Jack Who? Perfect Storms

by Lisa Gillis

  RUSS

  ru wearing red?

  11:45 PM

  This flirtation coming, now of all times, was laughable, and she glanced down at the now wrinkled black blouse hanging loose to cover the weight she had gained lately. He was speaking of the red lingerie in his memories, which was also amusing. With the extra pounds, she was now spilling out of her bras. Unfortunately, she was also spilling out of everything. Unable to listen to his lines, she joked to throw him off, playing on the fact that it had been so long since their last texts.

  Who is this?

  Sent 11:53 PM

  RUSS

  Jack

  11:53 PM

  Jack Who?

  Sent 11:55 PM

  RUSS

  Riiight

  11:56 PM

  ;)

  Sent 11:57 PM

  RUSS

  So what ru wearing?

  11:58

  Obviously, he was not deterred from his one-track lines, and her mind slipped pleasantly back to how seductive he could be. While she was mulling over this bizarre situation, her phone buzzed and blinked again with the next text.

  RUSS

  u dont have to be wearing anything ;)

  11:59

  Lol.

  Sent 11:59 AM

  RUSS

  No loling! pic PLEASE

  12:00 AM

  RUSS

  waiting ;)

  12:01 AM

  As you will be forever

  Sent 12:01 AM

  RUSS

  come on you got to give me something…

  12:02 AM

  Jack was no amateur at seductive texting. Pushing to a sitting position, she fished the remote from the cushions to mute the loud infomercial then pecked at the keys.

  I don’t do sexting

  Sent 12:05 AM

  RUSS

  u lie

  12:05 AM

  He was right. She would for him– if she weren’t currently a cow.

  How would you know? Ever sexted or even texted me?

  Sent 12:09 AM

  Scowling at the display, she easily discounted the couple of past short text sessions he had left hanging, and she nervously rested her phone on her pudgy abdomen. Before she could even turn the t.v. off and take herself to bed, the phone again came to life, this time with a ringtone.

  Five months ago, after the best hour or so of her life, she had promptly come home to her tiny apartment, listened to the album he had given her, and eventually chopped a ringtone from one of his songs.

  Never had she heard the reality of that ringtone until now.

  Accepting the call, she nervously spoke into the device voicing what had become their standard greeting in print. “Hey!”

  The voice from so many of her dreams, both day and night ones, returned, “Hey!” Just as she remembered, it was warm, husky, and sweet. “Does calling count?”

  Smiling into her phone, she rested her head to the back of the couch. Letting her eyelids fall closed, she brought his face to the forefront of her memory banks. “It does. Equals at least ten texts.”

  “Only ten? I was thinking twenty easy.” The humor in his voice fluttered at her insides.

  “Fifteen.” The compromise left her amused lips.

  “Ok fifteen,” he was agreeable from his end. A few seconds of silence ticked by, then his next words were startling. “Come see me.”

  Her eyes shot open to unseeingly stare at the dust beasties on the blades of the ceiling fan. For a few months, she had been constantly tired and had let the cleaning go. “Where are you?”

  “LA. The next leg of the tour doesn’t begin for a couple of months.”

  The assumption that he was making the invitation because he was nearby on tour was wrong, and she let out a sigh of relief as well as disappointment. “When?”

  “Now. Tomorrow. Whenever.”

  Her laugh was nervous, disbelieving, regretful. Her heart filled with so many nondescript and indescribable emotions. When she didn’t jump at the offer, he wheedled, “Come on, I’ll show you the sights.”

  The only sight she wanted to see was him, but she was a sight he certainly did not want to see; he just did not know it yet. “It sounds great, really. But I have work...”

  Jack was not easily deterred. “You have sick days right? Vacation?”

  “Actually no,” The lie was slight. Regarding vacation, the two precious weeks due would be used in a few months.

  “Call in sick anyway. Or tell your boss that a dude in LA will throw a t.v. off a balcony endangering innocent tourists if he doesn’t see you. Do whatever, just do it!”

  The historical image of Zeppelin’s enraged drummer tossing a television from a suite window made her smile, and she even wondered if Jack was currently lodged at the infamous hotel himself. However, reality soon stole any amusement.

  “I wouldn’t be paid.” That much was true, as her sick days, rarely used in past years, had now been used up in just a few months.

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “I can’t.” If he was offering to pay for her missed days, as well as the trip, the offer was generous. She had pride, but the real reason for her decline rooted deeper. A reason she could not reveal.

  The lack of an explanation and hollow excuses created another bout of silence, and then he asked ever so quietly, “Can’t or won’t?”

  With all of her being, she wanted this, but fate had already intervened long before this phone call. The Marissa in his head was not the Marissa he now appealed to. “Can’t. You know I want...to.” With an attempt at humor, she changed won’t to want.

  “Are you married?” The blunt question was his next attempt at ascertaining any reason in the situation.

  “What? No!”

  “Then come. I don’t see the problem. Even if you are going out with someone, you should take a free pass.” He was back to joking so she was caught off guard when he quietly confessed, “When we kissed...you are the first person I kissed in a long, long time...”

