by Jane Lark
“Oh my God. You and Justin!” Crystal exclaimed
“Did you lie to me the other day, or was it just starting off?” Becky said, eyeing me with suspicion.
“I just wasn’t sure where we were,” I answered, “But yeah, now we are officially seeing each other.” It actually felt really good to say it. “I’m going out with Justin.”
I got a hug from Becky and Crystal, then they walked away as the sub-editor, Hilary, headed over, no doubt about to say, get on with your work. She turned when she saw them walk off. I had a ton of letters to get done for Mr. Rees. I put my earphones in to discover the first one was to that solicitor in Oregon, denying the paternity case.
God, everyone had thought Justin was a sleaze–Mr. Rees was the sleaze.
I went into my email and typed. ‘Are you going home to get some clothes to wear out to dinner tonight? You’re going to need a suit and tie.’
It felt really good to have Justin there at the end of an email again.
‘I haven’t got a suit, baby, no point in me going back home.’
I wanted to laugh, the guy was so not like me, so not my type, and yet… He was perfect too.
‘Then we’re going shopping at lunch time, I’ll buy you some stuff.’
‘I’m not your charity case. I’ll buy my own stuff.’
‘Cool, you pay, I’ll pick! :-)’
‘Not a Tommy Hilfiger shirt and Versace suit though, something I can afford!’
‘Okay :-) Twelve?’
‘Twelve.’
‘It’s going to be a long morning.’
‘It’s gonna be a long day; just thinking about you over the counter, winking face’
‘Well stop thinking!!’ I looked up, and he leaned around his computer, smiling at me and laughing. I smiled too, a full on smile. I don’t think I normally smiled that much at work.
~
Work had been weird, but weird in a good way. I’d felt Justin’s presence all day. Because of what he’d said in the morning, I was thinking about him constantly.
I had somebody on my side. Team Portia. I wasn’t fighting life alone anymore.
We’d gone down to the mall at lunchtime, and he’d got a plain black jacket and a pair of skinny black chinos. I’d picked a very basic white shirt to go with them and a narrow burgundy tie. I was going to wear my burgundy dress, so I thought it would look cool to match.
“Do I need the shades too, to go totally men-in-black?” he’d asked, picking up a pair, like he’d need them in the restaurant. Justin’s sense of humor was foolish at times; but he was just living life while I’d spent a year hiding from it.
I’d flashed him a smile, took the shades off him, and put them back on the shelf.
I’d smiled a ton of times today.
Once, when he’d been joking with Becky, I’d overheard and looked up, caught his gaze, and, God, there was a massive transmission of information between us, like it downloaded in a rush. And it poured right into my heart, sending tremors to my belly.
We were good together.
I kept telling myself that as we walked into the restaurant later. We’d stopped in a bar around the corner and had a drink for courage and I was now a little intoxicated, and anxious–terrified. We’re good together. The words whispered through my head. My parents wouldn’t think so.
The maitre d’ had given our coats to someone at the door, and now we trailed behind him as he led us across the busy room, weaving about tables.
My sweaty palm pressed against Justin’s as his hand gripped mine, our fingers threaded. I wanted to wipe my palms on the skirt of my burgundy dress, but it was silk and that would ruin it. And besides, I didn’t want to let go of Justin’s hand.
I caught our reflection in a mirror as we passed it. Justin looked good in his jacket and tie, and we complemented each other. We are good together.
“Portia.” I turned to see Dad stand up, and then Mom. They both looked at Justin. It wasn’t the color of his suit or tie they noticed; it was the color of his skin. It wasn’t that they were racist, it was just that they wouldn’t think he was the right guy for me…
“Mom, Dad, I told you I was bringing a friend. This is Justin Preston.” I took a breath, I had to do this. I had to give him full credit. “We’ve been dating; he’s my boyfriend.”
Justin let go of my hand and reached out. “Mrs. Hemming, It’s nice to meet you.”
