Ginny Page 13

  Robert got the front door for her where Robert’s wife, Sandra greeted them.

  “Welcome, come in please,” she said, “I’m Sandra Levy, Mrs. Bennington.”

  Mrs. Bennington said, “I hope I’m not imposing.”

  “Of course not,” Sandra said. “The more the merrier.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Let me take your jacket.”

  Two preteen girls came bouncing into the room, “Mom, we’re hungry!”

  “Wash up first, we have a special guest for supper tonight …”

  “Mrs. Bennington!” they squealed in unison.

  “Hello, Patsy, hello Alison,” Mrs. Bennington said. A slight smile crossed her face.

  “Mrs. Bennington is the most popular teacher in school,” Alison, the Levy’s daughter said, and her friend Patsy nodded in smiling agreement.

  “Alison and Patsy are good students,” Mrs. Bennington said as the girls headed for the bathroom.

  “My goodness, you know every student’s name; it’s remarkable,” Sandra said.

  “It is a small school.”

  “Supper will be served momentarily,” Sandra said as she turned to the teacher. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “If it is not too much trouble, hot tea would be fine.”

  “Robert, please do the honors.”

  “Sure,” he said, the ladies following him into the kitchen. He took the kettle, filled it with water, put it on the stove and lit the gas.

  “Oh,” Sandra said. “Where are my manners, please sit down at the table. We’re having tuna casserole, salad and warm bread.”

  The giggling girls danced into the kitchen, all broad, tooth-braced smiles.

  “I’ll sit next to Mrs. Bennington,” Alison said, plopping down next to the teacher as the teakettle began to whistle.

  “Mrs. Bennington,” Robert asked, “Tetley or Lipton?”

  “Either.”

  Robert asked, “Lemon, milk or sugar?”

  “Black, thank you.”

  “Dad, you forgot to say, ‘You can only have two, ha, ha,’” Alison giggled.

  He gave Alison a polite smile and counted, “One, two, three, and one spoonful for the pot,” as he spooned the tea into the teapot and then poured the hot water in. “Should only be a few minutes.”

  Sandra opened the oven with padded mitts and set the casserole in the center of the table. Then she put a small basket of warm sliced bread wrapped in a white kitchen towel and a large bowl of green salad on the table next to a butter dish.

  “Please be seated,” Sandra said and when everyone had settled, they filled their cups, using a tea strainer.

  Robert tossed the salad, scooped a generous amount onto salad plates and distributed them amongst his family and guests. He then passed servings of oil, vinegar, salt and pepper.

  Patsy asked, “Are we going to say grace?”

  “She’s Catholic; that’s why we’re having tuna for supper,” Alison offered with a demure smile.

  After supper and the kitchen cleanup, they all settled in the parlor.

  “What should we discuss?” Sandra asked as the phone rang.

  “I’ll get it,” Alison said, jumping to her feet, running into the kitchen.

  Alison shouted, “Dad, Bruce, the fireman wants to talk to you!”

  Robert went into the kitchen to get the phone.

  “Mrs. Bennington, I’m curious as to how your idea for the new … um, the special class you spoke about at the meeting is … um,” Sandra began.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss that in front of the children without parental permission, you understand.”

  “What class?” Alison asked as her father returned from the kitchen.

  “I’m going to go over to your house, Mrs. Bennington. The Fire Department has finished blowing all the smoke out.”

  “Should I go with you?” she asked.

  “No, according to Bruce, the fireman, there’s still a heavy smoke odor inside.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Can we go, too?” Patsy asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” Robert said, grabbed his jacket and headed to the door. “I’ll take a quick look and be right back.”

  “I do not want to be such a bother,” Mrs. Bennington said with a sigh of exasperation.

  “A bother—no, you’ll stay the night, of course,” Sandra stated. “You may use the guest room.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I do not know what else could go wrong.”

  Mrs. Levy took Mrs. Bennington by the arm and said, “Come with me.”

  “What about us?” Alison asked.

  “I’m sure you can entertain yourselves, while I get our guest settled.”

  Alison exclaimed, “But, Mom!”

  “Do as I ask,” Sandra said with a firm stare and then she took Mrs. Bennington to the guest room.

  “This would be fine,” Mrs. Bennington said.

  “May I ask a question?”

  “Sure, Mrs. Levy. My friends call me Bonnie Marie.”

  “Oh, what a beautiful name … French?”

  “My parents, Jorge and Patrice Sotto—‘Sotto’ with a double ‘T’. They were a mix of southwestern European origin, French, Portuguese and Spanish. I’m their first American-born child.”

  “Oh, that’s nice … ,” she paused and then asked, “The Bennington name, our town’s founding fathers?”

  “Yes, I married Alfred James Bennington.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry about …,”

  “Thank you. He died with my daughter, Evangeline, almost nine years ago. It … was tragic … .” her voice broke in a slight way. She sniffled.

  “Oh, my goodness … I hope I haven’t caused you pain?”

  Robert returned an hour later, finding his wife and guest sitting in the parlor, sipping tea. They were deep in discussion.

