French Kiss, Pt. 01

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“Hmm, Mademoiselle Mathis?”

Brown eyes suddenly wide, Sophie jolted upright in her rigid plastic chair. She flushed crimson, her classmates’ titters pushing the warmth from her pale cheeks all the way to the tips of her ears. “Oui… Oui, Madame Draaken!” she stuttered nervously at the professor’s retreating back.

Madame Draaken turned and smiled when she reached the whiteboard, continuing in French, “Wonderful. I’ll see you at office hours then.” She turned to the rest of the room. “Class dismissed.”

Sophie stayed in her seat for a moment as the rest of the students filed out, her brain working feverishly to remember why she was now expected at office hours the next day. Glancing to the front of the room revealed no clues. Mme. Draaken leaned over her low desk to jot down notes, a curtain of brown hair obscuring her face. With a sigh, Sophie levered her exhausted frame from the hideous orange desk. Angling one last questioning glance at the professor, she grabbed her copy of Madame Bovary from the tiny attached desk and trailed after the rest of the class. As she exited the old, marble-faced foreign languages building, Sophie sighted someone who could tell her what she’d signed up for.

“Hey, Mark!” she called, waving to capture his attention. Mark turned and smiled, his teeth flashing white against dark skin. Dark brown eyes squinted against bright sunlight. Sophie jogged across the pedestrium to catch up, her white sneakers clapping loudly against the stone path.

“Feeling rested?” he asked, chuckling. Sophie tugged her green tank into place and rubbed slightly moist palms down her pleated white skirt.

“Ugh. No. Mortified. Exhausted.” Her hands briefly covered her face, pulling down in a gesture of exaggerated frustration. “My CS capstone work is killing me this semester.”

Mark nodded sympathetically. “I know. Graduation can’t come soon enough.”

Sophie shuffled her feet awkwardly, “Soo, what should I expect at Professor Draaken’s office hours?”

Mark’s laughter bubbled up again and he leaned forward a bit, pulling on his backpack straps with both hands. “Oh man. You slept through almost the entire class. Mme. Draaken ignored you until the very end when it looked like you were going to fall over.”

“Ya, ya. Jokes, jokes. And then?” Sophie glared up at him from her dainty five-foot-nothing, but both students knew there was no venom in it. They fell into step, walking together in the direction of the campus life center.

“Then she gave out copies of Madame Bovary for our final paper and that was that. I’m not really sure why she asked if you were coming to her office hours. Maybe to yell at you for sleeping in class?” Mark shrugged.

“I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”

Sophie paused outside of Professor Draaken’s office, shifting from foot to foot before knocking lightly. Maybe she won’t be there, she hoped, only to be disappointed a moment later at the sound of Mme. Draaken’s voice: “Oui? Entrez!”

“Bonjour, Madame Draaken,” Sophie greeted the professor, who peered at the threshold from behind a raised desk. Professor Draaken rose and rounded the platform with a kind smile, gesturing towards three armchairs and a small table between them. A wrap dress in red draped her generous curves. Madame’s reply came in French, as usual, “Please, sit down; you can close the door. Would you like a coffee?”

The smell of old books permeated the air; dry, a little musty. Over that, the rich, heavy scent of espresso flirted with her nose. Tempting. Sophie shook her head, “No, thank you.” Perhaps it would be better not to linger, she thought.

Serious green eyes followed Sophie, who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. She tugged at her tight jean shorts as she settled into one of the overstuffed chairs opposite the professor. “I want to speak with you about your performance in my class.” Sophie’s stomach sank. Her body flashed hot, then cold. She froze, hands going limp in her lap, the ragged hem of her shorts forgotten. “Over the course of the semester, you’ve participated less and less, while sleeping more and more.” Professor Draaken paused as though expecting a reaction, but, receiving none, continued, “Your performance on my exams has been satisfactory, but I find the inattention in class unacceptable. Is there anything you would like to share with me?” The sober gaze had turned stern.

With a sigh, Sophie replied, her own dark eyes earnest, “I’m very sorry, Madame.” She gnawed her generous lower lip anxiously. Her fingers gripped the edges of the iPad that rested on her knees. Professor Draaken arched one dark eyebrow and tilted her head, waiting. “It’s not that I don’t like French Lit or appreciate your teaching. It’s just… It’s not one of my major classes and I have so much capstone work. I still have a week to drop your class. If you think I should.” She hung her head, subdued.