Maybe I should’ve warned them he was black, but I didn’t think it mattered. Justin was Justin, the color of his skin was irrelevant. Mom stared at him for a second or two, then finally took his hand and shook it. “Justin.”
When she let his hand go, he turned to my dad, and held it out again. “Mr. Hemming.”
“Justin.” My dad’s acknowledgement was short and sharp. Then he threw Mom a look that said it all. What the hell.
They could think what they wanted. I was done with their fake life, and their stupid facade.
Justin pulled out my seat before the maitre d’ could, and helped me sit, pushing the chair back in.
“Well then, what brings you to New York?”, I asked as Justin sat. My hands were shaking, and my stomach felt like Jell-o.
“Can we not come to the city to see our daughter?” Dad opened.
Except… they weren’t visiting me, they’d come to shop and sent me an invite to visit them.
“Is there some fashion thing going on Mom?” I looked at Dad then. “Or do you have some particular friend in town that you wanted to visit.” I couldn’t resist the dig. I knew there was something that must have brought them here, it wouldn’t be me.
“It’s going to be like that then, is it Portia?”
“Perhaps.”
Justin’s fingers gripped my thigh beneath the table, offering reassurance–solidarity. Go team Portia.
The conversation dropped to silence.
“Your menus.” Having handed them out, the waiter began explaining every dish in complex detail, trying to get our taste buds flowing–mine were numb.
When he walked away, Mom said over the top of her menu, “So what do you like to eat, Justin?” She was speaking to him like he was a child.
“Mom, Justin works on all the photographic images at work, he worked his way through university. He can pick what he wants from a menu without you prompting.”
“I didn’t mean–” she shot back, but I cut her off as Justin’s fingers rubbed up and down my thigh.
“Leave us to decide what we do and don’t want, Mom.” The conversation died.
After the waiter had taken our order, Dad tried again. “So what have you been up to, Portia?”
My instinct was to cut back, what have you been up to? I didn’t say it, I figured I ought to at least try and be a little nice, they had asked me out after all. “Working, not much else.”
“Do you do much shopping, or–“
“I just work, Dad, there’s nothing wrong with that. Remember when you used to do it?”
“Portia.” My name was the barked order I’d grown up with that said stop.
My lips compressed and I just stared at them. It seemed I couldn’t stop myself. This was torture. I wished I hadn’t come.
“Justin,” Mom looked at him, ignoring my irritability, “so what is it you do?”
“He airbrushes, Margery, takes the inches off and adds the six packs.” Dad answered for Justin like Justin couldn’t speak for himself; trying to come across as though Mr. Popularity-Hemming knew everything.
“He doesn’t, we work on a sports magazine, Dad, the people we cover are hot anyway, we don’t need to airbrush them.”
Justin’s fingers clawed a little on my thigh, and I heard him take a breath, before he spoke. “Actually, babe, I do, sometimes. I get rid of all the blemishes and stuff, they all want to look good.” He looked at my dad. “But mainly, Mr. Hemming, I cut images to fit, overlay stuff, change the color contrasts and structure sometimes, and build text over them, and make up fun images to pull articles togeth
er.” He shrugged when he finished speaking. Dad looked at Justin like he didn’t know what to say.
Mom dived in. “So do you like what you do, Justin?” It was said in a tone of voice that implied he shouldn’t. The work we did was below either of them.
“Uh huh.”
“But have you plans for the future?” Dad asked. “I mean, it’s not something that’s ever going to make you successful…”
Justin shrugged, “Surely success is dependent on what you want to achieve. If what I want to achieve is a good picture for the front cover tomorrow, then I’m successful. I’ve achieved it.” He smiled at Dad, not at all intimidated.
I smiled too, relaxing for the first time. I needed Justin’s chilled logic in my life.
I slipped my hand underneath the table and gripped his thigh too, then slipped my fingers up and brushed his crotch. His whole body jolted and he coughed.
“You okay?” Dad asked.
“Yes, thank you Mr. Hemming. I’m just gonna go use the bathroom.” I looked up at him, feeling like someone was ripping my right arm off when he stood up.
