“Social impact?” she asks, arching her eyebrows.
“When Byron wrote the first two cantos of Don Juan, it was criticized and nearly banned in certain languages for its ‘immoral content.’ It wasn’t until the third canto published that it began to catch on.” I lift my eyes to her. “You’ve read the first two cantos.”
She nods. “Donna Julia, who’s twenty-three and married, seduces a sixteen-year-old Don Juan.”
I pin my eyes to her face, because, if left to their own devices, they’d be devouring her body. Her clothes hug every contour and leave little to the imagination. “That was pretty risky thinking for the early 1800s.”
“But not so risky now,” she says, leaning closer, her fingertips overlapping mine.
“But still not socially acceptable, either,” I counter, stepping back and leaning against the desk behind me in an attempt to create some much needed space between me and my temptation.
“So your dissertation and my project dovetail,” she says. “You’re studying the social impact of Don Juan’s sexual conquests, and I’m studying his conflict because of them. If there was no social stigma to having sex, he’d have nothing to feel conflicted about, so they tie directly together.”
I have no answer, because in a lot of ways, she’s right.
“If you follow that to its logical conclusion,” she continues, “all our sexual hang ups stem from socially dictated morals that may not even apply in any given situation. Sex isn’t dirty. It’s just that some societies have brainwashed generations to believe that, to keep their second graders from masturbating in class.”
A smile tugs at my mouth. “I think your poem spoke very nicely to that,” I say, unable to help myself.
She smiles back, and there’s something decidedly suggestive in it. “I’ve got more where that came from, any time you’re ready for that private reading.”
I hang my head between my shoulders and breathe. Once. Twice. Three times. Finally the buzz in my groin fades. Blaire’s mind comes at things from a totally different starting point, and she obviously doesn’t pull any punches in her poetry. I have a sudden burning need to hear her poems—to hear that mind at work. To know every intimate detail.
“After the end of the semester,” I say without looking up, “I’m all yours.”
When I hear Dr. Duncan’s signature throat clear, my head snaps up, and he’s standing across the counter with a folder in his hands. He looks at me over the top of his wire rim glasses, strands of his gray comb-over falling onto his forehead. I glance past him and find Blaire sliding into a seat at her regular table.
“These are pop essays I had the students write in class tonight,” he says, handing the folder to me. “There’s no rush grading them, but if you can get them back to me by the end of the week, that would be most appreciated.”
I take the folder and try to read his expression. What did he hear? “No problem.”
“How’s that chapter coming? Any new insights?”
“Yeah. I think I’ve worked out the inconsistencies I was finding in the French literature. There are a few different translations that are all era appropriate.”
He combs a hand through his hair, capturing the stray stands and forcing them into compliance. “You could make the argument that the most widely circulated is the translation of record and use regression to determine how much of the data you’ve collected can be contributed to the other.”
The entire time he’s speaking, my eyes are glued to Blaire.
“Yeah, that would be easiest,” I answer, only half knowing what I’m agreeing to.
“And probably most accurate.”
“I’ll get to these this weekend,” I say, waving the folder in the air.
He reaches over the counter and claps me on the shoulder. “Rumor has it there might be an adjunct position opening in the Literature Department next year. Since you’ll have your terminal degree by summer, I could write you a recommendation, if you’d be interested. It’s not a guarantee, but at least you know you’d get the interview.”
My attention snaps back to him. “Yes. I’d definitely be interested. Thank you, sir.”
I’d pictured myself in the trenches, fighting for guest lecture spots at community colleges. Table scraps. But this…an adjunct position at a state university. I wouldn’t have to relocate and I’d have a steady paycheck.
“Righty-oh, then.” He turns for the elevators. “I’ll look for those essays next week.”
Once he’s gone, I cross to Blaire. “What did he hear?”
“Nothing. I saw him step off the elevator and I came over here.”
I breathe out a relieved sigh. “Listen, Blaire. You know I find you fascinating, but I really can’t do what we’re doing. We’ve started something that I can’t finish.”
I don’t drop my gaze as she scrutinizes it, looking for the lie. Instead, I set my resolve and let it shine through my eyes.
After a long moment, she nods. “Okay.”