“Oh me too,” I said, smiling a little now. “I love the school, I just wish I got to participate more.”
“What do you mean?” the middle-aged man asked, taking in my work outfit, the skirt and blouse neatly tucked in. “Aren’t you going to classes? Or is this get up for a part-time job?”
I looked down at my corporate gear, so different from the casual jeans a student might wear.
“Yeah, I have a full-time job in addition to my classes,” I admitted ruefully. “I work during the day and take mostly evening classes so I feel like I’m not really a part of the Hudson community. Most events happen during the day, the club meetings, the rallies, all the good stuff, but by the time I get home at night, I’m so tired that it’s impossible to drag myself out again. Not that I have any time anyways,” I said a little wistfully. “Between work and classes, I’m completely booked.”
The man looked at me skeptically again.
“Really, no time whatsoever? That’s a hard path for a little lady like you.”
And I colored slightly.
“It’s not that bad,” I replied firmly, straightening my shoulders, holding my chin up. “I’m lucky to have the chance to go to college, I just didn’t want to take out a ton of loans so I decided to work full-time while taking classes.”
And the man nodded thoughtfully.
“I know what you mean,” he said slowly. “I’ve got thousands of dollars in student debt, I’m still paying for it even though I’m forty,” he said with a wry grin. “Can you believe it? There’s something seriously wrong with the American education system.”
“I totally agree,” I said, shooting him my first real smile. “I just don’t want to have a mountain of debt after I graduate because entry-level nurses don’t make much, and I can’t afford to be paying student loans on top of rent and bills,” I said. “It would be overwhelming, I’d probably forget something and disaster would strike.”
“Well, maybe I could help you,” he said slowly. “You’re on this bus every morning right?”
I nodded. You often recognize your fellow travelers even though people never talk. It’s part of having a long commute each day, the faces become familiar even if you don’t know their names.
“I’ve seen you,” he said, lowering his voice, “and I like the way you carry yourself, you’re a beautiful girl with a good set of smarts. Maybe we could work out a deal.”
I was immediately suspicious. What did my looks have anything to do with anything? My brows immediately lowered but the man didn’t notice and pressed on.
“I’m a successful guy, I’ve got means,” he said meaningfully, lowering his voice to a whisper, “and you’re a little lady who needs some help.”
That only made things worse.
“Right, but we don’t know each other,” I said pointedly. “What can I do for you?”
And he tossed his head back and laughed.
“Oh you’re a smart one, aren’t you? I was thinking along the lines of a set-up that would benefit us both. Horizontal working,” he intimated with a sly smile.
What the fuck was horizontal working? I was nonplussed.
“And that would be …?” I asked, eyebrows raised, the question lingering in the air. But the guy just leaned in even closer.
“Something comfortable for both of us, something where I’d get what I need and you’d get what you need.”
By now, I was exhausted and no longer wanted to play games. It was too early to beat around the bush and I had chemistry to get back to.
“No thanks,” I said, turning back to my textbook. “I’ve already got a job.”
“Well, I think I can do better than what you’ve got,” he said, still pressing his case. “You’re on the bus every morning, working full time while going to school and I can make things a little easier for you. How about five hundred a pop?”
I closed my book then, turning to look at him straight in the eye.
“But for what?” I asked, shaking my head, bewildered still. “Do you need an assistant with you on sales calls? Someone to carry your suitcase, lug around the medical samples? I’m happy to consider it, but you need to be more specific.”
And that’s when the stranger threw back his head and laughed, the raucous sound ringing out in the silent bus, causing a few of our fellow passengers to glare our way.
“No, I don’t need help with sales, I want to go on a date with you,” he clarified, his voice still lowered. “Five hundred a pop.”