Come Dancing

by Leslie Wells

  “Me hurt him?” I asked incredulously. “I would never do anything to hurt him.”

  “Well, Julia, you seem like a nice enough girl. I just hope appearances match reality.” She stood and smoothed down her pants. “I imagine we’ll be seeing each other again.”

  I bolted out of the bar. All the way home, I thought about what she’d said. Of course I was just a small eddy in an endless stream of his lovers; I’d be a fool if I didn’t take the warning to heart. But it still hurt like hell to have the truth shoved in my face.

  I tried to put the encounter out of mind by immersing myself in Isabel Reed’s latest batch of pages. I had just settled in when the phone rang. A British voice spoke, but it wasn’t the one I expected.

  “I finally got past the madeleines last night,” Patrick said. “Let’s go out for dinner Thursday. We can talk about our favorite writer.”

  Is this a joke? “Hold on a second.” Quickly I thought about how to deflect his sticky question. “Jack, are we free for dinner this Thursday?” I called out, then waited as if listening to a reply. “I think we could do it then. Where should we go?”

  For a minute there was silence on the line. “All right, I get the picture,” Patrick said. “Maybe another time.” After he hung up, I recalled Suzanne’s comments about their one-upmanship. I figured Patrick was just testing me, and would have told Jack if I’d said yes. I decided not to mention his prank to Jack.

  Immediately the phone rang again.

  “Remind me not to give you any more reefer.”

  “Where did you and Neal disappear to? I had to get a cab home by myself.”

  “He wanted to show me his potted plants,” Vicky said. “Or should I say, his potted pot. Sammy and I just broke it off. I told him I didn’t expect monogamy, but groping a girl right under my nose at the club was a bit much. He didn’t get why it was a problem. Did you see that long-haired blond guy staring at you while you were dancing with Jack? Someone said he’s a producer from a rival record label.”

  “He came over and made a dumb comment.”

  “Since you’ve been hooked up with Jack, you’re really giving off sparks. That’s always the way with me, too—the minute you’re seeing somebody, a million other guys are interested. But when you’re not with anyone and you could use a little attention, it dries completely up.”

  “I think you’re onto something there. Too bad it’s over with Sammy.”

  “Oh, I’m not obsessing about it, although I will miss the rock star ambiance. Tomorrow I’m having dinner with Kurt, the guy I met at the club.”

  Vicky never needed any down time in between. “Good for you,” I said.

  Two nights later I was pacing my floor. For the third time I checked to make sure the phone plug wasn’t loose. I put on yet another album and applied a little more lip gloss, then did a fifteenth lap around the room. I sat in my windowsill and watched for the black car that should have pulled up an hour ago. Finally at eleven I washed off my makeup and got undressed. Jack had said he’d come by at eight when he left the studio, and we’d get dinner. But now I guess I’d officially been stood up. I got into bed and finally drifted off.

  Around three, I heard a hoarse voice croaking my name. I looked out to see Jack swaying unsteadily below.

  “Julia. Lemme in.”

  “Go home. You’re drunk.”

  “Thass right! Lemme in.”

  A window on the second floor flew open. “Do you have to wake up the whole building?” someone screamed.

  I guessed I had to let him up; Mr. Iaccone hated complaints from his tenants. Rather than braining Jack with the key—he looked far too stoned to catch it—I went down and opened the door. He followed me up, leaning heavily on the wall, and collapsed on my couch.

  “I thought we were having dinner,” I said, keeping my distance.

  Jack squinted one eye. “Some people came by. We hit a few bars.”

  “You can sleep out here. I’ll bring you a sheet.”

  “Don’ need any sheet.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  He turned to his side, and I caught a whiff of a faint flowery scent that definitely was not eau de Jack. I got into bed fuming. Why did he come over? He could have just gone to his own place, especially if he’d been with someone else. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep, and left for work exhausted, leaving him passed out on my sofa.

  “Did you ever hear from Jack?” my mother wanted to know.

