Meet Your Mate 15

Chapter 15

Luke read the first series of questions. Tilden called them the warm up questions, and it was obvious why. They were simple, easy fill in the blanks and one word translations. Luke filled in the blanks and flipped to the next page. The English to Russian translations started easy. Luke filled half a page before he took a break. He stretched, rotating his neck in big circles.

Tilden had left nothing to chance this morning. He’d made all the students sit every other desk, and both Luke’s and Mike’s backpacks were left at home. Luke knew that Tilden was removing the temptation, but Luke smiled at Tilden’s brave efforts to come up with an excuse for both his brats to arrive sans backpacks. Tilden had pointed out this morning that they only needed a few pencil and that he was more than capable of carrying enough pencils for everyone in the class. 

Luke felt a hand on his shoulder. Tilden raised an eyebrow and smiled. Luke tapped the word he was stuck on—female crane operator. Who in the right mind talked about female crane operators? Tilden shrugged, smiled, and mouthed guess. Luke nodded. It was worth a try. Luke finished the rest of the exam well before the two hours allotted. He rechecked his exam. Luke still couldn’t think of the word for female crane operator, so he substituted female construction worker. Close enough, he decided. With one final flick through his exam, Luke handed it to Tilden.

“Do you want me to correct it now?”

Luke nodded.

“Don’t look so worried,” Tilden whispered. “I was reading it over your shoulder, and everything looked good.” Tilden scanned through the first page; he circled one verb which didn’t match the subject and added a soft sign, but otherwise made no corrections. He flipped to the next page and continued reading. He made a few corrections, but the paper was not the usual sea of red ink that Luke associated with exams. Tilden smiled when he got to the sentence with the female crane operator working in Siberia. “Good try, but on a test I can’t give you credit for construction worker when I wanted crane operator. Not that it matters. Unless you left the third page blank, you’re going to get an A.”

Luke looked up at Tilden unsure what to say. He couldn’t remember getting an A since kindergarten. “Are you kidding?”

“Luka, do I kid about things like this?”

“No.”

Tilden corrected the final page, adding a word in a few places and changing a case ending here and there. “This should end up somewhere between a ninety-four and a ninety-eight. I won’t know for sure until I grade all of them. Maladets.” Tilden stood up and reached for Luke’s hand and shook it. “Congratulations. I might get a Russian major out of this class yet.”

Luke smiled a broad grin, embarrassed and happy at the same time. “It was easy.”

“Would you like me to make it harder next time?” Tilden teased.

Luke shook his head vigorously.

“I thought not. It’s more fun when you’re not hopelessly behind.” Tilden reached into his bag and handed Luke a book, a pad of paper, and a box of colored pencils. “I brought you something to read or supplies if you want to draw. I knew you’d be done early.”

“It’s in Russian,” Luke said looking at the book.

“Of course. What do you expect?”

Luke returned to his seat and flipped through the book. A picture of a girl leading an elephant caught his eye. With the extensive glossary, Luke could read the story and enjoyed it. As he read, he sketched an elephant with a small girl in a pink tutu sitting astride. 

Gradually the class handed in all their papers, the top students shortly after Luke; the poor students tossed them on the desk in disgust as the end of the two hour period approached. Luke watched, remembering the feeling of anger and shame he’d felt after his first Russian exam. Not wanting to own up to his responsibilities, he’d blamed Tilden for the disaster. Luke sketched a panel of cartoons. In the first a small boy was taking an exam; a strict teacher with a ruler stood over him. The second panel showed an irate father screaming at the teacher and the boy. A paper with a bright red F lay tossed on the desk. In the third panel, the teacher was sitting at the kitchen table, one arm around the boy’s shoulder, bent over his work, and in the final scene the boy and teacher were smiling while the father stood apart, his expression grim. The boy was holding a bouquet of brilliantly colored flowers, and the teacher was waving an exam paper with a bright red A.

Luke hadn’t noticed that the classroom was now empty. Tilden wrapped his arms around Luke, resting his head on his partner’s shoulders. “Is that your father with the red face?”

Luke tore the drawing from the notebook and crumpled in his hand, embarrassed.

“Luka, why did you destroy it?”