His fingers brushed my cheek gently, only for a second, as his brown eyes said, you’ll be okay.
He was only five paces away when Dad started. “Really, Portia, a black boy!”
“How could you, Portia?” Mom added. I hated her siding with Dad when he was such a cheating bastard…
“Where does he even come from?”
“A neighborhood in the Bronx, Dad.”
“Portia!”
“He doesn’t have any prospects…” Mom added.
“Why does he need prospects, Mom? He’s good fun, he looks hot, he’s nice, and he’s good in bed…” I checked the things off on my fingers, then looked a Dad. “Oh yeah, and he’s loyal, ‘cause his Dad messed around…” I threw him a smile.
“There is no need for that.” It was Mom who answered, the wounded party, but the wounded party who quite happily turned a blind eye and pocketed all his money.
“Portia, you should think about this, before you let yourself get in too deep. I know you came to New York because you were angry with us, but there’s no need to try and shock us…”
“Dating Justin isn’t anything to do with you, or what happened…”
“No…” It was said as if there was no way I could really want to be with Justin.
I hated my parents. They were bigots. How the hell had I come from them? Really I should divorce them. Why couldn’t you divorce your parents, and have their names taken off your birth certificate?
“Hey baby.” I looked up as Justin came back, and he bent down and kissed my cheek. I guessed he knew they’d been talking about him. He sat down, and reached for his drink.
“So, Justin, Portia says you come from the Bronx…” Dad said it as if he expected Justin to launch into a confession of murder or something…
“Yep.”
“And your family?”
Justin smiled at him. “Yep, they come from there too.”
“And do you have brothers and sisters, what does your mother do?” Mom took over.
He glanced at me, recognizing that she didn’t mention his Dad, and obviously guessing I’d said something. I gave him a sorry smile, but he shook his head to say he didn’t care. Then he looked at Mom and answered, “I have three brothers, ranging from eight to seventeen. And Mom’s a nurse in an old folks home, she works hard to keep us, always has. I have a lot of respect her. Despite everything she’s been through, she has a lot of love and she keeps us all together.”
Well that shut my parents up. I smiled smugly at Dad. Then looked at Mom. I should feel sorry for her, but she was weak and soulless as a Mom. I couldn’t feel sorry for her. She’d never given me anything that Justin’s Mom gave him. Love.
Justin put his hand on my thigh again, but this time palm up. I slipped my hand under the table and gripped it. The gesture said–I got you.
I changed the subject to safe talk. “So how’s the business going, Dad?” That would keep him talking for an hour.
When our first course arrived, Dad was still talking and I ate my Parma ham and orange salad, while Justin got all messy with his stringy melted deep fried cheese thing, both of us nodding at Dad, but not really listening.
When they came to take the plates, Dad ordered another bottle of wine, and I took the opportunity to swap the conversation over to Mom. “What have you been up to? Have you got anything planned with your friends?” She went on to talk about this party they were planning for spring, to raise money for a local charity.
Her life was so false, she made out to the world her marriage was perfect. Her friends probably knew the truth anyway. Dad wasn’t discrete.
They brought over the main courses. Justin had gone for steak. I’d picked the sea bass. The conversation dried again as we started eating, but then the notes of a Jay Z song rose from Justin’s jacket pocket. He let his knife and fork fall, and his eyebrows lifted as he leaned over to look for his cell.
People around the restaurant started staring, judging. Dad glared.
Justin pulled it out and answered, “Mom?”
“Really? Shit!”
“What the fuck?” He stood up as he talked, his napkin sliding to the floor. I put my cutlery down.
“Alright. I’m coming.” His voice was sharp and agitated, and his hand lifted to lie on top of his head, then fell.
“No. I’m coming.”
“Don’t worry.”
He ended the call. I stood, but he lifted his hand to say stay.
“It’s Jake, he’s got himself into trouble. He’s at the hospital. I’m sorry, Portia. I’ve got to go. Someone’s stabbed him.”
“Oh my God.” I didn’t know what to think.
