Come Dancing

by Leslie Wells

  “You must be really fast; I still hunt and peck. I need to brush up on my typing so I can get my paper in to the journal.”

  I pictured the pile of work on my desk, then I reminded myself of how nice he’d been to me. The least I could do was help him with his paper. “I can type it for you.”

  “I wouldn’t impose on you like that. I know you’re really busy.”

  But I felt like I should. “Give me a chunk of it to take home tonight.”

  Art put down his drink. “I was hoping you wouldn’t want to go home.” He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. His lips met mine slowly at first, and then became more demanding. We slid back and he lay on top of me. I was getting caught up in his caresses, my defenses crumbling. It felt good to be held and touched; I’d missed Jack’s hands so badly.

  Jack’s hands … I sat up and buttoned my blouse.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just not ready for this yet.”

  Art followed me as I went to get my coat. “I don’t understand, Julia. It was so good before. Don’t you want to be close?”

  “I’m not really sure what I want right now. Let me have your paper.”

  Art got it from his desk and gave me one more lingering kiss before putting me into a cab. On the way home I gazed out the window, my breath fogging the pane. On every corner it seemed there was a couple laughing, holding hands, oblivious to the rest of the world. I wondered who Jack was with tonight.

  Chapter 30

  Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps)

  When I dropped off an author photo in publicity, Erin invited me along with some friends to watch the Halloween parade in the Village. That night we waited behind the barricades as a group of majorettes with hairy legs started things off. Virginal Princess Dianas passed by, decked out in lavish wedding gowns.

  “I bet that doesn’t last a year,” Erin commented on the royal union.

  “It’ll take at least that long for Di to get the thank-you notes posted,” I said.

  Jesus and the apostles followed, discoing to music from a boom-box and tossing communion wafers to cheering onlookers. A Ziggy Stardust in a bright red mullet and silver bodysuit went by on stilts; several other Bowie incarnations flitted past, blowing kisses. I looked beyond Cleopatra’s float to see what was coming next—and pulled back in dismay. Patrick and Jack were walking down the street, calmly waving at the crowd.

  As they got closer, I realized that of course it was only an extremely good costume. Patrick’s double was tarted up in a glittery tank top and platform heels, his feathered blond hair a convincing imitation of the real thing. “Jack” wore an astonishingly true-to-life black wig pointing in all directions, his eyes mascaraed darkly. The two passed a fake foot-long joint back and forth as they paraded.

  Jack looked in my direction and winked. Erin glanced at me. “Are you okay? You’re pale as a ghost.”

  “I think I need to get home. I must be coming down with something.”

  When I got in, I put on the Floor’s new album, lifting the needle to play Jack’s song over and over, absorbing his voice. After the fifth repeat, I debated myself as I stared at the phone. Finally I picked it up and dialed.

  “Yeah.” There was a lot of noise in the background; people shouting over blaring music.

  “Hi, it’s Julia.” I froze. What did I want to say?

  “I’ll call you right back,” Jack said.

  I hung up, wondering who was at his place; it sounded like a big party. The phone rang. “Here I am. How have you been?” He must have moved to his bedroom.

  “I was … I went to see the Halloween parade.”

  A woman’s voice sounded in the background. “Jaaack, come on!”

  Jack shouted something and slammed the door. Muted music pounded through the walls. “Now I can talk.”

  “It sounds like you’re busy.” This was a lousy idea; I didn’t want to force myself on him.

  “I’m not busy. What are you up to?” Someone was banging on his door. Jack held the phone away and yelled, “Hang on!”

  “I’ll let you get back to your guests.” I regretted giving in to the impulse since obviously he had someone with him.

  “These aren’t my guests. It’s a bunch of idiots Patrick invited over.”

  “I was just calling to say hello.”

  “Fine. Up to you.” The receiver clicked, and I passed a restless night flipping my pillow, trying to find a dry place to park my head.

  The phone rang bright and early at seven-thirty. Wondering who’d be calling at that hour, I crept over to get it.

  “Did you go for your run yet?”

