“It is day one, you’re right. Just because I said I was unsure doesn’t mean I didn’t know. I’d rather admit when I’m not sure than give a wrong answer. Wouldn’t you call that a prudent step instead of a postured one? If I knew everything, I wouldn’t be here. None of us would be here. Isn’t that correct?”
There is a stereotypical “ooooooh” coming from my peers all around me. I have to admit it to myself, I’m pretty damn proud that I’m standing my ground. Though, I’m not sure I like that he’s focusing on me this much, he is a dick about it. That, for some reason, I don’t seem to mind as much as I thought I would.
“I like your,” he pauses, waving his hand as he searches for the correct word, “pluckiness, Miss Morgan. That will be a nice change to have in my class, however, my patience tends to grow very thin. Take that in any way that you’d like.”
“Yes, sir. Of course. Maybe you could elaborate on if you think my opinion holds merit? I mean, I wouldn’t want to dance away from the true meaning.” Take that in any way you’d like, Professor.
There are those dimples again. That smile could cause so much trouble.
“Your opinion holds merit, absolutely. Just because I don’t necessarily agree with it doesn’t mean it’s incorrect. That is, after all, what art is about, is it not? Observing, watching... forming thoughts and fantasies about the curves of the piece. I’d be interested in the muse this particular artist used. Was she his lover? Someone he pined for from afar? That’s the beauty of it. The unknown and the speculation.”
I keep hoping someone else in the class will jump in. I think they feel like they are watching a battle. Who will blink first? This is an old-world battle royale that I stumbled into. He was the one who was watching me. Could he have been objectifying me like some of these works do? Was I a muse to him? It seems as though he likes that word. Maybe I can force him to tell me what last night was about in a place he can’t lie.
“I think it was pining from afar. I think it was someone he wanted, someone he wanted badly. He was either afraid he couldn’t have her, was afraid she belonged to someone else, afraid she would say no, or all of the above. Maybe he wants to be her lover, and for the lack of better terms, doesn’t have the balls to do anything about it, thus...the sculpture.”
“Or perhaps, he was seeing her for what she was. A beauty from afar that he simply couldn’t ignore. Maybe she deserved to be immortalized in a piece of art that two people, an art history professor and a young student, would be debating over thousands of years later. Perhaps, it was simply… appreciation of something spectacular.”
Okay. Is he talking about the sculpture anymore? Did I press a button or two on something I should have left well enough alone? What if this man is a stalker like all the others? I need to know, but I need to be very careful. “All of the pieces are spectacular and should be appreciated by everyone. Immortality does have its limits.”
I feel like in an instant, the room gets a little too warm. I feel like everyone in the classroom is staring down the lecture hall at me. One of my main goals for attending the university was to remain anonymous. This tête-à-tête with Professor Sloane is putting me front and fucking center.
Tristan
If there is one thing that I truly look forward to each week, it’s my dinner, drinks, and chat with Adrianna Griffin.
She is not only a true leader in our field, but she is also the dearest friend I have. I don’t remember a time growing up when she wasn’t around. She is like a sister to my mother. She was the one who saw my talent. She was the one who first put the brush in my hand, much to my father’s dismay.
Although she never knew it, she was my first inspiration. I was in love with her until I was in awe of her. When the opportunity came to finally work with and under her I didn’t care where, I didn’t care how much money I made. Neither of those things were as important as learning more from her in all aspects of life.
She is nursing a glass of red wine at a far corner table when I enter the restaurant, already loosening my tie.
“I’m late, I know. I’m sorry.”
She offers me her cheek and I can give it a proper kiss. “You’re lucky some waiter or bartender didn’t whisk me away from it all in your tardiness. Were you in the studio?”
“They would have been lucky, lucky men.” I sink into the seat across from her and take a drink from the glass of water already waiting for me there. It’s covered in condensation, another blatant reminder of my lack of punctuality. The irony in the fact that I scolded Nora for the very same thing, not less than eight hours ago, isn’t lost on me. “No, I wasn’t, though that would have been preferred. I was working on a few administrative things.”
“Administrative things? I don’t recall assigning any to you. Is this another vain attempt at reprieve? Come on. I don’t want to be on glass number two before I’ve had any food. Do you know what you want? I know you’re a creature of habit.”
“I am a well-respected professor in my own right, Anna. I can work beyond being assigned things,” I joke with a cheeky grin, “and you should already know that answer.” I look up when the young waiter arrives at our side. “I’ll have the cacio e pepe gnocchi, and I’d like a glass of whichever red she has selected.”
“Oooh. Leave it to you to surprise me. I will have the same and forget the glass. Bring the bottle.” I watch her wink at this poor young man. I think he’s flattered and flustered in the same breath.
I slide my arm along the booth back toward her. “How was your one class today? I thought you’d leave all the first-years to Thomas. You shocked me.”
“I shocked myself, but I felt those were muscles that needed a bit of flexing, don’t you think? I can’t lose my edge.” She laughs, “How were your classes today?”
“Well, the actual class went well, save for a student who thought it wise to be tardy and debate symbolism and intent of a piece with me. She made solid points, which, as I’m sure you know, weren’t easy for me to accept. Sparring on my own mat generally isn’t wise. I was impressed with her.”
“You just used the word impressed. Tristan, that’s a word you use sparingly for even the year-fours. Are you feeling all right?”
I give her a look as the bottle of wine she ordered finally arrives, uncorked and breathing for me to enjoy. “I’m fine. I’m also thinking about caving and doing something you’ve been begging me to do for about five years. I’m thinking about hiring a full-time TA, one I choose, not these wannabes the university seems to think are a fit for me. If you say I told you so, I will change my mind.”
I watch her lips pull together in a tight line as she holds back her smile, “Oh, Tristan, the urge I have to gloat is unmatched. What brought this decision on? You were so adamantly against it for years. Color me curious.”
“I’m in a mood to acquiesce. Take it for what it is, Anna, and nothing more.” If she only knew the things I was thinking. “Tell me more about the process. How would the candidates be suggested or collected? If I have a very specific skill set in mind, could that be met or matched in this instance?”