Sophie had always been a great student; ordu escort this was the first time a professor had ever scolded her performance. And the end of her very last semester. At the sound of a matter-of-fact tsk-tsk from Madame, Sophie looked up. “No, I do not think you should drop my class, as it would prevent you from completing your minor.” Professor Draaken leaned back, elbows spread between the arms of her chair, fingers steepled in front of her face as she mulled what Sophie had confessed. Madame’s bold red dress highlighted warm copper notes in her hair and the dark outer ring of her irises. Châtains, Sophie’s mind offered helpfully. Not the time, she scolded herself. This is serious.

Sophie, for her part, began to wonder if maybe she should drop French Literature. She tugged nervously at the blue bow fastened to her long, dark braid and dragged her brown eyes down despondently to stare down at Madame’s sandal-wrapped feet. Bright red polish tipped straight, hairless toes. Seeing them curl a bit, Sophie looked up to find the professor perched at the edge of her chair again.

“Here is what I offer. Switch to my graduate-level directed reading. One seminar class a week, no final paper. Though we would need to meet during office hours after spring break to catch you up. I think four times would be sufficient, given your fluency.” Sophie’s brow wrinkled, an unspoken question. “I can offer more flexibility if you need it due to your capstone coursework. I would even consider allowing you to take an incomplete, if you participate diligently but need extra time at the semester close.”

Hands clasped in front of her oversized blue and white striped button-up, Sophie beamed, her full, wide lips parting over bright, white teeth. A great weight lifted. “Thank you so much, Madame! I promise I’ll do better for you. Err, your class! This helps so much. Thank you, thank you!”

Madame Draaken stood with a chuckle, mauve-tinted lips turned up in amusement, “Thank me after you’ve seen the reading list. I’ll send it to you by the end of the day.” She held out a hand to Sophie, who had come to her feet as well. Sophie grasped the professor’s proffered palm, which she found pleasantly dry and cool, her handshake firm and brief. Turning back towards her desk, Professor Draaken said, “I will see you Thursday, Sophie.”

Sophie lingered outside of the closed office door for a moment, realizing that she had been quite elegantly, expeditiously, dismissed.

Two days later, Sophie stood in front of the same closed door, listening for a moment to discern if someone lay within. Shrugging, she shifted her shoulder bag higher and raised her right fist to knock. Rather than a call to enter, the door opened, revealing Professor Draaken, a little out of breath. Her generous chest heaved slightly under a crisp white button-up blouse.

“Ah! Sophie. Good. You are here.” She waved towards the chairs, “Come in.”

“Sorry I’m early. I came here right from my last class.” Sophie wondered what had taken Madame’s breath away. She glanced around. Nothing seemed out of place. Madame Draaken’s lips twisted a bit and her brow furrowed. Sophie continued, “If that’s not ok…”

“Don’t apologize, Sophie,” Madame advised, her breathing evening. She settled into the same faded blue chair she had claimed when last they met, her petite frame folding into place with practiced ease. Her grey pencil skirt rode higher up her thigh as she shifted to get comfortable. “Unless you have actually something wrong, you’re only apologizing for existing.” The moue smoothed from Madame’s expressive face and she smiled, settling black-rimmed glasses on her freckled nose. With her posture so relaxed, Sophie realized Madame had to be younger than she had previously thought; she couldn’t have been more than forty years old, tops.

“I’m-” Sophie caught herself, realizing she was about to apologize for apologizing. She shook her head with a chuckle and plopped down in her own chair. Stretchy black leggings under her running top rendered modesty unnecessary. The chair swallowed up her tiny frame and she scooted close to the side to support her iPad. “I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“If you listen, I think you’ll find we women apologize for nothing all the time. Now, tell me…” Professor Draaken tapped her notepad with a pen and propped her left elbow on the armchair, “Tell me about Emma Bovary.”

Yesterday’s directed reading with Madame Draaken had been the most enjoyable French class of the semester, if not ever. The professor had allowed Sophie her head to analyze the French classic, Madame Bovary, reining her in only occasionally with guided questions. Sophie had described her struggle with the selfish protagonist; she felt disgusted by the character at the same time that the musical prose and evocative descriptions drew her in again and again.

She is just so brilliant. osmaniye escort Such a good professor. Sophie felt guilt rise for having so neglected Madame’s class this semester. She deserved better.

At the end of their hour – well, more than that, but neither Sophie nor Madame Draaken had been in a hurry – the discussion circled back to why the novel holds such a special place in French literature.