“It was private,” Luke snarled.

“Watch your tone with me, young man.” Tilden rubbed the back of Luke’s neck, taking some of the sting out of the reprimand. “After you tossed Milton and me in that mess yesterday, your academics are very much my business.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry sir.”

“Luka, druzhok, I’m very proud of your work today. It wasn’t very long ago that I was having a little chat with you about scoring in the thirties; today you scored well into the nineties. You should be proud.” Tilden ruffled Luke’s hair and pulled him up out of his chair. “Are you OK now?” Tilden whispered in Luke’s ear. “You need to take the oral part of the exam.”

“Aren’t you giving it?”

“No, I can’t since you two are my partners. Nina Petrovna will give it. I can sit in and guide the dialogue, but I can’t mark it. Misha.” Tilden raised his voice to attract the attention of their other partner who was pretending to be fascinated by the light drizzle on the quad. “Come on, you two. Let’s get this done. This should be easy for both of you, and then you can play the rest of the day.”

“Yeah, stuck with Milton all day,” Mike said in a sour tone.

“Misha, I know it’s hard. If you need more practice, I can make it an extra week,” Tilden said, pulling him close and kissing his forehead.

“That won’t be necessary. It’s just Milton’s so ...” Mike trailed off and rubbed his hands on his jeans.

“Do you find Milton oppressive?” Tilden said with an easy grin.

“He always wants me to sit on the floor right under foot. I’m not a slave boy.”

“You sit on the floor with me. Do you find that—” Tilden paused and searched for the word. “Degrading?”

“No, but half the time you sprawl on the floor with me, or you touch me, tousle my hair.” Mike blushed and looked at the ground. “I think he doesn’t much like me.”

“Misha.” Tilden wrapped Mike into a hug. “You need to talk to him. Milton’s trying not to overwhelm you.”

“The iceman,” Mike hissed between his teeth. “Can’t I stay with Trent? He’s a lot more fun.”

“No, he went to an auction today. You’ll live. No more dilly dallying, you two. Let’s get your oral exam over with then you have the rest of the day free, even if it is with the iceman.” Tilden grinned and ruffled both his boys’ hair.

Nina Petrovna was a small woman with a bright smile and apple cheeks. She was dressed in a shirt dress with heavy stockings and fur lined boots. Her carrot orange hair, definitely a home dye job, was covered by a flowered scarf.

“Rebyata, vkhodite.” She greeted them effusively. 

Tilden bent down and kissed her on both cheeks, and they started a rapid fire conversation in Russian of which Luke could only catch a few words. Tilden slowed the cadence of his speech, and Luke heard him introduce the two of them. Nina Petrovna then started talking to Luke and Mike, asking simple questions until they relaxed. She pointed to a bowl filled with strips of paper and had each boy pick three questions.

Luke unfolded the first strip. It asked what he did in his spare time. He tried to convince them that he had no spare time, but Nina Petrovna and Tilden prodded until he said he listened to music and watched television. Mike answered the next question about his usual routine in the morning. He rattled off waking up at seven am, taking a shower, and eating breakfast. The final question required both Luke and Mike to participate in an unrehearsed dialogue with Tilden acting the role of a confused tourist wanting to purchase tickets for the theater and to buy newspapers and stamps from the kiosk. With Tilden guiding the conversation, it was easy and almost fun; Luke soon forgot about Nina Petrona sitting and taking notes. The dialogue was getting increasingly raucous with Luke finally telling Tilden that the only theater seats available were high in the balcony for The Seagull, but that many tickets were available for the famous Moscow circus and that it would be a crime to come to Russia without seeing the circus. Tilden played his role to the hilt and asked endless questions about the circus. Finally he was satisfied and purchased two tickets. Luke pantomimed giving him the tickets, hamming up the process and unsuccessfully stifling giggles.

Tilden then turned to Mike and asked him for a string of newspapers. Mike rolled his eyes and responded that he was out of everything except Chess in Russia and Komsomolskaya Pravda. Tilden made a face and pointed to a stack of magazines on his desk. 

“Aren’t those Literaturnaya Gazeta and Argumenti i Fakti.”

“No, they are Chess in Russia,” Mike insisted.

