Come Dancing

by Leslie Wells

  “Isabel, that’s fantastic! I’m so happy for you!” This also boded well for the book, since a big movie role would bring her into the public eye once again.

  “Yes, I’m thrilled to be back in the game. And here’s the next batch.” She handed me a bunch of pages.

  “I’ll take it with me this weekend. I have a long flight to see some friends in L.A., so I’ll have a lot of time to read.” The way “L.A.” tripped off my tongue felt sort of glamorous.

  “I can’t wait to hear what you think.” She cocked a penciled eyebrow. “I hope you’re doing something exciting out there. You never mention anything aside from work. Are you living with someone?”

  “I’ve been seeing a guy this summer.” I decided to open up a little, since she’d been so candid with me. “I’m crazy about him, but I’m not sure how he feels. He seems to be into me physically, but it’s hard to tell about the rest.”

  “Well, I hope he’s good to you.” She scrutinized me for a minute. “And if he isn’t, I’d think there would be a line of men waiting to treat you right. Take my word for it; you’ve got to use it while you have it.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  She walked me to the door. “Have fun out there. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Which is leaving it wide open.” She smiled. “Give me a hug.” I was engulfed by a pillowy, patchouli-scented bosom before she let go.

  Her pages tucked under my arm, I took the subway to the 42nd Street library and delved into several medical texts until I found an extremely informative entry.

  At midnight I was barely hanging on to consciousness, nodding off as I clutched a handful of Isabel’s manuscript. I started awake when I heard the ringer and stumbled over to pick it up.

  “Sorry to call so late,” Jack said.

  “I was up,” I lied. “How was the flight?”

  “All right, except I can never sleep on planes, with the babies crying, and the pilot telling you what’s the weather in Omaha, and the stewardesses asking if you want a drink every half hour. I never manage to turn them down,” he said ruefully. “It’s much better when we’re on tour and have a private jet.”

  “You must be tired. In fact, you sound exhausted.” I hoped he’d just stay in his room and hit the sack. Alone.

  “I’m getting my second wind. I think we’re all going out in a while.” Ice cubes clinked as he took a sip of something.

  “When do you have to be at the studio in the morning?”

  “Depends on when everyone rouses themselves. Too bad you aren’t here with me now. We could go for a dip in the pool, then I could bring you back up here and lick the chlorine off … Hang on.” The phone clunked, and I heard him open a door and have a conversation with someone. He came back on the line. “They’re waiting for me downstairs.”

  “Say hi to everybody for me.”

  The next day I rushed home before meeting Art. I changed clothes three times, ultimately deciding on a skirt and print blouse. The purple shirt from Alice’s would have been nice, but it was lost somewhere in the tornado of Jack’s closet.

  By the time Art showed up at Reggio’s, my stomach was churning. I took a deep breath and stood as he came toward me. He was just as good-looking as I remembered; clean-cut and sharp-featured, his sandy hair slightly longer than he’d worn it last year. He was dressed in professor casual: a tailored tweed jacket with suede elbow patches, a crisp button-down shirt and khakis.

  Art put his hands on my shoulders and gave me a warm hug. “It’s good to see you, Julia,” he said in a low voice. I tried to calm down while the waitress took our orders. Art surveyed me with his slate-colored eyes.

  “You look fantastic. Life must be agreeing with you,” he said. “Is work going well?”

  “I’m doing more editing now.” I spoke over the pounding in my chest.

  “That’s great. I know how much you wanted that.” He took a sip of his cappuccino. “I’ve been busy finishing my paper; it’s coming out next spring. And I presented my Henry James article to the Boltleuss Society.”

  “Congratulations. I remember you researching that one.” I dumped sugar in my coffee, wondering where all this was leading.

  “Are you still making your way through Proust? I have a vivid memory of when you started the first volume,” he said, gazing into my eyes.

  I knew exactly what he was talking about. While Art was asleep one morning, I had pulled a copy from his bookshelf and began reading it next to him in bed. I had gotten so absorbed in the language that I kept going as he awoke and started kissing my breasts. Eventually I put it aside so we could make love.

