The Feminist and the Gentleman [02]

Chapter 2:

Love is a word that is constantly heard,

 Hate is a word that is not.

 Love, I am told, is more precious than gold.

 Love, I have read, is hot.

 But Hate is the verb that to me is superb,

 And Love but a drug on the mart.

 Any kiddie in school can Love like a fool,

 But Hating, my boy, is an Art.

       ---Ogden Nash

 



Hm. Well he sure was yummy to look at. Talk about eye candy. He was tall and although he wasn’t very muscular he did look…strong…

    No, dammit! Don’t go down this path, Val, you know what happened the last time. Guys are bastards they only screw you over.

    “…we’re going?”

    I blinked. “Uh, what?”

    The new guy and I were walking through the deserted halls of the school since every other person on campus was enjoying their last couple hours of freedom away from herel.

    “Do you know where we’re going?”

    “Of course. I know this school probably better than the dean himself.”

    We lapsed into silence again as we walked past the locked classrooms their room numbers flashing by: 121, 123, 125, 138, 142…

    “So new kid what’s your name?” I asked because the silence was bothering me. It wasn’t the nice, compatible, let’s-sit-and-chill type of silence but the this-is-really-awkward-what-the-hell-am-I-supposed-to-say?-kind.

    “Jason. Jason Knight.”

    “Whoa, fancy name. Would you consider yourself a gentleman? Or an asshole? Just out of curiousity,” I added when he gave me a narrowed look.

    “A gentleman. My mother raised me like one.”

    “So then you’re one of those guys who believe women should stay in kitchens and cook and clean the rest of their miserable lives? That women should not get jobs and have careers and be independent but stay at home and become a 24 hour a day seven days a week babysitter and have as many babies as her husband wants? And dedicate her entire life to serving her husband like a faithful unpaid servant who has to pull up her skirt whenever he gets an itch? After all that’s what wives are for, right? To satisfy their husband’s sexual needs? No, wait, back up. That’s what a mistress is for. A wife is there to satisfy all those other needs while the slut her husband sees on the side gives him the pleasure he can’t get out of his wife because she’s too damn tired to do much more than pass out on the bed after cattering to him the whole freaking day, is that it?!”

    Jason stared at me speechless. “No,” he stammered. “That’s definitely not what I was talking about. I meant a gentleman as in—”

    “As in doesn’t let his girl do anything dangerous? As in pulls back her chair, holds the door open for her, would slay the evil, fire-breathing dragon for her and rescue her from the creepy molesters that torment her? What do you think women are, Sir Knight A Lot? Trophies? Prizes? Priceless glass decorations? Well, you’re wrong! We’re just as tough as you and probably a lot more so because I don’t see men suffering through nine months of pregnancy and poppin’ out babies like some mothers do. Do you think you could deal with something like that? Hm?”

    “No.”

    “That’s right because you’re a guy.”

    “Yes.”

    “And guys walk all over women.”

    “That’s right.”

    “Would you stop agreeing with me, damn it! What is your problem? Do you enjoy being this annoying?”

    “Do you enjoy taking off every male species’ head with your stereotypical opinions and assumptions?”

    “As a matter of fact, I do.”

    “Obviously.”

    “Do you want me to give you a damn tour or do you want to get lost on your first day of school? The teachers here are not as nice as you may seem to believe. I’m allowed to have my opinions which just happen to include the fact that I despise any male creature that moves. Now, shut up and keep walking.”

   

Jason didn’t say much after that. I got annoyed again as we walked through the third floor classrooms and through the spacious and luxurious cafeteria. We were walking through another section of the school where the chemistry and biology labs were closed and locked up and past the computer lab areas.

    “So, where you from?” I asked carelessly. I was bored. And , okay, I was a little curious of the mysterious new student with the romance-novel last name.

    “Miami.”

    “Ooh, what made you come to Jacksonville? Let me guess you had your heart broken in Miami by some bleached blonde beach babe and wanted to start over in a place that isn’t known exclusively for its beaches. Though if that were the case why would you in enroll in a previously all guys’ school to meet girls?”

    “Because I didn’t. We moved here because we weren’t doing so hot in Miami and thought Jacksonville be nice.”

    “And ‘we’ would include?”

    “My dad and I.”

    “No mom?”

    “God, you’re noisy. You going to be a reporter or something?”

    “I’ve thought about it.”

    “My mom left about six months ago.”

    “Why?”

    “I don’t know. I guess she just got fed up with my dad’s business. She believed it was his priority over her.”

    “What’s he do?”

    “He owns his own investigative business.”

    “He’s a P.I.? Sweet.”

    “Well, not lately. His business has been pretty bad since he couldn’t help this important client find her son and after that we’ve had very few clients and even those he’s had trouble with. My mom leaving may have something to do with it. So we figured somewhere new might be good and Jacksonville’s got a huge population of potential clients and cases, so here we are.”

    “Why Emperor?”

    “My dad thought it was important for me to get the best education possible.”

    “Huh.” I was quiet as I thought about this for a couple minutes. Emperor Academy wasn’t the only top-rate school contrary to what Pompous Dean Crabs may have thought. And the tuition for normal students wasn’t cheap, either. If the new guy’s dad wasn’t doing well financially speaking how could they afford a school like this?

    We lapsed into silence again as our footsteps echoed off the wide corridors and hallways.

    We visited the gym and then toured the library. The new guy hadn’t said much else since our ‘intimate’ conversation. I was wondering if I had offended him. Had I said something I shouldn’t have? Probably. I did have a habit of doing that a lot.

    I was debating over whether or not I should care if my obnoxiously rude interrogating had bothered the new guy when I saw him.

    Again.

    With Barbie.

    Again.