“Look there’s Leningradskaya Pravda,” Tilden said, waving a yellowed copy of that very paper.

“But it’s not today’s,” Mike shot back.

Nina Petrovna stopped the conversation before they could argue any further. “Enough. You both get fives,” she said in Russian before switching to English. “That was excellent for first year students. Misha, your work was easily A work, but, Luka, your work was exceptional. I assume you will be majoring in Russian.”

Luke blushed to the roots of his hair and managed to mumble, “Thank you,” before stumbling through an explanation that he was undecided about his major.

Mike elbowed Luke in the ribs. “I told you so.”

Tilden stepped between his two young men before it disintegrated into a friendly shoving match. “Thank you, Nina Petrovna. I’m very appreciative of your help today.”

“My pleasure, Tikhon Ivanovich.”

****

Mike dragged behind Tilden as they approached the history building. It was still before noon; an entire afternoon by himself with Milton hung before him. It wouldn’t actually be entirely by himself, Luke would be there, but still Milton always managed to glare at him as if he were no more worthy than a bug under glass. Luke seemed to get along with their frigid history professor, even after yesterday’s debacle. Mike had seen Luke lean against Milton, almost asking him to touch him. Mike stayed as far from Milton’s reach as possible, expecting at any moment to be grabbed and turned over the man’s knee. If he’d cheated yesterday, Milton probably would have spanked him in front of the whole class.

Milton was in his office bent over some poor student’s bluebook, his precise script filling the margins. As always he was dressed as if the staid nineteen fifties were only yesterday; he wore a tweed blazer with a conservative tie. His brown dress shoes shined without a speck of mud. He must never step off the path or drive one mile above the speed limit, or swear at the doddering fool in the checkout lane who counts every penny to make ninety-seven cents rather that handing the clerk a dollar, Mike thought, girding himself for an afternoon of boredom. 

“Hi, boys, did everything go well this morning?” Milton asked.

Luke smiled and nodded. “A lot better than yesterday.” Luke’s cheeks turned a slight pink as he mentioned yesterday’s mess.

“And you, Mike?” Milton prodded.

Mike kept his eyes down. He didn’t want to talk to Milton. Couldn’t that man see that he wanted to be left alone?

“Mike, it’s polite to answer a question,” Tilden said in his ear.

“Fine,” Mike snapped. “Everything went fine.”

Milton’s eyebrows rose at the tone, and Mike saw him shoot a glance at Tilden as if to ask, What’s up with your problem child? Mike couldn’t quite read Tilden’s expression; but if he had to guess, it said, Be patient. I’ll tell you later.

“Fuck this!” Mike let fly. “Why don’t you just say what you want to instead of making googly eyes at each other? And yeah, I’m in a shitty mood.”

Mike didn’t get any further before Tilden peppered the back of his jeans with several very hard swats and drove him into the corner. Mike now stood his nose inches from the corner, his hands interlaced on the top of his head. This day was getting better by the second.

Mike felt a hand on his shoulder and he was spun around inches from Milton’s fiery, near black eyes. “Mike, I want you to think carefully before you make a choice. You’re uncomfortable with me, resentful of me, dislike me. While I can guess at the reasons, I’ll leave that for you to tell me when you’re ready. But no matter what your feelings, I expect to be treated like a civilized human being. If I hear another outburst like that from you directed at me, I will spank you. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Mike ground out between closed lips. He would say the words because it was the only response possible with Milton holding both Mike’s shoulders and freezing him in a penetrating glare.

To Mike’s surprise, Milton stepped forward, wrapped him in his arms, and kissed his forehead. He’s been expecting a swat and a blistering lecture about attitude.

“You think you hate me right now. Hopefully that will pass because it’s damn hard to share a house with someone you hate, and Tilden loves you, and since we own the house together, you’re stuck with me. So your life will be a lot more pleasant if you would find a way to tolerate me. Now for your choice: you can come play tennis with me, Luke, and a colleague, or I expect Tilden will let you sit with him while he administers an exam to his second year class.”

Mike glanced at Tilden, who nodded. Mike’s shoulders slumped; Milton had out maneuvered him. Play with Milton or die of boredom with Tilden. “Tennis.”

