Darrell thought he was going to explode. He was obsessed with her, had failed her class twice just so he could continue to come here twice a week. He had even read a technical paper she had written when she was a grad student. Her affect on him was hypnotic. And tonight, she was more beautiful than ever. High heels, knee length skirt, a satin blouse that tied in a loose bow under her chin. Her raven hair was tied back but several wisps had come loose, framing her face. She wore black reading glasses that were made her look like a librarian, a very hot librarian.
Even in high heels, Miss Garcia was not very tall, and when she wrote on the chalkboard, she could hardly reach the top of it. Each time she reached up, her left heel would pop out of the back of her shoe. Next, he knew that she would turn to the class and explain the first step of the equation while dipping her toes in and out of the shoe as she struggled to fit back into it. It was her signature move, and he came back over and over again to see her do it. He knew he must be very careful not to stare, or the show would be over for the night. This evening's selection was something special, shiny jet-black patent leather pumps, classic style with three-inch heels.
She finished writing on the board and sat on the edge of her desk, asking Darrell questions about the equation on the board. He knew the answers, but would always make a few scratchings in his workbook so that with his head down, he could stare at her legs undetected. Her heel had come completely out of her shoe again and was dangling slightly. He knew from previous classes that this was as adventurous as she ever got. None of those wild deep dangles with shoes swinging around, a little bare heel was all she would offered, but it was exquisite. And the was always the chance...
"Wish I had me a calculator," he said, and predictably, she reached across the top of the desk to offer her own. As her fingers grasped the calculator, her shoe suddenly caught the edge of the wastebasket and fell off with a loud clack. She sprung up from the desk and balanced on one shoe, mistakenly thinking that her shoe had fallen into the wastebasket. Her tiny foot was so delicate, no more than a size six, with slender toes and a high arch. He watched her stockinged foot wave in the air for at least ten seconds until she finally located the shoe. When she did, she thrust her foot into it and glared at him. He had clearly caught looking.
That was two hours ago, and it was clear to him that the show was over for tonight. Class wasn't over for fifteen more minutes, but Darrell was anxious to go.
"Come on, teech, I gotta go, It's gettin' late,"
"That's why they call it night school Darrell," Miss Garcia said, and continued to write on the chalkboard, but with no heel showing this time. Darrell was bright enough, she thought, but she just wasn't getting through to him. At least he showed up though. The weather had turned this afternoon, and out of seven students, only Darrell had showed up tonight.
"I know its night school, but tonight I got to go. There's gonna be a big time game on down on South Drexell Boulevard and I gotsta git there 'fore all the big money gets gone."
"You're betting on a basketball game?" she asked scornfully.
"Nah, that shit....Sorry Miss Garcia. I meant to say, I don't bet no B-ball cuz too much can happen," he said, "things can go wrong on you."
"What's your game then, Darrell?" she asked, finishing the equation on the board and turning to him.
"Dice," he said. "Can't go wrong with dice."
She sensed an opportunity to get through to him. "I know a little bit about dice," she said. As a matter of fact, I wrote a paper about it in college.
"They teach "Dice" in college?" he asked.
"They teach Analysis of Statistical Outcomes," she said, "but you can apply it to dice."
"I sure like to know some about that!" he said.
"What's you first bet usually?" she asked.
"Twelve, baby, I always start by bettin twelve hoppin'," he said.
"How often does a twelve come up?" she asked.
"All the time, and you get paid big on 'em too," he said, sounding confident.
Miss Garcia turned to the board again and started drawing dice. "The problem is that there are six numbers on each die, with thirty-six possible combinations. Do you know why?"
"Cuz six times six is thirty-six?" he said, but sounded unsure.
"Exactly!" she said, ecstatic that she had made a connection with him after so much time. "And how many ways can you make a twelve?"
"It ain't but one way to make a twelve, gotta be six an six," he said confidently.
"O.K." she said, "How much does a hoppin' twelve pay?"
"If you bet a buck, you get paid 30 bucks," he said, "It's a real nice deal, real nice."
"Excellent!" she said. "But if the chances of making twelve are one in thirty-six, then if you bet thirty six rolls in a row, you would win 30 dollars, on one roll, but lose thirty five dollars on the others."
