Post by dianahawthorne on Jan 2, 2009 2:17:06 GMT -5
That Night at the Studio
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Part of my “A Teacher or a Leader?” and “Can’t Repeat the Past” story arc. Also works as a stand-alone.
Dedicated to tabbyhearts.
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Her sixth year as a teacher – and the first year of her prime – had just come to a close, and Jean Brodie was in her classroom, tidying up. She looked up when she heard someone knock on the doorframe – it was Teddy Lloyd, the Art Master for the senior school.
“Hello, Miss Brodie,” he said, stepping into the classroom. He sat down on top of one of the desks.
“Hello, Mr. Lloyd,” she replied, setting down the books she was collecting.
“So, Miss Brodie, do you have any plans for the summer?” he asked her.
“Yes; in July I am going to Italy for two weeks, then Egypt,” she said. “And you?”
“Well, a lot of painting, I hope,” he said. “Would it be possible for you to come by my studio tomorrow so that I could paint you?”
She blushed. “All right,” she agreed, internally berating herself for not remaining absolutely composed.
“Wonderful,” he said, beaming. “Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?” he asked her, and she nodded, walking over to her desk. She handed him the requested items, and he scribbled his address. “Why don’t you come by at around two o’clock tomorrow afternoon – is that all right?” he asked.
“Yes, it is,” she replied, smiling.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Brodie,” Teddy said, returning her smile.
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Lloyd,” Jean replied. He left her classroom, turning back once to look at her. She resumed her previous tidying, a slight smile on her lips, her thoughts with Teddy Lloyd.
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When she arrived home, she went through her wardrobe to see what she would wear tomorrow. Nothing seemed suitable, nothing at all, but she finally decided on her favourite purple dress and her flowered scarf. After deciding on her outfit, Jean made herself a quick dinner before drawing a bath.
She stretched out in her large bathtub, thinking about Teddy.
She had noticed him on her first day of school – he was one of the two male teachers at Marcia Blaine, and by far the more handsome. She had felt an immediate attraction to him, but had learned soon afterwards that he was married with five children. Jean was quite disappointed to learn that, and even more disappointed to learn that he was a Roman Catholic, a member of that hypocritical institution. But he did not look like a Roman Catholic should, nor act like one – especially not a married Roman Catholic. But he was so attractive, with dark hair and dark eyes. And he was an artist, and a very good artist at that – and he was going to paint her tomorrow.
Jean got out of the bathtub and wrapped herself in her towel. After drying off, she slipped into her nightgown and went to bed. It was still quite early, but she wanted to be well-rested for tomorrow. She wound her alarm clock, setting it for nine o’clock tomorrow morning – she could sleep in for once. Turning off the light, she fell asleep.
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She woke up the next morning when her alarm clock rang. She rolled out of bed and slipped into her dressing gown and slippers, padding into her small kitchen. She turned on the stove and filled up the kettle with water, setting it to boil, while she prepared an omelette. Ten minutes later, she sat down at her kitchen table with her breakfast. She took her time, and once she had finished breakfast, she washed the dishes.
After she finished with the dishes, she went to her bathroom to take another bath – she wanted to calm her nerves before arriving at Teddy’s studio later that day. She stayed there for a long time, letting the hot water flow over her. Finally she emerged from the tub and shrugged into her dressing gown once more. She dried her hair, taking her time, and only once her hair was completely dry did she get dressed.
Finally, it was time for her to leave, and she walked around the corner to the tram stop. The tram brought her right to Teddy’s studio, and she walked up the four flights of stairs to his studio. She knocked on the closed door, and Teddy opened it a few moments later.
“Jean! Please, come in,” he said.
She did, stepping into his fairly messy studio, somewhat taken-aback by the fact that he had used her first name. And he was looking at her in that way, with his gorgeous brown eyes and boyish grin. Well, two could play at that game, she decided.
“Where do I sit – Teddy?” she asked, the barest hint of hesitation before his name. He smiled at her.
“Right here, Jean,” he said, indicating a chair. He knelt beside her, gently guiding her face into position. “Perfect,” he breathed, and stood up, walking to his easel. Looking at her, he began to paint.
