Come Fly With Me

by Sandi Perry

  "Why did you leave?" Alex asked.

  "I heard what I needed to hear."

  He nodded, "Seth told you about the newspaper route. That's a particular favorite of his. He's resentful that I flit in and out of his life. He thinks if he sabotages my prospects in New York, I'll come back here and work for my father."

  "So, you didn't teach him to steal to get ahead?"

  "I taught him business is cutthroat and you have to create every advantage for yourself."

  "Don't equivocate, Alex. Just say it—say you taught him it's okay to steal."

  "Seth would always knock on the door in the afternoon and hand over that day's paper. Mrs. Limons read the news a couple of hours later. No harm done."

  "Except to the boy who lost his paper route."

  "He should have figured it out. I did—when my father did it to me," he said.

  Allison shook her head, "And here I was just beginning to like your father."

  "Don't let the apron fool you—my father can be ruthless. He didn't double the family fortune in five years by giving out lollipops to children," Alex said as he leaned forward into her space. "Why don't you sign your paintings? Why won't you share your talent?"

  Allison was surprised at the direction of the conversation but was determined not to act defensively. She thought about Brett's advice of jumping in with both feet, eyes shut tight.

  "When I was eleven, my Uncle Joey died," she said. "For many years, I thought that I'd killed him. He was a change-of-life baby for my Bubby. I never knew what that meant until later; I only knew that everyone used to say it."

  She shook her head, "He was so vibrant, so alive, and always ready to try something crazy. My grandparents were clueless how to deal with that kind of energy. We had been at the cottage in Bar Harbor that summer," she took a deep, shaky breath. "Uncle Joey and I were all the way down at the other end of the property, near the cliffs that line Frenchman Bay. He loved an adrenaline rush. He wanted to jump off the cliffs into the water. I told him:

  "'Gramps and Gran would be real mad, they always tell me and Jeremy to stay real far away from the edge,' I said.

  "'And they're right, because you're so little. But, I'm twenty-one and six-feet tall. It's different for me,' he said as he started peeling down to his bathing suit."

  She shook her head in memory. "He took a running jump and landed with a large splash. I ran to the edge, as close as I dared, and he waved from down below. It was a forbidden rush for me. He was always doing one crazy thing or another. I looked guiltily over my shoulder at the adults that were specks in the distance. It took him a little while, but he climbed back up."

  "'Do it again! Do it again!" I urged. He winked at me and leaned over to kiss me on my forehead, and then he took another running jump," her voice quavered.

  "I waited a long time for him to wave up at me, but he never did. That was the last time I would ever see him alive. I tried to tell my Bubby during the Shiva that I had killed him, but she shushed me. 'Mamaleh, you don't know what you're saying,' she said to me, 'you must never say that, ever again.' I never told another soul about how I had urged him on. My parents, of course, saw my personality change. I had gone from a lively, fun child to a quiet, serious one overnight. They took me to counseling and naturally, I didn't say a word there, either. The psychologist suggested Art Therapy. They bought me a sketchpad; then they bought me canvasses. I become someone else when I paint. I never sell my paintings—it somehow would feel wrong."

  "That's an enormous burden to be carrying around all these years." Alex leaned back as he spoke and shook his head. "That must be the reason you keep everyone at arm's distance. I knew it had to be something."

  "I don't keep everyone at arm's distance."

  He cocked an eyebrow in her direction, "Yes. You do," he reached out to touch her, and she flinched. "See?" he said.

  "Don't psychoanalyze me. It's not sexy."

  "And your uncle's death, as tragic as that was, is not the reason you don't sell your paintings. You're afraid."

  "What? Afraid of what? That's so ridiculous, I don't even know what you're talking about. You don't even know what you're talking about..."

  "Your work is excellent. It has emotion; the passion shows through. You're afraid that others won't think your work is good enough. You don't believe in yourself."

  "That is such a crock..."

  "Don't interrupt me just because you don't like what I'm saying. Who put you down? Allison, who told you that you weren't good enough?"