"But when the dice are hot, twelve come out all the time. Plus, when you really need one to come, they come. Twelve's a good number for that," he said confidently.
Rosa knew this was the worst kind of superstition, the kind that kept numbers games and lotto tickets afloat in the poorest neighborhoods, preying on the undereducated.
"There are no "good" numbers," she said. "It's just a matter of statistics, simple science." She could see that he was not convinced, and that she was losing him again. "Do you happen to have any dice?"
Not surprisingly, Darrell produced a set of dice from his pocket.
Let's just try this she said, and rolled the dice, and with each roll, she marked the results on the board. Darrell was glad to see a lot of 2's and 3's because she had to reach high up on the board to mark them, and both heels came out of her shoes for a moment. After forty rolls, there had not been a single twelve yet. "You can see the problem here, you would have spent forty dollars and not won anything."
"It's different when you play for money, when it's for money, I can throw a twelve for sure," he said, smiling broadly. Miss Garcia had resumed her seat on the edge of the desk and her shoe was dangling again, lower than he had ever seen before. He could almost see the start of her toes, and his pulse quickened.
"O.K. let's play," she said.
"No chance, I don't want to see you loose all your money, 'sides, I only play cash, no credit."
"You know that equation is right!" she said, looking at the chalkboard over her shoulder. Rosa opened her desk drawer and checked her wallet. She was willing to risk a dollar or two in order to convince him of the power of logic. She pulled out a twenty and a ten and laid them on the desk top. "Thirty to one, you can't throw a twelve."
Darrell reached in his pocket and pulled out several pitiful looking crumpled up bills, and set a dollar next to her thirty. He got on his knees, positioning himself dangerously close to her increasingly visible foot, and tossed the dice at the wall. While Miss Garcia was busy watching for the number, he took a much closer look at her dangling pump, now just a few feet from his face.
"Five!" she called out, "No field five!" and snatched his dollar off of the desk top.
She must have played this game before, Darrell thought, smiling inwardly. He was unconcerned. Besides, the view of her legs was worth more than a dollar. He could actually read the label inside of her shoe. It slipped a bit farther as he watched. He tossed the dice again.
"Yo! Leven," she said.
Darrel noticed that as she snatched his dollar away, her shoe slipped another fraction of an inch toward her toes. This time, when he tossed the dice, he waited a split second for her eyes to follow them, then tapped the heel of her shoe lightly, being very careful not to touch her foot.
"Four hard four," she said, as the dice showed a pair of twos and her heel fell to the floor. Darrell looked straight at her stockinged foot from less than a yard away. Her feet were really fine, small and narrow, with nice well-aligned toes, painted dark red. Her stockings were incredibly sheer, not at all the kind you buy at the drugstore. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but he held himself in check.
"Oh," she said, sounding shocked as she quickly stood up and worked her foot into her shoe again.
Fun's over for tonight, he thought, but he was glad he had gotten a better glimpse of her feet after all this time. Lost her shoe twice in one night, that was one for the record books. He wish he could have gotten a picture, but a good look was good enough, he would just get his money back and then it would be time to go anyway, unless...
Miss Garcia stood next to the desk now, her feet firmly planted in her shoes. Darrell threw a twelve that came to rest next to the toe of her left shoe. "Twelve," he said. You don't have to give me the thirty bucks though, just give me back the four I lost.
Miss Garcia looked at the clock, ten to nine. "The lesson's not quite over yet," she said, tossing the ten and twenty at him and reaching into her desk drawer for two more bills.
Darrell threw a ten, a seven, another seven, and then a twelve. "Really, Miss Garcia, that's just not necessary," he said, as she tossed the bills at him and opened the desk drawer again.
"I'm not worried," she said, "because I know that the science of statistics will even things out in the long run."
Darrell threw another twelve. "It would have to be a real long run, like down to the principals office and back," he said, and then added, "let's just call this off, I don't need your money."
"Roll the dice," she said, laying another thirty bucks down.
Darrell threw a couple of odd numbers before another twelve came up. Miss Garcia was down 114 dollars.
"I'm out of cash," she said, slamming the desk drawer, "but you know I'm good for it."