The hours raced by, and the sun sank lower in the sky. Finally, finally, he set his brush down.
“I think that’s enough for today,” he said. “If I keep on, I shall ruin it, and that would be a pity.”
“Can I see it?” she asked.
“I don’t want you to see it until it’s finished,” he said. She smiled at him and stood up from her seat, approaching the easel.
He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. She tried to dodge him, but he grasped her around the waist and carried her away from the easel as she giggled. He set her down in front of the bed and, breathing heavily, looked down into her blue eyes.
She looked up at him, meeting his gaze.
“Jean,” he breathed, bringing his hand up to cup her cheek. She closed her eyes briefly, leaning into his touch. When she opened her eyes again, he bent down and kissed her. She moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck.
She could feel his tongue seeking entrance and she opened her mouth, her tongue beginning to duel with his. He slipped his arms around her and began to unbutton her dress. She started to unbutton his shirt as well, slipping it off his shoulders. He pulled back from her to allow her to step out of her dress while he unfastened his trousers, kicking them off along with his shoes. Once they were both naked, he picked her up and carried her over to the narrow cot he kept in his studio.
“Jean,” he sighed again, caressing her cheek.
“Teddy,” she breathed, and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him down on top of her. His lips captured hers again and she closed her eyes, letting the sensation of his kisses, his touches, the weight of his body against hers, the scent of him, arouse her.
She could feel his desire for her growing against her thigh, and she pulled out of the kiss with a gasp.
“Oh, Jean,” he murmured, entering her. She moaned as he moved within her, knowing that she had never felt anything so arousing or so goddamned perfect in her entire life – not even with Hugh.
“Teddy, Teddy, Teddy!” she cried out as she began to come, clutching at his back.
He watched her in her passion, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, her beautiful mouth moaning his name. He climaxed, falling on top of her as he released with her. He allowed his weight to rest against her for a few moments as he recovered, before rolling onto his back. Jean’s arms were still wrapped around him, and she moved with him, snuggling against his chest. They lay there in silence.
“I love you, Teddy,” she whispered, turning in his arms to look up at him. He didn’t hear her – he was asleep.
She grew drowsy herself, and, resting her head against his chest, fell asleep, dreaming of Teddy.
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Early the next morning, Teddy woke up and looked down at his sleeping lover. He couldn’t believe that they had slept together – he had wanted to make love to her for a long time, but he never thought that it would cause him to fall in love with her. But he did – he was utterly enchanted and beguiled by the golden-haired temptress who now lay in his arms, sleeping soundly.
He realised that Deirdre would be waiting for him at home, realised that he should have been back last night. He quietly, carefully climbed out of bed and got dressed. With one final look to the still-sleeping woman in his bed, he left.
The sound of the door closing woke Jean, and she sat up in bed, looking around the studio. It was empty – Teddy was not there, and his clothes were gone too. She felt a tear slip down her face – he obviously regretted sleeping with her last night. Feeling more tears fall down, she got out of bed and hurriedly got dressed. She fled from the studio, not even looking at her portrait. She chose to walk back to her flat rather than taking the tram. When she finally returned home, she threw herself on her bed, sobbing.
Last night had been the happiest night of her life, but this morning was undoubtedly the worst. Oh, God, she loved Teddy, but he obviously did not love her, did not even care about her. She was only a fling for him, meaning nothing to him.
Why had she allowed herself to fall in love with him? Why had she given him her heart, only to have him reject it? She cried herself to sleep.
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Two weeks later, Jean left for Italy. Over the past two weeks, she had been so tempted to go visit him at his studio and confront him about why he had left her. She resisted only because she did not want him to know what kind of hold he had on her heart.
But when she was in Italy, she could not resist sending him a postcard: “The incomparable Giotto frescoes; how triumphantly his figures vibrate with life! Yours truly, J. Brodie.”
After Italy, she travelled to Egypt for two weeks. While she was there, she began an affair with her dragoman, trying to forget Teddy – but that was impossible. And at the end of the month, she returned to Edinburgh, to Marcia Blaine, and to her broken heart.
