on that web site. You really need to get a stat counter. You’re within an inch of famous. Arguments break out on Facebook as to why you won’t monetize of allow comments.”
A pause.
“I haven’t been doing it for the notoriety. You’re right, I’m sort of oblivious, unaware about that. My friends have mentioned that, as have now, you.”
“It is a problem. You need to behave as if you are in the public eye, because you are.”
“So how should I behave?”
“I can think of a few things that you might do. First, consider doing away with the recipe posts. The vitriol is not going to help your marriage. An alternative approach would be to take the blog down altogether. That might improve your marriage’s chances. Then you need to forget I exist.”
Now there was a serious silence from Lana’s end, in which she seriously considered hanging up. At length, having fought for composure and won, she said:
“Professor, you’re disappointing me.”
He did not say anything to this. He let the line be silent.
“Are these your conditions for meeting me?”
“My conditions? I don’t want you to be hurt.”
“My marriage is a shambles. I don’t think it can be saved. My husband has gradually become, maybe even always was, someone I can’t relate to or deal with.”
“That is not true of my wife. My wife is the love of my life.”
“I am not your wife.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am not really in competition with her.”
This takes Julian aback. This is not the usual, or easily followed gambit. Is it even a gambit?
“No, I have to agree. You are not competing.”
“Then let’s have a friendship. Let’s meet in Salem, like I pictured it in Amy.”
She was wearing him out.
“You do realize, Lana, that I’m terrified about this.”
“Ah. There’s a slice of the truth cake.”
“‘Have mercy, Baby. Have mercy on me.’”
“Say yes to me. Julian, I am worth a meeting, don’t you think?”
He let this question sound, allowing himself time to think of a response. He thought of the damage such a meeting might do to not just the two of them, but to their respective marriages and their lives. The counterargument was lame. Suppose they merely met and had a chat over coffee? What would be the harm in that? He’d get to see his muse face to face, and she’d get to meet her admirer, the professor. They had an affinity he had to admit. He thought of Caitlin Thomas, the wild wife of Dylan the poet. Flown to New York to see her husband before he expired in a hospital, her remark upon setting foot upon American soil was, “well, is he dead yet?” That was the sort of affinity he and Lana had. It was going to be fatal somehow; he could feel it. They had not met in a pub, but they were contemplating it. They had been having a relationship by correspondence. They had learned each others minds via language. Did they need to get within smelling distance, really? Perhaps. Perhaps this affinity was significant. If they never met, he well knew, the feelings would never die. True love could last forever if you never did the nasty. If you never even met, it might exceed forever. To head off the infinite longing, perhaps a little drive and a coffee date would be worthwhile. Let him find out that she was a clever woman, but not loveable in person. Perhaps, he thought, she might pick her nose. Would that sort of thing slow his affection down? Maybe. Suppose she ate with her mouth open? Anything in the reality would put a dent in the perfection of her in imagination. All of this thinking raced along at the speed of thought. He decided to give the crazy thing a shot.
“You are worth a meeting. You may be worth everything. It is, as you say, not a competition. Every unique being offers something up, something not received by all. I admire you, I have read you and been moved. The stakes are high. I’ll accept. What do you suggest?”
“I suggest that we meet tomorrow in Salem. There’s a bar there called the Fireplace Lounge. It’s on Main Street. You can Google it. I would aim for about four in the afternoon. You’ve got my number. Give me a holler if you hit a snag.”
“I’ll do my best. I have to say that you are one of the most intense women I’ve ever met.”
She laughed out loud at this.
“Thanks, dude. You’re pretty ferocious yourself. See ya tomorrow.”

He looked at the twilight gloom that had accumulated in his office. He had to come up with an excuse to get away in the afternoon. He was already cursing this stupid idea. See the trouble you can get into with a couple of blogs?