Chapter 7: Problems for the Morning After


Monday, October 27, 2014 – Part 1 (MORNING)

Patrick woke slowly, squinting his eyes against the sunlight flooding the room. Other elements of his surroundings began to filter in, and he was momentarily surprised by his own sense of disorientation. The professor thought he was in the guest room noise from the street outside began to register as well as the warmth from another body next to his. Patrick recognized the bed he was in as his own aware then he was in his room, and the realization felt like a small victory against whatever the dream had meant.

His head was pounding like someone had hit him as he rolled over to look at the clock on the nightstand; the time was 10 AM. When had he drifted off? The night has seemed endless, and he didn't remember falling asleep. Tracey woke beside him, rising from the bed, yawning, and stretching on her way to the bathroom. The professor groggily swung his legs over the side, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He felt the stubble that had formed on his face as he raked his hands over it.

Just then, the dog came prancing into the bedroom. Tiffy walked right up to the bathroom door lying down in front of it, anticipating Tracey's exit, who was pleasantly surprised when she opened the door. Tracey chose to take the dog downstairs to let her out. While she did this, Patrick took his turn in the bathroom. He was in the process of shaving when Tracey returned, perching herself on the edge of the tub, watching him scrape the stubble from his face.

The steel razor cut a stripe through the shaving cream, the line of healthy-looking skin contrasting sharply against the white foam. This caused Patrick to suddenly think of his father watching him shave Sunday mornings before the 10 o'clock mass back in that brief happy time in his childhood before his mother died. How old had he been when that happened? Five? Six? Patrick was thirty-two now, older than his mother had ever been.

He recalled it all so clear his mother had lain down to take a nap on the couch, a bottle of liquor still in her hands. Patrick's father came home from work to find her lying there, supposedly passed out drunk. Patrick watched as his father tried to wake his mother, but she wouldn't get up. No one would tell him why. The professor hated that he remembered his mother that way, a depressed alcoholic who had literally drunk herself to death.

Using a moist washcloth, Patrick wiped away the remaining traces of shaving cream from his face. "Did I get it all?"

Tracey stood up. "Uh, not quite. You missed a spot."

"Where?"

"There's still some right there," Tracey said, gesturing to his lips then kissing him.

Patrick noticed her make a face, as they pulled apart. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"The smell of your shaving cream doesn't agree with me," Tracey said, stepping out of the bathroom to get some air.

The professor followed after her hearing her stomach make an audible growling noise. "We should get you both fed."

She looked at Patrick, puzzled. "Both?"

"Yeah, you and the baby."

They head downstairs to the kitchen, where Patrick got started on making breakfast. He gathered up all the ingredients needed to make pancakes, mixing them in a large bowl before pouring them into a skillet. He flipped the pancakes once more to make sure they were done. Hot and ready to serve, the professor scooped them up into two plates. They sat across from each other enjoying their meal in comfortable silence until Tracey broke it.

"Is something troubling you?"

Patrick shakes his head. "No. Why do you ask?"

Tracey swallows her last bite of the pancake before replying. "I may not be an expert with emotions, but I do know when people are feeling uneasy."

He smiles lazily. "I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

Patrick desperately wants to tell Tracey about everything that's been troubling him lately, the disciplinary action letter he received a few days ago, the way he behaved at Linda's, and the nightmare he had last night. But he doesn't feel quite ready to tell her.

Instead, the professor shrugs, giving a simple answer. "Stuff."

Tracey attempts to encourage him to open up. "I understand if you don't want to talk about it, but you need to understand that I'm always here if you need to..." she ponders. "Hmmm, what's the appropriate word... vent."

Patrick lets out a sigh before speaking, deciding to confess. "I've been thinking about us." He stares at her catching her gaze. "Do I deserve you? Are we right for each other?"

Tracey's mouth hangs slightly agape, her eyes open wide in shock. She can't believe he's saying this considering he proposed to her last night. Was he having doubts? "What made you think this?" Devastation and bitterness are non-existent in her tone; something the professor had thought she would feel. Instead, it's laced with concern.

Patrick sucks in a breath waiting a few seconds to gather the words. "I just feel like we're so different. If you understand."

Tracey sits there taking in his words, the professor's expression only changing in little eyebrow movements creasing a furrowing together. She takes her turn to speak. "What makes you say that?"