  “He showed up drunk last night after he stood me up for dinner. I let him in, but from the way he acted, I should have sent him home.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have let him in. It doesn’t do to be too available.”

  This, from her, was astounding advice. “Right, Mom. I imagine you’ve found that to be true in your dealings with men.” Part of my annoyance was that I had been too available. I should have sent him away, even if he woke the whole building.

  “Julia, that’s not fair. Lately I’ve been much more particular.”

  I stopped myself from saying “About time.” I had a sense that this recent selectivity was more on the male side than on hers. “Anyway, what have you been up to this week?”

  “We finally finished inventorying, so I’m back on the register. Oh, and I finished that new Joyce Sutter book. Did I tell you about it? The one about the Civil War?”

  “Lots of good battle scenes?” I teased.

  “It’s about this plantation owner’s daughter who falls in love with a Union officer. She meets him when he’s watering his horse at the spring, and they fall in love. Her father arrives just as they pass under the crossed muskets,” she wound up.

  “Sounds like a good one. Well, I’d better get some things done around here.”

  “Keep me posted on what happens with Jack.”

  What happened with Jack was that he called the next day and asked me over after work. After his standing me up, I was spoiling for a fight. When I reached his building, Jack was standing outside holding a paper cup.

  “Moth?”

  “Ladybug.”

  We watched as the little creature balanced on the lip, opened her elegantly dotted wings and flew away. Jack joked with Tom and Stan as we waited for the elevator. Upstairs, he wanted to get right into bed. For once, I put him off.

  I took a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?”

  “What?” He had a wary look on his face.

  “I realize you’re busy during the week. But that was really shitty of you not to call when you decided not to show. And it’s also weird for me to spend so much time with you on the weekend, and then not hear from you for days on end.”

  “Weird how?” he said in a testy tone of voice.

  I started to back down, but then decided to go for it. “Normally if I’m seeing someone, we’ll at least talk every few days.”

  “I’m not into being locked in a schedule,” Jack said. “I’m not some English professor that gets off on grading papers. I’ve got a lot going on.”

  “Don’t think I’m hanging by the phone, holding my breath. I have plenty to occupy me,” I said, feeling my face scorch. “But you could take a minute to check in with me, instead of showing up drunk seven hours late.”

  “Okay. You nailed me,” Jack said with a roll of his eye.

  “And if we’re going to get together on the weekend, I’d like to know a day or so beforehand. If not, I’ll make other plans.”

  “Don’t get in a strop about it. You got that point across, going to the party with Vicky. And meeting Dave.”

  “You go out on Sunday nights. Why should I stick around?”

  A slow smile stole across his face. “You really like to bust my balls, don’t you? The phone works both ways, last time I checked.”

  This wasn’t exactly going how I wanted it to. He’d dodged the question, meanwhile putting the onus on me.

  “When were you going to tell me Patrick called?” he asked abruptly.

  “It wasn’t a big deal,” I sai
d, thrown off-balance. “I forgot about it the second I hung up.”

  “He rang you while he was at the studio with me. All of a sudden he left the room for a few minutes. He came back laughing and told me what he’d done. He also told me what you said; that was good thinking on your part.” Jack gave me a penetrating look. “So were you tempted to go out with him?”

  “No. I’m seeing you.”

  “What if you weren’t seeing me? Would you go out with him then?” He eyed me through his thick lashes.

  “Patrick doesn’t appeal to me. I’d rather be with you.”

  “Really?” He folded his arms. “Tell me why. Indulge me a little.”

  I thought about how much I was starting to care for him, but I wasn’t about to confess that. “Well, you seem loyal to your friends,” I said, with Sammy and Mary Jo in mind.

  “Great. I sound like a fucking sheepdog.”

  “Okay; I think it’s nice that you treat everyone the same. You talk to Tom and Stan the same way you did those posers at the Mudd Club.”

  “So you only like me because I’m not a snob?”

  “You’re the most phenomenal musician I’ve ever heard in my entire life. And that was my opinion before I ever met you.”