  “Yes.” I paused to clear my head. “So you and Phoebe wound up … not together.”

  Art frowned. “We tried for a while, but we’ve grown in two different directions. She wants to move out of the city and start a family. My career’s ramping up, and I have no desire to leave New York.” He sighed. “It’s sad to realize you’ve spent eight years with someone, yet you really didn’t know them well at all.”

  I felt like saying, “It’s also sad when you tell somebody you love her, but then one week later you’ve changed your mind.”

  “And you’ve been seeing someone. Is he with a publishing house? Or is he an author?”

  “He’s not an author.” I didn’t want to elaborate.

  “Well … I’ve thought about you so often, Julia. And I wanted to apologize for the way I broke things off. That was so unfair. I had to give my marriage one more shot; so much of my life was bound up in her. But I never should have gotten involved with you if there was a chance we’d get back together.”

  A lump rose in my throat. I had imagined this very moment so many times; Art saying he was sorry, and that he wanted me back. But now I was completely over him—wasn’t I?

  “That’s all right. It’s in the past,” I said, my voice quavering.

  “No, it’s not all right. I’d like to try to make it up to you, if you’ll let me. Are you really with this guy?”

  “I … think so.”

  Art gave me a searching gaze. “You don’t sound too sure.”

  “We haven’t been together very long. I’m playing it by ear.”

  “Well, maybe there’s hope for me, then. I just want to have another chance.”

  “Let’s keep in touch,” I said vaguely. I got up and rushed out of the café.

  Further down the block, I passed an awning that Art and I had once ducked under during a downpour. We’d started kissing, and only stopped when the shop owner made us move on.

  Seeing him had aroused so many long-buried painful feelings. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get together again.

  Chapter 24

  Boom Boom

  “Miss Nash?” The driver lifted my bag off the luggage carousel. I followed him to the LAX arrivals lot, where a long black limousine waited, motor running. Jack stepped out, looking dangerously seductive in an electric blue jacket and open-collared shirt. His face was tanned, making his dark eyes and hair even more striking.

  “Hello,” I said, feeling a little shy. He really did look like a famous rock star with his bronzed chest and California-style clothes. I was suddenly very aware of my wrinkled blouse and faded makeup.

  “Come here.” He drew me inside and pulled me onto his lap. “I have something I want to give you. Did you pack those garters like I told you to?” he asked as he untucked my skirt. I felt him stiffen beneath me. “Mmmm, you feel good,” he hummed, sliding his lips down my neck, prickling my skin with goosebumps.

  “The driver will see,” I whispered, glancing at the partition.

  “That’s what the curtains are for.” Jack reached over and yanked them shut.

  I tried to adjust my disarranged clothes before we got out at the towering white hotel. A crowd of photographers set off their cameras as we sprinted into the entrance of Chateau Marmont. I had a fleeting impression of a plush red-carpeted lobby before we took the elevator to Jack’s suite. An oleander-scented breeze
drifted in from the open balcony, billowing the curtains.

  I stood in the middle of the elegantly furnished room, taking it all in. “Wow, this is nice.”

  “Bedroom’s even nicer.” Jack grabbed me and boosted me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he carried me in, laid me on the bed and stripped off his clothes. God, he looked sexy, brown all over like he’d stepped right off a desert island. I reached for him as he tongued my nipples, the sensation so exquisite I arched my back to meet him.

  “This is what I was thinking about all that long limo ride,” he said, tugging off my skirt.

  “Me, too,” I gasped. I clung to him until he bucked and bucked, giving a long, drawn-out wail.

  Jack slept deeply for a while, and I took the opportunity to observe him. His silky eyelashes looked very dark against his burnished skin, and his hair seemed even longer and thicker than when he’d left. From the small band of white on his rear, he’d obviously worn a skimpy swimsuit. His eyes fluttered open as I was trying to ease my numb arm from beneath him.

  “Man, I was knackered. We were out ‘til all hours last night.” Seeing the shadows under his eyes, I wondered what he’d been up to. “But now I’m getting re-energized.”

