Flirting with Fifty

Chapter 4

Jack moved into his new apartment on Friday, one week after the cocktail party at President Keller’s house, and then spent the rest of his weekend finishing a paper he’d promised to have done weeks ago, at the beginning of summer, but things had kept popping up. Like this opportunity at Orange. Getting permission for the sabbatical. And then organizing the move to California so he could still get his speaking engagements in.

Fortunately, he’d found someone to sublet his house in Princeton, and then it had just been a matter of loading the things he wanted to take with him to California in Gertie and driving west.

On the way, he’d stopped in Jackson, Wyoming, to see Mara’s parents, and then he’d made another stop in Montana to visit the wolf habitat run by one of his former students.

There were other visits on the way, with friends and colleagues, but there was also the peace that came with being on the open road, with no computer, phone, or other distractions. He drove, listened to classical music, and felt grateful to be alive.

He was one of the lucky ones. He had work he loved, friends he cared about, and a son who made him proud. Jack wasn’t sure what he’d ever done to deserve Oliver, but Oliver was an incredible human being, and the best of the best. By the time he’d reached LA, he couldn’t wait to see Oliver. They’d had one night to catch up before Oliver was on a plane to New York, and then Jack was off to Hilo, Paris, and Delhi.

He was done traveling now. A year ago, he’d made the decision to cut back on traveling during the school semester, finding the rigors of speaking, traveling, writing, and teaching were taking a toll. He could still push himself hard, but he didn’t enjoy the juggling act, or the resulting fatigue. Jack had always prided himself on being able to accomplish a lot, but there was a price to be paid for missing sleep and having little, or no, downtime.

As it stood, Jack’s next trip would be the field research in Costa Rica with the Orange University students. Thirteen weeks before his next trip. That seemed like an awfully long time to be in one place, but Jack would use every opportunity he could to see Oliver. This was the year of Oliver. Provided Oliver would be around.

And then he suddenly thought of Paige and how appealing she’d looked at the party in her flirty white dress with her long blond hair loose over her shoulders. That was the Paige he remembered from Paris, the one who loved white tank tops and short denim skirts, acid-wash denim in particular. It was rather maddening that she didn’t remember him, or continued to pretend she didn’t. He’d been a graduate student in the program, teaching two courses that summer—none of hers, though—but he’d see her during social events and on campus in passing. She was hard to miss, the quintessential California girl. He’d successfully avoided getting close to her, but then during the last week of the program, they’d been thrown together during an excursion, and all he could think about was how much he wanted her.

And then they’d gone to dinner with the group and after everyone else had left the brasserie for a night club, she’d remained at the table, and so had he. They’d drunk wine and talked, and talked, and he’d felt the tension between them, heady, sweet, seductive. The beautiful night contributed, as did the wine, but it was mostly her, and the sizzle of attraction. They ended up back at his room and it wasn’t until she was beneath him, in his bed, that he’d realized she was still fairly inexperienced. She’d faked her orgasm, too, and when he’d wanted to go down on her to give her a real one, she’d stopped him.

Jack leaned back in his chair, away from his laptop. He didn’t remember everything from that night, but he could see her, after, wrapped in his top sheet, blue gaze wary. He could see the wheels turning in her head, see her think, and the more she thought, the more distant she became.

He’d walked her back to her room. It had to be three, maybe four, in the morning, and he’d kissed her goodbye, and she’d kissed him back, and as warm as it had been, it also felt final.

He wasn’t completely shocked to discover she’d returned to California the next day, but he had been disappointed.

There were things they should have said, things he should have said. He liked her. She was beautiful and bright. Fascinating, really. She had that very pretty face coupled with a sharp intellect, and he’d wanted more time with her, more time to discover who she was. But obviously she regretted the night together and he didn’t pursue her. He let her escape and he moved on.

But seeing her again brought the Paris summer, and their night together, to life. She was still beautiful, still brilliant, still appealing.

Still as puzzling.

He didn’t mind a puzzle. In fact, he was drawn to them. His career had been based on solving problems and puzzles. Problems and puzzles made the world interesting.

Jack reached for his phone and shot Paige a quick text, thanking her for the lead on his apartment, along with tips on shops he might like that sold high quality, organic food, as well as a popular vegetarian restaurant not far from the apartment complex.

His text was answered a minute later with a simple Jack studied the emoji for a moment before setting the phone down. Dr. Paige Newsome was definitely an intriguing human being.

*   *   *

The next week passed too quickly for Paige. She spent most of the work week preparing for her new class, as well as doing the admin that came with teaching. Students were emailing her asking if she’d waive the prerequisite for her advanced mathematical physics course, while others were hoping they could still get into a full course. She had department meetings and, of course, meetings with Jack, because he had a lot of opinions on how his course should be taught. She couldn’t even be resentful, because every time they met, she was drawn into his enthusiasm and passion. The classwork, and the course assignments, all led to the hands-on field work, work students would be able to do toward the end of the semester, provided they had passing grades.

“Does anyone fail this course?” she asked him one day after an hour-long planning session. They were sitting at a table in the shade outside of the university’s three coffeehouses, but there wasn’t much respite from the heat as there was no breeze. Temperatures had been in the midnineties all week—a heat wave for Southern California—and yet it hadn’t slowed Jack down. He claimed to still be acclimated to the high heat and humidity of Delhi, but she suspected weather just didn’t bother him.

“Not often, but it happens,” he said. “Usually we weed out those who aren’t serious in the first week or two. There’s a lot of reading right away, and a big paper due at the end of week three. If they can’t get the paper in, or done well, they will usually drop the course then.”

“A heavily weighted paper on week three isn’t by accident, then.”

“No. And I stress the paper quite a bit that first week, so don’t be surprised to hear me mentioning it every day.”

“Your version of Scared Straight!?”

“What’s that?”

“It was an American television show where they’d take kids who were getting in trouble and show them what life was like behind bars. Inmates would talk to them, tell them it was rough in prison and they didn’t want to end up there.”

“I take it the inmates weren’t always gentle.”