Spencer Goodwin--To Be Continued

A story about a woman and her inappropriate crush on her new boss

I sat across from him with my chin raised and legs crossed.

 

“I’m looking for someone who has a flexible schedule,” he told me, “and is willing to put this job above everything else.”

 

Glancing down into my coffee, I blushed and nodded. “I’m willing to do that,” I said. I didn’t have much else to sacrifice.

 

“Good.” He smiled. “Great.”

 

My eyes flickered to his, and something sparked inside of me. Was it admiration? Attraction? Lust? Looking back, I can’t really say what it was that drew me to him in the first place-- but it wasn’t just money. And that feeling alone guided me to this spot, where I decided to alter the course of my life.

 

“Jane.”

 

His cool hand pressed against my palm. Heat exploded onto my face.

 

“Yes?” I asked, surprised.

 

There it was again--the dimpled smile, stretching across his face.

 

“I just asked you if you’d want to hear more about the position,” he said, Spencer said. His dark eyebrows shot up. “I mean, if you’re still interested--”

 

I snapped awake. “Oh, of course! Yes, I’d love to hear about it.”

 

“So you are interested then?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“Alright, then.”

 

He pushed the filled manila folder away from him and clenched a fist to his mouth. Then, his lips pursed.

 

“Jane, I don’t know how to say this.”

 

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

 

“I just--I don’t--”

 

I looked down at my eggs, slapped onto the plate.

 

“If you don’t think I’m capable, then I understand,” I said, although I didn’t mean it. It just felt right to say, in the moment and everything.

 

Feeling bad about myself, suddenly small, I pushed my half-completed resume across the table. With so little experience, working in and out of restaurants, fast-food joints, and clothing stores, I had a feeling that he wouldn’t consider me. But still.

 

Before this point, he seemed to really like me.

 

“No. It’s not that. I just…” He shook his head.

 

“Look, Jane. You’re a nice person. You pay your taxes, right? Follow the rules? Do what you’re supposed to do, even when nobody tells you to?”

 

I didn’t know where this was going. “I don’t have a criminal record, if that’s what you’re asking,” I said.

 

He laughed, which kind of hurt my feelings. Puzzled, I tilted my head and tried to look into his eyes. Tried to see who this man was, what he did in his free time. Would I enjoy working for him? Would he treat me well?

 

But when I looked into him, I only saw compassion. Empowerment. This looked like a hardworking man with a gentle spirit and a kind heart.

 

He reached for my hand across the table. “I’m just trying to look out for you,” he said. My heart beat out of my chest, overcome with emotion.

 

“I--” My mouth went dry.

 

“Look. This job is not for the faint-hearted. Okay, you have to work a lot, and you have to be brave. You have to do things that aren’t necessarily...conventional.”

 

From the corner of my eye I noticed his left hand, the wedding ring on his finger.

 

“Are you married?”

 

I didn’t even realize I’d said it before it was too late. His eyes lit up then, and he started laughing. That soft, faint laugh.

 

“I am,” he said.

 

I shook my head, flushed, and said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking, I--”

 

“Don’t apologize, Jane.” His voice soothed me, especially when he whispered.

 

“I have been married for ten years now,” he said. “And I have two kids...a boy and a girl. Colby and Kaylee. Twins, actually.” His eyes, I noticed, sparkled when talking about them. “Colby loves baseball. Kaylee...well, she loves everything except baseball.” That made me laugh.

 

“What about your wife?” I asked. I bit my lip, turning playful. “Does she like baseball?”

 

He nodded, still smiling. “Yes, she does,” he said, “but the question seems to be here, Jane, do you like baseball?”

 

I laughed again.

 

I appreciated his sense of humor and the way his voice lowered as he spoke, and the deep tone he used, and the way his pupils looked like raging rings of fire. Everything he said, in some way or another, brought a smile to my face.

 

“I think it’s pretty boring,” I said with a shrug. “But I could see how someone would like it. America’s favorite past-time, and all.”

 

After taking a swig of his coffee, Spencer glanced across the room, looking for anyone nearby. Then he grinned and said, “Let’s get back to business. Shall we?”

 

I stayed silent while Spencer searched for--and found--his words.

 

“The job pays well. I think you will be satisfied with what you make...I guarantee you will be paid more than any job you’ve ever had,” he said. “I’ve had assistants before, but they never really...well, they never really worked out, you know?” His hands clasped together. “Always women who wanted the job, but didn’t want to work for it.”

 

“You’ve only ever hired women for the position?” I asked, feeling both flattered and off-guard.