  I tried to collect my thoughts. “What are you doing up?”

  “Never went to sleep. I kicked them all out, and Patrick and I stayed up working on some songs. He just left. Meet me for coffee, okay? I’m gonna have the Irish flu if I don’t get some caffeine.”

  My heart hammering, I raced around getting ready, trying to look less like the living dead. Has he missed me at all? I wonder what he’ll have to say. Can we get past that stupid incident with Trina and make up—or has he already moved on?

  When I entered the café, breathless from hurrying and a bad case of nerves, Jack was sitting in the corner with his back to the entrance. His creased leather jacket looked like it had been slept in.

  “Julia.” He smiled at me, sooty shadows under his eyes. “I thought you might not show.” He ran a hand through his hair, which was longer than I’d ever seen it. “I ordered coffee for you. Milk, one sugar, right?”

  “Yes,” I said, my mouth dry. I took a sip of the scalding mug. “How have you been?” I tried for a breezy tone.

  “I’m not sleeping much, but this has been awfully good for the songwriting. Patrick loves the stuff I’m cranking out.” He gave a wry smile, creating those handsome parentheses around his mouth. I didn’t know if he was implying he wasn’t sleeping because he missed me, or because he’d been out partying.

  “I’ve seen ads for the new album everywhere. Congratulations.”

  “Reception’s good so far. Mary Jo’s been reading the reviews to me. And she’s found me a tutor.”

  “How is that going?” It was awful to make small talk with him, as if we were only acquaintances.

  “It’s hard, but I need to do it. So why did you call me?” He gave me his chocolate gaze.

  “I just wanted … to thank you for those albums you sent. That was so nice of you.”

  He nodded. “Glad you liked them. What have you been up to?”

  I thought of how he hadn’t been in his apartment for days on end; the woman calling his name last night. I didn’t want him to think I’d been pathetically sitting by the phone all this time. “Actually I’ve been seeing Art again. He and his wife didn’t stay together after all. It’s been nice to reconnect.”

  Jack scowled. “I bet you’re having deep intellectual talks about all sorts of things.” He dumped the container of sugar packets onto the table, ripped one open and poured it into his mug. “Unlike the ones I’ve been having lately.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, the champagne on the Concorde was flat. Or the nail on their pinkie finger got torn right before a big shoot, and what a disaster that was. Or how they had to fuck three different guys and then they didn’t even get the part, but at least the flake was excellent.”

  “Well, it’s your choice who you spend time with.”

  Jack began carefully restacking the sugar packets. “And I guess your choice is some dusty old English professor.”

  His comment made me bristle. “At least he isn’t jumping into hot tubs with naked bimbos. Or an old girlfriend turns up in his bed, and he doesn’t bother to let the person he’s with—” I couldn’t finish for the lump in my throat.

  Jack looked at me for a minute. “You’re right. I’m just a raunchy, tasteless rock musician.” He frowned, and then pulled a piece of crumpled paper from his shirt pocket. “My tutor gave me a list of books I’m supposed
to get.” He unfolded it and smoothed it out on his knee. “She recommended this place, Books of Wonder. Want to come?”

  “Sure, I’ll come with you.”

  It was strange to be in the car with Jack again. It brought back vivid memories of our fevered kisses the first night we got together; our steamy makeout after we left Dot at my place.

  “Let me see your list,” I said, determined to treat this outing lightly. He handed it to me as we entered the shop. “All the Beverly Clearys are great. There’s this hilarious scene where Henry and his dog Ribsy try to capture a giant salmon.”

  Jack gave me an intent gaze. “I do believe we have similar tastes in books; I still think about those people in Wise Blood. Although I’m a little below that level right now.” He smiled. “Actually, this list is for once I make some more headway. I still get tripped up on the longer words. Like ‘Heffalump.’”

  A clerk came over to greet us. “What ages are your kids?” she asked as I handed her the list. She had stared at Jack when we first came in, but her manner didn’t give anything away.

  “They’re for a friend,” I said.

