Dear Mr. Brody by A.M. Johnson
Donovan
Preoccupied with the manuscript I’d been working through, I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. I had to pick up Anne at six from Lanie’s yoga studio, and it was already four-thirty, giving me less than forty minutes to finish up. I rushed through reading the last pages, deciding the book would be a hard sell in a young adult market, and hoped maybe with a few changes it would be more appropriate. I attached it to an email and sent it off to Kris, asking if she wouldn’t mind setting up a meeting with the author for tomorrow. Even though she was Anders’s assistant she helped me out every once in a while. Since I’d taken on this other job, I had a feeling I might need my own assistant at some point. I was only one week in, and I already had too much on my plate. How the hell did all the other professors teach more than one class? There was no way they read all the papers they assigned. I barely had the time to finish grading all the essays from Monday, and I already had students submitting the essay I’d assigned yesterday. Whatever happened to good old procrastination? When I was in college, I waited until the last minute to turn in my work. It was a motivation technique. Stress-induced writing was always my best. These students were overachievers. One student, in particular, came to mind.
Parker Mills.
I’d read his first essay at least five times. It was only three pages long, and sure it hadn’t been filled with lyrical metaphors, but he’d painted such an honest, clear, and vivid picture of his life. I envied him in some ways. His talent. His confidence on and off the page. I was ten years older than him, but in fifteen-hundred words he’d already lived more of a life than I ever had. It wasn’t professional to show favoritism, but the truth was, I couldn’t wait for him to send in the new assignment. I might’ve double-checked my WSC email account once or twice or twelve times this afternoon to check if he’d sent it in yet. Which I thought was a perfectly acceptable professor thing to do. But to stop myself from checking again, I shutdown my laptop and started to pack up my things.
“Serrano is booked for tomorrow at nine,” Kris said as she walked into my office.
“Wow. That was fast.”
Her pink-painted lips broke into a wide grin. “I’m that good, Van.”
“I’d say so.” I laughed as I stood. “How much would it take to steal you away from Anders?”
She pursed her lips and leaned a hip against the doorjamb, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Aw… you’re sweet. You know you can’t afford me.”
Cracking up, I slipped my bag over my shoulder. “Honest and loyal, two very admirable qualities.”
She lifted her hand to her mouth and whispered, “For Christ’s sake, don’t say it so loud. Next thing you know, Claire will be asking me for favors too.”
“Well, I’m thankful for the help.”
“Pfft… I don’t mind. I know how busy y’all get, and most of the time I’m bored gossiping on the phone with my neighbor from across the street…” Her eager eyes found mine. “Who is newly single, by the way. Cute girl, works at the library.”
Once my divorce had become official, Kris had decided to play matchmaker.
“Thanks, but—”
“She’s nothing like Lanie, not that Lanie was bad, but Beth is more studious. Bookish. She’s kind of a wallflower, though. Shy, but I think y’all would get on well.”
“I appreciate it, but I’m not interested in dating right now.” Not women, at least, but I kept that distinction to myself. “I’m finding my bearings. I’m not quite there yet.”
“Let me know if you change your mind,” she said, but knowing Kris, this wouldn’t be the last time she’d try to set me up with someone. “Oh, I almost forgot. Anders asked that you check in before you leave.”
“Sure… Anything I should know before I go in?” I asked.
“He’s in a mood.”
“Great.” I stepped out into the hall and stared down at his closed office door. “When you say mood…”
“Oh, you know, the usual…” She patted me on the shoulder. “The world just won’t spin fast enough for that man.” I didn’t necessarily agree with her assessment. Anders was usually an even-keel kind of guy, if he was pissed off about something it had to be bad. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Thanks,” I said, and she snorted at my sarcasm as I knocked on his door.
“Come on in.”
Anders was behind his desk, his blond hair disheveled, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Photos and what looked like color swatches were strewn across his desk.
“Uh… what’s happening in here?” I asked and couldn’t help my small smile when he grumbled something incoherent under his breath.
This was a man who had all of his shit in order. Seeing him all over the place was kind of amusing.
“I’m glad you find this funny, Van.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, holding my hands up in surrender and trying like hell to hold back my laughter. “What’s going on?”
“My mother… she’s driving me crazy with all of this.” He waved both of his hands dramatically and slumped backward in his chair. “She wants me to get a wedding planner.”
“Oh God.”
“I know.” He exhaled a noisy breath. “Ethan wants to get married on the bank of a river, not at some fucking bullshit hotel, with a color theme and dinner menu.”
The f-bomb was enough evidence he’d started to spiral, the man never swore at work.