He looks at her slightly taken aback. "Tracey, I'm," before mentioning that he's her professor, Patrick decides that's a weak argument, so he disputes their age difference. "I'm ten years older than you; that's a huge age gap." She lets out a scoff as he continues. "Perhaps you'd feel more comfortable with someone your own age, with whom you have things in common and can better relate. Plus, we're not even close to the same level in life." At this point, Tracey has scoot out of her chair standing before him. "Try to understanding where I'm coming from." Patrick pleads.

She holds his gaze with tear-filled eyes. "I understand fine! I'm sorry that I'm not better educated as well-spoken employed or good enough to be with you in general from the sounds of it!"

Tracey storms off upstairs, slamming the door behind her. Patrick gets up from his seat, makes it to the bottom of the staircase, and hesitates. Knowing she needs time and space the professor decided to leave her be. Tracey paces back and forth until her phone startles her; her friend Stephanie sent her a text message.

Stephanie: U there

Tracey: I'm here, what's up?

Stephanie: Remember when u asked me if any1 talked 2 me

Tracey: Yeah what's ur point?

Stephanie: My point is… There's a guy asking around 4 u

Tracey: What guy?

Stephanie: Uh, he's a cop. Well, more like a detective

Tracey: Did u speak 2 him

Stephanie: Yeah

Tracey: And?! What'd he want? What did u tell him?

Stephanie: He asked if I knew u, I said "Yes." He asked if we were friends, I said "Yes." He asked if we shared any classes, I said "Yes." Then he asked when I saw u last

Tracey: What did u say?

Stephanie: I told him that I haven't seen u since fall break, which is technically true since all we've been doing is texting lately

Tracey: What else did he say?

Stephanie: That's it. He pretty much asked every1 else the same thing

Tracey: Everyone?

Stephanie: Yeah professors too… speaking of they asked around about Professor Jefferies

(Tracey choose not to respond to her friend's text message)

Tracey: …

Stephanie: Y'know our Creative Writing teacher…

(Tracey played dumb)

Tracey: Oh, yeah

Stephanie: They wanted 2 know if & when any1 saw or spoke 2 him last

Tracey: And…

Stephanie: The only person who had was Professor Garrison

Tracey: Our American Literature teacher? Why'd they what'd she say?

Stephanie: IDK. I just saw them pull her aside 2 speak with her in her office so I didn't hear anything. Y do u ask?

Tracey: No reason. I was just wondering. Hey, thnx 4 keeping me posted

Stephanie: Ur welcome! What r friends 4?

Tracey: Anything else I should know about

Stephanie: Yeah, Ryan's been asking me about u

Tracey: U didn't tell him that…

Stephanie: OMG chill! I didn't tell him that ur… ya know

Tracey: U can't even say "pregnant" can u

Stephanie: Nope. Too weird. That and as ur friend, I'm tryin' 2 B sensitive

Tracey: Ur sweet but you can say pregnant. It won't offend me

Stephanie: Still not comfortable with that word…

Tracey: Ok

Stephanie: When r u coming back 2 school

Tracey: Not anytime soon

Stephanie: Y not?

Tracey: I don't want people talking about me

Stephanie: They don't already…

Tracey: That was a cheap shot. Even 4 u

Stephanie: Srry I wasn't trying 2 B mean

Tracey: All is 4given

Stephanie: Can't talk. Bell just rang. Got 2 go 2 my next class. TTYL

Tracey: Y did u txt me then? Nevermind. Bye


Meanwhile, across town on the ULS campus in professor Garrison's office, a detective's questioning her regarding Patrick's whereabouts. The detective stands jotting notes in a notepad. Linda is seated at her desk, sorting through a stack of papers. She queries his name, having been distracted when he first introduced himself.

"What did you say your name was again?"

He stops writing, looking up from his notes. "Hmmm? Oh, forgive me, I'm Detective Pierce."

Detective Pierce enjoyed his job, but in all his years of police work, this was his first time investigating a college. When the case file landed on his desk, he feared the worst: a rape, a murder. He was relieved to discover it was just a case of misconduct. However, the detective was appalled at the lack of information provided: the entire dossier included a disciplinary action filed against one of the professors for sexual misconduct, but it failed to mention the person who made it. Once the detective arrived on campus, the Dean informed him that the compliant wished to remain anonymous.