  Jack gave a broad smile. “Much better. Anything else?”

  “I think I’ve flattered you sufficiently for one night.”

  “Fair enough. You feel like some dirty blues? I had Memphis Minnie on earlier.” He got up and placed the needle on the vinyl. “‘Baby, I’m your bumblebee, I got all the stinger you need,’” he sang, moving his hips sinuously. He grabbed my waist and gave me a kiss that made my head spin. “Let’s us make some honey, baby. If you’re over your snit.”

  “Honey,” I said, pulling him toward me by the loops of his jeans.

  Chapter 18

  Just Lust

  Freeman Fyfe arrived from San Francisco to do interviews for his new novel and for his launch party the following week. Harvey had worked himself into a lather over the details, driving Rachel, our publicity director, crazy with his demands. Erin told me that Briar wanted to come, but for once Harvey had refused his little darling.

  Isabel Reed had just messengered me the section on her teenage years. Although it was a mess, in my anxiety to move forward I gave a copy to Meredith.

  She stopped by the next morning, and quickly I slid the Post under some papers. “I can see the potential,” she said. “But that last chapter was practically incoherent.”

  “I know,” I said ruefully. “That’s why it’s taking me so long. And she’s writing at a snail’s pace. I tried to get her to skip ahead to the sitcom era, but she won’t.”

  “That would definitely be the section to show Harvey,” Meredith said. “By the way, I heard Briar set up a meeting with Pryce Rayner and his manager. They’re coming to the East Coast in a couple of weeks.”

  “I may as well give up!” I burst out.

  She gave me a concerned look. “Don’t give up yet. A meeting doesn’t necessarily mean Pryce has a book in him.”

  After I’d been knocking for several minutes, a woman with red-rimmed eyes cracked Jack’s door. The pungent fug of pot almost knocked me over.

  What am I walking into? “Is Jack here?” I asked.

  “Come on in.” She moved aside, and I went past. A haze hung over the room; you could get high just by breathing. Two skeevy-looking dudes and another girl were sitting around the glass table, which was covered in a thin residue of powder. Jack was sprawled back in a chair, shirtless and barefoot in jeans ripped at one knee.

  “Now it’s a party,” one of the guys said, eyeing me.

  “Am I interrupting something?” I said to Jack.

  “They were just leaving.” He jerked his head toward the door.

  The men got up grumbling and left with the girls trailing behind. Jack grabbed a Heineken and came over to me, hair disheveled, exceedingly sexy in his rumpled maleness.

  “Here, it’s beer o’clock.” He handed me the bottle and relieved me of my backpack. All day I’d been looking forward to getting into bed with him; I really couldn’t wait. I hoped he wasn’t too high or stoned. Or that he hadn’t already sated his appetite.

  “Who were those people?” I asked, undoing my top button.

  “Just some guys I know.”

  “Was your guitar ready?”

  “Dan has to adjust the pickup. Hard day at the office, dahling?” he asked in a high-pitched, housewifey voice. “How many manuscripts did you bring with you? Any psycho-pop?” he asked, rummaging in my backpack. “What’s this?” He held up a proposal.

  “That’s a therapist who’s doing a book on why men won’t commit. I’ll read you some choice passages from it later,” I said, grabbing the backpack and dumping it on a chair. I didn’t want to discuss my homework; I only wanted him to ravish me.

  Jack picked up a glass from the table and took a sip, slivers of ice swirling. “What do you feel like listening to?”

  For once he wasn’t in an amorous mood. I started to say something about the girls and the coke, but I didn’t want to act like it bothered me. “I’d love to hear the tape of the new album. Those songs at the club were incredible.”

  “I’ll have to bring home a copy. We still need to figure out the first single—what’s the A side, and what’s the B.”

  “The A side’s the one you think will be the hit, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Although sometimes we’re completely wrong, and it’s the B side that takes off.”

  “How do you decide which songs to use?”

  “Patrick and I argue for about three weeks, and then we flip a coin.”

