by Leslie Wells
He dropped me off at my apartment, and it was nice to be home for a while to gather my wits. I lay back in bed, feeling the echo of his body in the tender places on mine. It was hard to take in the fact that we had now made love together. Many times. Everything had happened so suddenly, it was like a floodgate opening. I thought about the way his tongue felt on my skin; his lips on my breasts. The pleasant ache where he’d been inside me; the lovely length of him. The way I’d cried out when he made me come. I was savoring the whole experience when the phone rang.
“I can’t believe you didn’t call me,” Vicky said.
I smiled. “I just got back a few minutes ago.”
“So….?”
“So… yes. I stayed with him.”
“And?”
“You know what, it’s not that he’s so good-looking, or famous. What gets me is that he makes me laugh. You’d think he would just act cool all the time, since he’s pretty much the personification of it. But he’s so much fun to be with.”
“You’re leaving out the crucial part.”
“Um … yeah. Let’s just say expectations were exceeded.”
“That’s all? C’mon. There’s not much left to the imagination, the way these guys go bare-assed under their jeans. And that king-of-the-jungle way he prowls around … I’ll bet he was amazing in bed.”
I thought of the chain reaction Jack had set off in me. “All of the above.”
“Oh, you’re so annoying sometimes! But I can tell from your voice; it has that satisfied ring to it. Sounds like you’re head over heels.”
“I’m getting there. Much to my chagrin. Don’t say anything to Sammy, okay?”
“I promise I’ll be discreet.”
Just as I was finishing the last pages, I heard a thumping at the door downstairs. Surprised Jack was done already, I went to the window. Two beefy guys were craning their necks up at me. A truck was parked on the curb next to a big box on the sidewalk.
“We got a delivery,” one said when I stuck my head out.
“I think you have the wrong address.”
“A Mary Jo Callahan called it in for this number on Broome.”
I went down to the street to check it out. “We were told to get it here no later than five,” the man said.
“What is that?” I asked.
They hefted the box between them, and the first one started backing up the stairs. “Air conditioner,” he said. “Man, they didn’t say it was three long flights.”
So that’s why he called Mary Jo; how incredibly nice of him. The men installed the unit in my window and I stood in front of it, gratefully letting it blast me and hoping it wouldn’t add a lot to my electric bill.
“Ahh, much better,” Jack said, coming inside.
“Thank you so much, Jack. This is so generous. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to; it must have been ninety in here the other night. Oh, and you’ve cleared off your bed.” He flopped down on my futon. “I’ll show you how you can repay me,” he said, undoing my shirt as I stood before him. He unhooked my bra and slid down my jeans, tonguing my nipples and belly.
“I wanted to tell you,” I breathed as he rubbed his face in my pubic hair, “I’m on the pill.”
“Mmmm,” he said. “Good.”
“How did the recording go?” I asked as we lay back, sipping beers. Jack was sprawled next to me, his chest still heaving. It was strange to have a man in my bed after so many months—even more strange that it was this particular man.
“It went fine, even though my mind wasn’t entirely there. Looks like you got your editing done.”
“I have to go through it again, but at least I got it in the right order. Lately I’d had trouble concentrating.”
“You did? I’m glad to know I wasn’t the only one whose concentration was ruined. Mine’s been shot ever since I used those guitar chords as an excuse to get my hands on you.” He grinned and tipped the bottle toward his crotch. “Want to water it, see if it’ll grow?”
I blushed. “That was so embarrassing! I poured a whole beer in your lap.”
“I came back in my dry jeans all set to seduce you, but you had packed up and left.” He swigged the last drops and reached around to put the empty on the table. “What’s this?” He picked up my marbled notebook.
“Oh, that’s just how I keep track of things,” I said, putting out my hand to take it from him.
“Is this your diary? Man, your writing’s even messier than mine.” He began leafing through it, ignoring my give-it-to-me gesture.
“If it was, you really should ask before you look at it.” It’s kind of cute that he’s so nosy.
Jack ran his finger down one of the lined pages. “Are these book titles?” He squinted at an entry.
“That’s my list of all the books I’ve read. I’ve kept it since I was six.”
“You’ve written down every one you’ve ever read?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes, it’s sort of … It’s my connection to my childhood, I guess. My mother threw out a lot of my stuff when we moved from our original house. I feel like if I lost it, I would lose my identity, in a way.”
Jack flipped through the pages. “There must be hundreds in here.”
“I know it’s a little compulsive,” I said defensively. “I admit I’m weird.”
“I think it’s cool that you’ve kept your list. Do you want to get some dinner? I’m starved.”
“I’d love to.” I got up and started getting dressed. Jack lay on his stomach and rolled around, rubbing himself against the sheets.
“What are you doing?” I laughed.
“Don’t change your covers this week. They’ll remind you of me.”
He smiled, sat up, and pulled on his jeans. I turned the air off and we went over to a restaurant on Christopher Street. We slipped inside a back door that the maitre d’ opened, gesturing us in. He sent us through the kitchen, where the cooking staff barely looked up; I gathered they were used to this routine with their recognizable patrons. We were seated in a dark corner and Jack ordered a bottle of champagne.