At least Milton didn’t gloat over his victory. He nodded and kissed Mike again on the forehead before stepping behind his desk and tossing a gym bag to both boys. This had been planned, Mike thought as he caught the tossed mini duffle. Milton could probably make Eisenhower's invasion of Normandy seem spontaneous and haphazard. Mike was still standing, staring at Milton and trying to come up with a smart retort to save face when a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” Milton called.

A woman entered, dressed in a flowing skirt and a peasant blouse. Mike didn’t know her by sight, but he guessed she must be a professor since she looked older than an undergraduate, and Banner didn’t have a graduate school. She hesitated at the door when she saw the crowd in the office.

“I’m sorry. Did I mistake the time?” she said, starting to back out the door.

“Amanda, wait. You’ve met Tilden Blake before, our Russian and Slavic studies professor, and these are two of our students: Mike and Luke. I thought we could play doubles today. Boys, this is Professor Levin. She’s a new lecturer in the history department this year.”

Amanda smiled and made some murmurs of agreement. She seemed flustered and fidgeted with the books, pulling a volume out here and there to glance at the title before replacing it on the shelf. Poor woman, Mike thought, she was as intimidated by Milton as he was, and as lecturer she hardly had more stature than an indentured servant. Luke had melted behind Tilden when the introductions were made, Mike noted with some amusement. Luke seemed to meet all straight woman younger than his mother with perplexity and anxiety as if he were a man plucked from prehistoric North America suddenly finding himself in New York traffic. Mike stepped forward, shook her hand, and gave her his best example of a charming smile. He wanted Milton to see his fine manners to underline that it was Milton who deserved Mike’s contempt and that he wasn’t rude to everybody, but Milton ignored him as he herded them toward the recreational building.

Mike liked tennis. He didn’t know how Milton knew this—maybe it was the rackets stored under the bed—but that didn’t matter, it was better than sitting at Tilden’s feet while he gave a test. Milton had paired Mike with Professor Levin, or Amanda as she quickly insisted, and he’d taken Luke. As they played, Amanda overwhelmed the opposition with her powerful serve.

“I played in college,” she said apologetically. “It’s kind of nice to beat Professor Brown at something,” she murmured to Mike as Luke bounced the ball preparing to serve on the far side of the net.

“You don’t have to say any more. I know what you mean,” Mike said.

Amanda easily returned the serve into the far corner, sending Milton scrambling to retrieve it. “How come you’re playing with him? He doesn’t seem the type to fraternize with students.”

Mike shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve heard he occasionally invites senior history majors and his advisees over to his house for a soiree. Of course I don’t know how many get up the courage to show up.” Mike saw Amanda watching as Milton playfully flicked the towel at Luke when they switched service. “It’s not what you think. We know him out of school,” Mike said hastily, concerned that she might have leapt to an entirely misinformed conclusion.

“Is Luke related to him, or something?”

Or something, Mike thought. “We room with him.”

“He runs a boarding house?”

“No,” Mike said, laughing, imaging students quaking in terror when they discovered the name of their landlord at the beginning of the semester.

“What’s so funny?” Milton called from the other side of the net.

“She thought you were my landlord.”

Milton snorted. “I take it you’ve been circling around the truth. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and it’s not a secret.”

Amanda was watching the exchange wide-eyed. Mike could almost see her processing the possibilities behind her lively, hazel eyes: kept boy, boyfriend, relative, yet to be defined.

“Luke and Mike are my best friend’s partners. My apologies for not explaining our relationship. I can imagine what you were thinking,” Milton said with a wry grin. “Tilden and I share a house together, so we are familiar with each other. You know, who leaves the wet towel on the floor and boxers hanging on the doorknob.”

Mike doubled over in paroxysms of laughter. Amanda looked shocked for a moment and then broke into a wide grin. With her hair pulled back into a pony tail, a bright smile, and the smattering of freckles across her cheeks, she looked like a teenage gymnast.

“I take it this is your way of showing me that reality is not as frightening as the myth surrounding you,” she said, regaining her composure.

“That’s right, having the student body in awe of me has its uses, but it can get out of hand.”