  Jack put his hand on his lean hip, the line of dark hair below his navel suggesting black powder leading to a lit fuse. He looked so gorgeous standing there with his bare muscled chest and raw hipbones that I couldn’t wait any longer. I came close and gave him a smoldering kiss as I undid his jeans. Dropping to my knees, I took him in my mouth, tasting the tang of liquid pearl at the tip. I took the drink from him and sipped it, capturing an icy fragment. Then I wrapped my cold tongue around his rigid cock, gliding up and down in the way he’d showed me he liked. I pressed the chilled glass against his backside and drew him in deeply, hearing his breathing become uneven.

  “Julia.” Jack pulled me up, taking the glass from my hand. “Come over here.” He went to the couch and put the drink on the table as I followed him, shedding my clothes. He pushed me back on the cushion and captured both my wrists in a one-handed iron grip above my head.

  “I’m not letting you up, you know.” He looked at me, eyes glittering. “You started this.” His long fingers searched in the glass for a piece of ice. He slid a cold shard down my breast, making me gasp as I watched my nipple harden into a rosy bullet. Jack put his warm mouth over it and tongued me roughly. Then he took the ice and ran it across my nipples again, making me squirm. I tried to free my hands from his grasp and started to speak.

  “No talking,” he said, putting the tiny remnant between my lips. “I think you’ve melted that one. Let’s see what else needs cooling off.” He got another sliver from the glass and traced a shivering track down my belly. “I can think of one place that’s always nice and hot.” Still holding my wrists tightly above my head, he slid the ice inside and began to stroke me.

  “Bet I can get this one melted really quickly,” he purred in my ear as I writhed under his touch. “Yep, it’s gone already. Let’s try a bigger piece.” The shock of the cold combined with the light brush of his hand was unbelievably erotic; my hips rose to meet his fingers as they molded me into a scalding mound. I was verging on the brink when Jack suddenly stopped. He kissed my breasts and smiled down at me.

  “All right, we’ve done the B side. Now let’s flip you over and try the A.” He pulled me up and tipped me over the arm of the couch so that my ass was angled high. “I think this one’s going to be huge,” he said as he dipped his cock inside. I began to moan as he reached around
to caress me. “A really … big … hit.” He thrust in all the way just as I climaxed, my cries lost in his guttural growl.

  Jack crooked the phone in his shoulder and zipped his jeans as he ordered dinner. I was flaked out on the sofa, still catching my breath. I guess there was something I hadn’t done with him yet, after all. I wonder how many other variations he has in his repertoire. The thought gave me the shivers.

  Jack hung up and came over to me, grinning. “So where were we when you started to go down on me? I believe you were saying how much you liked the new album.”

  I laughed. “I don’t know what got into me today.”

  “I think it was a piece of ice. And then after that, something really big and hot.” Jack cocked his eyebrow at me.

  “Ha, ha. I was saying how much I liked those songs we danced to. My favorites were always the hard-driving ones you sang, even when I was a teenager.”

  He thought for a moment. “So let’s see, when you were seventeen, I was … twenty-five, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Huh. Barely legal. I’d like to see a picture of you back then. Tell Dot to send one, okay?”

  “Do you have any old pictures around?”

  “I have one box. Most of ‘em’s back at Mum’s house.”

  “Could I see them?”

  “Sure, if you’re interested. Nothing too thrilling.” He went to his room and returned carrying a battered cardboard box with masking tape around it. “I haven’t opened this since my last move,” he said, slitting the tape. Inside, there were stacks of photographs, black and white and color, decades old and more recent, in no particular order. Jack began passing them to me. I saw a young, freshly scrubbed Jack and Patrick buttoned up in stiff suits; Jack, hair below his shoulders, his arm around Sammy; a school portrait of Jack that resembled the picture of Oliver on his bureau. He handed me one of a handsome older woman in a Sixties-style hairdo, a twentyish Jack in psychedelic threads kissing her cheek. “That’s Mum,” he said. “I have a more recent one of her somewhere.”