Chapter 1 : Old Dr. Borenstein's Replacement

Let’s start with my junior year at New York University. The year was nineteen hundred and sixty four. The US was being invaded by the British: The Beatles, James Bond, The Rolling Stones, etc. Our campus was no exception. We had inherited seven new professors from England that year. One of which was taking poor old Dr. Borenstein’s, or as he will have you pronounce it : “BorrrrennnshTYNE”’s, place as our English and American Literature professor. Dr. Borenstein had taken seriously ill. He spent half of the class hour coughing and hacking to the point where we thought a lung was going to pop out of him and on to the floor. Some of us, I hate to say, were actually hoping this would happen as he was so boring that we needed that shot of excitement! Rumors ran rampant about these new professors for that fall. Five of which were supposedly women, and two men. The one taking over our class would be starting three weeks into the semester. My only hope at that time was that he or she would liven this sluggish subject up a little bit. One rumor about our teacher, starting bright and early on Monday, was that it would be one of the two British males that we would getting. The second was that he would probably be the short, balding, ugly one wearing black horn-rimmed glasses that were twice as big as his face! That alone would have probably given our class a decent laugh for at least the first couple of weeks that he was there. The third rumor was about the other male professor; that he was very tall, light, and distractingly handsome. If that was the case, how in the heck would the girls learn ANYTHING in class-whatever class that he would be taking over? I was very curious about this particular professor’s appearance. Little did I know, my curiosity was about to be satisfied soon... That Friday, my classmates and I were having lunch in the cafeteria. Melinda, Janice, and myself sat in our usual spot close to the entrance so that when the time came we could make the mad dash to our classes. We were there for just a few minutes when four unfamiliar people came walking in, all holding food trays except one; the tall, light and undeniably handsome one. He was holding what looked like a cup of coffee and a cigarette. Back in those days, you could smoke anywhere. “That’s him!,” Melinda whispered to us loudly, “The handsome one...” We tried not to be too obvious as we slowly turned to gawk at the group of apparently new professors. The group consisted of two women and two men. The one man appeared exactly as described in the rumors: short, balding, and too skinny for his big, horn-rimmed glasses with lenses thicker than the bottom of a Coca-Cola bottle. With the exception of his balding head, he very much resembled Jerry Lewis from “The Nutty Professor” movie that was released the year before. The other man, however, was the very antithesis of him. Tall, light, and handsome did not begin to cover it. He should’ve been a movie star instead of a professor. He was so good-looking he made me ask myself what went wrong somewhere for him to be in the wrong profession. That man was so beautiful that it would be mighty tough to take him seriously in a classroom setting. He was young for a professor, mid-thirties at most, over 6’ tall, “light” as in true blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, creamy smooth skin, kissable lips, and a dimpled chin. His body was in excellent shape; athletic in build. All of these features wrapped up in an immaculate grey tweed suit. We all three sat mesmerized by him and totally ignored the two rather plain-jane gawky women sitting across from them. He did not fit in with them at all. He cooly sipped his coffee, or tea, while intermittently smoking his cigarette. And then, for a few moments, his azure eyes met mine. The world stopped. So did my heart. His cigarette smoldered... So did I... I turned quickly away before I would die from my heart skipping way too many beats. God, he was too handsome to be there...Too handsome to be smart...Too handsome, period. “I think he just looked at you, Margie,” Janice said to me. I just turned to her briefly and smiled. Suddenly, the tension in that cafeteria was too great for me to bare. I began to feel like everyone in there noticed our little “eyes” moment. I wanted nothing more at that moment than to get out of there. I excused myself and left quickly... *** That night in my dorm room, I had the hardest time sleeping. Every time I would close my eyes, his would be there, staring at me. I only saw him for a few moments, yet he seemed to have a firm grip on my subconscious. Mentally, I begged him to go away, just for a few minutes so I could go to sleep. I had to get up early in the morning and help out with a university charity food drive. Another one I had gotten myself into. Finally, around 1am, his eyes stopped appearing and allowed me to sleep at last. *** The weekend had been pretty rough. I hoped that my week would be better... My second class on Monday morning was English and American Literature. I took my seat at the very front of the class as usual, as I was so vane that I didn’t want to have to wear my glasses. Once everyone was seated, Mr. Tall, Light, and Handsome came walking into the classroom! I wanted to jump out of my desk and run for the back of the class! I was thinking, ‘No, no, no! This can’t be happening! He’s so gorgeous I’ll never listen to a word he’s saying.’ I turned and looked at Janice and Melinda who sat behind me. They were giggling... And then, he spoke... “Good morning, all,” he said in a cheerful, yet low-pitched, sexy British voice, “My name is Mr. Trevor McAllisdair. I’ll be taking over this class for the remainder of the semester...” He was saying all of this as he was writing his name on the chalkboard: McAllisdair; what an unusual way of spelling that name, I thought... “Anyhow, I’d like to begin our time together not with a lecture, but with a q and a session of sorts. I think that would be a nice way of us, er, getting to know each other. As you can probably tell by my accent I am English. I was born in Camberwell, London some...thirty-odd years ago...” We giggled at that...he continued... “...I was educated at Cambridge University where I double-majored in World Literature and History. Shortly after graduating, I travelled the world, mainly for kicks, but also for private research. Out of all of the places I’ve been, I consider New York my second home. California a close third...” We all smiled warmly at him... “Now, I’ll answer any questions you may have for me, but there are two subjects I will not discuss: one, my love life and second, my sex life...” Oh he got a good laugh out of us with that one. I felt myself blush. Yes, Mr. McAllisdair was the shot in the arm we needed for this class. He was so attractive leaning back against his desk in a slim, tailored dark grey suit, ecru shirt, red tie, grey socks and black well-shined shoes. I could see every inch of him from my angle at the front of the class. Each time he would glance in my direction with those perfect blue eyes, a part of me would melt away. I was sure every girl in the class, and on the NYU campus, felt that way about him... “How long have you been in New York this time around, Mr. McAllisdair?,” a male student in the back asked. “Three months,” the professor answered. “What’s your favorite color?,” a silly twit of a girl two seats from my right asked. He smirked and answered, “Red.” Hence the red tie I guess... “You’ve travelled the world, sir. What languages do you speak fluently?,” Janice asked. “Spanish, French, Italian, German, some Russian and Japanese.” “Oh wow...” “I’m still learning Arabic, however.” “When did you first come to New York, Mr. McAllisdair?,” a girl named Amanda asked. “Er, back in 1950. I had just graduated college and came here to see the sights with my...er...first wife.” “First wife, sir?,” Melinda said coyly, “How many times have you been married...?” “Mel!,” I turned and hissed at her. Wasn’t she listening when he said he wouldn’t take queries about his love life? Obviously uncomfortable with her question, he squirmed a little then answered succinctly, “Twice.” “Are you married now?,” another female student asked. “Uh, no,” Mr. McAllisdair reluctantly answered. His blue eyes growing cold as he said, “...and that’s the last romantic question I’ll take...” Then he glanced briefly at me again... “Um, Mr. McAllisdair, how are blacks viewed in your country?,” a black female student asked. I believe her name was Ethel. “About the same. There is prejudice I’ve found, unfortunately, in every country in the world. I personally feel that everyone should be treated fairly and equally.” So did I...I really liked this guy. “Where are you from?,” he asked Ethel. “Baltimore, Maryland, sir.” “Oh...” “Have you ever been there, Mr. McAllisdair?” “No, not yet...” “Sir, you said that New York is like a second home and California is third? Out of the two, which one would you prefer if you could only choose one?,” another male student asked. He was a Brit as well. “That’s easy,” Mr. McAllisdair said, “California. For the climate and the tanning...” We laughed... “Young man, what part of England are you from?,” asked Mr. McAllisdair of the British student. “Kennington, sir. London borough of...” “Lambeth...yes. I’m familiar. It’s west of where I’m from.” “Mr. McAllisdair, do you have any children?,” a student named Diane asked him. “No.,” he answered. “Do your parents reside in England still?,” she asked. “They’re both deceased...,” he answered grimly, squirming again. “Oh I’m so sorry...” He nodded in response. I wanted to lighten the mood in the room, so I got up the nerve to ask, “Mr. McAllisdair, where will you be