Northbridge

The University of Southern New England (USNE) campus blazed with spectacular September foliage. A pair of hormone-fueled college students laughed and held hands as they hurried across the quad. They eyed each other lustfully. The expressions on their faces said it all.

Skip class?

Hell, yeah!

They passed by the academic buildings without so much as a glance back. They headed straight for the dorms and some extracurricular activities that required neither classrooms nor clothing.

Would any of the other students or faculty members passing through the quad at the same time really have been surprised that a horny college jock and his cheerleader girlfriend ditched an afternoon class and replaced it with their own version of Sex Ed 101? Of course not. However, they might have raised an eyebrow or two at what was going on in the History Department at that very moment…

A perfectly manicured finger traced the engraved letters of the gold and black nameplate that read: Professor Rivard. The delicate fingers belonged to a twenty-eight-year-old blonde bombshell. She glanced out the window. "I love this campus at the beginning of the fall semester. The colors are so—”

The professor's hairy arm swept across the desk. It knocked his nameplate, books, and papers to the floor.

"Vibrant!" the blonde finished her thought as she surveyed the invitation and temptation of the semi-cleared desktop.

The fifty-five-year-old professor stared at the blonde's irresistibly perfect body as he removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.

Her smile encouraged him, but she offered no physical help to undress him. She enjoyed watching him do the work, knowing that his every action was motivated by his unquenchable desire for her.

Professor Rivard's cufflinks clinked together when his shirt dropped to his office floor. The blonde slowly let her gaze travel from the crumpled shirt to his pants legs. It rested a moment on his bulging crotch.

She surveyed his fit chest—impressive for a man his age. She noticed his chest hair was clipped short which was a wise choice. The thin layer of hair covered the lack of intense muscle definition that younger studs liked to show off with their chests waxed hairless.

He slid his belt through the loops, and it landed on his shirt. He fumbled with the fastener on his pants for a fraction of a second. She thought it made him even more attractive, giving his "older man with power" allure just a hint of boyish charm.

He stood before her completely naked. He was definitely all man! She looked directly at his manhood which stood at full attention. He obviously had no trouble getting excited for her.

The blonde ran her hands over her breasts and around her thin waist. She lightly traced the inside of her thigh. She watched the bouncing effect it produced between his legs. She wasn't surprised. She had never met a straight man that could resist what she had to offer.

As she touched herself through her clothes, the desire welled inside him. The professor grabbed her in his arms. He greedily ripped at her clothes like a wild animal.

He threw her on his desk and climbed on top of her. As he slid his hands under her bra, he asked, "So you like the campus here so much, what do you think of the back-to-school traditions?"

The blonde dug her hands into his back and whispered in his ear, "Breathtaking!"

The unofficial anatomy lesson continued. His chest hair tickled her fingertips as she traced the outline of his pecs.

"I think you should be promoted to the head of the class," he murmured when she let her pinkie touch the most sensitive part of his nips.

"Oh, Professor Rivard, the things I could teach you…" She let her voice trail off on purpose, coaxing his imagination to run wild.

He cupped her breast hard. He pulled it close to his mouth. His tongue slathered all over it, sending shivers down both their spines. "Young lady, you make me…"

She noticed that he, too, let his sentence trail off. Teasing her, perhaps, as she had done to him? Leaving her to wonder what she was doing to his body, besides the obvious which she felt between her legs.

The professor started to sweat. "I feel…"

She picked up her bra from the desk. "Go on, you tease," the blonde said wiping his forehead with the soft fabric.

The professor's words came slowly between breaths. "I think I'm having a heart attack!"

She giggled. "That song is quite a bit before my time, but I'll take the compliment."

"No, really," Professor Rivard gasped.

"Are you freaking kidding me with this?"

Professor Rivard's left arm shot straight out. It hit the telephone and knocked it off the desk. He clasped his right hand over his chest. "I—can't—breathe…"

The naked woman rolled off the professor and jumped down to the floor. She yanked the phone cord, pulling it closer to her. She put the phone back on the desk and pressed the switch hook trying to get a dial tone. The phone was dead! It must have broken when it fell off the desk.