"No can do Miss Garcia. I know you're good for it, but if it ain't nothing on the line, it can make the dice roll all funky."
"Darrell, that's the worst kind of superstition, you can't possibly believe such nonsense."
Miss Garcia, I don't want to be disrespectin' you or nothin' but it seem like I'm teachin' you mo' then you teachin' me." he said, looking down at the money she had lost. "Gotta be somethin' a value, or the dice can go cold."
"I'll bet this watch," she said, "you have to give statistics enough tries to work out any anomalies in the randomness of the numbers."
"I don't know 'bout no momolys, and I already gotta a watch, won it from somebody that play dice worse then you do. I did notice that you seemed real worried 'bout losin' yo shoe before..."
Rosa looked stricken. "I'm not about to lose my shoe in a dice game."
"How you know you gonna lose? How much them shoes cost anyway? I'll bet the whole pot against one of your shoes, less you don't believe in them nomolies you talking about."
"It's not that. In the long run, the random distribution of numbers...well it's hard to explain probabilities."
O.K. then the long run. You put yo shoe against my money. One roll of the dice, and if any number come out, you win all yo money back, 'cept if it comes a seven or twelve, you take the long run down the principals office and back, and I take the money and the shoe, for keeps."
Rosa hesitated, her face was burning and her throat was going dry. She knew that she had twenty nine chances to win, and only seven chances to lose, plus, she told herself, she was betting a thirty dollar shoe against more than a hundred dollars. She held the edge of the desk to steady herself, and reached down, pulling off her left shoe. She held it in front of her. "I get to throw the dice."
"It 'posed to be random you know, don't matter who throw 'em," he said, handing her the dice. She set her shoe down on the desktop and rolled the dice over in her hand. She closed her eyes and tossed them hard at the wall. Six and six.
Her heart sank and she felt her hands begin to tremble. She heard a voice that sounded distant. It was Darrell. "You don't have to do it Miss Garcia, just admit you was wrong about the dice, and we all go home."
"No chance," she said flatly, and picked up her purse, heading for the door. "You are not embarrassing me, because I'm right about the numbers, and I can prove it to you." She knew Mr. Collins would probably be long gone anyway. The school was all but deserted at this time of night, and the hallway floor felt cold and slippery under her stockinged foot. She hated going barefoot. She always wore slippers at home, and always wore heels everywhere else, because she was self-conscious about her height. Darrell was making her nervous too, the way he stared at her feet. She felt very silly going through with this, but it was important to make the point. If she went back on a bet, she would lose credibility with a student that was already hard to reach. Sometimes being a teacher was not an easy job.
Darrell hurried to catch up as her one heel clicked loudly down the hallway heading toward the stairs. He walked along side her, admiring her outstanding legs and her delicate stockinged foot as she padded along the tile floor, and tried to gauge her reaction. She seemed somewhat unnerved, but she was going through with it. He knew a lot about human nature, and he was quite sure that he had assessed her correctly. She held the handrail tightly as she descended the steps carefully, her tan nyloned toes avoiding the rough metal nose of the stair treads that could ruin her expensive stockings.
When she reached the bottom of the steps, she stopped dead, drew her breath in sharply, and searched around furtively, looking for any escape as the office door opened and Mr. Collins stepped out. He was a distasteful old man, with white uncombed hair and stooped shoulders. He had worn the same tweed jacket every day for as long as anyone could remember, and he was just two years from retirement, as he constantly reminded everyone around him.
He locked the office door behind him, and then turned, scowling at them as he glanced up from Miss Garcia's naked toes. "Is everything all right here?" he asked, eyeing Darrell suspiciously.
Darrell could see that Miss Garcia was speechless. "I just wanted to see if I could get a copy of my transcript," he said, staring Collins right in the eye.
Mr. Collins scowled again. "You have to come in during the day, see Mrs. Finch. She should have it, unless we've already sent it to Harvard," he added with sarcastic mutter.
"Where's your other shoe?" he asked, turning his attention to Miss Garcia.
Darrell put his arm around her shoulder. "She twist her ankle, man, and I went to thinkin' we should get the first aid kit. Guess we should come back tomorrow for that too," he said, mimicking Collins' sarcastic tone. He steered Miss Garcia 180 degrees around and they climbed the steps together slowly, Darrell getting a fantastic look at her toes with each alternating step.