Detective Pierce scribbles something in his notes before getting started. "Mrs. Garrison?"

Linda stops sorting through papers shooting him a stern look before correcting him. "Actually, it's Miss; I'm not married."

"Right misses, uh, Miss Garrison..."

"If it helps, you can just call me Linda."

Detective Pierce flashes her a small smile. "Linda." Once he's done questioning her, Linda sees him out of her classroom. They stand in the doorway, shaking hands before parting their separate ways. "Thanks again, Professor Garrison, you've been most helpful."

Linda smiles at him. "You're welcome, Detective."

Detective Pierce looks back at her once more before turning to walk away. "Have a nice day!"

"You too!" Linda double checks making sure the detective is definitely heading in the opposite direction before hurriedly closing her classroom door. She leans up against it breathing in a sigh of relief. She'd never felt so nervous in her entire life; holding up a hand, she noticed it was trembling.

Patrick, what have you gotten yourself into? She thought.

A crowd of students including, Stephanie Davis, are gathered around Miss Garrison's classroom door. For once, Stephanie's glad that she isn't the only one that's late. She wonders why they're all standing outside, so she asks the guy standing next to her.

"What are we waiting for?"

"Apparently, Miss Garrison left."

Stephanie was confused. "Left? Professors don't just leave in the middle of the day."

"Well, she did," replied the guy.

Professor Simon, whose classroom is across the hall from Miss Garrison's, noticed the crowd of students gathered in the hall. "What are you all doing out here? You should all be in class," he scolded.

"Don't you think we would if we could?" Remarks a student, pointing in front of himself.

Professor Simon approaches the head of the crowd noticing a handwritten note taped to Miss Garrison's door.

DONE FOR THE DAY, GO TO YOUR NEXT CLASS.
PROFESSOR GARRISON

The crowd of students is sent into an uproar. Professor Simon gets a hold of the situation, suggesting they all go to the common area to study. Linda went to the Dean's office in hopes he'd be able to tell her what was going on, but his secretary informed her he wasn't there.

No one's around when you need them, Linda thought.

She goes to the faculty parking lot, which is swamped with news vans from different local stations; one of them had her vehicle blocked, preventing her from leaving.


With the help of campus security eventually, Linda was able to get to her vehicle. She headed straight to Patrick's in hopes he'd be able to give her the answers she was seeking. She stood on his doorstep, rang the doorbell, and was surprised to hear a small dog barking. With the events that occurred last night and earlier this morning, Patrick had yet to take the dog back to the pet store. He placed the dog in the Study while he answered the door.

"No barking!" Patrick called over his shoulder. "Linda?" He was shocked. He couldn't believe she was on his doorstep. What could she possibly want at this hour?

"Since when do you have a dog?" Linda asked, stepping past him helping herself inside.

Patrick closed the front door. "I... What are you doing here?"

Linda swiped the TV remote off the end table, turning it. "Have you seen the news?"

"No, why..."

The TV was already tuned into the news showing live coverage of the University. It was a media circus of reporters and camera crews all wanting coverage of the latest scandal that unfolded. At the helm of it all was Robert Hall, the President of the University, who was currently being interviewed by reporters regarding the scandal.

[On the television; Hall commenting on the scandal] "Obviously, I have seen the images, and I do find them troubling."

Someone took promotional images from Tracey's Fame or Shame page and photoshopped them to appear like she was dancing suggestively for Patrick.

"I would like to say, however, that we must not rush to judgment. I am sure Professor Jefferies has a good explanation for what we've all clearly seen, and this issue will be resolved pretty quickly."

[A reporter asks] "What do you believe the explanation will be?"

"That's not for me to say."

[Another reporter asks] "Do you know Professor Jefferies personally?"

"We've worked together for the University; I've always found him to be an exceptional and forthright young man."

[A third reporter asks] "Will this affect the image of ULS?"

Robert isn't used to this kind of public scrutiny. He tries to be professional, to remain poised, but he cracks under pressure blatantly making his next remark.

"Let me put it to you this way. Those images, to me, tell one story; it's distasteful. It's not a good one for young Mister Jefferies."

On that note, Robert ends the press conference as two campus security guards clear a path for him to exit.