She looked around for her purse. She could use her cell phone. Crap! She hadn't brought her purse with her.

The professor's heaving sounds were driving her crazy. "Will you shut up so I can think?" she screamed.

If he hadn't been in so much pain, the professor would have been insulted.

Of course! The access code for an outside line! She'd let the sudden shock of his medical issue rattle her momentarily. The initial lack of a dial tone was normal. The university phone system required punching in an access code before giving the dial tone for an outside line.

She hit the proper buttons. Then she dialed 911. "Someone's having a heart attack," she said calmly when the emergency operator answered. The blonde dropped the receiver. It dangled from its cord.

The blonde dressed quickly, practically ignoring the suffering man sprawled out on the desk. He reached out to her with his remaining strength. "Don't leave me, please."

Her lips lightly brushed his forehead. "You're on your own now, old man."

She reached for the doorknob. Then she pulled her hand back, thinking out loud. "How am I going to explain being in here with Professor Rivard—like this? Someone is definitely going to see me in the corridor." She looked around the room. "I'll go out the window!"

* * *

An ambulance with the phrase Northbridge Rescue Services emblazoned on the side sat in front of the bakery in downtown Northbridge. The driver, forty-five-year-old James Conrad, was careful not to get any of the crumbs from the cupcake on his crisp uniform.

Larry, his partner in the passenger seat who was the same height, but ten years younger and twenty pounds heavier, didn't worry about such minor things. He had crumbs on his uniform, on the seat, and on the ambulance floor. He was also gobbling his third cupcake.

A glob of frosting tumbled from Larry's finger onto his pants.

"Really, man?" James said with a disapproving look.

Larry shrugged. "It's not like I'm on my way to a hot date with a hot chick."

"I wonder why," James said with a roll of his eyes and a smirk.

"We all can't look like you, with the always perfect uniform, the close-cropped hair, the worked-out physique."

"Physique? Have you been visiting one of those 'learn a new word every day' websites or something?"

"Very funny," Larry said while he unwrapped his fourth cupcake. "You know what I mean. Why don't you give me some tips? I bet you were a real lady killer."

"You know I'm a married man!"

"Married, but not dead! Besides, I said 'were'—past tense. I noticed that clerk in the bakery checking you out, though."

"Was she? You did?"

"Didn't you? Even though we're both wearing the same EMT uniform, she couldn't keep her pretty eyes off yours."

"It's rather disturbing that you noticed that," James laughed.

"It's because I was checking her out so closely."

James nodded. "Now it makes sense."

The CB radio crackled with static. The dispatcher relayed the information about a possible heart attack victim at the university.

James touched the microphone on his shoulder. "Unit one responding. Confirming emergency call for the University of Southern New England. First floor of Larner Hall—History Department. On our way."

Larry shoved the rest of his cupcake into his mouth. He hit a button on the dashboard. The siren wailed to life. The ambulance raced down the road.

* * *

In the professor's office, the gorgeous blonde woman banged on the window. "Seriously! The window is stuck. Now! Of all times!" she complained aloud.

The professor moaned in pain and gasped for breath.

"Damn it," the blonde said. "They just can't find me in here."

The doorknob turned, but the door didn't open. She heard a commotion in the hallway. The voices were deep and masculine.

Outside the door, EMT Larry said, "Somebody get a key. The office door is locked."

"We don't have time for that. We're going to have to break the door," James responded.

"You're the one with the physique," Larry smirked. He stepped out of the way saying, "Be my guest."

James took a few steps back. He rammed the door with his shoulder. His muscular weight was no match for the cheap, university issue door lock. It broke easily. The door swung open.

James and Larry burst into the room with the stretcher and equipment. Students and the department secretary peered through the open doorway behind them.

"Oh…my…God!" James exclaimed at the sight in front of him—the naked professor spread eagle across the desk.