“To this weekend,” he said after the waiter poured. We touched glasses, and our food came as I was asking Jack how much longer they had left in the studio.
“Maybe another month. We only have a few tracks to go,” he said, slicing a bite of steak. “There’s this one riff in a blues intro that’s been eluding me. What kind of blues did your father like?”
“Mostly prewar stuff. He liked country, too. He was a big Hank Williams fan, Patsy Cline, Maybelle Carter.”
“Williams put out some good tunes.”
“I’d sit on the porch with Dad, playing ‘I’m So Lonesome, I Could Cry’ on my little plastic record player. That’s the first song that really touched my soul. It reminds me of the good part of my childhood, before I was left alone with my mother.”
I put my fork down and took a gulp of champagne. “Your face really changes when you talk about her,” Jack observed.
“We had a rocky relationship. I just wanted a regular mom, wearing an apron and making cookies. Instead she was coming in soused after hitting the bar; sometimes she had a guy with her. I would have been a late bloomer anyway, but that definitely left me without much interest in boys for a while.”
“She still get around?”
“Not anymore. I think she’d like to find someone, but she’s a little past her use-by date.”
Two guys were weaving their way through the tables. Jack looked up and frowned.
“Hey, man, how are you doing?” the first one said. “Where were you last night?” He glanced at me.
“Busy,” Jack said.
“Nicole’s been asking for you. Where’ve you been?”
“We’ve been recording. I’ll call you.”
Jack downed his glass as they returned to their table. Of course he was seeing a million women all at once, if not a few regular girlfriends too. He must be involved with this Nicole, since it was th
e second time her name had come up. The way he’d acted this weekend—so warm, so into me—was just a slick routine he had down. I was a fool to hope it was more than just a roll in the sack.
”Your fish all right?” he asked.
“It’s delicious.” I managed to choke down one more bite. Jack pushed his plate aside and signaled for the check. We walked through the kitchen and into the waiting car.
“Thanks for dinner.” I forced myself to smile. “I’m going to head home.” Sleeping with him was a mistake, after all. I didn’t want to be just another mark on his scratching post.
Jack looked surprised. “Aren’t you coming back with me?”
“My laundry’s piling up. If I don’t get some things clean, I’ll have to wear tie-dye to the office.”
“I’ve always thought tie-dye was under-rated.” He slid his arm around me and pulled me closer. I was mad at myself for being so tempted.
“I’d better not. I haven’t gotten anything done this weekend.”
“You were doing me this weekend.” He smiled. Suddenly he leaned in and kissed me. I couldn’t stop myself from responding to his tongue, his fingers caressing my breast. Maybe one more time… I could be facing another long, dry spell after this. If only I could be detached, like Vicky.
“I guess I can come for a little while.”
Jack squeezed my thigh. “Good. Hang a left, Rick.”
“So … there’s this one woman I was seeing before,” Jack said when we got inside. “We only went out for a couple of months, and I was seeing a few other girls too. I broke it off with her several weeks ago.”
I was glad to hear this, but I doubted he’d stopped seeing her that long ago. Maybe he just never cleaned his brush.
“As you probably gathered, her name’s Nicole. I’d heard she had a few slates loose, but she kept coming after me. At a certain point I figured, why not. Sammy warned me about her though. He had a sense.”
I waited, not knowing what to say.
“Compared to you, her brain’s the size of a pea.”
I smiled faintly. “So mine must be … a soybean?”
“Listen, here’s why I’m telling you this. She’s the one who keeps calling and calling. She’s saying …” He paused, looking annoyed. “I know this isn’t true. But she is saying she’s pregnant.”
My spirits sank. I ducked my head so he wouldn’t see I was upset. If someone was having his baby now, I knew I couldn’t have anything to do with him.
“Hey, I know she’s not. I used a wrapper every time, and I was very careful. She’s just trying to get money from me. I’ve sent her some, only to get her to go away.” He sighed. “She was scheduled to go to a doctor with Mary Jo for a pregnancy test so I could prove it, but she blew it off. She’ll leave me alone as soon as she gloms onto someone else.”
I recalled the picture of the boy on his dresser. Was he having children left and right with various women? “You’re pretty sure she isn’t?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, thanks for mentioning it.” He seemed sincere, unless he was an extremely gifted liar. But this Nicole situation meant there was no telling what else was going on with him.
“Don’t give it another thought.” Jack reached for me and undid my blouse. He took my bra clasp in his teeth and bit it open. “I kept picturing what you’d look like under those second-hand clothes,” he said, glancing up at me. “For once, even my imagination didn’t do it justice.”
Chapter 11
Walking on the Moon
Heading in to work Monday I was a little achy—but in a good way. At ten, Erin stopped by. “I tried you several times Saturday to see if you wanted to go to the Pyramid Club. Were you sick?”
“I spent most of it in bed.” At least it wasn’t a lie.
“All right, back to the grind. Let’s catch lunch one day.”
Late in the afternoon, the receptionist called to say I had something in the lobby. To my surprise, a huge bouquet was standing on the front desk. I took it back to my room and tore off the tissue paper. The zig-zag handwriting on the note thrilled me: “I had a good time—Jack.” Gigantic purple globes on thick green stalks emerged from the wrapping; they looked like something that had grown on the moon.
