by Helen Cox
‘Alright.’ I took a deep breath and spoke the line. ‘Well, if you want me, what are you waiting for?’ I put my hand to his face and stroked the down of his beard even though that wasn’t in the directions. My stomach capsized at the feel of it. I looked into the clear blue of Jack’s eyes as I spoke and squinted to read the last line of the script. My hand still on his jaw. The stage direction simply read: They kiss. I looked back up at Jack. His face edged closer to mine.
All this time, I’d wanted no one. Even on days when my arms had ached for the warmth of another human being. When my lips had burned to be kissed, I’d shrugged it all off.
Until I met this man.
‘They kiss,’ I repeated out loud.
And with that, it was just happening.
Reaching forward, away from cowardice; away from loneliness, I pushed my lips against Jack’s. Our tongues found each other and the kiss deepened. Pressing his shoulders back against the sofa, I moved to sit across him, fastening my legs around his waist. Oh my God this was it… I was running my fingers through his hair, holding my body tight against his, pulling his face closer to mine.
Never one to miss a cue, Jack began kissing along my neck. His beard tickled just under my chin and there was something raw, almost animal, about it that compelled me to kiss him back harder.
I pulled off his blazer and began unbuttoning his shirt. My haste was such that I was ungainly but progress was being made, even if it was slow. Jack’s chest was smooth and firm but by the cut of it he had the decency to only work out once in a while so we mere mortals could stand to be naked around him. Grateful for this small mercy, I smiled as he lifted me off the sofa and pressed my body against the wall.
‘Jack…’ I sighed out.
‘Esther…’ he whispered in return. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the softness of his lips … on his tongue massaging my left ear lobe as I ran my hands over the soft skin on his back. ‘You’re so, so beautiful,’ Jack murmured into my ear. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you.’
I replied with a kiss and half-moaned into his mouth as his fingertips edged up my skirt, along my inner thigh. His hands gripped, pulling me closer, before tampering with the buttons on my shirt dress. Revealing the one respectable bra I had to my name.
Jack’s eyes widened. He studied the contours of my body. A hungry expression crossed his face and he didn’t bother undoing the last few buttons on the skirt but instead took the fabric in his hands and ripped.
All air left my lungs.
His hands.
His hands shrugging what was left of my dress to the floor.
His forehead nudged against mine right before he delivered a deep, hot kiss.
Somewhere, far away in another universe, buttons skittered across the floor. Trying to catch my breath, I put my feet back on the ground. Began kissing down his chest. My hands and lips exploring every inch of skin.
‘Esther…’ He stroked my hair as I kissed down, down, down. ‘You know how much I care about you, don’t you?’
I paused and looked up into his eyes again. ‘Same amount I care about you, I hope…’
He looked more serious than I was expecting. I didn’t want serious just then. Or logic. Or debate. I didn’t want to think about anything except the bliss of his body against mine. I reached up, and put a hand to his cheek.
‘Faber, you’re not choosing this particular moment to have a deep and meaningful conversation, right?’ I smiled and nuzzled my nose into the side of his neck before checking back at his expression once more. He looked hard into my eyes for a few moments but then his face relaxed and he mirrored my smile.
Placing his arms around my waist, he lifted me again but this time he carried me towards the bedroom. I clinched my legs tighter around him and kissed from the edges of his beard along his neck. As I did so he whispered some of the things he had planned and I let out an involuntary gasp. This, it seemed, was just what Jack wanted to hear and the next thing I knew I was on his bed, sat astride his body.
He looked up at me and held me steady for a second.
‘Are you sure about this? We don’t have to…’ He pushed my hair out of my face, then rested his hands on either side of my head. I smiled down to him and nodded.
‘I’m very sure,’ I said, trailing my fingernails down his chest. ‘I… I want you.’
We stared at each other. Just admitting that, out loud, made my heart beat faster. His breath, and mine, shuddered out. He kissed my hands before groping for a condom in the drawer of his bedside table. I removed my glasses and placed them on the nightstand.
Naked now. Vulnerable. Our bodies drew closer and, gazing into his eyes, I closed the distance between us. And then there was kissing. Trembling. Moaning. Release.
Chapter Seventeen
By the time I’d showered and fashioned one of Jack’s shirts into a new shirt dress – watching him rip off my clothes had been beyond sexy but now I had nothing to walk home in – he was sat at his kitchen table pouring juice and buttering toast.
‘Hey Faber, this was sitting by the door.’ I threw him a yellow envelope that’d been hand delivered. It was marked only with his first name in awkward, rickety handwriting. Jack caught it and stared down at the letter. He swallowed hard and looked as though I’d thrown him a live viper.
‘What’s wrong?’ I said. He sat in silence looking between me and the envelope. ‘Jack?’
‘It’s nothing.’ He smiled a thin smile. I looked at the letter, then up at his face.
‘Doesn’t seem like nothing.’ I stared harder at him and crossed my arms.
‘I’ve just been getting these weird letters.’ He hustled the envelope into a nearby drawer, closed it tight and held it shut with his hands.
‘Weird? Weird, how?’