"Miss Garcia," Mr. Collins called after them, "Are you going to be all right, I mean, everyone else has pretty much gone."
"I'll be O.K.," she said, without turning around. As they turned the corner, she pushed him away. "What are you trying to do, get me fired?"
"Just tryin' to help," he said, holding his hands up. "You didn't seem like you's fixin' to lay out a rap, so I tried to cover, that's all."
She strode ahead as they reached the top of the stairs. "All right, you've had your fun embarrassing me, but I don't know what any of this proves."
"It prove to me that you can't trust no book over what you already know's a fact."
Rosa was shocked at how precisely this simple statement irked her. It refuted everything she knew to be true, and embodied the false logic that kept generations of people from bettering themselves by insisting they didn't need any formal education. "Darrell," she said evenly, it doesn't prove that at all, and you know it."
"I know, I know, nomolies and long runs, but I also know that I got yo money, and yo shoe, and I woulda got yo house if you'd throwd them dice a few more time."
They arrived back at the classroom and Darrell pretended not to notice Miss Garcia looking at the dice again.
"I see you Thursday then," he said, stuffing the wad of cash into the toe of her empty shoe and tucking it under his arm. As his hand touched the doorknob, he heard her voice, just as he had expected to.
"Darrell," she said, casually, but could not hide the concern in her voice. "I don't mid losing the cash, but could I have my shoe back? I rode the bus today."
"But you bet and you lost," he said, without looking up. He turned the knob and opened the door slowly, taking a step forward without looking back at her.
"How about double or nothing?" she blurted out, and he stopped and stood in the doorway.
He knew he had to be very cautious here, because one move could make or break everything. He turned to her very slowly, and spoke very softly. "Miss Garcia, I ain't here to embarrass you or nothin' but I have to say I get some satisfaction outta bein' right. I'll go double or nothin' as many times as you wanna, but I ain't playin' around none. You lose, you lose. An if you play dice with me, you gonna lose. I don't think you should play no more dice tonight."
"Double or nothing then," she said, surprised at the concerned demeanor she had never noticed in him before.
"Same deal then, seven or twelve, you struttin the halls again," he said.
Rosa grabbed the dice. She could feel the droplets of sweat that had collected on her brow and she wiped her face with the sleeve of her blouse. She tossed the dice at the wall and saw that one immediately landed with a six facing upward. The other die was spinning on end, but starting to wobble, five, no three, two, no. No no no. It was just not possible, she thought, as she stared at the second six. She stepped angrily out of her remaining shoe and kicked it, sending it skidding across the floor. "Where to this time?" she said, suddenly conscious that her five foot two frame was a foot shorter than Darrell.
"Gym and back," he said.
Most of the hallway lights were off and all of the classrooms were dark. They walked along nearly silently, Darrell's Nikes making a tiny squeak as Miss Garcia's nyloned soles brushed over the polished floor.
"Thing is Miss Garcia, the mo' you need a number to come, the mo' it's gonna stay away. Them dice knows if you be all nervous and everything," he said, deliberately baiting her. She did not respond, but he knew the hook had been set. When they got to the Gym door, Darrell stopped and faced her. "This is where I get off," he said. Miss Garcia looked at him, and he could see she wasn't sure what he meant.
"I gotta go," he said. "Much as I do appreciate winnin' that money an these fine lookin' shoes," he said, holding them up in front of her, " I gotta to make some real money yet tonight, I got a car note comin' due."
"So that's it?" she said, clearly agitated now. "You're just going to leave me here with no shoes? I have to catch the bus with no shoes?"
"I figure you must have brought some boots or somethin', right? I mean you seen the weather man say snow."
Rosa looked out the door at the end of the hallway to see a cone of large white flakes under the street lamp. "Double or nothing," she blurted out.
"Miss Garcia, you done runned out of shoes," he said.
"A hundred bucks then," she said, sounding desperate.
Darrell stayed silent, letting her tension fuel the flames. "You don't have another hundred," he said, softly, and started walking away. 5-4-3-2-1 he counted as he walked.
"Wait!," she screamed. "You can't just leave me here without my shoes, you have to give me a chance."
