Sylvain Reynard - Gabriel’s Inferno

He had to drag his eyes away from her as he adjusted himself once more for good measure, suddenly feeling dirty and more than a little ashamed of the reaction she was eliciting from him. A reaction that he would need to attend to later that evening. When he was alone. And surrounded by the scent of vanilla.

He ordered their meals, making sure that he requested the largest possible portions of filet mignon. When Miss Mitchel protested, he dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand, remarking that she would be able to take her leftovers home with her. If Mr. Emerson had his way, this meal would feed her for a couple of days.

He wondered what she would eat after her leftovers were exhausted but refused to allow himself to dwell on the problem. This was a one-time event, and only because he’d shouted at her and shamed her. After this, things between them would be strictly professional. And she would be left to face future calamities alone.

For her part, Julia was happy to be with him. She wanted to be able to talk to him, to really talk to him, to ask him about his family and the funeral. She wanted to comfort him over the loss of his mother. She wanted to tell him secrets and have him whisper secrets to her in return. But with his eyes determinedly but somewhat distantly fixed on her, she knew she could not have what she wanted. So she smiled and fidgeted with the silverware, hoping that he wouldn’t find her nervousness and its desperate outlets annoying.

“Why did you start studying Italian in high school?”

Julia gasped. Her eyes grew wide, and her beautiful red mouth hung open.

Mr. Emerson’s eyebrows furrowed at her reaction. It was completely out of proportion to his question; he hadn’t asked her for her bra size. His eyes dropped involuntarily to the swell of her breasts and returned to her eyes. He reddened as a number and a cup size miraculously entered his head.

“Um, I became interested in Italian literature. In Dante and Beatrice.”

She folded and refolded the linen napkin in her lap, a few loose curls hanging forward around her oval-shaped face.

He thought of the painting in her apartment and her extraordinary resemblance to Beatrice. Once again, the thought twisted in his mind tauntingly, and once again he pushed it aside.

“Those are remarkable interests for a young girl,” he prompted, allowing himself to memorize her beauty.

“I had…a friend who introduced me to them.” She sounded pained and more than a little sad.

He realized he was treading very closely to an old wound, and so he quickly retraced his steps, trying to find more comfortable ground to venture upon.

“Antonio is very taken with you.”

Julia looked up and smiled prettily. “He’s very kind.”

“You blossom under kindness, don’t you? Like a rose.” The words escaped his lips before he had time to consider them, and by the time they were pronounced and Julia had looked at him with no little warmth, it was far too late to retract them.

That did it. Professor Emerson began focusing his attention on his glass of wine; his features clouded, and his demeanor grew very cold. Julia observed the change, but accepted it and made no further attempt at conversation.

Throughout the meal the clearly charmed Antonio spent more time than was necessary at their table, chatting in Italian with the beautiful Julianne and inviting her to join his family at the Italian-Canadian Club for dinner next Sunday. She accepted his invitation graciously and was rewarded later with tiramisu, espresso, biscotti, grappa, and finally, a small chocolate Baci, in leisurely succession. Professor Emerson was not rewarded with these delights, and so he just sat there, brooding, as he watched Miss Mitchell enjoy herself.

By the end of the evening, Antonio had pressed something that resembled a large food hamper into her hands and would not allow her to refuse it. He kissed her cheeks several times after he helped her with her coat, then he begged The Professor to bring her back to them soon and often.

Professor Emerson straightened his shoulders and fixed Antonio with a stony glare. “That isn’t possible.” Turning on his heel, he exited the restaurant, leaving Julia and her heavy food hamper trailing dejectedly behind him.

As he watched the mismatched couple depart, Antonio wondered why The Professor would bring such a lovely creature to a romantic place and sit stoically without speaking to her, looking all the while as if he were in pain.

When they arrived at Miss Mitchell’s apartment, Professor Emerson obligingly opened her door for her and removed the hamper from the backseat of the Jaguar. He peered into it curiously, moving a few things around so he could analyze its contents.

“Wine, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, biscotti, a jar of homemade marinara made by Antonio’s wife, leftovers. You’re going to be very well fed for the next little while.”