  Jack reached for me again, his lips caressing my nipples until they tingled. “Now I want to taste you,” he said in a husky voice, lying back on the pillow. “Come sit on my face, baby.”

  I got up and spread my legs over him, holding onto the headboard as his tongue began to flicker on me. He slid one finger inside, then two. I gripped the bed more tightly, my breath coming in a ragged pant. A shuddering quake began in my thighs and rippled up my abdomen, heat washing over me in waves as uncontrollable cries tore from my throat. Tremors were still jolting through me when he put his hands on my hips, moved me down his body and thrust up into me. My hair fell into his face and his hands urged me on as I rode him faster and faster. He pulled me to his chest and we rolled so that he was on top, plumbing my depths. He gripped me tightly, coming long and hard like a racehorse thundering into homestretch.

  We rested for a while, my entire body humming. I was so happy to be in his arms again. This will be the most time I’ve ever spent with him, I thought. Hopefully this trip will bring us even closer than before.

  Jack stirred, interrupting my musings. “You just sang both verses and the chorus,” he said with a grin. “I think you missed me.”

  “Maybe a tiny bit,” I said, making a pinch with my fingers.

  “Baby, you can’t tell me that. You were shakin’ hands with me johnson. ‘Sooo nice to meet you, sir,’” he said in a falsetto.

  I took a breath. “I did miss you, Jack. I couldn’t wait to see you.”

  “Little Jack couldn’t wait to see you too.”

  I sighed. “Is that the only thing you missed?”

  Jack pretended to think about it. “I had no one to put lotion on the hard-to-reach bits at the pool.”

  Somehow I doubted that. “Looks like you got some sun.” I traced the outline of darker skin encircling his hip.

  “I brown up pretty good, don’t I? It bugs the shit out of Patrick because he just burns. Were you grinding away at those manuscripts all week? I was picturing you curled up on your futon with your papers.”

  I flashed on my coffee date with Art. “Mostly,” I said. “How’s the mixing coming along?”

  “We could spend two months trying to get it right. But doing it live should help it gel. Sometimes you have to play for an audience before you tease out what it needs.” Jack propped himself on top of me. “Did I tease out what you needed?” he asked in a low voice, his warm brown eyes holding mine. “I can give you more of that, if you’ve recovered.”

  My stomach rumbled. “I’m going to take a rain check until after dinner. I’ve only had a bag of airplane peanuts.”

  “I’m being selfish. All I could think about was ravishing you, when I should have been feeding you.”

  “First things first.”

  “Let me call Suzanne; she’s really glad you’re here. And after dinner, I’m gonna make you come about four more times.” He licked my earlobe, igniting a flare of lust in my loins.

  We got dressed and descended to the lobby, where Sammy shambled over holding a half-empty bottle, his shirt buttoned off-kilter. He kissed me on the cheek, exhaling whiskey fumes. “I’m drinkin’ to forget your cruel, heartless girlfriend.”

  Jack reached over to straighten his collar. “You’re nicely irrigated. And splifficated.”

  “Nah, I’m jober as a sudge,” Sammy replied.

  Mark and Suzanne stepped out of the elevator. Mark’s hair was dyed a flaming orange, and he wore a canary-yellow jacket with no shirt underneath. Suzanne was in a low-cut white jumpsuit that emphasized her red hair and stick-thin frame. “Now at least it’s two against three,” she said with a smile.

  Mark drew a pair of drumsticks from his back pocket and rat-a-tatted them lightly on Sammy’s head. “That’s a nice hollow sound.”

  “He’s just jealous,” Sammy said to me. “You know what they say when it’s time for the band to go on: ‘Will the musicians and the drummer please come to the stage.’”

  I laughed as Mark touched my arm. “Do you know why the keyboard was invented? So the musicians would have a place to put their drinks.”

  “That line’s old as the hills,” Jack said.

  “Do you know what it means when the guitar player’s drooling out of both sides of his mouth?” Mark added. “That means the stage is level.”

  “Enough of that, let’s go get some vittles,” Sammy said. “Dealin’ with those valley girls gave me an appetite.”