“What makes this novel beautiful?” Madame asked, her questions gaining speed, as though to force Sophie to articulate the first answer that came to her. “The prose, the descriptive specificity, Emma,” she quickly replied.

Madame Draaken sat up, a smile teasing the edges of her lips, her spine drawing tall, “What makes it terrible?” The way the words rolled off Madame’s tongue made Sophie shiver. Terrible. She paused only a moment, “The story, the raw ugliness laid bare, and, well, the protagonist.” She also sat up straight.

“What makes it exceptional?” Madame she leaned forward, green eyes alight. Sophie tilted forward, subconsciously mirroring the posture, moved by the professor’s passion. Madame’s personal energy rubbed against hers, though she sat some three feet away. Sophie’s eyes darted left, then right, mind scrambling for the answer. Her words came in a breathy rush, “It all comes down to Emma, yes? She’s beautiful and terrible. Imperfect. But the reader sees her.” She paused, her thoughts coalescing. “She has needs and ambitions, a complex figure in a limited, err, circumscribed world.”

Madame nodded enthusiastically. “Well done!” She smiled. Sophie flushed with pleasure at her praise. “I would not wish to be Emma -,” Again that suppressed almost Mona Lisa smile, “You are right, she is terrible and selfish and her end tragic. However, I, for one, would rather be terrible, imperfect, and seen than good and perfect and… apologetic.”

Sophie’s thoughts turned inward, remembering her earlier apology. Madame Draaken stood, stretching with a low grunt. Sophie’s eyes came into focus again at the sound, watching the hem of Madame’s skirt settle just above her knee. Her blouse lifted slightly from the tailored waistband.

Sophie looked away, sensing that this moment – the usually perfectly poised professor just a little undone – was private, not meant for her eyes. It must have been a long week.

Madame Draaken had already moved to her desk, eyes tracking something on her laptop.

“Thank you, Madame,” Sophie said quietly, letting the door close behind her.

“Sophie! Sophie! Sophiiieeee!” Knuckles hammered the door in time with the sing-song call. Sophie twisted the shower knob, halting the water flowing over her petite form. She yelled over the clamor at her door, “Give me a minute, Justine!” Snatching her towel from a hook, Sophie roughly dried her body before wrapping and tucking the end to secure the towel. The knocking had not stopped.

“WHAT?!” she cried as she opened the door. Justine leaned against the door frame; tight, dark curls framed her beaming face. No contrition whatsoever – quelle surprise!

“What, what? You know why I’m here.” Sophie turned with a small, good-natured huff. “Spring break started…,” with a glance at her watch, she straightened and followed Sophie into her suite. “Two hours ago. Since you weren’t answering texts, I figured I’d cross the vast distance of our living room to see what you’re getting into tonight. So, what are you getting into?” Justine smiled even more broadly, batting her eyes a bit. Her brown skin glowed under the harsh fluorescent light. Sophie’s eyes narrowed. Glitter. So it begins.

Sophie couldn’t help but grin, even as she waved unenthusiastically at her waiting pile of books. Justine had a way of doing that. Boundless energy rolled off her; she plowed through life with optimism and bravado.

“Trying to get ahead on French so I can work on my capstone this week. I’m meeting with Madame Draaken next Sunday. Then I can sit in with her other students for the rest of the semester.” She peered around her closet to level a look at Justine, knowing what would soon follow that admission.

“Sunday nine days from now?” Justine returned Sophie’s determined look with nonchalance. She flopped down into Sophie’s desk chair and started looking at the books, one-by-one. For reasons unknown to Sophie, her best friend separated the books into two piles. “Sheesh. This is a lot, actually. Is this the new French professor? The hot one?”

Sophie rolled her eyes and ducked back into the closet, dropping her towel to slide black lace bikini panties up her smooth legs. The purple embroidery complimented pale-olive skin. A matching bra soon supported her small, tight breasts. Sophie’s damp skin rose in gooseflesh under the cool air blowing from her vent. The lace did little to suppress the stiff nipples pressing against textured fabric.

“She’s new-ish. Started teaching sinop escort here two years ago, I think. Sophomore year? This is my first class with her.” Her long dark hair continued to drip water, rivulets snaking over her shoulders before splattering on the hardwood floor; Sophie wrapped the wet mop in her towel as she again emerged. “And yes, I think being the only French professor under 95 does make Madame Draaken ‘the hot one.'”