“Have you talked to her?” He immediately glared at me. “Okay…” I said, dragging the word out. “Apparently, that was a dumb question.” I approached his desk slowly, taking in all the pictures of flower arrangements and color palettes. I picked up a square piece of fabric, the shade somewhere between pink and red.
“Watermelon,” he said. “Which I didn’t even know was a fucking color.”
“Two f-bombs in five minutes, I may have to call your mom and tell her she’s ruined the only boss I ever loved.”
His head tipped back as he laughed. “By all means, I won’t stop you.”
“You want my advice…”
“Absolutely.”
“Get married however and whenever you want. This is for you and Ethan, no one else. She’ll understand.”
“That’s what Ethan said. You’re both right… I only have to figure out a way to let her down easy.”
“You’re a literary agent, crushing unreasonable expectations is what you do.”
“You’re right,” he said again and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have exploded on you like that, this isn’t your problem.”
“Anders, we’re friends… I’m here for all the groomzilla meltdowns you can throw at me.”
“Thanks…” he said, his smile almost reaching his eyes. “I think I needed to hear it from someone other than Ethan. I can be biased when it comes to my mom.”
“I have older siblings who would say the same thing about me. I’m the baby of the family, and I let my mom get away with murder.”
He chuckled. “I’m glad you can empathize.”
“Kris said you wanted to see me before I left?”
“Yes, I apologize. I got sidetracked for a moment… I was curious what you thought about Serrano’s manuscript. I think it might be too gritty.”
“I agree, I had Kris set up an appointment with him for tomorrow, I’ll see if he’s willing to tone down some of the language and sex.”
“Sounds good.”
“Was that it?” I asked and he nodded.
“Yeah…” He scanned the mess on his desk. “And maybe I needed someone to throw me a rope.”
“Glad to be of service.”
I was only about fifteen minutes behind by the time I left the office, and I was almost to my exit on the interstate when my phone vibrated in the center console. Figuring it was Lanie asking how much longer I’d be, I ignored it until I was parked out front of the studio. I swiped my thumb across the screen ready to text her to let her know I’d arrived and to bring Anne out, when I noticed the notification from the Pegasus app. After I’d created my account the other night, I’d gotten a few messages, mostly from guys looking for more than what I was ready for. My hope for the app being a successful way to meet men died when I’d gotten a dick pic this morning. Was that what was expected? If so, I was screwed. There was no way I was okay with sending random guys pictures of my genitalia. I planned to ignore the current message, not wanting to be traumatized yet again, but the guy’s username caught my eye. I couldn’t be sure, but I hoped it was a reference to one of my favorite books. The same book I’d referenced in my username. I clicked open the message and was relieved there wasn’t a picture waiting for me.
@TheL0stB0y: Like the handle, you into Aster?
Excitement flooded my pulse, warming my stomach as I stared down at the screen. Pen Aster’s retelling of Peter Pan had been iconic when I was in middle school. It was the first book I’d ever read with gay characters, and it had made all the questions I had about my sexuality seem less isolating. As much as I’d liked girls, I’d wanted to be Pan and fall in love with a lost boy too.
Several replies went through my head. Should I text something about the book? Something flirty? Or would that be considered too forward? I mean, I wasn’t about to send a dick pic. Maybe a simple yes would suffice. Fuck. Why was I making this more difficult than it needed to be. Trying not to overthink, I chose to follow his lead.
@MeAndMyShadow33: Who isn’t?
I pressed send and switched out of the app, sending Lanie a quick text. Not even a minute later, he sent another message.
@TheL0stB0y: Most straight guys? And radicalized conservatives.
A laugh snuck past my lips; curious, I clicked on his profile. He was from Atlanta, too, and like me, hadn’t given his name. I liked the idea of being able to walk away without anyone knowing who I was in case it didn’t go like I’d wanted it to. Maybe he felt the same way. His interests were very simple and to the point. Into books and bottoms. I definitely loved books but was utterly clueless about what I wanted or liked when it came to sex with men. Top or bottom, I wouldn’t be able to be casual about fucking someone. As much as I wanted to explore, I also had to trust the person in order to be vulnerable like that. My mind spinning with possibilities, I flipped to his profile photo. He’d only uploaded one picture, an obligatory ab shot. I had to say his six-pack was as intimidating as it was sexy. His muscles were etched to perfection, a deep V cut along his hips and disappeared below the waistline of his low-riding pants. I pinned my bottom lip between my teeth and zoomed in to get a better look, my throat dry as I stared at the dark smattering of trimmed hair, peeking out just above his buckle.
The car door opened, and I practically threw my phone into the center console, grateful when the screen had gone black. No reason my ten-year-old daughter needed to see her father drooling over a half-naked stranger.
