Moonlighting: A Thanksgiving Story (3 page)

Nigel leaned
back in his chair and sighed as he stared at the screen of his iPad. The books
by Brita Sinclair had been downloaded and now sat on his virtual shelf. He
would read them that night. He didn’t expect to be shocked by anything they
offered; he’d probably done them all before. And now he was charged with
ferreting out and punishing the author of fantasies he himself had lived and
could relate to.

“Irony, thy name
is Falmont Academy,” he said, leaning forward to put the iPad on his desk and
then penned a memo to the staff, telling them they’d be called in one by one
for questioning the next day.

It wasn’t hard
for Charlotte to get up in the morning. She got up an hour before her alarm,
unable to sleep for the worry that again had bubbled to the surface. She’d
emailed her publisher explaining what had happened and received a reply
reassuring Charlotte that under no circumstances would her personal information
be compromised. But no matter how often she told herself that she told herself
her identity was safe, Charlotte could not stop the wave of anxiety that
plagued her.

It was the memo
that worried her the most. Mr. Longbridge wanted to meet with each staff member
privately. What was he going to ask? She’s never lied to an employer before,
but she was hardly in a position to be honest since it could mean the end of
her job.

It was
especially frustrating since Charlotte felt she should be enjoying her job,
given the time of the year. Despite her worries, the previous day’s play
rehearsal had gone well. The children were so excited about the performance and
about the upcoming holiday. With Charlotte’s family so far away, she’d planned
to stay in Falmont and have them visit. She was proud to have her own place,
and looked forward to decorating and cooking for her relatives. But now she
faced the possibility of being jobless by New Year's.

Charlotte tried
not to think about it once she headed to work. Her one small relief was that no
one was talking about anything out of the ordinary at the coffee shop where she
stopped for her morning espresso. If word had leaked out in this small town,
everyone would be talking about it already.

At work, she
smiled down at her students, feeling truly thankful for the sight of each
shining face. Charlotte prided herself on being one of those teachers that made
learning fun and made sure she allotted time for each of her students, taking
time to speak to them individually throughout the day. She was fortunate that
her class size was smaller than it would be if she were teaching in the public
system.

She smiled and
chatted with parents who brought their kids in. Several asked her what her
Thanksgiving plans were, and invited her to their houses over the holiday for
dinner or a movie. Charlotte thanked them all, her heart twisting as she realized
again how much stood at risk.

In the break
room during recess, Sue Ellen Forrester was more worked up than ever. The
appointments with Mr. Longbridge were slated to start after lunch, and the
matronly teacher had a gleam in her eye at the prospect of finding out who was
behind the “filth” discovered the day before.

“Whoever wrote
that smut should be on their knees asking God for forgiveness,” she said. “If
they have the capacity, that is.”

Charlotte
couldn’t stand it any longer. “Really, Sue Ellen,” she said. “Are any of us
able to judge someone else’s Christianity?”

The other
teachers looked up from their magazines or papers they were grading.

“I certainly
am!” Sue Ellen said. “No Christian has such thoughts! No moral person, for that
matter. Did you even read it? Describing perversion and a…sexual response to
it. Disgusting!”

Charlotte
dropped the subject with a shrug. She could feel eyes on her and knew they were
wondering now if she were the author, but she didn’t care. Her fate rested with
the headmaster, not them. If she could just get past him, she’d be fine. She
just had to play it cool and deny, deny, deny. Even if he suspected her, he’d
have no proof. Without her admission, he’d have nothing.

All day she
waited for the call to Mr. Longbridge’s office, but it didn’t come. She saw two
of the other teachers follow the school secretary, Mrs. Trimble, down the hall.
But her call never came. Charlotte wondered if perhaps the headmaster had
excluded her from suspicion. It would make sense. She looked young and innocent
for her age, and Mr. Longbridge had remarked that they shared the same
old-fashioned ideals. Perhaps he thought she was morally above such writings.
She hoped so.

The rehearsal
went perfectly. The children nailed their lines. Nick needed no prompting and
Charlotte rewarded him with a hug for a job well done. As the last song was
sung, she heard clapping from the back of the auditorium and saw the headmaster
applauding.  “Well done, children. Well done! And well done to you, too, Miss
Tetter. I’ve never seen such a fine performance. The parents are going to be so
pleased.”

