Something's Afoot

By Ninjin Ohki

Disclaimer: Aw, come on, you know the drill. Clearly this is parody, sick and perverted parody, but parody none the less.

Quinn looked over the paper she just got back from Mr. DiMartino. She had really taken to history, the tutoring and studying had paid off, she earned an A on her report. Sandi, Tiffany and Stacy were happy with their C's, Quinn took extra care to conceal her grade from them. They were heading out of class when Mr. D, tapped Quinn on the shoulder.

"Quinn, I'd like to speak with you about your work after school today." He seemed subdued, which for him meant that he was speaking in a normal tone of voice.

"Sure, I'll meet you here after the last bell." Quinn was puzzled about what he could have wanted. She was doing well in the class. The thought crossed her mind that he thought she might be cheating. Ah well, she'd cross that bridge when she came to it.

The Fashion Club was waiting for her in the hall. "So what did Mr. DiMartino want Quinn?"

"He wants to talk to me about my grade." Quinn improvised, she liked it as an excuse, it made her look like she was in trouble, thus preserving her reputation as just another average student, something she guarded jealously. "I hope I don't have to take summer school."

"Summer. School. What. A. Drag." Tiffany slurred.

"Yeah Quinn, if you have to go to summer school, you'll miss all of those afternoons at the mall." Stacy pointed out to her.

"Right, which can turn into a career at the mall if you can't get into college." Quinn thought. "Gosh Stacy, don't even SAY it." Quinn stated emphatically. "That's just too gruesome to contemplate."

"Quinn, are you being sarcastic?" Sandi asked, in her snottiest voice.

"Me? Sarcastic? Sandi, where would you ever get an idea like that?" They had reached their last class, and Quinn was relieved that they wouldn't have to continue the conversation, since they slid into their seats just as the bell rang.

After fifty-four minutes, class was over. The Fashion Club, minus Quinn headed over to Sandi's house to look over some old Waif magazines, trying to see how often shoe trends repeated themselves. Quinn was relieved that this afternoon, she could get out of the usual discussion of high heels versus strappy sandals.

The classroom door stood ajar, Quinn let herself in. Mr. DiMartino was sitting behind his desk, flipping through what looked like a catalog.

"Mr. DiMartino?" Quinn inquired, not wanting to startle him.

"Ah, Quinn, come in and please close the door behind you." Quinn did as she was instructed, but it struck her as creepy that he wanted a meeting behind closed doors. She knew that if anything untoward happened, that she could handle herself, if she needed to. "I'm sure you're wondering why I've asked you here."

Quinn nodded. She had learned that in these situations that it was best to let them do the talking and only to respond in the simplest manner. She often heard Helen on the phone instructing a client "Yes. No. I don't know and I don't remember. These are the only answers to questions. If you add anything or embellish your statement, you'll hang yourself." Quinn had found this to be true.

Mr. DiMartino looked nervous. Well, he always looked nervous; he looked more nervous than usual. "Quinn, I notice that the quality of your schoolwork as well as your classroom participation has improved tremendously. At first I thought that it was just a blip on the radar, but you have consistently kept up with the class." He waited for her to say something, but she remained quiet with an impassive expression on her face. "I'm assuming that you are starting to consider colleges. I thought I might be able to help you out a bit." Again, she just sat there. He was going to have to be plain. "I can change your grades for the history classes you took with me in your freshman and sophomore years. I'm comfortable that you know the material, and it seems unfair that you should suffer for a lack of application when you were younger."

She smiled. He knew that would melt her. "Really? You can do that? How?" Quinn was excited. She generally maintained a 3.0 G.P.A, with those grades altered, and really good scores on the boards, she could seriously consider some decent schools, not just Pepperhill or Arizona State.

He approached her; his heart beating fast. He could be fired, and her mother was an attorney, but the longing… Well, here goes nothing. "I could give you some extra credit reading and reports to do." He studied her face for a reaction. He was not disappointed. He could see her struggling, although she had acquired study skills, and seemed to improve her writing, it didn't mean that she wanted to spend her summer applying them. Not when her friends were at pool parties or whatever it was that those little spider-girls did for fun.