"I don't have to," he said evenly, "But I'll do what I said. Double or nothing. As many times as you want. How many clothes you got? Five or six? I don't want the stockings, you keep them on. But if you had five, I mean what's the chances of losin five in a row, million to one?"
"I'm not having this conversation with you," she said angrily. If you want to keep my shoes, keep them." she said, and stalked away, her stockinged heels pounding the floor.
"I'll see you Thursday then, if we all done playin' around." he said, but did not walk away.
It was insane, there was no way she would ever do something like that, but she involuntarily made the calculation in her head anyway. Skirt, blouse, panties, bra, purse, necklace, watch, that would be seven. 36 to 7 times 7. Seven to the seventh was, lets see now, 115000 or so, and 36 to the seventh, seventy seven trillion, was that right, knock off seven zeros, the odds were not a million to one, but they were about 800,000 to 1 if her math was right. She paused at the bottom of the steps. "All right then, double or nothing, let's go upstairs," she said.
"I don't think so," he replied. "A big time game like this one should be in a larger venue." He produced a pocketknife from his coat and with a quick flick of the wrist, turned the doorknob and opened the gym. The lights were a dull purple as they began to heat up overhead.
The room seemed cavernous as she walked in behind him. Every creek of the floor echoed and reverberated.
"Here's the game," he said. "You stand here at center court. Then you throw them dice all the way down to the wall. Then, we walk down together and see the number. If it's not a seven or twelve, probably won't be, I give you your shoes and your money, and I go about my business. But if it's a seven or twelve, you take off something, not your stockings, but something else, and lay it down, then you take the dice to center court and try again. You can quit any time, but if you lose something, I'm not giving it back unless you win it back. Don't even ask me."
Rosa Garcia stared at Darrell for a moment, and wondered if he seemed different somehow. Being seen without her clothes was a phobia she had struggled with since adolescence. Now she was contemplating losing her clothes in the school gymnasium, in front of a stranger. Not exactly a stranger, but how well did she know him? Calm down she told herself, it will never come to that, losing seven straight would be like being struck by lightning twice. She padded silently to the center court circle and tossed the dice hard, rolling them all the way to the end wall. She ran after them, her stockinged feet slipping on the wood surface. She was anxious to get this over with and get home to her cat. Somehow, she knew the first roll would be a loser, and she was prepared for it if it was a seven or twelve. She saw the twin sixes staring up at her from the floor as Darrell approached from behind her. Undaunted, she took off her wristwatch and laid it on the floor, scooped up the dice and jogged back to center court. Darrell smiled from the sidelines.
"I'm rootin for ya Miss Garcia, come on six, come on eight, anybody can make a six or an eight.
Rosa tossed the dice hard and scrambled after them again, but when she reached the wall, Darrell was already there, looking at the dice and shaking his head.
"I've never seen anything like this before," he said, and reminded her again, "you can quit anytime you want to."
Rosa laid her purse down next to her other things. It was already empty of cash, and she didn't carry any credit cards. She padded back to center court, rolled the dice again and followed them down to the far wall. Something about him was different, she thought, as she took off her necklace and laid it down next to the purse and watch. She shuffled back to center court again with the dice. She tossed them confidently at the wall knowing that the statistical probability would be more like to prevail as the number of trails increased. But as she walked to toward the wall once more, it hit her for the first time. If the dice showed seven or twelve this time, she would have to take off her blouse or her skirt. Darrell stood by the sidelines holding her shoes in one hand as she walked up and looked down at the seven. She could say it was another number, he was too far away to see it, what was he going to say? She could just refuse to take her shirt off. But then he would still have her shoes. She glanced around to see that they were alone before unbuttoning her blouse and letting it fall to the floor.
This is it she told herself. The number would be different, it had to be. But if not, that was the end of the game. There was no way she was taking off her skirt. She rolled the dice over in the palm of her hand and turned toward the wall again to see that Darrell had neatly folded her shirt and was standing next to it. She closed her eyes and tossed the dice hard. Darrell held his ground and did not go near the dice. As she walked slowly toward them she could see that the first die was a six, her heart pounded in her chest as she approached the other die, and saw that it was also a six.