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Part of my “A Teacher or a Leader?” and “Can’t Repeat the Past” story arc. Also works as a stand-alone.
Dedicated to tabbyhearts.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Her sixth year as a teacher – and the first year of her prime – had just come to a close, and Jean Brodie was in her classroom, tidying up. She looked up when she heard someone knock on the doorframe – it was Teddy Lloyd, the Art Master for the senior school.
“Hello, Miss Brodie,” he said, stepping into the classroom. He sat down on top of one of the desks.
“Hello, Mr. Lloyd,” she replied, setting down the books she was collecting.
“So, Miss Brodie, do you have any plans for the summer?” he asked her.
“Yes; in July I am going to Italy for two weeks, then Egypt,” she said. “And you?”
“Well, a lot of painting, I hope,” he said. “Would it be possible for you to come by my studio tomorrow so that I could paint you?”
She blushed. “All right,” she agreed, internally berating herself for not remaining absolutely composed.
“Wonderful,” he said, beaming. “Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?” he asked her, and she nodded, walking over to her desk. She handed him the requested items, and he scribbled his address. “Why don’t you come by at around two o’clock tomorrow afternoon – is that all right?” he asked.
“Yes, it is,” she replied, smiling.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Brodie,” Teddy said, returning her smile.
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Lloyd,” Jean replied. He left her classroom, turning back once to look at her. She resumed her previous tidying, a slight smile on her lips, her thoughts with Teddy Lloyd.
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When she arrived home, she went through her wardrobe to see what she would wear tomorrow. Nothing seemed suitable, nothing at all, but she finally decided on her favourite purple dress and her flowered scarf. After deciding on her outfit, Jean made herself a quick dinner before drawing a bath.
She stretched out in her large bathtub, thinking about Teddy.
She had noticed him on her first day of school – he was one of the two male teachers at Marcia Blaine, and by far the more handsome. She had felt an immediate attraction to him, but had learned soon afterwards that he was married with five children. Jean was quite disappointed to learn that, and even more disappointed to learn that he was a Roman Catholic, a member of that hypocritical institution. But he did not look like a Roman Catholic should, nor act like one – especially not a married Roman Catholic. But he was so attractive, with dark hair and dark eyes. And he was an artist, and a very good artist at that – and he was going to paint her tomorrow.
Jean got out of the bathtub and wrapped herself in her towel. After drying off, she slipped into her nightgown and went to bed. It was still quite early, but she wanted to be well-rested for tomorrow. She wound her alarm clock, setting it for nine o’clock tomorrow morning – she could sleep in for once. Turning off the light, she fell asleep.
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She woke up the next morning when her alarm clock rang. She rolled out of bed and slipped into her dressing gown and slippers, padding into her small kitchen. She turned on the stove and filled up the kettle with water, setting it to boil, while she prepared an omelette. Ten minutes later, she sat down at her kitchen table with her breakfast. She took her time, and once she had finished breakfast, she washed the dishes.
After she finished with the dishes, she went to her bathroom to take another bath – she wanted to calm her nerves before arriving at Teddy’s studio later that day. She stayed there for a long time, letting the hot water flow over her. Finally she emerged from the tub and shrugged into her dressing gown once more. She dried her hair, taking her time, and only once her hair was completely dry did she get dressed.
Finally, it was time for her to leave, and she walked around the corner to the tram stop. The tram brought her right to Teddy’s studio, and she walked up the four flights of stairs to his studio. She knocked on the closed door, and Teddy opened it a few moments later.
“Jean! Please, come in,” he said.
She did, stepping into his fairly messy studio, somewhat taken-aback by the fact that he had used her first name. And he was looking at her in that way, with his gorgeous brown eyes and boyish grin. Well, two could play at that game, she decided.
“Where do I sit – Teddy?” she asked, the barest hint of hesitation before his name. He smiled at her.
“Right here, Jean,” he said, indicating a chair. He knelt beside her, gently guiding her face into position. “Perfect,” he breathed, and stood up, walking to his easel. Looking at her, he began to paint.