Justin looked at Mom and Dad. “I’m sorry Mr. and Mrs. Hemming. Thanks for dinner, but I’ve got to go, it’s my kid brother. It was nice meeting you.” He turned away and my stupid parents didn’t say a word.
“Wait.” I dropped my napkin on the table. “I’ll come with you.”
Justin looked at me, his eyes focusing for the first time–with gratitude. “Thanks. I’ll go get our coats…”
He was walking away when I looked back at Mom and Dad. “Sorry. Thanks for dinner.”
I was going to turn away but Mom caught hold of my wrist. “Darling, you cannot really be serious about this boy…”
I took a breath and suddenly I knew. “I can be, and I am, Mom.” There was this huge ball of feeling all wrapped up inside me for Justin. I was serious about him–really serious–and I didn’t even feel afraid knowing it. I was in a fairytale again.
“Well don’t expect anything from me, if he’s after money”, Dad threw.
I looked at him. I didn’t feel sorry for myself anymore, I felt sorry for him, “He’s not, Dad. Not at all. You can think what you like but he’s not, and if you want to see me again, you’re going to have to accept I’m with Justin now. Goodnight.”
I didn’t wait to hear what else they had to say. I turned away, thinking about how warm and welcoming Justin’s mom and brothers were… And now Jake was hurt. It would hurt them all.
Chapter Ten
Justin didn’t really speak to me when we left the restaurant and walked to the subway. It was as if he didn’t even know I was there. But I knew he did know, and I knew he needed me. I touched his hand. It was shaking, but he didn’t grip mine, instead his hand lifted and his fingers ran over his hair about four times as he whispered. “Bullshit.”
I didn’t know what to say. There was nothing I could say to help. But last year, I’d walked out on a load of shit and tried to cope alone–he wouldn’t want to be alone.
I kept pace with him, hurrying as he walked fast.
“Fricking shit,” he breathed.
I didn’t answer.
On the subway train, when I sat down, he took the seat facing me and bent over, his hands gripping his head. There were only a few other people in the car but they weren’t near us.
His fingers spread bracing his head as he looked at the floor.
What could I do? I didn’t want to intrude on his feelings, but he looked in agony. I wanted to touch him, to reassure him. To try and make it better; even though there was nothing I could do or say that would do that.
Jake had been stabbed and no words were going to change it…
Shit, the truth hit me in the face with a punch. Justin’s brother had been stabbed, he could be bleeding to death right now…
I got up and moved across the car to sit next to him. I put my hand on his back. It jolted. He was crying. “Justin…” His name came out on a breath. I held him. “I’m sorry.”
He sat up straight, suddenly, so I had to let go, but then his arm came about me, as his other hand wiped at his eyes, then his nose. “Sorry, Portia. This night was about you.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m just worried about you… and your brother.”
“Fuck, Jake was always the one. I knew he was the one… He was so quiet, but he talked to Robin, and I thought Robin… Shit. What the fuck was he doing?”
His frustration sliced through me. “Don’t go in there angry. You can’t undo anything, and I know how easy it is to get sucked into things, different things, but…”
He looked at me his brown eyes shining in the white light of the car. “I know that, Portia, I’ve fought like mad to keep them all out of it, but it’s hard walking that line, and for months now there’s been this feeling in my gut about Jake, but I didn’t do anything. I didn’t know what to do…” His hand gripped my shoulder and it was painful, but then he let go and bent over again, gripping his head in his hands. “Fuck. Why didn’t I do something?”
I rubbed his back in a pathetic attempt to give comfort, but I could hardly say it would be okay, I didn’t know. I didn’t even know how badly Jake was injured. I didn’t even know if Justin knew.
When we walked into the hospital, we were holding hands. He’d gripped mine the whole way from the subway station. He glanced at me as the glass doors of the reception slid open. “Thanks for coming with me?”
I smiled. “I’m right here.”
He let go of my hand as he walked up to reception, and took a deep breath before saying. “I’ve come to see Jake Preston, my family’s already here. He’s my brother. Where is he?”