by Leslie Wells
“I don’t think he’s ever done a wedding. He does ‘do’ a number of parties,” I added, smiling to myself. “Ready to turn in?”
“I guess. Try not to wake me if you get up at the crack of dawn. I like to get my beauty sleep.”
I crept outside at six and ran south toward Battery Park. As a light fog misted my face, I had a vision of my mother in her faded bathrobe, arguing with my father as she stirred pancake batter in the kitchen of our old house. Surely they’d had some good times together, but I couldn’t think of many. Mostly I recalled them sniping at each other about money or her job.
One of my best memories was when I was five, going with my parents to see a local band at the county fair. The air was thick with mid-July mugginess and the mouth-watering scents of funnel cakes and caramel apples, an undertone of cow-and-pig wafting over from the agricultural exhibits. Dad went to speak to the fiddler, a buddy from the factory, then came back and boosted me onto his shoulders to watch. My mother was regaling a group of her friends, her lipstick a vivid slash of red in the pasty-faced crowd.
There was a light smattering of applause when the musicians came onto the low platform. The fiddler made a joke about the ancient Chinese art of tu-ning as he corrected the pitch. Then he winked in my direction and spoke into the microphone: “I’m gonna start off with a Hank Williams tune, dedicated to Julia Nash, her Daddy’s favorite girl in the whole world who’s sitting right there on his shoulders.” Several people turned to smile at me, but I only had eyes for my young, handsome father. I worshipped the ground he walked on.
In a sober mood, I picked up bagels and coffee on the way in, paying with the bills I’d tucked under my sneaker tongue. I read a manuscript while my mother snoozed, enjoying the solitude. Sharing the loft with Dot brought to mind what it would be like if I lost my job and had to move back home with her. I’d be subjected to endless questions about why I was fired, and I-told-you-so comments about the futility of trying to make it in New York. I could see myself sitting at Buck’s with my mother a few years from now, trying to muster some interest in a guy on the next barstool who reminded me vaguely of a musician I once knew.
While Dot was in the shower, the phone rang.
“It’s me,” Jack said. “What are you doing tonight? I thought we’d get dinner. Unless you’re still being a stubborn bitch.”
God, I can’t wait to see him!
Damn, I won’t get to see him. “My mom got in yesterday.”
“I forgot she was coming.”
“Yes, she’s here until tomorrow.” I couldn’t just ditch Dot. Unfortunately.
“So bring her along.” He said it like a challenge.
I heard the shower cut off. “Oh no, I wouldn’t—”
“Pick you up at seven. I’ll see you then, unless something comes up.”
“Okay, let me know if you change your mind.”
“I’ll let you know.”
I hung up, wondering if he would call later to back out of it. I couldn’t believe he’d suggest taking us both; how on earth would that go? I decided not to worry about it and just be glad I might get to see him tonight. When Dot emerged from the shower, I tried to compose my face so I didn’t have a smile plastered on it.
As she buttered her bagel, my mother filled me in on all the goings-on in our little town, including the far-flung relatives of her three best friends. She seemed to forget that I didn’t know the same people she did any more, or that I might not be fascinated by the details of Paulette’s sister-in-law’s divorce. She also asked a few more things about the guy I’d been seeing, such as how old he was. I told her she might meet him tonight, but I was still keeping Jack’s identity to myself. I was reluctant to answer a bunch of questions about how I came to be dating someone famous, particularly if he wound up canceling.
“He’s a little long in the tooth for you, isn’t he?” Dot commented when I said he was thirty-two. “Has he been married a few times?”
“No, he’s never been married.”
“Humph. Must be something wrong with him if he’s still single. You couldn’t meet someone your own age?”
“He’s the person I’m interested in.” Contemplatively I stirred my coffee. “I’m just not sure how interested he is in me.”
“I could be going out with someone thirty-two.”
I decided not to take the bait. “Let’s go for a walk. There are some places I want to show you.” I planned to get her good and tired, so she’d be less tightly wound by dinnertime.