  Jack and I browsed some lavishly illustrated fairytales while she stacked his purchases on the counter. “Oliver would love this,” he said, opening a Grimm’s. I stood close to see the page, but any thoughts about it were driven away by his nearness. Instead of the brilliant bookplate of Rapunzel letting down her locks, I gazed at the fine dark hairs on Jack’s wrist. He chose several volumes for Oliver and Emma, and we left with two big shopping bags.

  “I imagine you need to get back home,” he said as Rick pulled out.

  “I guess.” I hoped he’d invite himself over. I didn’t want to ask, since he might have plans with someone else for the afternoon. It was hard to sit so close and not touch him; it brought back in torturous detail how good his body used to feel.

  “Thanks for coming along,” Jack said. “I have to do this parallel thing where someone reads with me, and then I do it alone. Somehow I can’t see doing it with Mary Jo. She can be a little impatient, you know. Although I dearly love that woman.”

  “That sounds like a good exercise.”

  “Maybe you could help me with it sometime, if your professor wouldn’t have a problem with that.”

  “It wouldn’t be a problem. He knows you and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.” I thought Jack might pick up on that so we could discuss it, but he just looked out the window for a few minutes.

  As we pulled onto Broome, Jack draped his arm around my shoulder. “In a way, it’s nice just being friends.” He regarded me with his warm brown eyes. “Kind of takes the tension out of it, if you know what I mean.” His face was close to mine, the heat of him searing my skin. “It’s good to see you, Julia,” he said in a low voice. I waited, holding still, tipping my face slightly toward his. He leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.

  “I’m going to take you up on your offer of help with the reading,” he called to me as I got out of the car.

  So he sees us as just friends now. If possible, I felt even worse than before.

  Chapter 31

  Making Flippy Floppy

  “Time for the meeting, Julia,” Meredith said. Surreptitiously I folded the Times over the Post; I’d been absorbed in a fascinating tidbit on Page Six. I followed her into the conference room, where everyone was already seated.

  “All right, any additions to the death list?” Harvey began. “We’ve got Bette, Marlene, and Katherine, but we need a few more.” He’d brought from Esiness a running list of actresses who might be expected to pop off at any moment. A hack writer was waiting in the wings, ready to cough up a quick biography within weeks of their demise.

  “Liz isn’t looking too hale and hearty, but she hasn’t even hit fifty yet,” Charlie said.

  “This isn’t for the D-list, but I might have an in with Ruby Carr,” Briar piped up. “I got to know her agent when the magazine did a piece on her Broadway show.”

  Harvey beamed. “That’s fantastic, Briar. Why don’t you set up a meeting with her? The rest of you need to put on your thinking caps and see who you can come up with. Charlie, anything good?”

  “I have something I’m excited about: The Fireman’s Diet,” Charlie enthused. “These guys in one station in Queens have lost fifteen pounds apiece in two weeks.”

  “Isn’t that kind of bridge-and-tunnel?” Briar asked.

  “Too down-market. Don’t waste any time on it,” Harvey said as Charlie scowled. “Kate?”

  “I’ve got a novel about four women who meet at Woodstock, and how the concert affects the rest of their lives. I’m on the fence about it; maybe Julia could take a look,” Kate said.

  “Sure,” I replied. Anxiously I wondered if she’d read Isabel’s manuscript. I’d asked her about it a few days ago, but she hadn’t gotten to it yet.

  “To be continued,” Harvey said. “Edgar, anything new in the fascinating world of crafts? Sea glass collections, bottle caps?”

  “I’m considering a book on quilt making,” Edgar said in a dignified tone. “I’ll get back to you about it.”

  “I’ll be on tenterhooks. Anyone else?”

  I clenched my icy hands in my lap. “I wanted to bring up Isabel Reed again. I know you didn’t love it, but I wanted to get some other opinions. Did anyone else have a chance to read it?”

  I held my breath during the pause. Meredith removed her half-rims. “She writes so poignantly about growing up without her mother. And any fan of the show would be fascinated by the peek behind the scenes. That moment with her costar in the dressing room is priceless.”