Rosa Garcia fought back the tears that welled up in her eyes as she unbuttoned her skirt and let it fall to the floor, stepping out of it, and kicking it in the direction of her other things. "That's it, no more," she said.
"A wise choice," Darrell said softly, glancing at her half naked body, but averting his eyes most of the time. Rosa Garcia had stunning figure. She was short, very petite, with narrow shoulders and her breasts were covered by a lavender lace bra. The graceful curve of her hips supported lavender panties that matched the bra, and her slender but shapely legs were enhanced by tan thigh high stockings. If her tiny feet were not so perfect, he might have offered the high heels back to her. Darrell wanted more than anything to see the rest of her, but he knew human nature, and he could tell that she was unwilling to go further with the game at this point.
Darrell folded the skirt neatly and laid it over his arm with the blouse. "I'm sorry the game went that way," he said, before turning and walking toward the door. As he exited into the hallway, he headed for the east entrance, even though his car was parked by the west. His reasoning was simple, the East hall was darker, and had no windows. He walked slowly, listening for the sound of the door behind him. When he reached the end of the hall, he thought he had made a miscalculation. He hesitated for a minute before pushing open the door to the outside.
"Wait," she said, her head poking out of the gym door to assess the situation before she emerged in her stockings and underwear. "What am I going to do?" she said, softly.
He knew that the shock of standing in her underwear would diminish as the minutes past, and the low light level of the hallway was much less threateneing than the gymnasium. Darrell chose his words very carefully and spoke slowly using a calming tone.
"Miss Garcia, I didn't want to play this game, I urged you to quit way back when it was just a few dollars on the line. But where I come from, a bet is a bet. And you made those bets and lost."
"But I have no way home, I can't ride on the bus in my underwear, it's snowing out!" she said, her eyes glistening in the low light of the exit sign.
"I'll give you a ride home," he offered. "You wait here and I'll drive up to the curb right out there."
Rosa looked out the window at the curb that was easily a hundred yards away. The thought of running to Darrell's car in her underwear was more than she could imagine, her worst nightmare come to life. "O.K." she said, and managed a weak smile, but come back for me, OK?" Perhaps he would allow her to use his coat she thought, but did not ask yet.
Darrell smiled at her. "Did you think I would just drive up to the curb and honk my horn?" He turned and headed out the door, down the snowy sidewalk with most of her clothes.
Rosa stood in the shadows just inside the door and waited for Darrell. It seemed like a long time, and she kept looking at her wrist, but of course, she had lost her watch in a dice game. The streets were deserted, and she guessed it was around 11:00 o'clock. Suddenly, she was certain that he wasn't coming back. She was stranded here in her underwear, her keys were in her purse so she couldn't even get back into her own classroom. She pictured herself waiting outside the office for Mr. Collins in her underwear and she started to cry, and slouched down on the floor.
The banging on the door startled her, but she was glad to see Darrell standing there, instead of somebody else. See looked out the window past him to see a car parked by the curb.
As she opened the door for him, a blast of winter air hit her and she backed away. "I can't do it," she said, recoiling as her bare toes stepped on a clump of snow he had tracked in. "I just can't do it." She let the tears roll down her cheeks, before asking. "I can't, unless I could borrow your coat?"
"O.K. then," he said, and pushed the door open again, walking toward the car as the wind held the door.
"Wait!" she cried, "wait!"
Darrell stepped inside again. He stared out the window, knowing that if he looked at her now, he could blow it.
"Double or nothing," she said.
He did not turn away from the door or she might see the smile that crept across his face.
"I don't want to bet anymore," he said. "Because if the dice goes against you, there is no way you will give up your bra and panties,and because I don't want to see you cry anymore."
Rosa knew that this was probably true. Darrell was actually a lot smarter than she had given him credit for. A sudden chill went through her and raised goose bumps on her arms, but it wasn't from the cold draft. His English had improved! In the last hour, his vocabulary must have doubled, and his grammar was nearly perfect. Suddenly things became a little clearer. She wished she had examined the dice they were playing with, but she was in no position to accuse him of anything now. "I don't want to play dice any more," she said. "How about a coin toss? The odds are fifty fifty, what could be more fair than that?"