 

That’s when I saw it--the dimming of his eyes. It only lasted for a moment, but it made my heart pound even harder.

 

“It’s not what it sounds like,” he said, sounding irritated. “I hired men in the past, but I found that women do a better job.”

 

I smiled. Finally a male authority figure who wasn’t a sexist pig.

 

After we discussed payment and some of the tasks I would have to do, such as answering calls and upkeeping the office, Spencer extended his hand across the table. The wrinkles in his forehead that looked so prominent, caved deep into his skin, suddenly subsided.

 

“Jane, it was a pleasure meeting you,” he said, tipping his head.

 

He held my hand for a bit longer than necessary, but it didn’t bother me. I liked his skin pressed against mine; it gave me a rush of adrenaline. And I noticed that, even though his skin felt like ice, my body felt on fire.

 

“When should I expect to hear from you?” I asked.

 

“I will give you a call in one-to-two business days,” he said. “If I don’t get back to you by Thursday, then call the office.” It was Monday.

 

Then we made our separate ways.

******************************************************************************

Slipping through the front door, I took off my shoes and jacket without making too much noise. I didn’t want to wake anyone.

 

We had been at the cafe for over two hours, Spencer and me, but my mother didn’t need to know that. I tiptoed into the kitchen to make myself some tea when I found her there, sitting at the oakwood table.

 

“You slept with him, didn’t you?”

 

I gasped.

 

“Mom, what are you doing up so late?” I asked, placing my hand over my heart.

 

You slept with him, didn’t you?

 

Her words drilled into my brain and drowned out everything else. Like the sound of his voice. His laugh.

 

“Jane, it’s almost midnight,” she said. She sat in front of her own cup of tea, filled to the brim. Made with honey and love, she liked to say.

 

I folded my arms. “Mom, I’m almost twenty-five years old, for God’s sake. I’m allowed to be out late.”

 

Screeching across the floor, her chair flew out from underneath her as she rose. She clutched at my shoulders, shaking me.

 

“Mom, what are you--”

 

“Do you remember what happened to you as a little girl? Do you?” At this point she slammed my body against the kitchen counter, and I trembled under my clothes.

 

“Yeah, Mom, but--”

 

“But nothing! You have to be careful, Jane. You have to be careful.”

 

I could remember that night as if it were yesterday. After all, I’m the one who experienced it. The one who cried out at night, remembering how it felt to be violated. To be victimized and--

 

Chosen.

 

As a child, I was always an easy-target.

 

One time, I came home from summer-camp. I kicked off my shoes at the door and looked around for my brother and his friends. “Is anyone home?” I called out. My voice carried down the stairs, in our basement. Streaming out into an empty abyss.

 

No answer.

 

“Guys, where are you?” I asked, this time louder.

 

But as I entered our game-room, full of bean-bag chairs and an air-hockey table and a 1960’s television,  I realized that something was terribly, horribly wrong.

 

I turned on the light switch.

 

In front of me stood a figure dressed up like a clown, his hair a fiery red. His mouth dripped with what looked like blood, and he held a sledge hammer.

 

“Well, hello there, Jane,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

 

I shrieked.

 

“Somebody, help!” I said, although I knew at this point no one was home. I knew I was going to die, at nine years old.

 

That’s when I tried to run, but the clown lunged at me. He snatched my shirt and pulled me down. I let out a loud sob.

 

“Please let me go,” I said, crying. “What did I ever do to you? What?”

 

I learned that the chair, placed in the middle of the game-room, was for me.

 

Duct tape pressed against my lips, rope tied across my body, I felt like death was fast approaching. It was inevitable at this point.

 

He stood in front of me. He held my favorite teddy bear. Given by my late-grandmother.

 

“Please don’t,” I said. But my voice muffled under the black tape.

 

He laughed, a shrill noise that hurt my ears. From his polka-dotted pocket he pulled out a lighter, one of the old-fashioned ones, and flickered it on. “What? Does this upset you?”

 

My teddy bear, crying out for help like me, engulfed into flames. I watched helplessly as his body crumbled into ash.

 

Dropping the bear, the clown clenched his teeth together and looked behind him. “Have fun,” he said.

 

He turned his back on me and left me to die. I watched as the flames grew higher and more furious, and sweat dribbled down my small body. I have to get out of here, I thought, but the more I screamed, the more invisible I felt. With all my strength I pushed against the rope, keeping me back, but I couldn’t move.

 

Soon the flames tickled at my feet, and I saw the rest of my life, buried in them.