“Thanks to you.” Julia smiled, holding her hand out for the hamper.

“This is heavy. I’ll carry it for you.” He escorted her to the front porch of the building and waited while she unlocked the door. Then he handed her the food.

She began to examine her shoes, and her cheeks grew warm as she thought of what she needed to say.

“Thank you, Professor Emerson, for a nice evening. It was really generous of you to…”

“Miss Mitchell,” he interrupted, “let’s not make this more awkward than it already is. I apologize for my…previous rudeness. My only excuse is, ah, reasons of a rather private nature. So let’s just shake hands and move forward.”

He held out his hand, and she took it. He shook her hand, trying very hard not to bruise her, and absolutely ignoring the thrill that coursed through his veins at the feel of her soft and delicate skin against his.

“Good night, Miss Mitchell.”

“Good night, Professor Emerson.”

And with that, she disappeared into her building, leaving The Professor on slightly better terms than she had that afternoon.

An hour or so later, Julia sat on her bed staring at the photograph she always kept under her pillow. She gazed at it for a very long time, trying to decide if she should destroy it, leave it where it always was, or put it away in a drawer. She’d always loved this picture. She loved the smile on his face. It was the most beautiful picture she’d ever seen, but it also hurt her terribly to look at it.

She gazed up at the lovely painting that hung over her bed and fought back tears. She did not know what she had expected from her Dante, but she definitely hadn’t received it. So with the wisdom that comes only from having experienced a broken heart, she resolved to let him go once and for al.

She thought of her now crammed make-shift pantry and the kindness Antonio had shown her. She thought of the voice mails she’d received from Paul, how he had expressed concern at leaving her alone with The Professor and begged her to call him at any hour to tell him she was all right.

She padded over to her dresser, opened the top drawer, and placed the photograph reverently but determinedly at the very back, underneath the sexy underwear that she never wore. And with the contrast between the three men well fixed in her mind, she went back to bed, closed her eyes, and dreamed of a neglected apple orchard.

On Friday, Julia received an official form in her mailbox indicating that Professor Emerson had agreed to be her thesis supervisor. She was staring at the form in amazement, wondering why he had reversed his decision, when Paul came up behind her.

“Ready to go?”

She greeted him with a smile as she placed the form in her crudely mended knapsack. They exited the building and began walking down Bloor Street to the nearest Starbucks, which was only about half a block away.

“I want to ask you about your meeting with Emerson, but before I do that, there’s something I need to tell you.” Paul sounded serious.

Julia looked over at him with an expression that resembled anxiety.

“Don’t be scared, Rabbit. It’s not going to hurt.” He patted her arm.

Paul’s heart was almost as big as he was, and so he was very sensitive to the pain of others.

“I know about what happened with our note.”

Julia closed her eyes and cursed. “Paul, I’m so sorry about that. I was going to tell you that I screwed up and wrote on your note, but I didn’t get a chance. I didn’t tell him it was your handwriting.”

Paul pressed his hand against her upper arm to stop her. “I know that. I told him.”

She looked up at him in astonishment. “Why would you do that?”

As he probed the depths of Rabbit’s large brown eyes, he knew, without doubt, that he would do anything to keep someone from hurting her.

Even if it meant his academic career. Even if it meant dragging Emerson out behind the Department of Italian Studies and giving him the serious ass kicking that he and his pretentious posterior so richly deserved.

“Mrs. Jenkins told me Emerson was hauling you in, and I figured he was going to chew you out. I found a copy of our note in a pile of photocopying he left for me.” He shrugged. “Occupational hazard of being a research assistant to a total dick.”

Paul tugged Julia slightly to persuade her to keep walking but waited to continue their conversation until he had purchased her a very large sugar-free vanilla latté. Once she’d settled in a purple velvet armchair, like a cat, and he had satisfied himself that she was both warm and comfortable, he turned to her with a sympathetic expression.

“I know it was an accident. You were so shaken up after that first seminar. I should have walked you to his office myself. Honestly, Julia, I’ve never seen him act the way he did that day. He can be kind of uppity and touchy about things, but he’s never been so aggressive with a female student before. It was painful to watch.”