I<\/span> was going to pick up my second wife\u2019s stepdaughter of her third marriage. That was supposed to feel normal. That is, according to my second wife, my second ex. She didn\u2019t exactly say that it was supposed to feel normal. That was just how she sounded on the telephone. Meet her at the airport, she said. It was her habit, telling people what to do. That was the best thing about our marriage. She told me what to do. Since I didn\u2019t know what to do, somebody had to tell me. It was good that she did.<\/p>\n

How did I get into these things? I thought, as I stood beside the bathtub, waiting for the shower to get hot. She called me up, said that her stepdaughter was coming to town. She was coming to look at a school. What did that mean, \u201cLook at a school?\u201d I thought about that when she said it, \u201cLook at a school.\u201d Maybe she was a demolition expert, sizing it up and figuring where to put the dynamite? Or a painter? But I knew what it meant. She was thinking of going there to college. When I hesitated, she said, well, you\u2019re not working are you?\u00a0 What she meant to say was that I wouldn\u2019t be too busy, would I? But she never said things that way. She had to put some spin on the ball, \u201cYou\u2019re not working are you?\u201d She said Julie didn\u2019t know anyone else in Pittsburgh, could I meet her and let her stay at my place a couple days? She said, you know, it\u2019s Julie, Frank\u2019s youngest. Frankly, I didn\u2019t. But what did it matter?\u00a0 As for the working, I was, and I wasn\u2019t. But I wasn\u2019t going to try and explain that to her. She never cared to understand before.<\/p>\n

When I said I was \u201cgoing to pick her up,\u201d I meant I was going to drive to the airport to meet her. I agreed to do it. And now here I was getting ready to go. I took a shower, and got dressed. Then I decided I better clean up a bit. I emptied the ashtrays and threw out some newspapers. I gathered up my dirty clothes and put them on the floor of my closet. The place was as close as it was going to get to a college dormitory. My second ex had called on Thursday, and now it was Saturday. Short notice, I thought. What did she expect, fresh paint?<\/p>\n

It was getting near time to go. I decided to have some coffee first, and went into the kitchenette. I took out the old grinds from the coffee maker, threw them in the trash, and put in a new filter. I loaded four scoops in. Then I stood holding the thing and looking at the fresh grinds a few seconds, almost absently. The dope. I\u2019d forgotten to hide the dope. It was on top of the turntable, on the dresser in living room\/bedroom. I went in and put it in the underwear drawer. I figured she wouldn\u2019t be looking in there. I wonder if college kids still smoke the stuff? I thought. I went back and poured water into the coffee machine. I stood there watching the coffee drip into the glass pot. Then I thought, don\u2019t just stand there; get your cup ready. I opened the cupboard where I knew the cups were, and picked up one of the bigger ones. This particular cup had writing on it. It had the word \u201cNavy\u201d on it, beside a figure of some kind of ram holding an anchor. I never thought about it before, but now I wondered what I was doing with this cup? I never went to Navy, nor did I know anyone who did? Oh well, I thought, it\u2019s a coffee cup just the same. I filled the cup a little over half full, and added some powdered cream. I started drinking the coffee when I realized I didn\u2019t have time to stand there drinking coffee; I had to get going.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n

Half way to the airport I started thinking about where I was going to park the car while I went in to the baggage claim area to meet the girl. I\u2019ll just leave it outside the door on the baggage claim level, I thought. Then I realized that I\u2019d left the little piece of paper with the airline and flight information back at the apartment. Damn it, it\u2019s too late to go back. I know the flight arrives at 12:05, I thought, but I don\u2019t remember which airline. I\u2019ll have to drive around the baggage claim level, I thought. I\u2019ll just keep circling till I find her. When she doesn\u2019t find me inside, she\u2019ll come outside looking. She\u2019s tall and thin, with long jet-black hair. You can\u2019t miss her. That\u2019s what she said.<\/p>\n

I got to the airport and followed the signs to the arrival area. I drove slowly around the semicircle, looking for the tall dark girl. I started worrying after five or so laps. Where the hell is she? I thought. After a couple more laps, I parked the car, and got out. I was starting to get mad. How on earth do I get into such things? Then I started worrying for the girl.\u00a0 She was probably upset. Well, in case she doesn\u2019t know it yet, the world\u2019s not perfect. I walked back and forth outside. I looked in each door. After about ten minutes of doing this, I went inside. I looked at my watch. It was 12:45.<\/p>\n