“I hope so,” she
said.

The parents
filed in and started to pick up their kids.

“You fixed your
bag,” he observed.

Charlotte looked
down at the handle. “Yeah, the night it happened. It’ll be good for another
year or so.” She managed a smile. “Well, see you tomorrow.”

“Miss Tetter.
Actually, if you would give me a moment…”

Charlotte turned
back. “Sir?”

“You know I’ve
been meeting with teachers today regarding that business in the break room
yesterday. It’s taken longer than I imagine. I’ve had to listen to a lot of
opinions on the matter, especially from Mrs. Forrester.”

“Yes,” Charlotte
said, trying to sound nonchalant. “She does seem rather worked up over it.”

“Indeed, but
because I’ve had to spend extra times listening to the fears and suspicions
I’ve run late. You were the last teacher on my list and I really don’t want to
have to deal with this tomorrow. I know you’ve already been here longer than
usual because of rehearsal, but if you could just indulge me…”

Charlotte did
not want to indulge him. In fact, it was the last thing she wanted to do. She
was tired and just wanted to go home and do this when she felt more alert, when
fatigue would not dull her responses to what she felt would be careful
questions. The man was not stupid, after all.

“I was going
to….”
“It won’t take long, Miss Tetter. And I would appreciate it.”

She swallowed
and looked down, pretending to arrange things in her bag to avoid looking at
him. He was obviously not going to take no for an answer, and the advantage to
meeting with him was that it would at least be over. Nothing to dread might
mean a good night’s sleep.  “Sure,” she said.

“Very good,” he
said. “I’ll be waiting for you in my office.”

“Stay calm, stay
calm, stay calm.” Charlotte told herself that as she walked down the deserted
school hallway after the last of the children had left. Her kitten heels
clicked on the polished floor as she approached the oak door with the brass
plate reading “Headmaster’s Office.”

She tapped
tentatively.

“Come in.”

She opened the
door and felt her face flush. For a moment she stood in the doorway, looking.
The office was just as she’d described the one in her story. It was the
scholar’s office in her mind’s eye.

She’d never
visited there before. The school had a conference room where she’d been
interviewed and Mr. Longbridge was known for being a private, hands-off
headmaster who was more of a presence than a micromanager. He was good at
delegating, and there was something about his being in the shadows that got
everyone’s attention when he made an appearance.

“You have a lot
of books,” she said, instantly regretting the silly and obvious observation.

He smiled. “No
need to be nervous, Miss Tetter. And yes, I do. I collect them. A bit of a
bibliophile, I’m afraid.” He motioned to a chair. “Sit down.”

Charlotte took
the chair across from his desk.
Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm…

He took the
chair at the desk and placed his hands on the top. “I suppose the best way to
approach this is the most direct one, Miss Tetter. Are you Brita Sinclair?”

“No.” Was her
answer too hasty? “I don’t know any more about this than anyone else,” she
said.

“Hmm.” He leaned
back in his chair. “I suppose it is silly,” he said, “thinking a teacher would
write something like this. Of course, according to Mrs. Forrester, you became
quite irritated when she was questioning the morality of the writer.”

Brita felt her
face grow warm. “With all due respect, Mr. Longbridge, Mrs. Forrester is quick
to question the morality of everyone. I get tired of hearing about it after
awhile.”

“I’m sure,” he
said. “And don’t think I understand. But you know how she is, and since you
were the only one to speak up in defense of our little mystery writer she’s
decided you are the guilty party.”

Charlotte
swallowed the response she felt rising in her throat. The less said the better.
She just had to continue the denials and the headmaster would dismiss the
issue. He had nothing without a confession.

“Is there
anything else, sir?” she asked. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to help
you with your investigation. I don’t know anything.”

He ignored the
comment.

“Your box is
right next to Wendy Tillman’s.”

“So?” She had
not meant to sound so defensive. He looked up at her from the paper that lay on
his desk.

“I’ve done some
research on this Brita Sinclair. It’s my opinion that people write about what
they know. The writer’s topics are interesting. Lacrosse. Rennaissance Faires. Fan
fiction….”