  “You can keep that bit of information to yourself,” Suzanne said.

  Jack rolled his eyes at her. “Don’t even try to put a lid on it; it just encourages him. What’s the plan?”

  “We were going to go to Musso’s but they’re closed for a private party, so we’re heading to The Ivy,” Suzanne said. “Mary Jo booked it at the last minute.”

  “Tripendicular,” Sammy said.

  All of them put on sunglasses, and Jack handed me a pair. Outside, the horde of bulb-flashers had grown even larger; they must lay in wait to see who they could shoot. A flock of women in hot pants and high heels shrieked. Jack pulled me into the backseat of the limo as the others slammed the opposite door. The women ran over to the car; thunk went all the locks. With one accord they lifted their tops and smashed their bare breasts against the windows.

  “Oh my god,” I said in disbelief. “What are they doing?”

  “Welcome to L.A.,” Suzanne said, lighting a cigarette. “Home of the boob job.”

  The driver tried to edge the car away. Jack was sitting with his head back, shades still on; Sammy and Mark were laughing, enjoying the show. Finally the women peeled themselves off.

  “That was really gross,” I said. “What were they thinking?”

  Suzanne blew smoke in Mark’s direction. “I don’t believe much of that goes on in their empty little heads.”

  As we rode to the restaurant, I marveled at the fact that I was in a limo in L.A. with three world-renowned rock stars. Seeing them out of the usual NYC surroundings made it even more unreal. I noticed that the buildings weren’t nearly as tall as in Manhattan; I assumed because of earthquakes. We reached The Ivy, where a crowd of tourists and photographers loitered behind a white picket fence. The host ushered us through an arched doorway into a back room. Hungrily I focused on my meal while the others bantered.

  When the men ordered more drinks, I went to hit the bathroom. As I was washing my hands, a woman with closely cropped hair sidled up next to me. “I see you’re with Jack Kipling,” she said. “I hear he’s outrageous in the sack. I’ll pay five thousand for any good stories we can print.” She showed me a card from a big national rag.

  “I’m not interested.” I returned to the table, trying to compose my face. I wondered what she’d heard about Jack’s performance, and who she’d heard it
from. I hoped this was just leavings from his previous visits to the city, but even so, it reminded me that I was one in a long, long line.

  I awoke deep in the night, hearing faint cries below. Thinking someone might be hurt, I got up quietly and went onto the balcony. Looking down, I could barely make out three men and five women in the pool, all of them nude. A blonde head rose and dipped rhythmically above someone leaning back on his elbows. The man’s face fell forward and I saw a bright flash of orange. Quickly I retreated inside, not wanting to think about who was doing what to who.

  As the sun crept through the drawn curtains, I began working on Isabel’s pages next to Jack, who was still comatose. I was dying for some coffee, but I didn’t want to disturb him by calling for room service. Finally at eleven-thirty he snorted, rolled over and squinted at me.

  “We’ve got to cure you of this habit of waking up so early.” He grabbed his guitar and sat strumming as I went to order breakfast. “There’s OJ in the fridge if you want it,” he said.

  I poked around between the beer and wine bottles. “What’s this?” A sealed pitcher of brownish liquid sat on the top shelf.

  Jack made a face. “Carrot juice. Patrick hired this astrologer-slash-dietician to do our charts the other day. Then she advised us on our eating habits.” He grinned. “She got Patrick and Mark all hennaed up in tattoos, but of course they didn’t want permanent stain, so she used dye that would come off. Then Patrick forgets and jumps in the pool… the whole damn thing turned this garish orange. The hotel manager about had a ‘popleptic fit. It looked like somebody’d dumped a bucket of Tang in there,” he concluded, laughing.

  “Was she in your room?” I blurted out, thinking of the newspaper woman’s comment about his prowess.

  “Ah, I see a little green-eyed devil peeping over your shoulder.” Jack laid down the guitar. “I seem to recall you saying ‘I haven’t given any of your old girlfriends a thought … You can’t un-sleep with people …’”