The hours raced by, and the sun sank lower in the sky. Finally, finally, he set his brush down.
“I think that’s enough for today,” he said. “If I keep on, I shall ruin it, and that would be a pity.”
“Can I see it?” she asked.
“I don’t want you to see it until it’s finished,” he said. She smiled at him and stood up from her seat, approaching the easel.
He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. She tried to dodge him, but he grasped her around the waist and carried her away from the easel as she giggled. He set her down in front of the bed and, breathing heavily, looked down into her blue eyes.
She looked up at him, meeting his gaze.
“Jean,” he breathed, bringing his hand up to cup her cheek. She closed her eyes briefly, leaning into his touch. When she opened her eyes again, he bent down and kissed her. She moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck.
She could feel his tongue seeking entrance and she opened her mouth, her tongue beginning to duel with his. He slipped his arms around her and began to unbutton her dress. She started to unbutton his shirt as well, slipping it off his shoulders. He pulled back from her to allow her to step out of her dress while he unfastened his trousers, kicking them off along with his shoes. Once they were both naked, he picked her up and carried her over to the narrow cot he kept in his studio.
“Jean,” he sighed again, caressing her cheek.
“Teddy,” she breathed, and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him down on top of her. His lips captured hers again and she closed her eyes, letting the sensation of his kisses, his touches, the weight of his body against hers, the scent of him, arouse her.
She could feel his desire for her growing against her thigh, and she pulled out of the kiss with a gasp.
“Oh, Jean,” he murmured, entering her. She moaned as he moved within her, knowing that she had never felt anything so arousing or so goddamned perfect in her entire life – not even with Hugh.
“Teddy, Teddy, Teddy!” she cried out as she began to come, clutching at his back.
He watched her in her passion, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, her beautiful mouth moaning his name. He climaxed, falling on top of her as he released with her. He allowed his weight to rest against her for a few moments as he recovered, before rolling onto his back. Jean’s arms were still wrapped around him, and she moved with him, snuggling against his chest. They lay there in silence.
“I love you, Teddy,” she whispered, turning in his arms to look up at him. He didn’t hear her – he was asleep.
She grew drowsy herself, and, resting her head against his chest, fell asleep, dreaming of Teddy.
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Early the next morning, Teddy woke up and looked down at his sleeping lover. He couldn’t believe that they had slept together – he had wanted to make love to her for a long time, but he never thought that it would cause him to fall in love with her. But he did – he was utterly enchanted and beguiled by the golden-haired temptress who now lay in his arms, sleeping soundly.
He realised that Deirdre would be waiting for him at home, realised that he should have been back last night. He quietly, carefully climbed out of bed and got dressed. With one final look to the still-sleeping woman in his bed, he left.
The sound of the door closing woke Jean, and she sat up in bed, looking around the studio. It was empty – Teddy was not there, and his clothes were gone too. She felt a tear slip down her face – he obviously regretted sleeping with her last night. Feeling more tears fall down, she got out of bed and hurriedly got dressed. She fled from the studio, not even looking at her portrait. She chose to walk back to her flat rather than taking the tram. When she finally returned home, she threw herself on her bed, sobbing.
Last night had been the happiest night of her life, but this morning was undoubtedly the worst. Oh, God, she loved Teddy, but he obviously did not love her, did not even care about her. She was only a fling for him, meaning nothing to him.
Why had she allowed herself to fall in love with him? Why had she given him her heart, only to have him reject it? She cried herself to sleep.
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Two weeks later, Jean left for Italy. Over the past two weeks, she had been so tempted to go visit him at his studio and confront him about why he had left her. She resisted only because she did not want him to know what kind of hold he had on her heart.
But when she was in Italy, she could not resist sending him a postcard: “The incomparable Giotto frescoes; how triumphantly his figures vibrate with life! Yours truly, J. Brodie.”
After Italy, she travelled to Egypt for two weeks. While she was there, she began an affair with her dragoman, trying to forget Teddy – but that was impossible. And at the end of the month, she returned to Edinburgh, to Marcia Blaine, and to her broken heart.