  “I’m home,” he said.

  Sandra asked, “Everything OK?”

  “Yes,” Robert replied. He turned to their guest and said, “Mrs. Bennington, the fire department wants to let the house air out overnight, so …”

  “Bob,” Sandra said, using his nickname. “Mrs. Bennington would rather be addressed as, Bonnie Marie.”

  “Oh, such a nice name.”

  “Thank you, but there’s no one at the house to …”

  “Bonnie Marie,” he interrupted. “Your neighbor, Willy Green, said he’d watch the house tonight for you and he already informed your student—she’s on her way back home.”

  “That’s a relief, but I’m inconveniencing so many, how can I ever repay?”

  “We’re a tight-knit community; I’m sure everything will work out,” Sandra said with a demure smile.

  Bonnie Marie sniffed again and said, “I’m sorry about becoming emotional, but so much seems to be going wrong lately. All I wanted to do was bring the board up to date about the unwanted pregnancies plaguing our children. It seems that discussions of the birds and bees between the parents and kids are nonexistent. There are four known cases of unwanted pregnancies in our school alone and maybe more. Preaching celibacy and abstinence isn’t doing anything to control the rising urges or hormone changes in the lives of teens.”

  Sandra asked, “What can be done?”

  “The boys and girls need to know how to protect themselves and they are not getting this important information. It is our duty, as educators, to advise them—We do not live in the Ice Age!” she exclaimed and sighed.

  The girls drifted into the room and Alison asked, “Mom, when are you going to teach me about sex?”

  “You were eavesdropping?!”

  “No.” Patsy said, “We were having cookies and milk in the kitchen.”

  “Mom, you were talking very loud,” Alison said, blinking her innocent eyes.

  The following morning at the Bennington house, Mr. Levy offered several solutions to her predicament.

  �
��The furnace, being over fifty years old, needs to be replaced …”

  “Oh, my God, that would be expensive,” she said.

  “First things first,” he began, “I see that you have storm windows.”

  “Yes.”

  “You should keep them up for now; the colder weather will be with us for a while longer.”

  “Mr. Levy, I do not know where the money will come from for this added expense,” she sighed. “The school put me on unpaid leave while they consider my request … it’s not fair.”

  “You may call me Bob,” he said. “Maybe I have a solution.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Could you give private lessons about … Um …” he paused, “about sex education?”

  “I do not understand?”

  “A private class for my nephew, Murray. I would pay handsomely.”

  “Please tell me more,” she said with a perplexed expression on her lovely face.

  “He is timid, a bit shy, you know,” he said.

  “Age?”

  “He’s eighteen and headed to college in September. As I said, he’s a bit on the shy side, but has a good sense of humor—never had a girlfriend, so …”

  “Why haven’t his parents offered this instruction?”

  “You mentioned earlier—some parents are inept,” Bob said with an openhanded gesture.

  “I do not know—I’m in trouble now just talking about the subject …,”

  “The lessons would be private; no one would know. What do you think?”

  “But, what about the furnace?”

  “We’d trade services for that, and I’d offer extra cash, too,” he said with a half-smile.

  “I’ll have to think about the class,” she said. “But in the meantime, what are we going to do about the furnace?”

  “If you decide to take my offer, I’ll get it installed right away.”

  “If I decide against trading services, what then?”

  “With a reasonable down payment, say, of twenty percent, upon completion you may make monthly payments.”

  “Sir, you are too kind, trying to settle your nephew’s problem and mine, a dilemma for sure,” she said with a slight smile.

  “Murray will be staying on the college campus when classes start in September; he’ll need to have this valuable information, knowledge and advice. I beg of you, please help him.”

  “All right, I’ll give my answer tomorrow after I’ve given this more thought—now I’ll have to see if I can function in a cold house.”

  “I have a small oil heater I could let you use, and at night you could put an electric blanket on your bed,” he offered. “I could set up the heater this morning.”

  The Deal

  The following morning:

  “Mr. Levy,” Mrs. Bennington said, “I have decided to take you up on your offer; I have a few questions.”

  “Please, call me Bob, OK?” He asked, paused and said, “Go ahead with your questions.”

  “I’ve done much research on the subject. However, my class was for minors, age twelve to seventeen,” she said and paused. “Your nephew, being of age, brings to mind that I’ll have to approach the subject matter as an adult class.”

  “I understand.”

  “Thank you, this endeavor will be private, as to protect us from any unpleasant feedback. No one should know. I am, uh … worried that if it were known, some may get the wrong impression and may jump to unsatisfactory conclusions.”

  “Mum is the word; we’ll keep it private,” he said, his pinched fingers making a zipping motion over his lips.

  “Another request,” she said. “The instructions will be between your nephew and me … there will be no questions asked, or inquiries made by you or anyone else about the curriculum.”

  “Agreed.”

  “All right, we’ll use piano lessons as a cover. Does he have any musical talent or desire?”

  “I’m not sure, but that’s a good idea—keep it incognito, ha,” he chuckled.