traveling to during next year’s summer break? Have you planned that yet?” “Oh I’m not sure. Perhaps back to Italy or Majorca, Spain. I haven’t decided yet,” he answered, looking dead into my eyes; my soul. “What’s your favorite music, Mr. McAllisdair?,” a male student named Oliver asked. “Well you may be surprised to know that it is not music from The Beatles!,” he answered. He cracked us up..., “I’m kidding. But my musical preference is opera. Italian opera. That is the biggest reason why I would like to return there soon.” “Did you know any of the Beatles in England?,” another silly girl asked. Mr. McAllisdair raised his left eyebrow, perhaps at the ridiculousness of the question. I think most of us girls in the classroom wet our seats when he did that. Then he answered, “No. I know that England is a small country. I believe, according to the coordinates, that our country could fit inside of the state of Texas...” We laughed...some students gasped. “...but with that being said, it isn’t quite that small.” Before we knew it, it was very close to 11am. Almost time to move on to my third class of the day; physics. “Well, class, I do hope that you’ve enjoyed our session today. I’ll ask that you continue reading chapters 4 and 5 in your text books and we’ll discuss them and the corresponding works of literature with them on Wednesday...,” said Mr. McAllisdair. I could’ve listened to his melodic voice all day... *** Finally around 4pm, my college classes were over for the day. I was so very tired. I did the unthinkable and decided to walk the dangerous shortcut back to my dormitory, alone. It was dangerous because students were reportedly getting robbed and, in two cases, raped along their way through the partially wooded area, but I felt so badly that I had to take the chance... Suddenly as I was walking through the thickest of the woods, I was struck with a feeling of inevitable impending doom. My heart started pounding out my chest. I looked all around in every direction and all I could see were very tall trees and I could have sworn at that moment they all had eyes and they were staring directly at ME. A sudden wind picked up from nowhere blowing against my back at probably 40-50 mph and it took my breath away. Leaves were blowing everywhere, all around me, blinding me. I could barely breathe. I was in full panic mode and stood still holding my books tightly against my chest. My dress was flying up and my long strawberry-blonde hair whipped in every direction across my face. I was alone. I was frightened practically to death. A chill grew from the center core of my body and spread throughout. I couldn't scream for help. From what? Who would hear me? Just a horrible feeling of something very dark headed in my direction and it could not be hindered. It was too strong, so powerful...something bad. Evil even... The sound of an approaching car on the small road beside me made me want to start walking again. I walked as fast as I possibly could through the flying leaves and harsh wind. All I kept thinking was I had to get out of those woods... The car had drawn closer behind me, slowing down to a practical crawl, increasing my fear of something dreadful happening ten-fold. I was too afraid to look back. I didn’t think my heart could have pounded any harder than before, but it did. I swore if whoever this was got out and grabbed me, I would’ve fainted on contact and he would have his way with me... But then the car slowly passed by me and stopped a few feet ahead. It was a white Mercedes Benz coupe, brand new and very stylish, but nonetheless creepy as it sat there in the road deadly still, engine running, smoke emitting from the tailpipe. The tags on the back of it were foreign. A “GB” sticker was on the left side of the trunk. I stood still; perhaps in dumb shock, still holding my books closely upon my chest. I was thinking should I turn and run the other way? Should I continue my brisk walking and pretend it wasn’t sitting there and pray for the best? It was then I noticed that the hurricane-force winds had slown down to nothing and the flying leaves were all slowly falling into place on the ground... The car door opened on the right. A grey-suited arm held the door ajar. Oh my God...it’s him. Tall, light, and handsome... Mr. Trevor McAllisdair... In the flesh... Staring back at me from what appeared to be the passenger side of his car. I wanted to relax, but I couldn’t. My ears were growing cold and the hairs on the back of my neck were standing. It was something in the way he was staring back at me; our eyes locked. Something in his steel blue eyes, like earlier in the cafeteria, only now it was just the two of us in a frightening sort of “stare-off”. Next thing I knew, I found myself involuntarily walking towards the white Mercedes; towards him. As I drew closer to him, his stare did not waver. I don’t believe he ever blinked. Once