Why would someone want to hurt me? What had I ever done to them?

 

That’s when my mother, my angel, threw open the basement door. Arms full of groceries, she threw them aside and shrieked with terror.

 

“Jane! Oh my God, my baby!” she said. The fear she must have felt.

 

My brother, Jason, now serves a life-sentence at the local penitentiary.

*****************************************************************************

I saw him.

 

We stood face-to-face, close enough to be kissing. For a moment I considered doing so, until reality faded in and I realized who he was. Who I was. And how our worlds could never collide.

 

“What are you so afraid of?” Spencer asked me. His breath tickled my skin.

 

I shuddered. “N-nothing,” I said. “I’m not scared of anything.”

 

“Run away with me.”

 

My eyes widened. I could feel my heart, begging and pleading.

 

But for what? To be in love? To love and be loved in return?

 

Or was it more complicated than that? I couldn’t figure out if I wanted him, or if I wanted someone.

 

That’s when he lunged at me, pursing his lips together. “Jane, run away with me,” Spencer said, this time more forceful. “I’ll do anything for you.”

 

With reluctance I shoved his large, brawny body away. “Get the f**k off me,” I said with a hiss.

 

He recoiled.

 

“I thought you wanted me,” he said, taking a step backward.

 

Dark thunder clouds seemed to form in his once-jovial eyes. Flexing his muscles together, perhaps showing his strength, Spencer squinted and looked right through me. It’s as if he saw me as a little girl, playing hop-scotch and chasing after the ice-cream man. The lion seeking his lamb.

 

“You’re married,” I said.

 

“She doesn’t make me feel the way you do.”

 

“But I’m not like that, I don’t--”

 

Taking a step forward, he extended his arm and, slowly, brushed his knuckle against my cheek. At his touch I felt my body grow warm and got angry over the fact.

 

“Please stop,” I said.

 

For some reason, my head felt full, as did my eyes, and it was increasingly hard to pay attention to anything but the way his face lit up while looking at me.

 

“I know how you feel about me,” Spencer said, “and until you admit it, I’m not going to leave you alone.”

 

I gritted my teeth and balled my fists--ready. Ready for what, I have no idea, but I was ready for something.

 

When I didn’t say anything further, I watched as his body turned more rigid, more erect. His feet seemed to plant into the ground with more security, more authority, and it sent a chill straight down my spine.

 

“Well, Jane, I guess you’ve left me with no choice.”

 

“Wha-?”

 

In an instant, he lurched at me, and I let out a shriek. “Somebody help me!” I cried, but knew deep down that no one would.

 

He held me so tight, I could feel my airway closing.

 

“Why don’t you listen the first time?” Now, his eyes bulged out of his head, like that of a beetle. And the veins on his forehead popped out. “If you would have listened to me,” he went on, “then maybe I wouldn’t have to do this.”

 

I didn’t bother asking what this meant. Besides, his cold hand pressed against my mouth anyways, and I lost all motivation to speak.

 

Losing so much air made me feel woozy, and I started to feel light-headed. He scooped me into his arms and slung me over his shoulder.

 

I decided, with the little strength I had, to smack him in the face. Or to spit in his eye and fall out of his grasp.

 

But when I looked into his eyes, I saw not Spencer but an embodiment of everything evil. I kicked and screamed. Even though I didn’t want to, I knew what I had to do. To survive. He left me with no other choice.

 

As my head lay propped on his shoulder, I opened my mouth and made a horrible mistake:

 

I bit Spencer Goodwin.

******************************************************************************

I woke up screaming like a wounded animal. Yelping with pain.

 

My mother, hands flailing, rushed into my room. “Janie! Janie!” She hadn’t called me that since I was eight years old, mind you.

 

“What’s the matter?” she asked me. I could see from her expression that she had been crying, too.

 

In my bed sheets I trembled, shook violently. “Ma--”

 

“What’s going on? Are you sick? Hurt?”

 

My head throbbed. I pressed a cool fist to my forehead. “‘Must have been just a dream,” I said. Flopping on my stomach, I buried myself in a pillow and tried to think of anything but him.

 

She set a hand on my back. “Honey. Are you okay?” I was too weak to respond. “I’ve...I’ve never heard you yell like that,” she said.

 

After a few hours, I did fall back asleep--but not without tossing and turning, and throwing all my blankets to the floor. Readjusting my sleeping position over and over again. I wanted a dreamless sleep where I didn’t have to think about him or the way he felt, brushed against my skin.

 

I realized early in the game that I could not get away from him.