Linda turns off the television. Patrick is in shock, unable to speak. He takes a seat on the couch. All that he feared has come to light in a very public manner. There was no hiding or denying anything from anyone any longer. Linda stood there waiting for some sort of explanation. Patrick looked up; his eyes were drawn to her. Their eyes met, and yet the look in her eyes was enough to keep him where he sat. They were full of hurt, accusations, surprise, and anger. It was staggering to be on the receiving end of such a look. He gave an outward sigh, never thinking he'd find himself in this position with a lot to answer for and people to answer to.

"Where and how do I begin?"

"Let's start with the truth," said Linda. "Is any of it true?"

Patrick shakes his head. "It's photoshopped; those pictures aren't real."

Linda grew frustrated, raising her voice. "You know what I mean!"

The dog gets worked up, barking in the Study. Patrick gestured for Linda to lower her voice.

She gets defensive. "Don't shush me. I demand to know what the hell's going on!"

"No, not you," explained Patrick, "I'm trying to get the dog to stop..."

Tracey hears the dog barking, deciding to venture downstairs to see what the cause is for the commotion. She wonders why Patrick locked her in the Study, so she lets the dog out. Tiffy runs straight for the living room where Patrick and Linda are. Tracey follows behind.

"I thought you said you'd take her back to the..." Tracey stops midsentence. "...Pet store." She's surprised at the sight of Miss Garrison in the living room.

Linda looks at Tracey in disbelief. "Tracey?"

"Miss Garrison?"

The dog continues barking. Tracey scoops her up, hoping that will get her to stop. Linda turned to look at Patrick. Part of her already knew the answer to her next question, but she bothered asking anyway. "What is she doing here?"

Patrick stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do; his mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but words failed him.

"Me?" said Tracey. "Why are you here?"

Both women began arguing.

Patrick yells at them. "STOP!" He talks to them in a calmer tone. "Both of you just... take a seat."

They sat at opposite ends of the couch, watching Patrick anxiously pacing back and forth, attempting to find his words. Linda begins to rise from her seat, but he stops her. "Don't get up." She sits back down. There's a slight tremor in Patrick's voice as he explained himself. "She..."

"You're going to have to be more specific," said Linda.

Patrick sighed. "Tracey." He paused. "Tracey's..."

"Sleeping with you?" Linda interjected, assuming that was the point he was getting at.

"Pregnant." Patrick finally managed to say. Linda's world came crashing down around her. Only instead of quick and painless, it was more like slow motion but painful nonetheless. Her pain was too much the pain he caused. Hadn't he done enough damage? Patrick seemed unaware of the turmoil in Linda's mind. "Did you hear what I said?" She heard him say.

Linda merely nodded, indicating she understood. Her mind, however, is already far away from the conversation; it wasn't even in the same room. She rose slowly from the couch, standing before Patrick slapping him hard. She didn't say another word as she took a few steps back, turned on her heels, and ran away from him, away from his life. Linda half jogged half ran down the walkway to get to her vehicle. She couldn't leave fast enough, fumbling with her keys, struggling to buckle her seat belt. Her hands were trembling because she felt so flustered.

How could I be so blind? Linda thought.

A pounding noise on the side of her vehicle startled her from her thoughts; it was Patrick. He tapped on the window, trying to get her attention. For a split second, Linda thought about rolling it down so they could talk. Another part of her was screaming, "Get the hell out of here," which is exactly what she did. Patrick watched as she turned the car over, backed up, and sped off down the street around the corner and possibly out of his life forever.

He felt beside himself given all that had unfolded. The professor didn't mean for Linda to find out about he and Tracey's relationship the way that she had. He intended to tell her in his own time. No thanks to the local news, their relationship was now broadcasted to all of Los Santos. Before the scandal, Patrick was viewed as a bright, talented college professor with a promising career and a future. But now, he was considered a sleazy unprofessional who sleeps with his students and his career on the line. He hung his head in shame while heading back inside the house.


It was ten o'clock in the morning; The De Santa's were far from being "morning people," but Michael and Amanda were both up sitting on the couch in their living room watching television. They were waiting for the previous program to end because the movie Nelson In Naples would follow. It's one of Michael's favorites produced by Solomon Richards, and he couldn't wait to see the cable premiere. He was so thrilled finally able to share something that he loved with his wife.