I was as close to him as I could possibly get without actually being inside of the car, he flashed a smile at me that was so intrinsically beautiful that I finally felt like I could relax my fixed grip on those books pressed on my chest. I smiled back at him and said, “Mr. McAllisdair. Isn’t your steering wheel on the wrong side of the car?” He laughed and responded, “No. No it isn’t. It’s exactly right for where the car and I are from...” His voice was low and hypnotic. “Oh that’s right. You are both European.” “Would you like to know the reasoning behind the steering wheels of most European cars being on the right instead of the left?” “Didn’t it have something to do with horse-drawn carriages and how they let their passengers out? Because traffic was on the left, they would have had to let them out on the pavement on that side, not in the road...right?” He laughed and answered, “Right. But of course alot has changed since then. But not the fact that we still drive on the left side in most of the UK. Hence the right-side steering wheel in most of the cars...” “Right...,” I said, feeling like I was in some sort of a trance...still staring in his eyes. “Get in,” he insisted, “I’ll drive you to your dorm.” How did he know I stayed in a dorm? I didn’t ask. I just walked over to the left side of the car, sat inside, and closed the door. When I turned to look at him, he was in the middle of lighting a cigarette. Sexy. I couldn’t help sitting there thinking that behind that benevolent, almost pretty-boy exterior was a dark, enigmatic man that would show these characteristics at the most opportune moment; like now... I looked around his car. It was a new Mercedes and that leather new-car smell permeated the air. I also noticed that every inch of the interior was red; a rich blood red. His favorite color. What I found odd was that there was no rear-view mirror inside of the car. Just the ones outside. It must’ve fallen off, I thought... “You’re right, you know...,” Mr. McAllisdair said, out of the blue. “Right?,” I asked, mystified as to what he was talking about, “Right about what?” “About me...,” he answered, cutting those blue eyes at me, knowingly. Was he reading my mind? I probed further... “What...what do you mean, Mr. McAllisdair?” “Margie, don’t pretend like you don’t know what you were thinking about me just then...” SHIT! He WAS reading my mind! I was thoroughly creeped out. My skin felt as if it was crawling right off of my body. I wanted to shut my thoughts off right then and there but now more thoughts were flooding in regarding him. How did he know my name? I never told him. He was now pulling up to the front of the dormitory I lived in. How did he know which dorm it was? Now I was completely unnerved. Who IS he?, I thought. More importantly, WHAT is he...? “I believe this is where you stay, Margie.,” he remarked coquettishly. “Thank you...,” those two words were all I could muster before I hurriedly opened the door and ran out of his car, like a bat flying out of Hell. As I walked quickly to the main door of the dormitory, I felt the need to look back, and he was still sitting there, gazing at me. I turned away. It was too much... I ran into the nearest bathroom...shaking...still holding my books against my chest as I leaned against the wall wondering what all of that was about! Was that some sort of trick he mastered? Was this a gag? Why me? My room mate Kelly just so happened to have come into the bathroom and noticed me in pitiful shape, still standing against the wall, quivering. “Margie?,” she inquired, “Are you alright? What’s the matter? You’re shaking!” I didn’t quite know how to tell her and even if I did, she would only think I was crazy. She and I were not close like me, Janice and Melinda were. “Nothing,” I lied, “I just got the chills suddenly.” “I just saw you get out of that new professor’s car a few minutes ago. Almost everyone did! Did he hurt you? Did he...try something with you? If so, we can get the campus police involved and they’ll probably deport his ass right back to...” “No, Kelly. He didn’t try anything. He was merely giving me a ride home from that dreaded short-cut...you know. He was...concerned. That’s all. Nothing more.” “Alright, roomie.,” she said, finally backing off. “Well didn’t you WANT him to try something on you? He’s so good-looking!” We both laughed...it relaxed me a little. “I’m going up to our room now, Kel.” “Okay...see ya in a little while!” “Okay, Kel.” Safe and sound in my dorm room, or so I thought, I sat at my desk and put my head down for a bit. His eyes...his knowing eyes...just kept flashing back into my mind. Why? What was he doing to me? So soon...I don’t know him at all... That’s when I decided, maybe with Melinda and Janice’s help, that I would definitely try to find out more about this man...this Mr. Trevor McAllisdair. If that was even his real name... ***