  "Alex..."

  "It's time you believe in yourself. Stop hiding behind excuses, like dead relatives and whatever other story you've convinced yourself is the truth."

  Allison recoiled at his tough words. She went to the door, and held it open. "And it's time for you to go."

  He walked over and wrestled the knob out of her stiff hand. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not jumping off a cliff and abandoning you, either. So you might as well get that through your stubborn, self-absorbed skull."

  "Well, you sure know how to woo a girl."

  He looked at her tenderly, "You're an incredible woman, and I don't know what happened along the way to make you doubt that." He looked down at his watch. "It's early yet; it's only nine. I don't want you sitting here by yourself. I would love to stay here with you and... but I don't want to get ahead of myself. Put on a pair of jeans, and let's go see Damon play at The Beatnik."

  She was a mess of emotions. He had her on this roller coaster. She'd felt frozen for so long, that the heat coming off Alex felt restorative—like she'd only just remembered she was alive. She was beginning to crave it, could even get addicted to it if she wasn't careful. Allison looked at the set of his mouth. He didn't look like he was going anywhere. She nodded slowly, "Maybe going out somewhere isn't such a bad idea, I'll be ready in a few minutes."

  ****

  A short while later Allison and Alex walked into the smoke-filled club and found a table. She coughed for a couple of minutes before she adjusted to the air. Apparently, you could still smoke in certain parts of the country, Mayor Bloomberg. Damon and his group were good and after her third appletini, Allison felt her shoulders start to loosen. Her confession had felt so freeing; she didn't know what to do with herself. Alex, on the other hand, looked stressed out.

  "You know what, Alex? I'm going up to the bar and getting you something real strong. You haven't smiled once since we got here."

  "Ally, I'm driving."

  "We'll take a cab." She jumped up as Alex reached out to stop her. He followed her with his eyes as she made her way toward the crowded bar. It had been ages since she'd done anything spontaneous or youthful. She felt free and bold and wished Alex would lighten up. Go figure that he never took anything seriously and chose this time to step out of character and wear his serious hat. A good-looking guy at the bar offered to buy her a drink, which she politely declined. She walked back to Alex with two fingers of the house scotch. He left it untouched on the table.

  She was exasperated—she needed him to share her good mood. Allison got up and grabbed his hand. She led him onto the dance floor, filled with gyrating bodies in various stages of drink. He barely moved.

  "You're so inhibited—I never would have guessed."

  "I am not inhibited."

  "That's not what I see," she dared.

  He reached over and spun her around twice, ending in a dip. He backed her up to the wall and reached down to kiss her for a solid two minutes. She was breathless and flushed when he picked up his head to look her square in the eye.

  "Care to see more?" he asked as his hand slipped under her sweater.

  "I believe you," she whispered breathlessly. "I think it's time to leave."

  "My thoughts, exactly."

  "No, uh, no. That's not what I meant," she stammered.

  "It is what you meant; you're just being...inhibited."

  Chapter 16

  The next morning Allison boarded the jet and saw Alex already seat
ed comfortably. She felt like Hell, and looked it too. She had downed four aspirins earlier and her headache was now a category two. She marched stoically past Alex, but his hand shot out to stop her.

  "I'm not in the mood."

  "That's not what you said last night."

  "I can't hear you over the engine noise."

  He yanked her down into the seat next to him. "Those are the biggest sunglasses I've ever seen."

  She pulled her arm away and smoothed out her sweater, "Be careful how you handle the merchandise."

  "That's not what you said last night."

  "It's time to put the smarm away, Alex. We're heading back to New York." She looked at him, "And could you quit smiling? Your teeth are giving me a headache."

  "You're a mean drunk," he said.

  "I'm a mean person, period."

  "You're not. Vulnerable, wounded, maybe damaged, but not mean."

  "Damaged? I share a heartfelt memory with you, something sacred and personal, and your response is that you think I'm damaged?" she asked.