"I don't know Miss Garcia, what if you lose?" he said, still facing away from her.
"I won't," she said because we are going to play a different game. "I toss a quarter ten times. If I make four heads, you give me all my stuff back, if not, you get..." she could bring herself to say the words. As a student, she had physically performed coin toss trials over and over and over again to demonstrate random distribution of numbers. She knew four of ten was a near certainty.
"I don't know Miss Garcia, I think I should just go," he said, "I just don't think you should bet anymore."
Rosa Garcia stared at Darrell's back as he looked out the door. Bullshit, take the bait you con artist, she thought. "I've already bet everything," she said. "I'm trapped here in my underwear, I'll lose my job, be embarrassed in front of the staff and students, I've already lost everything, do you think I care about my underpants at this point?" She was shaking now and glad that he was not facing her to see through her thin charade.
"Are you worried that I won't pay up if I lose?" She slipped her panties down over thighs silently, except for the sound of nylon rubbing nylon, and stepped out of them. Next, she unsnapped her bra and then hung both garments over the panic bar on the door, inches from his hand. She turned and walked toward the gym, take the bait you psychotic bastard. She did not turn to see if he was following. If he wanted to see anything more than her bare butt, he would have to play the game.
Darrell waited for her to retreat a comfortable distance before following her. When he went into the gym, most of the lights were off, but the center court was illuminated well enough for him to see her clearly. She looked glorious standing there in the center of the circle. She stood facing him, arms at her sides, looking less than confident, but resisting the urge to cover herself. He admired her in so many ways. He gazed at her breasts, which were smaller than average, but very firm, before glancing down to see the dark naked delta between her thighs. In spite of her obvious anxiety, she stared at him defiantly, daring him to misbehave in any way. As he struggled to catch his breath, he new that his long months of vivid, obsessive fantasy had not prepared him in any way for the splendor of seeing her here in real life.
"Do you have a quarter?" she asked.
The shakiness in her tone belied the confident air she tried to portray to him, but he admired her all the more for it. He stayed a comfortable distance from her, about fifty feet, because he knew that in the future, it would be very important that she felt physically safe from him. He pulled a quarter from his pocket and bent over, then slid it across the floor to her. "Flip it high and let it fall, so that it's fair," he said. He watched as she flipped the coin high in the air, and followed its flight, not looking at him, or the item in his hand. "Heads" she called out, as he put his hand in his pocket once more. The identical series occurred eight times, three times it was heads and five times it was tails. In reality, it did not affect his plan one way or the other, but it would be cleaner if she lost fair and square. She lofted the coin into the air again and watched its flight as his hand came out of his pocket again at the exact moment she was distracted, and returned to his coat as she looked at the coin. Tails. She looked at him defiantly before lofting the coin into the air again. Her bravery made her even more attractive. Tails again.
She stood over the coin with her stockinged feet on either side of it. She couldn't believe that the always reliable principle of random outcome had failed her. She kicked it away and sent it sliding under the bleachers. When she looked up again, Darrell was gone. She raced across the gym, and burst through the doors, to see him standing at the end of the hallway stuffing her underpants into his coat pocket.
"Wait she screamed, wait, you can't leave me here naked, you bastard." She ran after him sobbing. "You have to help me I'll do anything..." her voice trailed of as she realized what she had said. "Well I didn't mean anything."
"I know you didn't," he said evenly, smiling at her kindly. "You will do exactly as I say, no more, and no less, and we will help each other."
"To begin with, you will wait until I have walked twenty steps, then, you will step out of the door and pause so I can take a few more photos to establish the location."
"Wh-wh-what do you mean more, I'm not posing for any photographs," she said, hostility creeping into her voice.
"You already have," he said, pulling the digital camera from his coat pocket. "But if you don't want to go outside, you don't have to."
"Well I'm not going to, you sick pervert," she growled.
"That is your choice, but I am leaving now. My car has been warming up for a half hour and it must be very toasty by now. All of your clothes are folded on the front seat, and if you wish, I would be pleased to drive you and your clothes to your home, or to the destination of your choice. In return, I would like for you to pause briefly outside the door, before you continue to the car.