"Man, this is so exciting!" enthused Michael. "This movie is a Vinewood classic." He got up from the couch, ensuring his wife he'd return. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" Amanda asked, yawning.

"To make some coffee," he called over his shoulder from the kitchen.

His wife watched as the movie started without him. The opening credits began to roll, so she called for him to come back. "Honey, you're missing it!"

Just then, the movie was interrupted by a local broadcast a female news anchor came on the air.

[On the television] "We interrupt this program to bring you to live coverage of the ULS campus where news of a scandal has broken."

Amanda covers her mouth with both hands while watching. She's in utter shock at the realization that the coverage is of her daughter's school. As the report continues, Amanda can't seem to tear her eyes away from the screen. She didn't even notice her husband had returned, sitting next to her until he speaks up.

"Hey, the coffee's brewing." Michael notices the disturbed look on his wife's face. "What's with you?" He looks at the TV. "Hey, what happened to the movie?" Amanda reaches for the remote, but Michael is quicker than she is. He presses a button. "It's still on the same channel." Michael looks closer at the screen. "Isn't that Tracey's school?"

The report continues.

[On the television] "This was the scene just moments ago where ULS President Robert Hall addressed the scandal."

They both watch the footage of the speech replayed, followed by the photos of Tracey dancing suggestively for her professor. Amanda can tell her husband is thoroughly upset. Unsure of what to do, she grabs the remote from him, quickly turning off the television. Michael wordlessly gets up from the couch going into the kitchen.

"Alright, this ends right now!" Michael says, angrily car keys in one hand, the other on the knob of the front door.

Amanda follows after him. "You're going to Patrick's, aren't you?"

"I'm not going to tell you because then it would be premeditated; let me go while it's still a crime of passion."

"Michael, you're not going anywhere," Amanda says. Her husband opens the door. She pleads. "Just... stop, okay! There's a sensible way to handle this; we have to go to the school and talk to the Dean. He can assemble everyone involved and mediate the situation."

Michael lets out a sigh of frustration. "I don't need mediating; I want ass-kicking! What Dean handles that?" He says, leaving in a huff.

Eight weeks. Eight weeks is all the time it took for Patrick's life to go from "simple" to "complicated." Deciding he needed some time alone to reflect the professor chose to isolate himself in the privacy of his Study. He sat at his desk, leaning back in the chair, trying to rack his brain over how his personal life became so public. Moments later, there came a loud knock on the front door.

[KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK]

"JEFFERIES!" Shouted an angry male voice.

Patrick raced to the living room, peeking through the blinds to see if he could spot who it was. To his dismay, he saw Tracey's father on the doorstep. Without hesitation, he quickly turns the deadbolt locking the front door preventing Michael from entering.

Michael shouted again, pounding on the door. "Open up; I know you're in there because your car is still in the driveway!"

He shimmied the knob attempting to get in. Realizing the door was locked; Michael angrily threw his weight up against it. Sadly the door didn't budge. He rubbed his shoulder, knowing a bruise would form later. After a few moments of silence, Patrick figured Michael gave up. The professor looked through the peephole and quickly backs away from the door, which Michael violently kicked down.

Tracey hears this racing downstairs. Her instinct is to follow the noise, so she heads into the living room.

She spots the front door broken off its hinges laying flat on the floor, her mind automatically thinking the worst. OMG, an intruder has broken into the house! Scared, alone, and defenseless, Tracey decides to call for help. Just as she's about to dial 9-1-1 she hears an all too familiar voice coming from the Study. Daddy? He's not alone; Patrick's with him. As she nears the entrance of the Study, she hears her father shouting at the professor.

"A choice? You made a choice, and just like every other choice that every other human being has ever made, it has a consequence, and you're about to pay it!" Michael yelled.

Tracey watches as her father and Patrick chase each other around opposite sides of the desk.

Her father smirks, thinking he has the professor cornered. "Nowhere to run."

"STOP!" Tracey commands.

Both men turn their attention to her. Patrick feels relieved, not wanting to imagine what her father would have done to him had she not intervened.

"Tracey," says Michael. "Get your things; it's time to go."

"Go? What no, I'm not leaving," She objects.

Patrick steps in front of her. "She's not going anywhere, at least not with you."