Go find the Headmistress

Shrugging, you turn down the corridor to the right stepping into a hallway that is as imposing as it is impressive. The first two walnut doors marked with polished brass plates 112 and 113 lead to conference rooms according to your map, but the third of these heavy wooden doors is clearly marked "Headmistress." You knock, but hearing no answer open the door slowly. You step into an outer office with an empty desk, too small to be the Headmistress' you decide, more likely a secretary or receptionist's. A door slightly ajar leads to an inner office and you silently move across the thick Persian rug until you can just peak into the Headmistress' sanctum.

A woman in her forties with her hair pulled back in a tight bun is sitting at an antique Edwardian desk that somehow manages to appear feminine and delicate in spite of its massive size. She is engrossed in a book, and just before you announce yourself, your brain takes in a few more critical details that make you glad you kept your mouth shut.

The paperback book in the Headmistress' pale fingers is a historical romance much like the ones your mother reads; on the cover a bare-chested man in a kilt is leaning over a much smaller blonde woman in a gown that is almost, but not quite, pulled off her swollen white breast. The Highlander's Passiona- something, the rest of the title is hidden from view, but it hardly matters; the second and even more critical piece of information you note is that while her eyes are fixed on the pages of the paperback, her free hand is cupping her breast under the woolen blazer that is partially unbuttoned to allow access to the fingers. As you watch in stunned surprise you see that her fingers are teasing the clearly visible nub through the shimmering white silk of her blouse.

Backing silently away, you thank the heavens that she had not looked up just at that moment and caught you ogling her through the open doorway like a teenaged Peeping Tom. Once outside the outer door, you knock again - this time much more loudly - and call out so there can be no reoccurrence of your nearly disastrous first meeting.

"Ms. Naylor, are you in here?"

There is a sound from the inner office and twenty seconds later the woman appears in the door. She looks at you with annoyance taking in your faded jeans and blue open-necked shirt.

"The custodial offices are in the rear building, they are plainly -" You interrupted her before she got too far along in her spiel.

"Ms. Naylor, my name is Kyle Hawkfeather; we have an appointment." The look of disdainful annoyance changes to guarded indifference, followed by a quick glance at the wall clock.

"You're early Mr. Hawkfeather."

"Yes, Ma'am, I can wait out in the hall for ten minutes if you have something that you need to finish up." In spite of your best effort to get off to a good start you can't help slip in that sly jab, and your smile broadens to reveal your white teeth when you see the stern looking woman color slightly. With the pink in her cheeks, you reevaluate Ms. Naylor's age downward by about ten years, she's deliberately dressing conservatively to add an air of authority that her relatively young age fails to provide.

The Senator had warned you that the Headmistress' inexperience was adding to the chaos at the school, noting that Ms. Naylor had a very sheltered educational background that likely explained her naïve efforts to manage the school. She was an alumna of the Academy with undisputed academic ability and after earning her teaching degree at a private woman's college outside of Boston she returned to the Pink Rose to teach. "She's smart enough, Kyle-" the Colonel had warned you, "but she thinks her girls are just as sweet and innocent as she was twenty years ago, and she doesn't care much for men."

You meet the woman's gaze with a steady look, wondering if she would assert her authority by sending you out to wait in the hall, or try to make the best of the uncomfortable situation you had both been placed in. As you waited you couldn't help but wonder what she'd look like with her hair falling freely and wearing something a little less frumpy.