Her thoughts skittered: Madame’s sober green eyes when she chastised Sophie; her heaving chest when she answered the door yesterday; the skirt hem that flirted with impropriety. Maybe. Sure. She’s pretty. Sophie blinked, shaking her head, and returned her gaze to her roommate.

Justine looked suspiciously sincere where she perched on the edge of the desk chair, one knee to her chest, brown eyes wide. “First, Sophie, you’ve obviously been lifting. Your ass is looking tops.” Sophie curtsied in response, she straightened, hip cocked, muttering under her breath about flattery. Justine rose, gesturing at the taller of the two book stacks. “Second, I’ve read all of these. How about you do a light-read and then we can prep for your directed readings by having our own mini-discussion?”

Sophie raised an eyebrow. “Why?” Justine’s irrepressible mirth bubbled forth as her serious visage cracked. “Beeecause…” she started sashaying her jean-clad hips in time with an unheard tune. “Because we are going out toniiiight.” She shushed Sophie, continuing, “Listen! Listen! Hear me out. We are going to Styx. To dance.” She shimmied faster, bangles on her thin wrist chiming. “And you can do your work tomorrow; hopefully after you kick some sweet piece out of bed. You’ve been too busy; celibacy isn’t good for you.” Her hip thrusts became obscene for a moment, then she dropped back into the chair, chortling, laughing at her own joke. “Trust me, I’m a professional.”

Rolling her eyes, Sophie scoffed, “Working at the women’s health center does not make you ‘a professional.'” Silently, she calculated how many hours of work she had left in her for the evening. Not enough to make a difference.

“Tomato, to-mah-to,” Justine shrugged, shoulders bare in the glittery black halter top she wore. Her eyes lit up when she noticed that Sophie had pulled tight black shorts and a transparent jade tank over her lacy black bra and panties. Sophie’s fingers worked to fasten oversized pearl studs to her earlobes. “You’re coming out!”

Sophie spread her arms in defeat, laughing. “I’m going out.” Justine jumped up and grabbed her roommate, twirling Sophie into a 1-2 step.

“I’ll get the first round! Go!” Justine yelled over the pumping bass. At Sophie’s head tilt she made exaggerated motions towards the adjacent room with her arms, backing towards the bar. With a smile, Sophie headed to the back of the club, pelvis already swaying. It was early yet, but she didn’t mind. She took her place under the strobing lights lasering across a nearly empty dance floor. Closing her eyes, she let the beat shiver through her, swaying slightly and then undulating faster once she found her center. A smile bloomed on her lips, the stress of recent weeks melting away.

Too soon, Justine’s voice shouted, a bit too close to her ear, “Hey! I need you to see this!” Sophie’s eyes opened fully and she turned with raised brows to find Justine, sans drinks, plucking at her arm. “What?” Justine motioned impatiently at the booming speakers and back out to the bar, pulling on her roommate’s upper arm to communicate her urgency. Sophie followed without resistance. She must have forgotten her credit card, she thought, and reached into her bra for her own when they arrived at the bar.

“No, I’m good!” Justine half-yelled. Sophie looked around to figure out what she wanted her so desperately to witness. Several couples and groups littered the space, chatting in twos and threes. Her eyes snagged and then slid past two women making out at the far end of the bar, some twenty feet away. Rude to stare. Another couple, two men, swayed together near the back exit. Cute. Really, nothing exceptional as far as Sophie could tell. She turned to Justine, who had sidled up to the bar, but kept glancing expectantly back at Sophie.

“Whaaat?!” Sophie laughed, feigning frustration, but honestly confused. Her friend shook her head and moved in close, her lips right next to Sophie’s ear, “The couple at the end of the bar. Watch. Enjoy! I’m going to get drinks!” Sophie shrugged and took a step back for a better look. She felt a little awkward staring, but the women seemed quite happy to be seen and, ahem, quite distracted as well.

In for a penny… Sophie started her examination with the woman perched precariously on a bar stool, eyes moving slowly. Mystery woman’s low heels hooked into the bottom rung of her seat, pale, sandal-clad feet and dark-tipped toenails pointed sharply to the left and right. Tight jeans sheathed legs forced wide by the position of her feet. Dirty, Sophie thought, but nothing so scandalous as to write home about. She glanced quizzically at Justine, who had gotten caught up in flirting with one of the regulars and was paying her no mind. Sophie shrugged and returned to her task.

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