******************************************************************************

My father died when I was five years old.

Losing your father at any age is hard, but at five, you view him as your hero, your best-friend. I looked up to him when I had nothing else--nothing but bread-and-butter sandwiches and Doug reruns.

 

Before my brother made the biggest mistake of his life, we spent a lot of time with my dad. We would go fishing and hiking every Saturday morning, before the sun came up and the air was hot. Dad liked it that way.

 

On the morning I started my new job, my mother and I reminisced about him. She never remarried.

 

“You know he would be so proud of you, Jane,” she said, stirring her coffee. She added another touch of skim. “You were his favorite thing in the entire world.”

 

“Nuh uh,” I said. I tried to be modest, although I knew the truth.

 

She smiled up at me. “You were his little princess. He wanted nothing more than to give you the perfect life.”

 

My mother, craning forward, looked out the window above the sink and breathed a sigh. She seemed to process what happened after he was gone--the pain of losing her husband and then, shortly after, her only son.

 

“Unfortunately, no one can have the perfect life,” she said.

 

Then she brought her coffee to her lips and took it all in.

 

I shuddered. “Isn’t that the truth.”

 

We sat across from each other at the kitchen table, our coffee-spoons and silence alike.

 

I didn’t want to say anything, because I didn’t want to reveal my thoughts. I obsessed over him and the way his body felt, if only in my dreams. A married man.

 

What was wrong with me?

 

“Jane, I don’t think that you should take this job.”

 

Her words stuck out, one-by-one, like little shards of glass. I felt my body start to sweat, my heart doing twice the work.

 

My eyes widened. “Why? Why do you say that?” I asked in an instant.

 

“Well, I don’t know. You know people say to trust your gut.” She had always been that way, and that’s why she was right most of the time. One of those I-told-you-so mothers.

 

I absorbed her words one at a time. “I just have this really bad feeling about it, for some reason,” she said, “and I think your father would, too.”

 

Somewhere inside me I believed her--and agreed with her--but I didn’t want to. For the majority of my life, despite the useless bachelor’s degree on my wall, I worked at places where I was treated like s**t. Always cleaning up someone else’s mess. Sure, this one wasn’t much different, but at least I could be treated somewhat better.

 

Spencer made me feel like my work would be appreciated.

 

“Mom, it’s so hard to find a job nowadays,” I said. I shook my head. “I’m not just going to give it up.”

 

“Honey, with your brains, you could do anything you wanted. Why clean offices for some pervert?”

 

“Mom!” I rose to his defense, blood rushing to my face. “He is not a pervert.”

 

A flash of embarrassment stung me once I realized that I stood up for Spencer--but I decided to ignore the feeling.

 

“Nevermind that.” She flicked her hand. Then paused.

 

“Jane, you are one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. You are a brilliant woman. You could be respected and taken seriously at any job you wanted. I bet you’re ten-times smarter than this guy.”

 

I clutched my mug. “He is actually really smart,” I said, eyes glowing. I thought about the way he spoke with sophistication and grace, two qualities I had yet to find in most men.

Although I dated around, I never felt connected to any of them, regardless of their educational or professional background. Exploring my sexuality, I even talked to a few women--but those only resulted in late-nights together and early-mornings apart. But with Spencer, things were different.

 

I knew I couldn’t pursue anything with this man, but I definitely wanted to.

 

My mom saw it, too. She saw the way my eyes glossed over when talking about him, the way I blushed at just the thought. She could tell, also, when I was thinking about him, because I drifted from everything else.

 

Her voice turned sour. “Jane, don’t you even think about sleeping with this man.”

 

“Mom, what the hell?” I laughed. “Why would you think that?”

 

“I’m not stupid. I see the way you look when you talk about him. You can hide these things from other people, but you can’t hide them from me.”

Taking a final sip of my coffee, I thought of ways to get myself out of this conversation. But when I set down the mug, my mother stared at me, her fierce look.

 

“You are twenty-five years old, and I would never tell you how to live your life. But if you chase after this man, I guarantee you--you will only have problems.”

 

“Mom, he’s married,” I said. I stood up from my seat. The clock on the stove read 6:35. “I need to get my shower now...it’s getting late.”

 

When I turned away from her, I tried my best to clear my mind, to think of anything else. I rushed up the stairs and into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

 

Putting my hands through my hair, I looked at myself in the mirror. My skin looked aglow, my eyes brighter.

 

I smiled. I hadn’t felt this way in a long time.

******************************************************************************

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

What should I work on? Thank you so much!