“I’ll make sure I get out a campus wide announcement that you’re flesh and blood and don’t eat students for breakfast.” 

“I don’t know. I think it’s worthwhile for the students to think that I snack on succulent freshmen. Do you want to play another set?”

“Not today, I think you’ve done me in both mentally and physically.” Amanda rolled her eyes and gave a small self-appraising grin. “I enjoyed the match.”

“My pleasure.”

Mike watched as Milton stepped back into his formal personality. Milton reached across the net and shook Amanda’s hand with the grace of a courtier, congratulating her on a well played game. Amanda nodded, retreating behind the offered formality, but still her posture remained less wary and rigid than prior to the game. Amanda was again thanking Milton for a well played game and making excuses about a prior engagement to avoid a proffered invitation to lunch. Milton diplomatically withdrew the offer but won a concession of a promised lunch next week.

“Come on we’ve got to skedaddle, or they won’t be serving lunch,” Milton said.

“Skedaddle?” Mike said, running his tongue over the word. “It sounds like a turn of the century children’s book.”

“It’s one of my grandfather’s favorite words,” Milton said, pushing Mike and Luke in front of him.

Mike was sliding a plate of fries onto his tray when a pack of boys jostled him from behind.

“Hey, Mike, I thought you’d fallen off the earth. Where have you been?” a curly haired kid in a Banner sweatshirt asked. That was Drake. They’d lived on the same floor in the dorm and had talked about pledging the same fraternity. Drake had been in beginning Russian until he dropped out after the first exam.

“Studying, I stayed in Russian.”

“Man, you must be a glutton for punishment; that Professor Blake is a real ass. He gave me a lecture on getting my priorities straight before he would sign the drop slip. I’m a freshman; my priorities are drinking and partying, not slaving over Russian.”

“I hear you,” Mike said with a shrug. “But he’s not too bad when you get to know him. He’s helped me a lot this semester.”

“Yeah, kept you prisoner in the library it sounds like,” one of the other guys in the group sneered. “You better kiss a place in the house next year good-bye.”

Mike didn’t say anything. They would know soon enough when the first episode of Meet Your Mate aired. Mike pushed his tray down to the cashier. He hadn’t realized how irritating these guys could be. A plump lady in a white hairnet rang up the total. Mike felt in his pockets for his student ID. Damn, it was in his backpack at home. “Guys, could I put this on one of your cards? I left mine in my room.”

“No way,” Drake said and the rest of the guys chorused their agreement.

“Fine. I won’t eat,” Mike muttered, abandoning his food at the cashier’s.

Milton must’ve seen the hubbub because Mike felt a hand on his shoulder and saw a card flash through the reader. “I’ll get it, since you’re having a lunch meeting with me.”

Mike could hear a few snickers about being rescued by the prof and teacher’s pet as he followed Milton to the table. “Thanks for the little white lie,” Mike murmured when they were out of earshot.

“You are eating with me,” Milton said with a quick smile. “Have you lost your ID, or did you just forget it?”

“I think it’s in my book bag.”

“You think,” Milton said with a raised eyebrow. “When’s the last time you had it?”

“Last week sometime.” They’d reached the table where Luke was waiting. Miraculously, like the parting of the Red Sea, if a professor ate in the dining room the surrounding chairs were empty, even if students were standing, balancing trays on waste cans.

“Luke, have you seen Mike’s ID?” Milton asked.

“I think it might be on the dresser. I put him on my card last Friday because he forgot his.”

Milton ran his fingers through his hair. The gesture seemed so exaggerated that Mike wondered if Milton was subtly teasing them. “You two are impossible! I’m glad you’re Tilden’s problem and not mine.” 

Both Mike and Luke looked up sharply, concerned that Milton was annoyed. They saw a wide grin flash across the professor’s face before his stern mask fell back into place. Mike shoved a ketchup encrusted French fry in his mouth to hide his grin. He didn’t want Milton to know he’d won that easily, but he couldn’t help both admiring and enjoying being played by an expert. They were going to own him body, mind, and soul, and at least at this moment it didn’t look that bad. He had two beautiful men in his bed, and the family he’d never had at every turn. It might be complicated, but, God, it looked good right now. Hang on and enjoy the ride, he told himself.