We left my apartment and rambled around SoHo, and then I showed her my former dorm at NYU. As we ate our sandwiches on a bench in Washington Square, she commented loudly on the rollerbladers, the guy with a python scarved around his neck, women holding hands, and other oddities to her way of thinking. “Let’s head up Fifth,” I said, brushing crumbs from my lap.
By five-thirty, all the sightseeing had taken some of the tar out of her. We’d walked to the Empire State Building and rode the elevator to the observation deck to admire the view; then we went to the 42nd Street Library to see the lions. On the way home we stopped by Macy’s, which made the biggest impression of anywhere she’d been all day. “I’ve always wanted to go there,” she said. “Joan and Paulette will be so jealous.”
I let her shower first and fixed her up with a large gin and tonic while I got ready, having picked up the liquor on the way in. Instead of a beer I poured myself rum and drank it neat. I was so wired up to see Jack, I could hardly stand it. Selfishly I wished I could have him all to myself tonight.
At last we were all set. My mother wore a low-cut top and black pants that stretched tight across her rear. She’d put on a little weight over the years, but her figure was still good, and she had a pretty face under all the makeup.
At seven-thirty I heard Jack calling from the street. I ran to the window and told him we’d be right there, feeling tense about how this date with Dot would unfold. We went downstairs, my mother complaining about her aching bunions. Jack stood by the open car door, looking fantastic in my purple shirt from Alice’s, which he’d confiscated.
I took a big breath. “Jack, this is my mother, Dorothea. Mom, meet Jack.”
“Good to meet you, Dorothea,” Jack said.
I saw her starting to put his appearance together with his name, his British accent, and the fact that he was a musician.
“Call me Dot,” she said, staring at him.
“Let’s get in the car,” I said. “So we won’t miss our reservation.”
“Can you stay with me tonight?” Jack asked in a low voice as she was climbing in.
I was dying to be with him, but I wasn’t sure how Dot would take it. “I think I can.”
“Did you get your work done the other night? I hope it was worth what you gave up.”
“What was that?”
“Me making you come until you begged for mercy.”
Hopefully my mother wasn’t overhearing this. I got in the middle, introduced Mom to Rick, and we took off. The heat of Jack’s thigh snug against mine sent a ripple of lust surging through me.
“So Dot, I understand this is your first visit to the city,” Jack said, leaning forward in the seat.
“That’s right.” She poked me with her elbow. “Is that Jack Kipling?” she whispered audibly.
“Yes.”
“You’re going out with Jack Kipling?”
“Yes,” I said under my breath. “Mom, stop whispering, it’s rude.”
“I had to jump through hoops to get your daughter to go out with me,” Jack said.
“I can’t imagine why. She hasn’t had a date in ages.”
Jack cocked an eyebrow at me, biting back a smile. “What did you two do today? Did you see some of the sights?”
“She made me walk all the way up to the library and back,” my mother said. “I thought I was going to die.”
“You walked to 42nd Street and back? In this heat?”
“It wasn’t that hot,” I said. “We
had lunch in Washington Square, and then I wanted to show her Fifth Avenue.”
“Julia should’ve had enough sense to take taxis on a day like this,” Jack said to Dot.
“Well, I survived,” she replied. “And I got to see Macy’s, which made it all worth it.”
“I hear it’s got quite a selection.”
“You’ve never been? Oh Julia, you’ll have to take him. I can’t believe you live so close by and haven’t seen it yet. That’s just a shame.”
The car stopped in front of Odeon, where we were hustled back to a banquette and given drinks. Dot polished off her gin in record time. The waiter immediately brought a refill, after which she picked up her menu and read each entrée out loud to us, along with the prices. “I’ll have the chicken,” she concluded. “Although I don’t see how they can charge eighteen dollars.”
“That’s New York for you,” Jack said. “For that price, it should come with a side of Moroccan. What do you have on the agenda for tomorrow?”