“Daddy!” Anne hopped into the back seat. “I was waiting forever.”
“Sorry, little monster. I got stuck at work.” I lowered the passenger side window and Lanie leaned down, resting her elbows on the frame. “Hey, traffic was—”
“It’s fine. Jules started the class for me. I should head in, though.” She turned and smiled at Anne as she buckled in. “Bye, baby, see you tomorrow.”
“Bye, Mom.”
Lanie walked away with another small wave as I backed out of the parking spot. “Want to go to Sal’s for dinner?”
“Yeah!”
A smile stretched across my face, and for the first time in six months, it didn’t hurt to drive away.
“One more, Dad.” Anne yawned as I leaned over and kissed her on her forehead. Her eyes heavy with sleep, she blinked up at me as I stood. “Tell me the story about the toad and the chicken. That one is the best.”
“How about I save that one for this weekend? It’s late.”
“No, it’s not,” she protested as she fought to keep her eyes open.
“It’s time for bed, Anne.” She didn’t argue, her eyes slowly closing. “Love you, sweet girl.”
I switched off the overhead light, and the glow-in-the-dark stars illuminated on her ceiling.
“Love you, too,” she said and turned onto her side, pulling the blanket all the way up to her chin.
I left her door open a crack and headed to the kitchen to grab a beer. It was only eight, and I’d been on the go all evening. I wanted to unwind a little before I started grading essays. The light in my office was already on, and I groaned like an old man as I sat down at my desk. I pulled my phone from my pocket before taking a swig from the bottle. I was tempted to text that guy again, but worried I’d let too much time lapse and he’d moved on. I wasn’t sure how great I was at navigating all of this. I set my beer down and opened the app. For a solid five minutes, I argued with myself on whether or not I should text him and decided I had too much work to do to worry about it right then. I opened up my email, instead, and like I’d figured, I already had about seven essays submitted. I scrolled down, not even trying to pretend like I wasn’t looking for Parker’s name and grinned when I found it.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
Date: Aug 26 7:16 PM
SUBJECT: ASSIGNMENT 2
Dear Mr. Brody,
I attached my essay. Not sure if I did it right. It’s probably shorter than you wanted it, but once I got going, it all sort of fell out onto the paper. In my defense, it felt like much more than a paragraph while I was writing.
I decided I’m a fan of free association.
Your “excellent” student,
Parker~
His sign off made me chuckle, and I opened the attachment, my impatient finger tapping on the desk while I waited for it to load.
Sweat finds its way down the middle of my back, and I don’t want to stop the dream, the sound, and the wave as it crashes into me. His hands are rough. Warm and heavy, and I’m falling for him. I feel the sand scratch at my knees, and I close my eyes, absorb it all, feel the humid air on my skin, the sky as it falls. Feel it like I did that night, loving the taste of salt on my tongue. The air is heavy with it, and it bites at my cheeks as the sand fills my hands. He won’t stop until the sand consumes me. Until all I feel is the wet truth on my skin, until every touch meets its perfect mark, until I’m broken open for him. His words, a comfort, tell me I’m enough, that I’m not sick, that I never deserved to bleed. And with every hard breath, I won’t stop dreaming, feeling, and I think this is how I will find the end, find my freedom. This man. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. Turns me to dust.
Jesus Christ.
One paragraph and he’d annihilated me.
Fighting the arousal his words had conjured, I pressed the heel of my palm into my groin. This was too personal, read too real. Images I shouldn’t have had popped up inside my head like little bolts of lightning, spreading heat throughout my entire body.
Shit.
I swallowed and closed out of the email, telling myself the reaction I’d had was evidence of his talent and nothing more. Needing something to divert my attention from the very well written, and rather erotic paragraph, I picked up my phone and clicked open the Pegasus app. I scrolled to the conversation I’d had earlier and typed out a fashionably late reply, dispelling all thoughts about students and their borderline inappropriate words.
@MeAndMyShadow33: Did you think Pan would end up with Silas?
I didn’t expect an answer right away, so when the app pinged again, I was relieved.
@TheL0stB0y: Not at first. You?
@MeAndMyShadow33: They had too much stacked against them.
@TheL0stB0y: That’s what made the story great. When they finally get together you know they fucking earned it.
@MeAndMyShadow33: Love isn’t easy, is it?
@TheL0stB0y: Is that what you’re looking for?
@MeAndMyShadow33: I’m not sure what I’m looking for.
@TheL0stB0y: Looks like we have a lot in common.
@MeAndMyShadow33: Is this when you send me a freaky picture of your junk?
@TheL0stB0y: *cringe* Hell no. Just like Pan… you have to earn it.
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