  “That’s hard to believe.” Her answer was honest and somehow calm while her heart raced. A guy like him had sex every night. There was no way she would believe him if was trying to tell her different.

  “Not really,” he continued and clarified, “I’m not saying I haven’t been with anyone. I’m saying I don’t kiss random women. At least I didn’t, until you. A kiss and sex aren’t the same...”

  He was right about that. She and Kel had all but stopped kissing months before their breakup. Sex had turned into almost passionless quickies, and it rarely involved kissing...

  “I don’t know why I wanted to kiss you so bad. But, Maris, that kiss and everything that happened was– was something I think about a lot.”

  It was something she thought about every day and dreamed about all night.

  She could not believe the conversation was at this level. Why, after so many indifferent months, would he admit such things? Did it change what she was hiding? Her eyes dropped to the extra weight she had put on since seeing him. He wouldn’t be accepting; she was sure of it.

  “I want to come. I really do. But I–” Trailing off, she tried to sort her feelings into words.

  “But?” The prompt came softly after a very long pause. His next words were notably cooler. “Since you can’t or won’t tell me what the deal is, have a nice life Mariss.”

  “Wait–” But her appeal was to dead air. And hearing him say his shortened version of her name, a nickname that had come from knowing him for less than two hours, months ago, released a torrent of tears.

  FIVE YEARS LATER

  Jack? please call me when you can.

  Sent 11:32 AM

  Hey if this number is still Jack, please call, It’s really important. If it’s not, text back. Let me know? Thanks, this is Marissa

  Sent 12:21 PM

  Ring: Ring: Ring:Ring:Ring

  “Heh, voicemail suckers. Try again”...BEEEP

  “Hi, Jack, it’s Marissa, can
you please call me at your earliest convenience, it’s important.”

  Hacking with a spatula at the ground beef browning in a skillet, she intently watched through the window contemplating her next inevitable move. It had to happen. There was no getting around it. Dread rose like bile in her throat every time she thought about it. The meat cooked, and she drained it before pouring in the spaghetti sauce then strained the noodles from the other pot.

  Was the waiting the hardest part?

  Her focus remained beyond the patio doors to the tiny backyard as she turned the sauce on low and then snatched her phone from the counter top. With a few clicks, she found the number and pressed send.

  “What?”

  The realization that a real voice and not a ‘sucker voicemail’ had answered stunned her into initial silence.

  “Jack? It’s Mar-”

  “Marissa who?”

  “We need to talk.” Ignoring his cool detachment, she prodded on and even contemplated a quick swig of the vodka atop the fridge.

  “We fucked once. I can’t think of anything we have to talk about.”

  Words colder than January gave her pause, and she wondered why she was being treated in such a hateful way before she dropped her bomb. “Actually, it was twice. And that’s what we need to talk about.”

  His end was so silent through a few beats of her heart, and then his words seemed wary. “I’m listening.”

  “I got pregnant.”

  The laugh roaring through the phone, in all of her scenarios, was not a possibility she had imagined. Because he wasn’t speaking, she took it as an opportunity to press on.

  “And I need to talk to you about your–”

  “Do not even say my kid. Because there is no way.”

  “The second time, in the shower, we didn’t use anything.” It felt wrong to bring such sweet memories into a hostile, hateful conversation, and she squeezed her eyes closed for a second willing the actual image away before it became tainted.

  “We didn’t DO anything.”

  “We did enough.” Angrily, she forced the statement through gritted teeth. Was he really going to pretend ignorance and argue the notion that pulling away at the last second was adequate birth control?

  “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe this.” The words were still chilly, but the hardness left his tone, and she couldn’t get a grip on the new emotion.

  “Believe it since I’m looking at your child right now.” Continuously, she stared through the glass drawing strength from the tiny figure playing on the patio.

  The seconds ticked by, and only background sounds came through: the light pound of music, the whip of wind on the phone mic, the rumble of traffic. She didn’t know whether to imagine him in his car or standing on a porch at his home. Then he spoke, and both images dropped away.

  “Not mine, you’re not. You are not looking at my kid.” The denial was firm, and she wondered if he was willing it to be true, or if he actually believed it so.

  Dropping to a chair, she took in the brown eyes, large and innocent. Thick dark hair waved around his cheeky face, and she twisted a strand of her lighter strands. “You’re wrong.”

  “And you’re just now telling me? Three years later?! Bullshit!”

  “I NEVER wanted to have this conversation.” She didn’t correct him that it was now five, not three, years later. “I never wanted to bother you–” Here she stopped at the very idea that her child, the best thing to ever happen in her life, could be a bother. “I’m only calling you now because–”

  “Because?” he prompted, not as patient when she was the one letting the clock tick.

  “Because of–”

  “Money.” His tone was disparaging. “You are wanting money aren’t you?”

  “No!” Even though she had envisioned that deduction from him, it stung. “No. Well, sort of. But it’s –”

  “That’s what I thought.” Matter of factual was the retort. That drawl, even from hurtful words, still had the ability to tease her eardrums.

  “No it’s NOT what you thought– think. You see, our son–”

  “This conversation is over. Continue it with my legal guy if you must.”