“I’d like to see the Statue of Liberty,” Dot replied. “And Bloomingdale’s.” She got a fresh pack from her purse and shook out a cigarette. Jack reached into his shirt pocket and flicked his lighter for her.
“Those places are miles apart. I’ll have Rick pick you up in the morning; I can take a cab to the studio.”
“Oh, that would be great. My feet are killing me,” Dot said. “Is that a… music studio you’re going to?”
“Yes, we’re working on a new album, trying to finish it up.”
“I’ve always liked your songs. The earlier ones are better than your last few, though,” she stated unapologetically. “But your hair looks better than before. You used to wear it much too long.”
I stuck my tongue in my cheek to keep from laughing. Jack merely nodded and said, “I suppose a lot of people agree with you.”
The waiter put our dishes on the table and brought fresh drinks all around. Dot stabbed out her cigarette in the bread plate and sawed into her chicken with gusto. She gestured at Jack with her knife. “Julia was keeping you a secret,” she said, her words slurring a little. I hoped she wouldn’t get too sloppy before the meal was over.
“She was? Hmm. She’s a cool one, your daughter. Very closed-mouthed at times,” he said, his eyes alight with humor.
“I would have come a lot sooner if I’d known.” She forked up her mashed potatoes.
“You would?” Jack grinned. It occurred to me that he was enjoying this far too much.
“Oh, sure. I need to keep tabs on her. I’m not much older than you, you know,” she added with complete lack of segue.
“I would have thought you and I were the same age, if you didn’t have a grown daughter,” Jack said flirtatiously.
“People do say I don’t look a day over thirty-nine.”
“I would have said thirty-five, tops.”
Dot inclined toward him confidentially. “Julia’s not getting any younger either. She’s twenty-four.”
“Jack knows how old I am,” I interrupted.
“I’m starting to think she’ll never get married,” she continued.
“I think you should be concerned,” Jack said, regarding me through his eyelashes. “She’s no spring chicken.”
“Can you not talk about me as if I’m not here?” I asked.
“Sorry, Julia. I didn’t know it was such a sensitive topic,” Jack said.
“It’s not. You’re the one who’s no spring chicken.”
“I thought I had a twenty-year-old’s physique,” he replied in an injured tone.
“You do look like you’re in good shape,” my mother said. “You just need a haircut.”
“I was saying the same thing to Julia the other day. You caught a ride up here with someone; is he a beau?”
“I used to play the field, but Darrell’s just a friend.” Dot drew on her cigarette.
“How is the field in Pennsylvania?” Jack asked.
“Sometimes the pickings are slim,” she admitted.
“I’ll bet you don’t find yourself without company very often.”
“Lately I’ve hit a dry spell. The past couple of years, to be honest.” Her expression slumped. “It’s tough being alone at my age. At a certain point all the men want to go out with much younger women.”
I glanced at Jack; he didn’t seem to take this comment personally.
“It worries me to death, Julia being in such a big city all on her own. She thinks she can handle everything herself. I used to be that way too, before I got married. But life has a way of slapping you down. I don’t want that to happen to her.” She gave Jack a hard look. “And I don’t want her to get hurt by anyone who doesn’t realize how special she is.”
I stared at my mother; never in a million years would I have expected this speech.
The waiter came by and I said, “Check, please,” before Dot could order another drink. Seeing her rising unsteadily from the chair, Jack took her arm on the way out. I opened the car door so he could help her in, and he sat between us.
“So Dot, I might not see you tomorrow since I tend to rise late, and I have to be at the studio by one. But I’m glad I got the chance to meet you,” Jack said.
“I’m glad you got to meet me, too,” she muttered, her eyes at half-mast. She looked like she might pass out on his shoulder.
Jack held her elbow again so she wouldn’t stumble going up my stairs. We entered the loft and I stood by the door.
“Mom. I’m staying at Jack’s tonight. I’ll probably be back before you wake up. Okay?” I hoped she wouldn’t make a fuss about it.