I looked for a moving conveyor belt. The one on the very end was still moving. There were a couple of suitcases all by themselves going around in circles. When I got to the baggage conveyor, I looked up at the lighted sign. It read: USAIR FL 325. Then I remembered. This was the flight. I rushed around looking for the girl, not really seeing anything I was looking at. Then I noticed a pair of legs of a person whose upper body was hidden by a telephone cubicle. Even in the middle of this minor panic, I couldn\u2019t help looking at these legs. They were the legs of a woman. They were gorgeous. Moreover, they were bare \u2013 no stockings. That is something an older man likes, I thought, bare legs. What are you doing thinking about these legs right now? There\u2019s a girl missing, I reminded myself.<\/p>\n

I walked in a wide arc around this baggage stile, trying to see 180 degrees at a time. I retraced this semicircle a couple times. Then I stopped in my tracks at the top center of the arc and just stared without looking at anything. I was on the other side of the phones. I looked at what was attached to the legs. There were some very shapely hips, and long wavy black hair that nearly reached the waistline. It was the girl. I stood there facing her back. She held the phone to her ear, waiting. She wasn\u2019t talking. She was in white denim shorts that fit tightly, wrapped with a very narrow belt around a diminishing waist. I couldn\u2019t believe it! This was little Julie who was going to be staying with me for a couple days in my no bedroom apartment.<\/p>\n

There was a nervous hesitation in my body as I approached to tap her on the back. My limbs sputtered. I felt like some jerk needlessly asking a strange woman for a light of his cigarette. But I put it in my head: you\u2019re the elder who\u2019s going to look after this young girl. She\u2019s relying on your kindness and experience.<\/p>\n

She turned around, without a hint of being startled. She stood there, looking blankly at me, not thinking about what was in front of her eyes. She was thinking about what she was hearing, or not hearing, in the phone.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you Julie,\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

After a few seconds she realized that I was he, the guy sent to pick her up.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh \u2026 Michael!\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, I\u2019m \u2026 Michael.\u201d I was thinking of saying more, that I was hers or one of her stepmother\u2019s ex-husbands. That is, of her stepmothers, I was one ex-husband of one, Glenda, in particular. Of Glenda\u2019s three ex-husbands, I was her first, to be exact. But Glenda was my second wife. I have two ex-wives, and I\u2019m married to a third, although, of course, we\u2019re separated.<\/p>\n

I skipped it. I was a bit surprised to hear this girl call me Michael, though. I didn\u2019t know what she\u2019d call me. I hadn\u2019t thought about it. But now I thought she might have called me Uncle Mike. Or Mr. Becker. I liked it that she\u2019d called me Michael. I\u2019ve always thought that was the affectionate version of my name. I didn\u2019t mind her being affectionate with me. But I was nervous.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry I\u2019m late,\u201d I said. \u201cYou were probably worried.\u201d<\/p>\n

She tilted her head ever so slightly to one side, and threw her hair back behind her shoulder. She laughed and said, \u201cI didn\u2019t think<\/em> I\u2019d be stood up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood,\u201d I said, \u201cBecause I had the hardest time finding the right baggage area. I just couldn\u2019t find it.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you have any bags?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, they\u2019re over there.\u201d She pointed to the baggage conveyor belt. Hers were the two bags going around by themselves. I felt worse, thinking those abandoned bags were hers.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell let me get them. My car\u2019s right outside. We\u2019ll try to make this a good stay for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I\u2019m sure it will be a good time,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

I rushed over to the conveyor belt and chased the bags and grabbed them before they had a chance to turn the corner to the other side. They felt like a hundred pounds each. I hoisted them off, and scooted over beside her. I hurried along, pointed with my head and told her my car was outside over this way; let\u2019s go out this door over here. The bags were so heavy that my arms were fully extended, and I had to hunch my shoulders. I scurried along with short, pained steps. I watched her walking beside me. She was gliding along, with just the right length of step. There was absolutely no wind resistance against her perfectly smooth, tan, supple body.<\/p>\n

When we got through the automatic door, I said, do you mind waiting just one second? I had felt my hair sliding and was afraid my bald spaces might be showing. I sat the bags down, as if I were merely resting. I ran my hands through my hair, trying not to be noticed. I figured I might as well tuck my shirt in while I was at it. The old fitted oxford cloth was tight around my waist. I must look ridiculous, I thought. I felt awkward next to her.<\/p>\n

I picked the bags back up. I turned my head slightly to look over at her. She smiled at me. I thought that I must have been misinterpreting things. The smile appeared seductive. She\u2019s probably just humoring you, dummy, I thought. Young girls don\u2019t mean anything with a smile like that. She doesn\u2019t know what the hell she\u2019s doing. She\u2019s trying to make you feel better.<\/p>\n