    They were making out in one of the corners of the library on the second floor in one of those soft cushiony library-chairs. I only happened to spot them because Jason had stupidly knocked a book off one of the shelves and I had unthinkingly reached to pick it up. I had caught a glimpse of golden hair and known. Known it was Marigold. And the freaking noises they were making! God where was the snooty librarian with the horn-rimmed glasses and stiff gray bun hissing ‘be quiet!’ like in all those movies? I didn’t even see Mrs. Wright the more cheerful librarian with the sunny disposition completely opposite to the other library lady Ms. Plumer who loved nothing better than to kick groping teenagers out of the library on their asses with pretty pink detention slips.

    “What is it?” Jason whispered. He must have noticed how I’d tensed and was slowly inching my way toward them. I still couldn’t control myself when Zachary was within a certain mile radius. All I could think about was how badly I wished he’d get malled by a runaway bus or have a flaming airplane land on his over-inflated ego. Or have him get abducted by terrorists and forced into being a sex slave for some foreign empress/goddess who tortures him with what he can’t have (by this I mean revealing certain areas of skin for certain periods of time). Or have him get attacked by a rabid and horny crazed mother raccon and have her rip his balls off.(Hmm, I definitely liked that last one.)

    God, I needed anger management.

    Or, God forbid, therapy.

    I sincerely doubted there were any therapists around that would take a case like me. I’d indirectly (okay directly) caused the resigns (and one admittance to a psych ward) of my five ex-therapists. Unfortunately we never saw eye to eye (or anything else for that matter). Who knew discussing how you planned on destroying the very bastard who cheated on you would lead to your therapist attempting to leap out his third floor window? Or would cause her to join a secluded nunnery and become a lesbian? Or lead that other one to chain her husband to their bedpost and slice off his balls because she had found out he’d been cheating on her with her younger and better-looking personal assistant? Or the macho one that fled to Canada to be a night-club stripper? It really was too bad that therapists didn’t seem to have the mental capacity to help me deal with my problems. Which was actually fine with me since I liked dealing with my own problems anyway.

    Like right now, for example.

    I was now right behind the bookshelf where Barbie and Ken were necking. (Ken was ripping off Barbie’s slutty halter-top and yanking up her skirt while Barbie tugged on his jeans and made very unsettling noises in her throat that made me think of a chicken being decapitated.)   

      Angrily, I shoved at the bookshelf in front of me. A few books at the very top wobbled unsteadily and then their weight toppled them off the shelf and onto the heads of Barbie and Zachary, interrupting them mid-moan.

    I was pleased when I saw that one of the books that had fallen was an unabridged Swedish dictionary and I thanked the Swedes for having a pretty extensive language.

    Now that Barbie and Ken’s little anatomy lesson was over they fixed their clothes and knocked the three or four books aside, rubbing their foreheads, temples and—in Marigold’s case—balloon-sized breasts, where the heavy books had hit.

    I hoped nice, big and nasty bruises showed up on both of their pretty, perfect faces and stayed there for a while.

    I moved out from behind the shelf and scooted over to where Jason was eyeing a thick hard-cover suspense novel.

      “So, what was that about?” he said nonchalantly, not even looking up from his book.

    “What was what about?” I asked innocently. I picked up a book of my own from the shelf and leafed through it. Ugh, corny romance. No thank you. There was nothing interesting about damsels in distress or knights in shining armor. Truthfully, it should be the damsels in the armor and the knights in distress. But I supposed none of the sexist authors wanted to write about beautiful damsels ripping off the balls of their knights when they cheated on them for the more wealthy and powerful queens or duchesses.

    “You know what. With that guy and his blonde glitter globe.”

    “Glitter globe?” I raised my eyebrows at him.

    This time he looked up and grinned. “Sure, she’s obnoxiously sparkly and her boobs look like mutated snow globes, except they’re not clear.” He put the book back on the shelf. “So I’m assuming the jerk and his plastic doll offended you?”

    “Offended me? The bastard and his tart pissed me off, that’s all. And I really don’t see how it’s any of your concern,” I snapped, slamming the book into its space with more force than necessary. The shelf rocked for a second.

    “Oh, so this isn’t any of my business, huh? What the hell made it yours when you were interrogating me about my family? I don’t see any damn badge that gives you the right.”

    “Well, you answered me, didn’t you? I didn’t force you to say anything.”

    “Yeah, well I thought I’d be nice and share a few things with you. But I don’t know why I bothered sharing sensitive things with someone as cynical and callous as you. I bet a rock’s got more feelings inside it than you.”

    “Well a rock doesn’t have to worry about being cheated on and dumped and humiliated, now does it? Unless you’d like to correct me and tell me that rocks actually have relationships where their supposed thoughtful and caring boyfriend isn’t a lying asshole who can’t keep his dick in his pants for more than a couple hours without jumping the first boob-equipped female he sees.” I was mortified when I felt tears pricking my eyes.

    Damn it, damn it!  I’d told myself I was over this. I was over him. So why the hell was I crying?

    “Is that what he did?” Jason asked quietly. “With her?”

    “Not with her someone else,” I heard myself say. “There were so many it was impossible to keep track.”

    “And you want to get back at him?” Jason said in a quiet, thoughtful voice.

    “You bet your ass I do. More than anything. I’ve been planning and plotting how I’m going to do it since last year. And this year I’m going to make him pay.”

    “What if I said I could help you?”

    I stared at him. Was he joking? Guys didn’t help scorned girls get their revenge on their fellow cheating brothers. “Why the hell would you help me? What’s in it for you?”

    “Why nothing of course. Just the satisifaction of knowing I helped a vengeful woman get her deserved revenge.”

    “Be serious. What do I have to do for you?”

    “Well…there is something I could use your help with...”