"Why is it always the old men who are naked?" Larry said as he pulled equipment out of his bag.

The two paramedics worked quickly. They fitted the oxygen mask around the professor's head. They set up the portable heart monitor and the defibrillator.

"Checking pulse. Negative," James said.

Larry stepped closer to the desk. His foot kicked a piece of paper on the floor. Nobody noticed that it revealed a USNE campus ID badge. Nobody except the person hiding under the desk!

The blonde's perfectly manicured hand carefully reached out from under the desk towards the badge. Her fingers slowly crawled along the carpeted floor. She stretched as far as she could…and ended up an inch too far away!

"He's in Vfib. Charging to 200. Clear!" James ordered.

Larry stepped back.

James shocked Professor Rivard with the paddles. His body convulsed on the desk.

"Still no pulse," Larry said.

James and Larry moved around the desk adjusting equipment and checking the professor. Several times, they narrowly missed stepping on the blonde's hand as she strained to reach her elusive ID badge.

"Charging to 300 joules," James announced. "Clear!"

Finally, the blonde grabbed the badge a split second before James's foot landed on that exact spot.

"Start the IV. One milligram epi," James ordered.

The blonde held the badge close to her under the desk with a triumphant look on her face. She loved to win, no matter the challenge.

"The IV is in," Larry confirmed.

"Come on, professor, we're cranking you up to 360 here. Clear!" James yelled.

His body jumped involuntarily on the desk. James and Larry turned hopefully towards the portable heart monitor.

The monotone beep indicated that the professor flatlined.

"Damn it!" James said as he closed Professor Rivard's eyes. He quietly covered the naked body with a sheet.

A sedan moved swiftly along a particularly scenic stretch of rural road. A rented moving trailer attached to the back bounced noisily.

"It looks like a postcard!" said Pauline Rondell. She stared dreamily out the window as they passed the freshly painted sign which announced: Welcome to Northbridge, Connecticut.

The twenty-four-year-old newlywed looked back at her husband, Scott, who was twenty-eight. Her eyes filled with love, hope, and excitement about the new life they were starting together.

Despite his jacket and tie, Pauline thought her new husband looked like he should still be the captain of the Northbridge High football team, which in fact he had been ten years earlier. She wished she had known him back then. Maybe they would have been high school sweethearts. It would be so romantic if she could tell everyone that they had only ever been in love with each other.

Pauline looked down at her plain sweater and slacks, all in subdued earth tones. She imagined Scott in high school dating cheerleaders in their bright outfits. She imagined them laughing at her as she sat in the corner of the library studying.

How did a man like Scott ever fall for a woman like her? she wondered. The doubts overtook her previous light mood. Was this whole moving to Northbridge idea a huge mistake?

Pauline absently played with the automatic locks. They snapped back and forth repeatedly.

"What's wrong, Pauline?" Scott asked.

She shrugged. The locks clicked again.

"You'll love Northbridge," Scott said confidently. In fact, Scott said everything confidently. He was just that kind of guy.

"Easy for you to say. We're moving into the house you grew up in."

Scott smiled. "Good old Maplewood Drive. Guess you can go home again after all."

Pauline sighed. "I wish I had that kind of stability when I was a kid…"

Scott impulsively reached over to kiss his wife.

At the same moment, a fox bolted out of the woods. It ran directly into the car's path.

As Scott's lips brushed her cheek, Pauline screamed, "Scott, look out!"

The tires skidded. The brakes screeched. The steering wheel spun as Scott's fingers gripped it mercilessly!

A few minutes later, a dust cloud rose by the side of the rural road. There was silence except for a strange squeaking which turned out to be the sedan's license plate swinging back and forth, hanging from one screw.

The sedan sat at an odd angle facing some bushes while the detached moving trailer rested by itself several yards away in the middle of the street.

Scott blinked his eyes as he became aware of his surroundings and what happened. He squirmed, but the seatbelt had locked him firmly in place. He looked over at his unmoving wife. "Oh, my God, Pauline, are you hurt?"