  "We're all damaged Allison, to one degree or another. Please don't be mad at me." He looked at her softly and reached over to remove her glasses, letting them drop onto his lap.

  "I learned a lot about you on this trip," she said.

  "So, do I get the job?"

  "You're always on the prowl," she shook her head. "Well, the truth is you've given me a lot to think about. On another note, we didn't, um, last night?"

  "No, you would have remembered."

  "You're cocky."

  "Confident."

  She reached over into his lap to retrieve her glasses and smiled with satisfaction as he flinched. "I'm not ready to fully share myself with you yet," she said as she got up and took another seat.

  "But you will be soon. I guarantee it," Alex said softly.

  Chapter 17

  Emily was finalizing a sale on the abstract piece, Musician, by Ellin B., when Allison walked in shortly before closing time. Emily raised her eyebrows and Allison recognized it as the signal for some TLC from the owner. She stepped over to the diminutive man with the outsized wallet and introduced herself as the gallery owner.

  "Mr. Harrison, it's a pleasure meeting a fellow art lover."

  "Please call me Alfred," he said as he leered up at her. "And as far as the lover part, you'd be right about that."

  Allison straightened her spine and warred with herself to keep a civil tongue in her head. "Mr. Harrison, Emily will take down your shipping information, please excuse me. I have some paperwork that needs my attention."

  "Sure. But if you ever need any extra attention, I'm your man!" he shouted to her retreating back, his threat bouncing off the crisp, lacquered walls and high ceiling of the room.

  Some comments cannot be ignored she thought and turned back to face him. "Mr. Harrison, I wonder, would you be this friendly if I were thirty pounds heavier?"

  He sputtered and stuttered in an attempt to regain his edge, but came up short, again, she noticed.

  "I didn't think so. You and your credit card are welcome here anytime, but I would appreciate some respect, as befits the owner of this establishment," she said.

  He opened his mouth in response but huffed out the door, instead. Thankfully, he hadn't reneged on the sale, but Allison wouldn't have cared either way.

  Emily turned on her, "You're ornery today—what the hell happened in Atlanta?"

  "Quick, turn out the lights before any more gremlins come by."

  "Nasty, nasty, you are."

  "Everyone's nasty; I just don't hide it. And I don't need to be demeaned by a man—or anyone. "

  "And again I direct my question to the jury, what in the world happened with gorgeous Alex in Georgia? I've been dying to find out all weekend."

  "My darling Emily, I need a pitcher of margaritas to tell the tale. Let us take our leave; Samuel and his potent potables eagerly await our arrival." She flung her scarf over her shoulder dramatically and with a flourish worthy of Nora Desmond made her way to the street with Emily half a beat behind her.

  ****

  A short while later, Allison and Emily were on their third salt-rimmed drink at their favorite local watering hole, Sam's Place. Samuel, the bartender, was keeping an eye on the two of them and their steady stream of drinks as they sat ringside at the bar.

  "...and then, I walked into the kitchen and his father was wearing an apron with these little...you know black and white—what are they called... little fire plug dogs?"

  "Oh, you mean Dalmatians."

  "Yes!" Allison shouted, "You got it right. And then, they fed bourbon and brownies to the kids."

  "No, they didn't!"

  Allison nodded her head solemnly. She finished off her drink and turned to Samuel, "We'll have another pitcher."

  "Don't you think you've had enough?" he asked.

  "If I asked for more, how could I have had enough? OBVIOUSLY. And by the way Samuel, there is no such thing as enough, ever." She turned to Emily, "Can you believe he thinks we're knackered?"

  "What? Who's knocked up?!"

  "OMG! I said KNACKERED, that's the word the Brits use when they've drunk too much," she leaned in as she whispered.

  Emily bobbed her head up and down enthusiastically,

  A former jock-type approached them and started to speak with Emily. "Hey there, beautiful...what's cracking?"

  The two women looked at him in horror and burst out laughing simultaneously, "Are you from the eighties? No one uses lines, anymore," Allison said.

  "Well, maybe no one uses lines on you, but I was talking to the blonde on your right," he said.