  “But does anyone care about Isabel Reed these days?” Harvey asked.

  Briar sat forward in her seat. “No one I knew ever watched her show. I certainly didn’t. That whole singing teacher gimmick was just a lot of hype.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Charlie countered. “She has a real cult following. You can still catch reruns if you stay up late.”

  “She’s been getting some nice press about this new big-budget film,” I added.

  Kate tucked her hair behind her ears. “I think it’s great. She was a huge role model for young women, and they’re just now hitting book-buying age.”

  I could have kissed her feet.

  Harvey frowned. “We cranked out a lot of these things at Esiness. They’re a drain on the publicity department, and in the end most of them don’t earn out.”

  “I disagree,” Kate said. “This one’s special.”

  “If we positioned it right, we could have a real sleeper on our hands,” I said, gaining steam. “And I don’t think we’d have to pay that much for it.”

  Edgar nodded. “You’d be absolutely insane not to grab this. She has a huge following among gay men.”

  “I still think Rayner’s memoir would be a much bigger draw,” Harvey said. “In fact, let’s go ahead and pass on Isabel, in lieu of Pryce.”

  Briar gave me a triumphant look.

  I cleared my throat. “Interesting you should say that. I was just reading in the … in the newspaper that he’s been checked into rehab in Orange County. Apparently he ran a bunch of red lights, crashed his car, and punched a cop after a police chase. It sounds like he’s in for a pretty long stay.”

  My heart pounded as everyone looked at Harvey.

  “Well. That certainly puts a new spin on it,” he said, glancing around the room. “His book was supposed to be all about his big spiritual conversion. Okay, Julia. Run some numbers after the meeting and see if you can come up with an offer that works.”

  Hooray! I felt like doing a victory lap around the conference table.

  Harvey left, and the others came over to congratulate me. Briar rushed out, looking like she’d sucked a lemon.

  I raced over to the Chelsea to make the offer in person.

  “I was really hoping for a little more,” Isabel said slowly. My mood took a nose-dive. “But,” she smiled, “I guess I can make it up in royalties. Yes. I acce
pt.”

  I gave her a big hug, inhaling a hit of patchouli. “I’ll get the contracts drawn up right away. And our publicity director wants to set up a meeting as soon as possible.”

  “I’m absolutely thrilled. I couldn’t have done it without all your hard work,” she said graciously.

  “I really appreciate that, Isabel.”

  “Are you all right? You’ve seemed down lately.” She regarded me with her keen blue gaze. “Did something happen with that guy?”

  “We broke up.” It felt even worse to say it out loud.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Sounds like a bad one.”

  I sighed. “It’s been pretty awful. I thought he’d been with another woman, then it turned out he hadn’t, but I said some terrible things. I saw him a few weeks ago, but he hasn’t called me since.”

  Isabel patted my hand. “Well, he’s crazy if he’s letting a girl like you go. Take some advice from someone who’s been around the block a few times: either get him back or find another guy who’ll appreciate what you have to offer. Grab hold while you’re still young and beautiful. It all goes so fast.” She glanced at the beaming portrait over the mantel. “Sometimes I lie in bed at night and look at pictures of myself when I was your age. What I wouldn’t do for just one day of having it all back, especially if I knew what I know now. I’d be unstoppable.” She smiled. “And that’s the end of the lecture.”

  “Here’s your paper. I’m pretty sure I made all the corrections,” I said, handing Art the manila envelope. I wanted to drop it off before we went with a group of his friends to see a Philip Glass opera. I’d stayed extra late at the office for the past two weeks to retype the eighty-page annotated document, which struck me as dry and heavily footnoted. But I reminded myself that this was almost a requirement of academic writing.

  “I’m totally in your debt,” Art said as he uncorked a bottle of wine. “I just saw the Times review of Fyfe’s novel. Congratulations; that’s a real coup.”

  “Yes, everyone was pleased. And his new one’s even better. I’m about two-thirds of the way through it now.”