She sat there,
knowing now what he was driving at. He could put all the pieces together he
wanted, but without a confession she’d have nothing. She told herself again to
stay strong.

“You were
lacrosse captain of your college team, right?”

“A lot of people
play lacrosse, Mr. Longbridge. A few of the teachers here have teenage kids who
play lacrosse.”

“True,” he said.
“Rennaissance Faire..hmm. Have you ever been to one?”

“No,” she said
hastily and instantly regretted her words, for she could tell by her expression
that he’d caught her in a lie.

“It’s easier
than you think to find out information on people through the Internet,” he
said. “People are careful. You can cross-reference someone’s email address and
find out what social networks they are on, what groups they are part of. I
still have your personal email address on file from when you applied here at
Falmont. I did a check…”

“You have no
right to invade my privacy!” she said, upset now.

“I have every
right, Miss Tetter. You are a teacher here, and the character of my instructors
is my business.” He looked hard at her, daring Charlotte to challenge him
further. “It’s quite interesting, but your email address shows up on some early
fan fiction boards. Some of the fiction is quite…racy.”

Charlotte felt
heat rising to her face. Her heart was thumping uncomfortably hard. When she’d
graduated from college she’d stopped writing fan fiction. She had no idea that
her old, online writing - writing she did for fun - would come back to haunt
her years later.

“The themes,” he
said. “The writing styles…very similar although I must say the work published
by Moonlight is certainly more polished.”

“You downloaded
it?” she asked, unable to stop herself. Charlotte wanted to fall through the
floor. The fantasies in her stories were her fantasies. And the man sitting
across from her, her boss, had read them.

“I did,” he
said. “I believe I owe it to the school to find the identity of the author. So
I’m going to ask you again, Miss Tetter. Are you the author of the paper found
in Miss Tillman’s locker? Are you, indeed, Brita Sinclair.”

“Deny,” she told
herself. “Just deny it.” But she could not. He would know, and it would change
her work experience at the school forever.  “Yes,” she said. “I am.”

The room was
silent now save for the ticking of the wall clock behind him.

“I suppose I’m
fired,” she said.

The headmaster
leaned back in his chair, staring at her. “It may come as a surprise to you
that I see nothing wrong with your side occupation.” he said. “You are an
adult, Miss Tetter, and what an adult employee of this school does on her own
time is no concern of mine. I’ve never been a fan of the Falmont policies, if
truth were known. I believe it is restrictive to teachers seeking to make ends
meet to limit their choice of outside jobs. Most of the teachers here are
unaffected since almost all of them are married. From what I can tell, you’ve
taken pains to protect your identity, and had it not been for whatever
unfortunate mistake that caused you to put your paper into Miss Tillman’s
box….”

Charlotte
sighed. “It was a batch of papers. I was running late. I was tired. The night
before I’d put the papers from my bag on my desk while I mended the strap on my
bag. I must have picked up my writing along with the rest. When I got to school
I put them in the wrong box and pulled them out - with one important
exception.”

She put her face
in her hands and then looked up at him.

“So what happens
now?” she asked.

“Well, that
depends on you,” he said. “I believe we learn a lot from reading, and it would
seem that your latest, unfinished work includes a very brilliant plan.”

Charlotte shook
her head. “Sorry? I don’t understand.”

“It’s quite
simple, Miss Tetter.” No one here needs to know that you are Brita Sinclair.
“I’m the only one who has the email address you used when you applied, and I’m
quite certain I am the only one who can make a direct connection between you
and your writing.”

“So I can stay?”
Excitement edged her voice.

“Not so fast,”
he said. “As I said, I have no problem with your side occupation, provided it
remains discreet. However, I cannot tolerate a staff member who lies. Those are
grounds for dismissal.”

“But I told you
the truth!” she objected.

“Once cornered,
yes. But had I not confronted you with the evidence you would have continued to
lie to me.”

“What would you
have done?” she countered. “I need this job, Mr. Longbridge!”

“Your question
is irrelevant, young lady.” The headmaster’s tone was firm. “I am the
headmaster and I do not tolerate lying.” He paused. “However, I am prepared to
offer you a choice.”