  "Really? Because the blonde on my right is two hundred and twenty-five pounds, and he doesn't look too happy to see you."

  He swung his head to Allison's right and indeed, there was a rather irritated-looking man standing there.

  "Ah, I'm sorry, I meant..." he stammered.

  "You meant that you're too stupid to pick up an intelligent woman like Emily here, so crawl back to your cave and relive your marijuana-induced coma of two decades past." She watched in satisfaction as he slinked off.

  Emily was laughing a little too hard, "His... his... his expression was priceless."

  Allison downed her fourth margarita, "Emily, you're the Betty to my Veronica—best buds forever."

  Emily looked down at her glass, "But weren't they 'frenemies'?"

  Allison let out a large gasp and put her hand over their mouth, "I never got that. Samuel, were Betty and Veronica 'frenemies'?"

  "I think Betty was the innocent in all of it, Veronica was the scheming bitch who sought to undermine their friendship at every step over a guy," Samuel said.

  "Well, look at that," Allison moaned. "Even in a comic book, I'm a bitch." She sat morosely for a few minutes. "Wait! Wait just one minute! Veronica was nasty because of Archie, right?" She looked at the two of them for assurance. They nodded their heads in unison. "Well...do you see an Archie here?" She swung her arms open wide. They both shook their heads. "And that's because Em and I are TOO smart to let a guy, a goofy, worthless guy, come between us!" She finished off with a shout worthy of the discovery of the eighth wonder of the world.

  She looked at Samuel triumphantly.

  "Okay, NOW, you've had enough," he said. "I'm putting you ladies in a cab."

  Chapter 18

  A few days later Allison went up to Nyack to see her mother. She lifted the lid of the large pot bubbling on the stove. "You never made butternut squash soup when I was a kid."

  "That's because you wouldn't have eaten it," her mother responded. "Can you taste it and tell me if it's spiced right?"

  Allison went to the drawer and got a ladle and soupspoon. She ladled a generous portion into a bowl and sat down on a stool at the island.

  "This is amazing," she said after her first spoonful. "Is that curry I taste?"

  "Yes and a little maple syrup for sweetness."

  Allison practically licked the bowl clean, "
Was that a bit of shredded green apple I just tasted?"

  Her mother laughed, "When's the last time you had a home-cooked meal? Doesn't Kenyon try out his new recipes on you?"

  "Ken is seeing someone new and cooking for me is way down on his list of priorities."

  She smiled, "I feel foolish to leave and go off to my reading group so soon after you got here. I'll just drop off the soup and bread and come right back."

  "You'll do no such thing. I'll be here all weekend; we'll have plenty of time together."

  "Well, if you insist," her mother said.

  "I do. It's important to make yourself a priority in your own life."

  "I guess you're right, I never was very good at making time for myself," her mother smiled. "Thank you for insisting that I join the group in the first place. I look forward to the companionship of intelligent women, and it passes the evening hours. Those are usually the longest." She straightened her shoulders, as if to catch herself before the melancholy set in, "Anyway, tell me how the search is going for the new CEO position?"

  "It's going fine."

  "Just fine, that's it?" her mother pushed.

  "I don't want to bore you with business."

  "I heard it isn't all business."

  "And how did you hear that?" Allison asked sharply.

  "Sweetheart, I may be living out here in the 'burbs, but I am sure to hear about it when my daughter flies down to a man's home to meet his family," her mother said gently.

  "It's nothing like that."

  "I know that—because you won't let it be anything but business. Sweetheart, I love you, but—"

  "Ma," Allison interrupted, "I can't hear the 'but' speech. I really can't. Especially not about Alex."

  "And why is that?"

  Allison was quiet for a long while. Finally, she spoke. "There's something about him that scares me."

  "Has he tried to hurt you in any way?" her mother seemed alarmed.

  "No, nothing like that. He won't let me brush him off. He somehow... he somehow gets inside of me. It's kinda freaking me out. I don't know what to do about it. I have no idea how to handle him."