Class - Cecily Von Ziegesar [48]
The task of washing her own clothes was so foreign to Shipley as to seem romantic. The words “gentle spin” and “tumble dry” evoked thoughts of a handsome stranger who would wander into the laundry room while she was folding her clothes.
“Let me help,” he’d say, picking up her laciest bra. He’d continue folding her panties and bras until, unable to control his desire, he’d tear off her clothes, dropping them one by one into an open washer. Then he’d remove his own clothes and ravish her on top of the warm, agitating machines. It would be their secret, these late-night laundry room trysts, with the washing machine spinning so noisily they’d never even learn each other’s name.
The refrigerator hummed. Shipley smiled shyly up at Adam, as if he were reading the part in her diary where she’d written about him. He was the handsome stranger in the laundry room. She took a step toward him, and then another. “I’m going to kiss you,” she whispered as she slipped her arms around his neck. And then she did, slamming his head back against the freezer door like the uninhibited adulteress in her daydream.
They kissed in the kitchen for a long time. Adam tried to remain calm and keep his hands quietly at her waist, but Shipley slipped her hands beneath his T-shirt, causing his heart to explode out of his chest, and then his hands were all over her.
“Is it safe to come down?” Tragedy whispered from the top of the stairs.
Adam tore his mouth away from Shipley’s. “No! Keep playing with the baby.”
A moment later headlights flashed through the kitchen windows. Professor Rosen and her partner were back.
“They’re here!” Tragedy called.
“Shit.” Shipley wiped her mouth on her sleeve and tucked her hair behind her ears. “It’s okay. I’ll tell them you stopped by to study,” she said quickly. “They won’t mind.” She corked the wine and stuck it back in the fridge.
Tragedy came downstairs with the empty breast bottle in her hand. “At least he’s asleep.”
Beetle. Shipley had forgotten all about him. Adam just stood there with his hands in his pockets, grinning.
“Hello, hello. I see you have company.” Blanche pushed open the kitchen door, her cheeks flushed from red wine and cold wind.
“How was it?” Professor Rosen asked as she came into the kitchen. “Oh, hello, Adam.” She removed her jade earrings and tossed them on the countertop. Her cheeks were flushed too. “Is everything okay?”
“We had to go over something for Geology,” Shipley blurted out, even though Adam didn’t take Geology. “Beetle’s asleep. He’s fine. What an easy baby!”
“And who might you be?” Blanche smiled at Tragedy.
Tragedy didn’t care for pleasantries. “Adam’s sister.” She pushed past them and stepped onto the porch. “Come on, Adam, the sheep are waiting.”
Shipley remained in the kitchen, her ears tuned to the sound of Adam and Tragedy pulling away in Adam’s car. Blanche went upstairs to check on Beetle. Professor Rosen rooted around in her purse for Shipley’s pay.
She handed Shipley a wad of bills and sniffed the air. “Do you smell smoke?”
Shipley wrinkled her nose and shook her head. She was a terrible liar.
“Darren read your poem to me in the car,” Blanche trilled as she came downstairs. “It’s very good. You should submit it to A Muse.” A Muse was Dexter’s biannual literary journal. “I basically run the thing so I can tell you now we’ll publish it.”
“Thanks.” Shipley stuffed the money into her sweatshirt pocket. Knowing that Professor Rosen had shared the poem with Blanche might have been more troublesome if her mind wasn’t preoccupied with how fun it had been to slam Adam’s head against the freezer door—who knew she had it in her?—and how fantastically illicit it had been to kiss him in Professor Rosen’s kitchen. She considered driving straight over to his