HOUND

v

Two weeks later (which is several packs of beer and several cartons of cigarettes, if you measure in Jack's time), Jack Hound is shuffling papers in his crowded little office at the probably-Catholic school when the headmistress stiffly walks in, a student in her wake. Jack had always thought the headmistress resembled some sort of corporate zombie, a mindless drone. But he always knew she was a viper ready to lash out, because she hated men due to being jilted at the altar.

He doesn't notice the girl at first, but when a curvy trail of cheap, fruity perfume weaves into his nostrils, he looks up and stares.

At first, he thinks his vision is blurred and dream-like, so he awkwardly adjusts his reading glasses higher onto nose, just in case. But no, his vision is correct.

She's a little thing, not at all big. She's more like a cat, some sort of kitten. She's sleek, purposeful, and desperately independent. Or, at least, that's how she seems from the way her clothes hug her body and the way she struts to his desk and the way her facial muscles are contorted just so...She's not like the other girls at the school. She was different, from all the way across the country. California, wow. Jack had always wanted to go, but his wife never wanted to leave the East. 'The heat's no good for me, Jack', she had said. But she had brought over the West with her. The sunshine seeped from her bones, the relaxed vibes and careless attitude radiated from her piercing eyes.

Jack was stunned, and enchanted by this teenage girl. Adventure seeped from every pore on her sculpted face, and Jack is sure she was some form of avant garde.

"Can I help you?" Jack asks, clearing his throat. He runs a hand through his thick dark hair, and suddenly feels subconscious about it. Was his hairline receding? Did he have any gray hairs? Was he balding? Of course, none of these were true because Jack hadn't even peaked thirty.

"Of course, or we wouldn't have come to your office." The headmistress chips. The headmistress is in full rigor mortis, her limbs straight and stiff. Jack wonders if perhaps her last lover left something behind in her, to make her walk like so. She slaps a hand through the air at the girl, who hasn't stopped staring at Jack. He hasn't stopped staring either. "This is Catherina, a new student from California. She has an interest in literature, and is currently pursuing writing a book. I assumed you'd be willing and able to advise her, due to your experience?"

Jack's jaw snaps closed and he swallows, frantically shuffling papers and knocking over cups on his desk. "Of course, of course!" He mutters. The headmistress watches, unamused, with a raised brow, arched high like a cathedral walkway.

Jack wipes his sweaty palms on his blazer, and he pauses when his hands run over a bulge in the pocket. Oh, his wedding ring. He usually takes it off when he's in his office, because it seemed to have shrunken, choking his finger. He blinks and extends his hand to shake.

"Jack Hound, at your service." He smiles, the silver words already pouring from his greedy mouth. A small bud of guilt began to bloom inside him: shame for the flowery proclamations ready to sprout out of his mouth. But Jack quickly buried his inhibitions, just this once.

"Mr. Hound," Catherina's Cheshire grin dominates her face as she purrs. She takes his quivering hand and shakes it. "I can't wait."