She heard his voice. It snapped her back to the realization that there had been an accident. She reached up and rubbed her neck. "I'm a little sore, but I think I'm all right. You?"

"I'm OK," Scott answered while he unbuckled the seatbelt. He got out of the car and stretched.

Pauline tried to open her door, but it was stuck. She pushed against it with all her weight, but that didn't help either.

Scott went around to her side of the car. He yanked on the door handle and freed it.

"My hero!" Pauline smiled, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Thank God you're all right. I don't know what I would do if something happened to you," Scott said taking his wife in his arms and squeezing her against his muscular framed body.

"My neck, remember?" Pauline protested.

"Shoot, that's right. Sorry."

Pauline suddenly distracted herself with another matter. "The fox! What about the poor fox?"

Despite her sore neck, Pauline twisted around, looking all over the place, including under the car. She and Scott scanned the entire area.

"I didn't even hit the stupid thing," Scott grumbled. "God knows what kind of damage the car sustained, not to mention us. Poor fox, my ass!"

"Now it's not his fault that we were driving through his woods."

Scott shook his head. He looked lovingly at Pauline. Then his gaze went past her to the car. His expression changed. "Can I at least blame the fox for the two flat tires?"

Scott limped slightly as he and Pauline made their way along the deserted country road. Scott glanced over his shoulder. Their car and moving trailer were barely visible in the distance.

"Is your knee really bad?" Pauline asked sympathetically.

"Yeah, that damn football injury again. Memories! Welcome to Northbridge."

Pauline laughed. She put her arm around him while they walked, allowing him to lean on her to take some of the pressure off his knee.

"Let's check our cell phones again," Pauline suggested.

"Good idea." Scott dug his phone out of his pocket and held it up. "Damn, still nothing. You?"

Pauline shook her head negatively in response to seeing there were no bars on her signal strength indicator either. "I guess we're just smack in the middle of a dead spot."

"Lucky us," Scott complained.

They walked on quietly. After a couple minutes, Pauline broke the silence. As nonchalantly as humanly possible, she said, "So, tell me about Sarah."

Scott stopped walking. He looked directly at his wife. "Sarah! Where did you come up with that?"

"Your mother," she answered.

"Figures!"

He resumed his walk, limping on his own.

Pauline tried again. "Yeah, your mother asked me if you ever mentioned Sarah."

"A normal person could say, 'Has Scott ever told you about Sarah?' and it would be a perfectly innocent conversational topic. Not my mother! Oh, no, she says, 'Has Scott ever told you about Sarah?' and she makes it sound like the greatest conspiracy theory in history!

"Fine, if you don't want to tell me…" Pauline said in a tone of voice that clearly indicated it wouldn't be fine in any way, shape, or form.

Scott averted his eyes as he answered, "There's nothing to tell, really."

"I wouldn't want any hometown old girlfriends going after my handsome husband," Pauline said as more of a question than a statement.

Scott sighed. It was obvious that he had mixed feelings about discussing this topic. "Sarah and I were best friends since fourth grade. She was a tomboy—we used to play football after school for heaven's sake."

"I'm liking her so far," Pauline approved.

Scott got quiet. A clearly meaningful memory surfaced. "Kids can be so awful. What that girl went through." He shook his head in disgust. "The other kids used to call Sarah a 'Four-Eyed Metal Mouth, Tin-Grinned Fatso.'"

Pauline covered her mouth. "The poor thing. That's terrible. We'll definitely have to invite Sarah over for dinner when we get settled in. I'll make her my specialty and—”

Scott had inadvertently stopped listening to his wife. He was lost in a different old memory…

***

Sixteen-year-old Scott sat in the driver's seat of a used sports car. The cramped and beat up vehicle fit its teenage owner perfectly.

Young Scott checked his hair in the rear-view mirror. The (overabundance of) gel had done its job—not a strand was out of place. He pulled on the collar of his Northbridge High School letterman jacket with his name embroidered on the front.