Dot looked at us and shrugged. “All right, I guess you’re a big girl.”
We hurried downstairs and got in the car. Wordlessly we grabbed hold, kissing and feeling each other all the way to his place. We ripped off our clothes as soon as we got inside. Jack backed me up against the wall, bent his knees and impaled me. His strong hands cupped my behind, the force of his thrusts lifting my toes off the floor. Just as his entire body started to tense, he pulled away.
“Let’s get in bed,” he said in a husky voice, breathing hard. He led me back to his room. “I’ve put money in your meter, baby; now I’m gonna check your oil.” He scooped me up and laid me on the sheets, pushed my thighs apart, and teased and licked until I writhed in pleasure. Immediately he glided into me again.
“I think you like this, Miss Nash,” he murmured. In answer, I wrapped my legs around his waist to draw him in deeper. I felt his muscles gathering, but then he withdrew, moved down my body, and touched me with the tip of his tongue.
“That first time was all right, but I’m sure you can do better,” he said. Syrupy and saturated, I didn’t think I could—but he proved me wrong.
Once more Jack climbed onto me and parted me with his cock. His taut abdomen brushed me as he moved, creating exquisite aftershocks that made me want to hold completely still and relish the sensation. Just as I was sure he was letting go, he left me yet again and slid downward. This time I came so hard, I heard myself scream. Jack rammed into me, gave three molten strokes, and with a wild cry, finally erupted.
“God, Julia. You’ll have to have your mother up more often,” he commented as we lay there recovering.
“That was definitely … the climax of the evening,” I said, trying to collect my wits. “Although the meal was delicious.” It was hard to have a casual conversation with him after such an earth-moving experience. I turned toward him on the pillow. “I hope she didn’t seem too awful.”
“Not awful in the least. I understand she wasn’t a great parent when you were younger, but she struck me as kind of lonesome.”
“Part of the reason she’s lonely is that she got a bad reputation. She broke up her marriage to my Dad by sleeping with her manager at the hardware store.”
“Well, you never know what goes on between a couple. Two sides to every story.”
“In this case, I think the fault was all hers. But anyway, thank you for being nice to h
er.”
“It’s always easier to get along when it’s not your own. My Mum has her moments too. What time do you want Rick to pick you up, so you can see Bloomingdale’s and the statue before she leaves?”
“I love how she lumps them together. I don’t know, maybe seven?”
“I’ll have him stop by. Oh, Suzanne told me to ask if you’d like to see her studio tomorrow afternoon. You said something about it the other night, so I gave her your number. She’d love to show her stuff to a new victim.”
“That would be great.” Having never been to an artist’s studio, I was intrigued.
“Don’t get your hopes up in terms of the artwork,” Jack commented. “But at least you two could have a nice lunch, if she’ll go for something other than tofu. I have to record some vocals and do an interview with Patrick, then we’ll hit that party at the Mudd Club. If you aren’t planning to stay in with your fucking homework.”
I tried not to act too gleeful. “Sure, if it won’t get in the way of your other plans. I have an idea; want to trade places with me, since you like my Mom so much? You can explore the perfume counters, and I’ll fill in on guitar.”
Jack smiled. “No such luck. What time’s her bus?”
“Eleven o’clock. I’ll get her there nice and early so she doesn’t miss it.”
I got up at five the next morning and walked back to my place. True to his word, Jack sent Rick over and we made it to both landmarks, much to Dot’s delight. We got to the Port Authority terminal on time, and she told me goodbye with an unsolicited promise to return soon.
“I really liked Jack,” she said. “His hair kind of grew on me.”
I treated myself to a visual of my mother with a wild rock’n’roll ‘do sprouting from her head. “He liked you too.”
“You know, with the restaurant prices around here, Jack would probably appreciate you cooking for him once in a while. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” she advised. “Maybe he’d like a cake.”
“I’m not much of a cook.” That was an understatement.