Rosa Garcia watched as Darrell reached the flagpole and then turn to face the school. Fuck him, she had half a mind to call the cops right now. The trouble with cops though, is that when you call them, they come right over. It was getting late, would anybody even see her if she stepped outside? She was naked. But she was also trapped here naked, somebody was going to see her sooner or later, right? She pushed the image of Mr. Collins from her mind.
She hated Darrell, hated the thought that someone would see her. She had fantasized about running naked outside many times before, but it was alone in a field or a forest, certainly nothing like this. Somewhere within her, she felt a spark of excitement in spite of the overwhelming dread she that engulfed her. She pushed the door open and was met by an arctic blast of air. Her nipples were instantly erect before her toes even touched the icy porch. Rosa took a giant breath and launched herself through the door, just as a car turned the corner at the end of the street. In terror, she pulled at the handle of the door, but it had slammed shut, locking behind her. She ran for the car as fast as her legs could carry her, only to find the cardoor was locked. In panic, she crouched by the passenger door panting and breathless. She tried the car door again but it was no use. From where she knelt, she watched the other car go by, then disappear down the street, the driver unaware of the bizarre scene he had just passed by.
She turned around to look for Darrell, who was still standing patiently by the flagpole, camera in hand. "Come on Darrell, let me in the car," she hissed in a loud whisper. Darrell stood motionless, his back to her, facing the school. He could not have been more clear if he had written it out and handed it in as a term paper. Having no other option, Rosa sprinted back to the porch and stood motionless for what seemed like an eternity, as the flash of the camera when off a dozen times. Finally, Darrell put the camera in his pocket and walked calmly toward the car.
She sprinted past him and stood next to the car, while he opened the driver's side and got in. For an instant she thought he might simply drive away, leaving her naked in the snow, and she would have to knock on someone's door for help. He didn't though, and when he did unlock the door, she leapt into the car sitting down on top of her clothes. She was glad that he began to drive immediately.
She shivered uncontrollably, wondering exactly what had happened today. She reviewed the events that had led her into the orbit of this maniac. Obviously, he had not been what he appeared from the start.
The heat blasted on her stockinged feet and radiated through her, bringing her some measure of relief. "That was really cold," she said cautiously.
"You shouldn't stay out for too long," he said. "If you had followed my instructions, it would have been less than a minute. Physical pain is not what I want."
She summoned her courage to speak. "Then exactly what do you want?" she asked.
"Same as you, I expect, I want a student."
Rosa was dumbfounded. She tried to respond but her mind when blank.
Darrell answered her unspoken question. "Have you ever fantasized about being naked? Most people have? I used to fantasize about going naked in public, and I actually did it a few times too. The problem is that every time I tried, the excitement of it was lost because I was so scared that I couldn't really enjoy the experience. Later, I started to fantasize about watching someone else naked. What I want is to teach you how exciting it can be to conquer your worst fears, and for my own reasons, I want to watch you while you do."
"Well you can forget about that, no one is ever going to see me naked again," she said firmly, "from now on I'm even going to shower with my clothes on."
Darrell threw back his head and laughed as he stopped at a traffic light, and several late night bar patrons crossed the street, observing the naked woman in his car. "Get out," he said, suddenly serious, but not surprised when she made no move to comply. He added, "I have your purse, your palm pilot and your wallet. I will send and e-mail pictures of you frolicking naked in the gymnasium to everyone you know before morning, unless you get out of the car, count to ten, and get back in before the light changes and I have to leave you here."
Rosa was numb at the thought of it. She swung open the car door and stood up, counting off ten seconds, while the drunks across the street called out to her. When she sat down again, she was visibly shaken.
They rode several miles in silence before she recognized her own neighborhood. "Can I get dressed?" she asked speaking softly.
"You may," he corrected her. "Your lesson for this evening is over."
She quickly struggled into her clothes before he drove up to her house. The fact that he had no need of directions was not lost on her.
The car stopped at the curb. "I'll be in touch," he said, as she opened the door and got out. As an afterthought he added, "give me your shoes," suddenly wanting a souvenir from this eventful evening.
She kicked one shoe, then the other, through the open door. He picked up the left pump and held it in his hand, then watched her as she padded up the snowy driveway leaving delicate, perfect footprints al the way to the door.
Snowman