Sixteen-year-old Sarah Wilkens sat in the passenger seat. She nervously twirled a strand of her hideously teased brown hair between her pudgy fingers. Sadly, she looked pretty much exactly the way her cruel classmates described her.

The DJ announced over the car radio in that usual hyper-DJ voice, "That was Madonna on 89.9 FM with her classic hit Express Yourself. We're half an hour away from saying goodbye to 2002! Stay tuned for your chance to win WCON's grand prize in our New Year's Eve giveaway!"

Sarah hit the button and turned the radio off. "Thanks for leaving the party early and coming to pick me up."

Scott smiled. "What kind of friend would I be if I couldn't do a favor for you when you needed it?"

"Your other friends, they must have questioned why you would leave a party early for me."

"Whatever," he dismissed.

Sarah turned away from him. She looked out the passenger side window where she could see Scott's handsome reflection, but not have to face him directly.

"I've been practicing this for two weeks and now it's not, I mean the words aren't going to come out right because—”

Scott waited, but Sarah had just stopped cold in mid-sentence. "What is it?" he asked gently turning her face back towards him.

Sarah adjusted her ugly glasses which slid down her nose. Her worried, wide-eyed expression looked almost comical thanks to the effect of the thick glasses.

She could hardly breathe. "I've felt this way, for like, forever." She looked Scott directly in the face for the first time. She hoped she wouldn't have to say it. "You know…" she prompted through slightly gritted teeth, suddenly hoping the interior light from the car didn't reflect off her braces.

A clueless Scott waited for her to finish the thought. Finally, he admitted, "I don't get it."

Sarah tried to take a deep breath and speak calmly. She failed. Instead, she blurted out, "Scott, I always have been and always will be—in love with you!"

* * *

A shiny, late-model limousine cruised down the same rural road that Scott and Pauline walked along. As the limo rounded a bend, the driver swerved to avoid the young couple.

The vehicle's jerking motion jostled Regina Hapsburg, the twenty-year-old heiress riding in the back. She dropped her fashion magazine. Her book bag fell over, scattering her textbooks.

Regina looked out the back window. "Please stop the limo so we can help that couple walking. He's limping and they're miles away from anything. Something must be wrong," she said to the driver through the already-open partition.

He glanced in the rearview mirror. "Miss Hapsburg," he began.

"Will you stop that? You've worked for my family since before I was born. When I was a little girl, it made me feel all grown up when you called me Miss Hapsburg. Now that I'm actually grown up, it feels silly. I keep telling you to call me Regina."

"And what do I tell your father if I don't deliver you on time for your classes at the university?"

"You may tell him that I took the time to do the right thing by helping someone in need. He would do well to follow my example."

The limo driver slowed the vehicle. "Ah, the tenacity of youth. As you wish, Miss Hapsburg."

Regina rolled her eyes.

A few minutes later, Pauline and Scott settled comfortably into the back of the limo with Regina. They gratefully accepted a snack and soft drink from the limo's bar as they explained about the fox and the accident that left them stranded on the country road.

"And of course, it had to happen in a cellular dead zone," Scott concluded the story.

"You can use the limo phone if you like. It's not a regular cell phone that's prone to going out when it's too far from the towers. It's a global satellite phone so it always gets a strong signal."

"That's so cool," Scott said, a little overly enthusiastic as he examined it.

"He loves technology. He's a computer programmer," Pauline explained to Regina.

"Ah," Regina smiled politely. "My driver can also drop you off anywhere you need to go in town."

"How about the university? I'm starting a new job there this week and I was scheduled to stop in the HR department today to fill out some paperwork," Scott told her.

"I'll be taking some classes there in social work and gen ed requirements so it will give me a chance to explore the campus as well," added Pauline.

"Perfect. That's where I was headed anyway." Regina pointed to her book bag. "I'm also a student at USNE. I hope we'll see each other around campus."