“And how old was this married man?” Olivia asked.
“I don’t know exactly. He wasn’t my official teacher. He was like a student teacher. So in college. Twenty-two, maybe? And his name was Michael, so we had to call him ‘Michel,’ which was a real trip. You know, a man named Michel. So for our midterm, we had to give an oral presentation, and I sang that Beatles song ‘Michelle,’ except it was like the masculine form and I changed the words so it fit, like ‘Michele, mon beau.’ You know. Goofy, but he blushed and everything and he liked it a lot and he stopped me after class and said it had kind of turned him on, having me sing him a love song like that.”
“He said that?”
“Not in so many words, but yeah, basically. And then he like brushed up against me and squeezed my hand when he left. This was a Friday, so all weekend that’s all I can think about, you know. And then I stay after school on Monday and tell him I need help conjugating irregular verbs, and after about fifteen minutes of conjugating, he’s got me pressed up against the blackboard and we’re making out like crazy.”
Olivia decided Ruby was a liar. Every time that thought crossed her mind, she saw the promises the girl had made to her start to crumble. She found herself wanting to believe Ruby. But a teacher with such a young girl? Even a student teacher would have more sense.
Out of nowhere, Ruby laughed. She pointed a cookie-crumbed finger at Olivia. “You don’t believe me.”
“I just can’t imagine that a teacher—”
“Student teacher—”
“—is going to make out with a fifteen-year-old—”
“—Fourteen, actually, at that time.”
“—in a classroom where anyone could walk in on him.”
Ruby grinned. “Crazy, isn’t it? I mean, he’s got his hand up my dress and he’s poking at me down there, inside and everything, and he says, ‘I’ve got to have you. I’ve been wanting to fuck you since you walked into class the very first time.’”
“Uh-huh,” Olivia said. This kid is too much, Olivia thought. How far will she go, anyway? “He said, ‘I’ve been wanting to fuck you.’ And you said?”
Olivia looked in the basket for something sweet and found dried Mission figs stuffed with nuts—hazelnuts, walnuts, pecans. Funny how living with Ruby had given her a sweet tooth. Briefly, she thought of David and how he used to forgo white sugar, white flour, red meat. “I’m a California boy,” he used to say, throwing his arms in the air as if surrendering to his roots. He would give her golden seal when she had a cold, tea made from fresh ginger root when her throat hurt, lavender baths for stress. She bit hard into a fig, the sweet fruit making her teeth ache slightly. They were incredible.
“So I take the bus to Cape Cod,” Ruby was saying. Olivia realized she has missed part of the story. “And he picks me up at the bus stop and drives me to this house on the beach and we go inside and he’s got like a pound of cocaine—”
“He gives drugs to you, too?” Olivia said. “Sex and drugs with a minor. Interesting. Is this guy actually teaching somewhere now or is he doing time at the ACI?”
Ruby leaned back in her chair, her hands folded on her stomach.
“I wouldn’t know,” she said. “He’s probably still married, living in a renovated historic house, like on Benefit Street. That’s his style, you know?” She narrowed her eyes. “What are you eating?”
“Stuffed figs,” Olivia said. She was enjoying them so much, she didn’t want to share them with Ruby. Still, she handed her one.
“I do admit I miss snorting a few lines of coke from time to time. Even though it got me in trouble,” Ruby said, chewing thoughtfully. “Coke makes me so horny”
“I thought pot made you horny,” Olivia said. The girl could be a screenwriter—with these crazy stories of hers.
“Coke makes me different horny. Not the buzzing down there, but like you want something inside you all the time, you know?”
You’re lying, Olivia thought, and it felt good to think it—better than imagining all of this to be true.
Ruby smiled. She closed her eyes. “What a weekend that was,” she said. Then, abruptly, her eyes opened and she was digging through Winnie’s basket of food again. “Made French class interesting for the rest of the quarter. Then he was gone, back to college, I guess. I used to pretend he would leave his wife and come and get me and take me away. We would talk French all the time, you know? Maybe even live in Paris.”