  “Jack–” But the disconnect tone rang in her ear.

  Angry and embarrassed, she dropped the phone on the table and again squeezed her eyes closed, this time against the threat of tears. Once before, she had the task of explaining ‘Mommy crying’ to a toddler, and it had been enough to keep the water works at bay through even the most heartbreaking times. And, there had been a lot of those in his young life.

  Straightening to her feet, she slid open the door and forced a smile to the tot who was intently humming out car sounds. A massive collection of Hot Wheels and Matchbox cars were strewn about the wading pool. Kneeling beside him, she randomly picked one out and rolled it around for a few seconds before fiddling idly with the tires.

  “You ready to eat, sweetie?”

  When he nodded, she plucked him from the couple of inches of water, draping a towel on him as she settled him in a chair. A brown lab rose from the patio and plodded over to sit down again. The pet was never more than a couple of feet from his young master.

  Pulling at the Velcro straps, she slipped tiny braces on each leg before tightening them again.

  “Okay.” Helping him from the chair, she passed his crutches over. “Let’s get out of this sun and get into some spaghetti!”

  “Momma?” Mere minutes later, he was looking up at her, his face slightly smeared with marinara sauce. “Does surgery hurt?”

  “No. You will be asleep. Then, you will wake up and feel sick for a few days. But that won’t matter because you will know that soon you will be able to throw those crutches away.”

  “Will Bally sleep with me in the hospital?”

  Looking over the laptop and the bills she was paying, she frowned at the dog and hurriedly snatched her son’s utensil from his hand. “Tristan Jack Duplei! Do not feed Bally from your fork!

  Tossing it into the sink and leaning back on her bar stool enough to reach a clean one, she passed it over. “Bally will stay home, and Aunt Liv will take care of her. Because we will only be away a few days, and a pup wouldn’t be happy without a backyard.”

  “Because Bally can’t use the potty.”

  “Because Bally can’t use the potty,” she agreed with his logic and with a sweep of her pen signed the first hefty check sum– the down payment for the procedures that would eventually allow her son to literally stand on his own two feet.

  CHAPTER 7

  “MARISSA! HOLD UP!”

  From punching the clock upon arrival, all through breaks, through every minute of the workday, she had worked to avoid Clayton. Now, just seconds after punching out and slipping her time card into its slot, he caught her.

  Physically caught. Narrowing her eyes into a glare, she flicked his hand from her arm using only the tips of her fingers. “What’s up?” Unable to act a total bitch, she phrased the polite inquiry but did not meet his attractive eyes.

  “How about a drink?” The invitation came from his mouth while his eyes strayed to the stretch of the monogrammed black blouse hugging her chest.

  Pretending not to notice the direction of his gaze, she turned while declining. “Sorry, no. I’ve got to get home to my little guy.”

  “Later?” From behind, she heard the time card stamp, and he rushed to match her strides. “We can make it late, like, last time.”

  Fishing her keys from her purse, she stalled hoping for any type of interruption.

  “Still hard to believe you have a kid.” His gaze roved over the body that spent at least an hour daily on the stair master or some other exercise contraption, and no doubt, he was also pulling from his own up close and personal memories. It was an oddity, but the same things that would turn her on prior to dating these guys, turned her off after knowing them in a biblical sense. Right now, she just wanted to mace his roving eyes.

  However, she r
ealized the creepy compliment could be turned into the diversion she longed for. Shining her sweetest smile, she gushed, “That’s why I like you Clayton. You keep us girls feeling good about ourselves!” Deliberately, she brought his constant flirtation with every other female in the casino into play. “Look, there’s Gina. Her dice were cold all day. Go work your magic!”

  The brush off was clearly unexpected, but he quickly recovered upon getting an eyeful of the tight skirt their coworker had exchanged her black uniform slacks for. Because most women vied for Clayton’s attention, she felt no guilt when he deviated his course directly to Gina and she alone made her way to the employee parking garage.

  Less than twenty minutes later, she let herself into the tiny suburban home she had managed to finance a couple of years ago. The ability to pay the mortgage would be jeopardized within a few months– once the medical bills began rolling in.

  Dropping her purse and tote to a chair in the hall, she remained in the shadows of the hallway while unwrapping the light jacket from her waist. The den was at the end of this corridor and as usual, Tristan sat in his mini sized recliner avidly watching his favorite shows. Behind him, Olivia lay on the sofa swiping on her tablet. The volume on the television was loud enough that neither had noticed her arrival, and she lingered going through the mail on the narrow console table.

  Tossing a couple of bills aside exposed a large cardboard priority mail envelope at the bottom of the stack bearing Olivia’s signature on the receiving line. The addressee was herself, and the return address, a law firm in–

  California.

  Uneasily, she recalled the conversation with an attorney from the legal department that represented Jack. Upon hearing her story, the lawyer’s attitude had not been any better than Jack’s demeanor had been that day on the phone. Thinking back on it always saddened her because, at least, Jack had not heard the entire situation before hating on her. The lawyer, even after being enlightened that the existence of a child was not the only issue, continued his rudeness to the very close of the conversation.