"Oh." She seemed disappointed, but it was something she wanted. He had discovered the weakness, now he could move in. Intelligence techniques he learned in the military served him well. Everyone has a weakness.

"There is another way. If you're interested. It's unorthodox." He wanted her to encourage him to continue. If she weren't interested, he could assign the books and report topics, and that would be the end of that. He didn't want to twist her arm; he only wanted her to follow her natural inclinations.

"Are you suggesting something…" Quinn was confused, but she thought she knew where he was going, and she was ready to smack him and fly out of there if it was what she was thinking.

"No. No, no, no. Nothing like that. It's perfectly harmless, at least I think it is, but it gives me immense pleasure. It might even give you pleasure. Do you want me to continue, or would you prefer to accept the extra credit work, and to be on your way?" He felt slick. He wasn't coercing her. From this point on, it was up to her.

Quinn thought about it. She had good instincts, and they were telling her that she wasn't in any trouble. In fact at this point she held all the aces. She had nothing to lose. "Well, what exactly are we talking about here?" Might as well get it all out in the open.

"Pedicures." He stated simply.

Quinn involuntarily shook her head. Did she hear that right? "Pedicures?"

"Yes, pedicures." His eyes lit up when he said the word; his left eye popped a bit as well. Pedicures.

"Like where you paint my toenails and stuff?" This was weird, but not unmanageable.

"Yes Quinn. I like feet. I like your feet. I'll bet you didn't know that you've been teasing me with your sandals, and boots and your d'orsay pumps, but let me tell you, your feet tantalize me." He was enthused.

Quinn thought about it for a couple of seconds. "So let me get this straight. You give me pedicures, and you play around a little with my feet, and you'll change my C's to A's?" She was trying to see the downside. Besides, he seemed to know his footwear; perhaps they could have conversations about it.

"Yes. That's it. It's very simple. In fact, here's the deal. We'll try it out. If you are too uncomfortable with it, you don't have to continue. The offer still stands, you can do the extra credit. If you like it, well then, one afternoon a week, and you can improve your G.P.A, and get a letter of recommendation from me, which should help you get into the college of your choice." He sat behind his desk, giving Quinn the breathing room to decide.

At first Quinn thought, 'No Way.' But she continued. She liked pedicures. What if Mr. DiMartino worked in a salon, would it be wrong? No. Besides, he knew that she knew the material, she earned those grade changes already. How else could he justify it to Ms. Li? "Why not?"

He smiled. It didn't look right on him. "Okay, here's my address. Come to my house, tomorrow night at eight, and we'll get started."

Quinn took the paper. "Okay, but no funny stuff. I don't drink anything, and you don't try anything. Right?"

"Right, strictly feet." He promised her.

The next evening Quinn found herself at the door of Mr. DiMartino's apartment. Her heart was beating quickly, she took some breaths to calm down. She promised herself that if it were too weird, she'd bail. She summoned her courage and knocked. Mr. DiMartino answered the door; he was wearing what looked like operating room scrubs and a frilly apron.

"Ah, Quinn, you're right on time, please come in." He showed her into his apartment. She glanced around. It looked like it was furnished from a fire sale. Nothing matched. But it was clean and tidy. Quinn relaxed. He led her into the kitchen. There he had a salon pedicure station, complete with a whirlpool footbath. Quinn put her purse on the kitchen table and sat in the chair. The familiarity of it calmed her somewhat.

He quietly set to work. There was music playing in the background. It sounded familiar to Quinn, but she couldn't place it. It was Enigma. Quinn wore slip-on mules, for ease, as well as not to smudge her polish when she was done. She always thought ahead about stuff like that. First he gently slipped her feet out of the shoes. He inhaled the insoles, and although there was no telltale foot odor, there was a lovely leather and skin smell. He sighed. He inspected her feet. They were dainty and perfect. She had a narrow foot, with high arches and a high instep. He traced the arch of her foot, it tickled and caused her to squirm. "Oh, are you ticklish?" He asked her, as a doctor would ask a patient about allergies.