Edgar stuck his head in as I tucked the note into my bag. “Someone has a creative mind.”
“Do you know what they are?”
“They’re alliums, my dear. A member of the onion family. So much more interesting than the usual run-of-the-mill nosegays.”
“Thanks, I think so too.” I shut my door and dialed Jack’s number.
“Oh … hello.” He seemed surprised to hear from me. I heard a voice in the background.
“These flowers are amazing. I’ve never seen anything like them before.”
“I figured they were more original than roses. No, in the other drawer,” he said to someone there. I couldn’t make out her reply.
“Well … thanks again.” I hung up, wishing I hadn’t called. Who was that at his apartment? Obviously another woman. Already this was tearing me up inside.
Several people came by, either asking what the occasion was or trying to find out who’d sent the bouquet. I was a little embarrassed by the attention, but also proud that I had someone who liked me. At least for two nights in a row. Now I was wondering how I rated compared to the girl he’d had with him today.
At nine I tottered out of the building and headed down Park Avenue in the humid midsummer air. My thoughts simmered over to Jack. All day I’d felt as if the entire weekend was a figment of my imagination. But then I’d look at the moonflowers, proof that we’d really been together. I wondered if he’d thought about me at all. Every time I took my head out of the typewriter, I saw an image of his dark eyes, his unruly mane of hair, the feel of sinews jumping in his back. My belly twisted when I remembered his hands roving all over my body; his seeming hunger for me. Maybe that was Nicole over there today; maybe he was lying about her not being pregnant. Or maybe it was an entirely different girl—like the one who’d copped a feel at Patrick’s party.
“The check was mailed last Friday,” I told the agent the next morning, neglecting to say that I was the one who sent out the checks. I took some jacket copy in for Harvey to sign off on. He hung up the phone, wove his stubby fingers together and gazed at me with his icy blue eyes.
“I mentioned to Briar that you’re going after Isabel Reed, and she’s come up with her own celebrity idea. Pryce Rayner may be getting ready to spill the beans. She got to know his manager when she was at TownTalk.”
Rayner was an actor who specialized in cheesy sheriff car chases, and who’d recently been involved in a messy fourth divorce. I thought he was a little past his prime, but apparently Harvey didn’t. “I don’t think he’s any more current than Isabel,” I said. “He hasn’t had a hit movie in several years.”
“Oh, he still has a huge fan base, especially now that he’s joined the ranks of the religious right. He’s had quite the spiritual conversion since he dried out, which always makes for good reading. Briar was telling me all about it over drinks last night.”
What a sleaze. He isn’t hot for Pryce Rayner; he’s hot for Briar.
“I think Isabel’s book would be a bigger draw. Don’t women’s memoirs usually do better than men’s?” I knew this was true from following the bestseller list.
He waved off my comment. “Depends on who the author is. But maybe you can convince me if we discuss it after hours. I find it hard to concentrate with the phones ringing off the hook. And you know, Julia …” He paused and gave me a cold little smile. “I only have room to promote one of you. So I guess you’ll have to do your best to win me over.”
At home, I drank two beers in a row to calm my rattled nerves. All day I couldn’t focus on anything but Briar’s unfair advantage. If only I’d been allowed to acquire one of the projects I’d pitched before she was hired. If only Isabel had a complete manuscript, instead of a paltry handful of badly writ
ten pages about her childhood.
I picked at the beer label and tried to think. If Briar got promoted, Harvey would have no need for a second junior editor. With the industry-wide recessionary hold on hiring, my foray into publishing would be over. And there was no other reason for me to be in New York, as tough as it was to get by here. The thought of losing my hard-won toehold in the city—and like Vicky’s friend Daphne, having to move back home—was utterly depressing. I pictured myself living with Dot again in Pennsylvania, and doing what? Teaching, I guessed, until I could save up enough money to move somewhere else. Everyone would know I’d tried to make it in the city, and failed. It was the bleakest future I could imagine.
To make matters worse, I hadn’t heard from Jack. I had the sinking feeling that our weekend fling was just that. The flowers must have been his way of thanking me for the sex. Their faint odor made my stomach churn, so I’d moved them to the top of my bookshelf. He was probably already into his new conquest—most likely a model who’d be much more erotically experienced, and therefore more pleasing to him.
I’d been so stupid; the naïve small-town girl who thought she could hold the interest of a jaded guy like Jack for more than one weekend. I’d tried so hard to avoid this situation, but here I was, bolting for the phone and crushed every time it wasn’t him—like I was channeling Dot. I hadn’t had a free minute to do my laundry, and the traces of his scent on my one set of sheets made me even more miserable.
When the phone rang Wednesday night, I ran to it, thinking it might be Jack. Instead, a voice from the past sounded in my ear.
“Julia. It’s Art. How have you been?”
I leaned against the fridge for support. “I’m fine.”
“I’ve been trying your number for a while. Have you been away?”
“I work late most nights.” Chills ran up and down my arms. What does he want with me after all this time?