Singles Going Steady: Atlantic Starr's "Secret Lovers"

Buddha and Kona were deep into their second round by the time I got to the bar. Thursday was our drinking night, and after I started seeing Matthew I'd flaked out on them a few times. I was supposed to have been there an hour earlier, but fell asleep on the floor in my room, right in the middle of a pile of books and papers. When I woke up, there was an indent in the shape of a paperclip on my forehead.
"Dude!" Buddha yelled when he saw me. "Over here."
"Hey kids," I took off my jacket and hung it behind me on my chair. "Sorry I'm late."
"Yeah—what took you so long? You fall asleep or something?" Kona flipped up the top of his Zippo and lit my cigarette.
I inhaled, "Actually, yes, that's exactly what I did. I'm pretty beat, man," I yawned. Which was true: I'd been up that morning at Matthew's until three—the night before that, same thing.
Buddha took a sip of his signature drink—a Singapore Sling—and peered at me, "What's up with you, man? You look like you've been through the ringer."
"Yeah," Kona grinned, "you do look kinda rough."
I made a mental note to start wearing under-eye concealer more often. "Thanks, friends," I laughed. "It's midterms. Just a lot of studying, working, papers." This wasn't entirely untrue, as I was doing those things—in between everything else. I tapped my cigarette into an empty bottle, "Maybe you jokers don't care about that shit, but I do."
"Here," Kona slid a Black Label in my direction. He lit a cigarette and turned to Buddha, "Maybe she's got a secret life we don't know about."
"Or maybe she's got a secret lover," Buddha pronounced it "lov-ah."
I felt my face heat up, "Yeah, that's it. Busted."
Buddha sang, "Secret lovers, yeah, that's what we are. Trying so hard to hide the way we feel," he put his hand on my shoulder and sang louder, "Cause we something, something, something. But we can't let go—"
"Oh, hell no, man," Kona laughed, "Atlantic Starr?"
"You know it," Buddha downed his drink, "and you love it."
"And now it's going to be in my head all fucking night," I drank my beer and smiled to myself. "Anyway," I quickly steered away from that subject, "Where's Beau?"
Buddha looked at his watch, "He'll be here. Later. He has some…thing with someone? At some place? I don't remember the details. But he's coming." He stood up, "Another round?" We nodded and he went to the bar.
"So," Kona lit another cigarette, "Have you seen the latest CMJ? The CD is pretty good…"

*****
"Iseult? Hello? Earth to Iseult, come in Iseult…"
"What?" My arm fell asleep and I was having trouble moving it.
"I said, 'Do you want anything from the kitchen?' "
It took me a moment to remember where I was, "Wait—Do I what?"
Skinny Marie looked at me, confused, "The kitchen? Do you want anything from it?"
We had been watching a movie and I'd nodded off. "Oh," I sat up, "No, I'm cool."
"Are you feeling okay?" She walked into the kitchen, "I hope you're not getting that thing that everyone has. You want some Emergen-C?"
"Oh, thanks, but no. I'm just tired, I guess." I was still getting eight hours of sleep—just not in a row. This double life was staring to catch up with me.
Skinny Marie came back out with two popsicles, "I know you love the cherry ones. Here."
"Thanks," I threw the wrapper on the coffee table. The fake cherry flavor was fabulous.
"Sure," she started flipping channels. "Hey—total non sequitur, I know, but is everything okay with you and Victor?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Well," she clicked off the TV and raised her eyebrow at me, "he hasn't been around much, lately."
I knew where she was going with this and I felt terrible about it. "Yeah, well, his internship takes up a lot of his time..."
She ate the top off her popsicle, "Okay, I'll cut the bullshit. Who's this Matthew guy that's been calling you lately? I want some scoop."
I hated lying to her—I mean, I'd been borrowing her car so I could drive to Matthew's when I'm sure she thought I was driving to Victor's. She was one of my best friends on the whole planet and lying to her only served to further remind me of just how deceitful the whole situation truly was.
"He's just a friend. I told you about him, didn't I? We both work at _______?"
Her eyes widened slightly. She wasn't stupid, and I felt like a supreme asshole for being cagey. "Uh-huh. Okay, well, when you're ready to tell me more about your friend, I'm here..."