  “This is a serious matter, Mr. Levy!” she chastised, giving him a stern gaze.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “Have him here, alone, tomorrow night at eight-thirty sharp and ready to learn,” she said with a slight smile.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ll have that heater for you today. It should keep you warm for the time being.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m willing to pay twenty dollars per lesson. Is that agreeable?”

  “Yes, that would be fine.”

  “How many lessons would it take, if I may ask?”

  “Mr. Levy, we’ll see, depending on his knowledge of the human body.”

  “Call me Bob.”

  “Sorry, Bob,” she said with a warm smile.

  The Meeting

  The doorbell rang at 7:57 p.m.—Mrs. Bennington took one last look in the bedroom mirror, admiring her choice of attire. She wore a starched, white, long-sleeved blouse, the top three buttons undone, displaying a small silver cross on a thin necklace, a black-belted, skin-tight, navy-blue skirt, falling just below her knees. Sheer hosiery and black three-inch pumps topped off the schoolteacher look. She peered through black-framed glasses, touching her bun-wrapped hair as a smile crossed her radiant face.

  She opened the door, greeting her new student. “Hello, Mr. Levy, I presume?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I’m Mrs. Bennington; do please come in,” she said, offering her hand.

  “Thank you,” he said in a timid, low voice as he stepped through the door, taking her hand, using a light touch.

  She observed the young man, making a swift assessment. He stood eye to eye with her. She judged him to be five eight, one-hundred forty pounds; wide shoulders, short frame, with long arms and legs. He had a full head of black curly hair. He wore blue slacks with a brown belt, shoes with white socks, a checkered long-sleeved shirt, and a dark-grey, padded waist jacket. “Let me have your jacket,” she said, closing the door behind him as he slipped out of the garment, handing it over to her.

  She took the jacket, folded it over her arm and twirled around, leading him to the living room. “Follow me.”

  She waved him to an armchair facing the couch, and they each took a seat. She placed his jacket beside her and, in a demure way, with her legs close together, swung them to her right, straightening her skirt down below her knees.

  “Comfortable?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, with a slight shiver.

  “Please call me, Mrs. Bennington, and I’ll address you as Mr. Levy.”

  “Mrs. Bennington,” he said with a nervous catch in his voice.

  “Relax, Mr. Levy, our relationship will be cordial and professional for these adult instructions that we’ll be discussing.”

  Murray shifted in his chair, crossed his arms, and took a deep breath, looking down.

  “Mr. Levy, please look into my eyes,” she requested.

  He folded his hands in his lap, leaned forward and looked up at her, gazing into her deep, dark, magnificent smiling eyes.

  “See, that was not difficult, young man. Communication is always easier when eye contact is made.”

  He nodded and she said, “Tell me … what do you see?”

  He blinked, nervousness showing on his red face, but he did not speak.

  “Shy?”

  “You’re very pretty,” he whispered.

  “Oh, that’s not what I was looking for.”

  “Oh—sorry.”

  “I was hoping for … perhaps I should put it another way: I was looking for a connection between us, an honesty of sorts, our ability to speak with candor,” she said, using a soft smile.

  He smiled at her.

  “One of the most important lessons about sexual activity is to use one of these when having sex,” she said, holding up a prophylactic, “because you do not want to become a parent at a young age, or, God forbid
, come down with a venereal disease. Do you know what this is I have in my hand?”

  “A safe,” he said.

  “Good, only go without one when you plan to have children, understand?”

  “Yes, I do, Mrs. Bennington.”

  “I’ll show you the proper way to use one, later.”

  He made another slight shiver.

  “Let’s move to the kitchen. It’s warmer there, and I’ll make some hot tea.”

  “OK.”

  She rose and said, “Right this way.” She turned, heading toward the kitchen and he followed, watching her hips sashay side to side. The kitchen was much warmer from the heat of the running oven; the aroma of fresh-baked cookies filled the air.

  “Please sit at the table—I’ll make tea,” she said, lighting a match under the kettle on the gas stove.

  Moments later, they sat facing each other, sipping tea and nibbling fresh-baked oatmeal cookies.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bennington. Your cookies are delicious,” he said. “Exquisite.”

  “You are entirely welcome—an old family favorite,” she said. “Now, let us proceed to your lessons.”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s an old saying, ‘People make a judgement about you within seven seconds, based on what you are wearing,’ and that, my friend, is the truth.”

  He asked, “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, I look that bad,” he said with a frown.

  “Unfortunately, yes. However, we will fix that. I have some modern men’s magazines that delve into proper attire. For now, I want to talk about hygiene.”

  “I smell, too?”

  “Ha, no, of course not,” she said with a soft chuckle.

  “Wow, that’s a relief.”

  “In the course of my instruction, you will learn many things to help you in life; proper dress, hygiene, integrity and etiquette among them.”

  “I’ve been called a nerd in high school, and that’s bad.”

  “Mr. Levy, when we’re finished, you’ll be a well-dressed, well-informed gentleman, possessing the skills of charm, integrity and etiquette … you’ll see.”

  “What about the … uh … the … you know?”

  She asked, “The birds and the bees?”

  He blushed.