On the way back to the apartment I felt a tense silence in the car. I didn\u2019t know what on earth to say or do. What was I supposed to do? I thought maybe I should show her around the city. But then I thought, she\u2019s not here for you<\/em> to show her around. You\u2019re just giving her a place to stay. It\u2019s not your place to do anything more. I couldn\u2019t help sneaking looks at her legs. They were so young and fresh. They were naked. I wonder if she knows this, I thought? Could she know the madness this put in a man\u2019s mind? At such an age? Does she have to be so damn friendly? What\u2019s she doing being so friendly? I looked at her; she smiled. I looked back to the road. I looked back to her; she smiled again. It was too much. I felt myself starting to get mean. I had to be mean. It was the only way I could feel. If I felt anything else I\u2019d have been a fool. But now I was feeling like a mean fool. How else could you act in such a situation, when a girl\u2019s too friendly and attractive for her own good?<\/p>\n

Finally she spoke, as if to break the ice. \u201cWhat do you think of Chatham College?\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t think anything of Chatham College. I couldn\u2019t think of anything to say, never having had a single thought about it. I tried hard to think of something. Nothing was on the top of my mind. I grew tense trying to think. It was an all-women\u2019s school. That\u2019s good, I thought.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s an all-women\u2019s school,\u201d I said, \u201cThat\u2019s good.\u201d I took another look at her legs. That\u2019s good, I thought. It\u2019s an all-women\u2019s school.<\/p>\n

I never thought of myself as a failure. But here was this beautiful girl, Frank\u2019s youngest, asking me what I thought about schools. And just now I thought that might not be such a good idea. I mean, with three wives, and ten times that many jobs behind me, and four kids living away, two in a step home, and two in a double step home \u2026 When Glenda and I split, our two kids, Michelle and John went with her. They lived for a while with her, and eventually with her and her second husband, Tom. Then she met Frank. When she divorced Tom for Frank, the kids, Michelle and John, ended up going to Tom. That\u2019s the double step home. My first two kids, Michael and Elizabeth, live with their mother, Rita, my first wife, and her second husband, Pete.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I just thought, you know. I heard you were a professor, so I thought you knew about schools and stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n

Julie said this as if sensing what I\u2019d been thinking. Glenda must have <\/em>told her that. That I was a professor. I was never <\/em>a professor. I happened to have <\/em>taught Art in a few universities. That hardly made me a professor. That was like Glenda. She enhanced the positions of people that she knew. That made some kind of difference to her.<\/p>\n

I thought about explaining that the quality of the schools I taught at didn\u2019t matter to me, that I took teaching jobs just to earn money, and what I cared about was my work. Then I thought, don\u2019t tell her that. The kid hasn\u2019t even <\/em>started college yet. I was more nervous <\/em>now. This went beyond the shape of my apartment. It was about being more than a place for Julie to stay. I hoped she wasn\u2019t looking to me to show her the school.\u00a0 I didn\u2019t say anything for now. I didn\u2019t want to shatter any hopes. About school, or anything else.<\/p>\n

I told her, Yeah, I\u2019m sure Chatham\u2019s a good school.<\/p>\n

We arrived at my apartment.<\/p>\n

We\u2019re here, I said, and got out to get her bags out of the trunk. By the time I had the bags in hand, Julie was at the door waiting for me to let her in. I carried the bags to the door and looked at her. I sat the bags down and pulled the keys from my pants pocket. I inserted the key, and turned. I pushed the door open. Julie walked in. She seemed to be very comfortable, like she wasn\u2019t a guest, but someone who\u2019d been in my apartment before.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt smells like something\u2019s burning,\u201d she said. She was already in the kitchenette. \u201cMichael, you left the coffee on!\u201d<\/p>\n

Julie went over <\/em>to the coffee maker and pulled the plug. A black sludge sizzled on the bottom of the glass pot.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going have to clean this out,\u201d she said, holding up the pot to show me.<\/p>\n

I hauled the bags into the living-room\/bedroom. Julie took to cleaning out the pot with a scrub brush. I felt bad that she had just arrived and was already cleaning my pot.<\/p>\n

And that my opinion about things counted to her. And that this place was perhaps the launching pad for her future.<\/p>\n

When she was done, I apologized for the condition of the apartment. She said there was nothing to he sorry for. I told her there was only the couch bed, so I\u2019d sleep on the floor. She said there was no reason for me to sleep on the floor. She said we could share the bed. I trust you, she said, laughing.<\/p>\n

I wondered what the woman had in mind. Glenda, that is. Did she think she owed me something? Or, that I owed her? Was she trying to set me up? Or, was Frank looking for a good reason to kill me? Glenda had no reason to set me up. I didn\u2019t have <\/em>anything. And Frank couldn\u2019t care much less if I lived or died. I think I only saw him once. No, the thing was, Julie was to look at a school. And I was supposed to be a professor.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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