"A little." She admitted. So far it wasn't so bad. He indicated that she should soak her feet in the tub that was built into the chair. She eased them into the warm water. He seemed transfixed as the jets caused the water to bubble around Quinn's feet. He watched the bubbles whirl and dance around her perfect feet. There was a mild smell coming out of the water. Mint, rosemary and something clean and soapy. It calmed her down even more. She leaned back and closed her eyes. She hadn't let down her guard, but so far, it seemed perfectly normal. For a pedicure. Not for a teacher/student relationship. No, in that respect it was still very, very strange.

He bustled around, getting out his instruments. Quinn could see that they were brand new, purchased especially for her. That was important, everything should be sanitary. He arranged the tools on the tray; he also placed five bottles of nail polish out for her. Quinn had slid one of her own into her purse, just in case she didn't like his options, but although he could wear brown polyester pants with impunity, nail polish was where his gift of taste was bestowed. Everything he did was deliberate and precise. It took him a few minutes, just long enough to soften the hard skin on Quinn's feet.

He lifted her left foot out of the bath and propped it up on his knee. He expertly lathered it up, and exfoliated it with a pumice stone; then he pushed back and removed the cuticle. When he was done, he replaced it into the water and did the same with its mate. After her feet were rinsed, he removed the bath, leaving a terrycloth-covered perch for her feet. He toweled her feet dry. Next was his favorite part, the massage.

He had studied reflexology and foot massage was one of his talents. Again, starting with her left foot, he rubbed her skin with jasmine scented lotion. He closed his eyes in concentration, and in pleasure as he started with her toes and worked his way down to her heel. He paid special attention to the balls of her feet. Quinn hated to admit it, but whatever he was doing it felt like heaven. The massage lasted nearly twenty minutes, always too short, but much longer than any salon had ever spent on her. Quinn thought she should say something, but he seemed so intense, focused on her feet, that she hated to interrupt him, so she just quietly enjoyed the attention.

Now for the polish. He expertly wiped her nails with alcohol to remove any excess lotion, and filed her them into perfect little ovals. He put the foam spacers between her toes, separating them enough to be painted without a mess. He seemed to enjoy painting the various layers of base-coat, polish and top-coat. Quinn had selected a subtle pink color; he approved entirely. She knew that she had to sit still while the polish dried. He got out an oriental fan and manually waved it across her feet. Quinn giggled. Usually she just put on some paper slippers and waited in the reception area until they were dry enough to put her sandals back on. She never had such a personal touch before. His face was almost resting on the instep of her right foot. She could only describe the look on his face as worship.

"Do you want to kiss them?" She asked innocently. It seemed innocuous, why not?

He looked up at her with a rapt look on his face. "May I?"

He was asking her permission. Was she in control here? "You may." She stated simply. He planted a chaste kiss on her instep. "Is that all you want to do?" She wanted to see where this could go. She liked the attention, and he was so gentle with her.

"May I do the bottoms?" It was sweet the way he begged her. She liked it when guys begged. She tried not to smile. It seemed that the more reluctant she was, the more she was going to get out of it. "I don't know," she said hesitantly, "perhaps."

He knelt down so that he was eye-level with her feet; he looked like he was kowtowing. "Please?" He implored.

She pretended to think about it. "Alright. But don't slobber." She said with a stern voice, he seemed to like it when she was strict with him.

"Oh thank you." He nearly sobbed with gratitude as he raised her feet to his lips. He began by placing soft kisses on her arches, and then moved to the balls of her feet. He resisted the urge to suck her toes, since that would smudge the lacquer still drying on them. He did however, give in to the desire to lick her feet. Quinn squealed, both with pleasure and because it tickled. He stopped, and looked at her, waiting for her to dictate the next move.

"That's enough. I've got to get home, it's getting late." She gathered her belongings, as he placed her sandals back on her feet.

"Well?" He asked her. He was praying that she would come back.

She considered it for a moment, enjoying his agony in her indecision. "Okay, next week. I have some shoes, and I want your opinion on them. I'll model them for you next week, okay?"

He sighed with relief, she wasn't disgusted, she was just like him. "Yes, I'd be happy to."

He watched as she flounced down the stairs and into the night. He only wished he had asked her years earlier. He wondered what it would take to get her sister in here as well.