*****
"Hey, Professor. Sorry I'm late," I hurried into his office and tossed my bag on the floor.
Professor Avery looked amused, "Well, hello, there, Hurricane Iseult. You're not late. You're early."
"I am?" I looked at the Three Stooges wall clock above the desk; sure enough, I was an hour early—then I realized: I'd set Matthew's alarm clock wrong. I was concerned that lately I'd been a little late one too many times for everything, so I'd started erring on the side of extreme punctuality. This, however, bordered on pathological. "Oh wow. I didn't even realize."
"Well you're lucky that this happens to be one of those rare days that I got to campus early. Come on," he waved me over, "let's get some coffee."

We walked down to the lounge and he poured us each a cup. Nobody had cleaned the coffeemaker in years, and the taste proved it.
"Sometimes, there's just not enough sugar in the world, you know?" He took a drink and made a face, "Almost…" He added more, "Better."
"Why does it taste always like meat?"
He laughed, "It does taste a lot like that. Maybe I'll leave a note on there that says, 'Clean Me.' Or, "Please Put Me Out Of My Misery.' "
We sat in the two beat-up armchairs on the other side of the coffeemaker. "These could use some assistance, too," he said trying to get comfortable. "There's a spring poking me in a very awkward place. Good Lord," he scooted forward. "So, tell me—how's this quarter going?"
I wrapped my hands around my mug, "It's good. Not too hard. Midterms shouldn't be a problem."
"Good, that's good," he took a drink, "well if you need some time off to study, let me know."
"No, I'm fine," I gulped the beef-jerky-flavored liquid. "Besides—I could use the money."
"Are you sure? I'm worried that I've been giving you too many hours. Might be good to take a few days off." He leaned over and lowered his voice, "And I'll still sign your time card. No one will be the wiser, yes?"
God, Iseult, you suck, I thought. Ostensibly, I was working hard and studying hard; thus, my zombie-like appearance and near-constant yawning. Everyone was so concerned about me that they were willing to cut me tons of slack.
"No, seriously," I stared into my cup, "it's not a problem."
"Well, it's that time of year, I suppose," he leaned back gingerly in the chair. "Seems like all the students I've run into lately are dog-tired. Ran into Matthew K_____ the other day, and he looked like he and sleep had been estranged for quite a while…"

My pulse pounded in my ears at the mention of his name, and the anxiety-fatigue combo deal I was enjoying made my paranoia visceral. I started to panic: Oh fuck. Buddha, Kona, Skinny Marie—now Avery? They all suspect something. And if they suspect something, what the hell must Victor be thinking? But we've been careful. We've been nothing but discreet, right? I mean, there was that one time I was on the phone with him when Victor came over—did he give me a weird look when I got off? But I played it off really well, didn't I? Shit, I can't remember. And the other night—I wonder what Victor meant when he asked if I wanted to be with other guys? Was he trying to get me to own up to something? Some kind of reverse psychology? Fucking hell. I can't remember anything right now.

Professor Avery was still talking, "When I haven't taught for a while, I forget what it's like for you people. So much to balance—life, work, friends," he scooted forward, "I do not envy you, no ma'am, I do not. Well," he sighed, then patted me on the knee and stood up, "as much as I'd like to let the day idle by with coffee and conversation, I do need to earn my keep—"
"Um," I felt squirrelly and had a sudden urge to run out of the building. "Maybe it would be okay if I took today off?"
He nodded, "Absolutely. Take a walk. Read. Have some fun. Here," he reached for my cup, which he had to pry out of my slightly clenched hands, and tossed it in the trash. "Burning the candle at both ends can be tricky business. And I know from experience. When I was an undergrad…"

*****
"So yeah, that's four people. Four people who, in the course of a week, have all asked what in the hell is going on with me. I think they know something's up," I pulled Matthew's shirt over his head.
"It just sounds like they care. It doesn't sound sinister," he unzipped my jeans.
I leaned back so he could get them off easier, "But Avery? I mean, he mentioned you by name."
He rolled on top of me, "Coincidence. Don't read into it," and kissed me.
"No, you weren't there. Hey—move to your left," I undid his belt. "It wasn't what he said, but how he said it. Then something about 'burning the candle at both ends is tricky.' Like he was giving me some kind of warning. Wait—couldn't you get in major trouble for fooling around with a student?"
He laughed, "Well, yeah. But you're not a student of mine," he reached under my back and unhooked my bra, "And anyway, don't you think you're being just a tiny bit paranoid? Nobody knows anything about anything..."

Atlantic Starr, "Secret Lovers," from the album As the Band Turns
Originally released sometime in 1986!