‘Sort of… threatening.’ Jack turned and saw the fear in my eyes. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve passed them all onto the police and to my solicitor. They’re looking into it. It’ll be fine.’ He extended his hand towards me. I took a couple of steps forward. Fine? Who’d he think he was talking to? It was so obvious it was not fine. But I couldn’t push. Not until I worked out what I was going to tell him about my late husband’s death. Something I probably should’ve talked to him about before last night. ‘Is that my shirt?’ Jack said, his blatant change of topic was a relief.
‘Oh, yeah. Not the height of fashion but needs must,’ I said, pulling at the hem. Chequered in blue and smelling, as he did, of bergamot, it was the longest shirt I could find in the wardrobe but it still wasn’t quite long enough.
‘Actually, I think it’s pretty sexy,’ he said whilst giving me a look that made me want him to rip all the buttons off this garment too.
‘I get the impression, Mr Faber, you’d say the same if I was wearing a bin bag.’
‘Black’s a very flattering colour, I hear.’ He swung me round and pulled me down onto his knee. I didn’t resist. In the past twelve hours I’d come to the conclusion that having his big, heavy arms wrapped around my body was about the best feeling in the universe. He kissed my cheek. I turned my head so our lips met.
‘I love it when you call me Mr Faber, by the way,’ he murmured into my ear.
‘I’d imagine you’re used to it. Being the next Hollywood heartthrob and all that.’ I gave him a couple of playful taps on the cheek with the flat of my hand.
‘I don’t think I’m quite there yet. At any rate, a year or two ago there weren’t many people lining up to call me Mr Faber – when I was camping out in my car because I couldn’t pay rent.’ He held me tighter. Was he telling me he’d been homeless for a time? He was so blasé about the acting thing it hadn’t occurred to me he might have had to struggle for it.
‘I hate to think of you going through that. It sounds dreadful.’ I put a hand to his jaw and stroked his beard. He nestled his face into the nook next to my nose.
‘It was. But, you know,’ he said, brightening, ‘when you look like this you’re not going hungry.’
&n
bsp; ‘What? You mean people took pity on you?’ I asked through a smile and moved from his knee to the spare chair.
‘How refreshing to meet a woman who is as unimpressed by my dazzling looks and moderate fame as you.’ He made a good show of looking wounded. I cackled into my juice.
‘If anything those things count against you. I like you in spite of them; you should be pleased.’ I took a gulp of the orange juice and looked at him.
‘I am.’ He put a hand on mine. Staring into his eyes, I didn’t even try to fight the idiotic look sweeping across my face. ‘What are you doing today?’ he asked. I looked up towards my hairline. Trying to remember what I was supposed to be doing today. Trying to think about anything but the fact I was with Jack. That last night we had…
‘Well, I’m working the late shift at four…’
‘Great. It’s ten thirty now. You’ve time to go for a walk. Sun’s out, we should make the most of it.’
‘Alright.’ Wanting to hang out the morning after? Not ‘off to a meeting’ in an attempt to send the message that just because we had sex doesn’t mean he’ll be bringing me grapes when I’m sick? Jack was going up in my estimation by the second.
‘Only if you want to but I mean, we’ve done everything else backwards so now we’ve slept together it seems we should… you know, go out. Like on a date.’
I laughed at his ramble. Good to know I wasn’t the only idiot in this… well, whatever this was.
‘I always enjoy a walk along the Brooklyn Bridge…’
‘Perfect.’ He leant over and kissed me again.
It took us just shy of two hours to reconvene in Washington Square Park. I’d insisted on going home to change into something less make-shift and then there was a good ten-minute goodbye even though we both knew we’d be together again soon. Keeping our hands off each other long enough to put a door between us proved somewhat problematic but we did eventually succeed. I’d have been a lot smarter about meeting him if I hadn’t got back to my place and realised I hated every single item of clothing I owned. Turns out my determination to repel men for the last two years hadn’t led to the best shopping choices. One of my more stylish getups was now in need of repair thanks to last night’s ravenous making-out session. Besides that, all I had was a couple of pairs of jeans and half a dozen tops to my name. In the spirit of not misleading Jack into thinking I was some kind of diva who took hours to get ready, I settled for teaming my least-scruffy denim with an orange vest. I layered it up with a white shirt and was as satisfied as I was ever likely to get with the materials to hand.
Jack was stood, as arranged, under Washington Arch just after midday. He was wearing the same blazer he’d worn the night before but this time he’d just thrown it over a white T-shirt and a pair of jeans. I loved him for this: his choice to go casual made me feel less of a scruff.
‘Oh, what a coincidence,’ he said. He was wearing his sunglasses but took them off as I approached.
‘Miss me?’ I put a finger to my chin to make doubly sure he knew I was joking but his response was to kiss me as though he hadn’t seen me in a month. I took a moment to catch my breath. He smiled and held out his hand.
‘I love this bridge,’ I said, as we walked beneath the iconic stone arches and along the wooden promenade cluttered with power-walkers and tourists taking photographs. A roar emanated from below as traffic passed along the undercarriage of the bridge and the fetid scent of roasting nuts wafted through the air thanks to some savvy street vendor making the most of passing trade. ‘Sometimes I just come here to think. Looking over the city from here, it gives you a sense of perspective. Standing between Manhattan and Brooklyn sort of feels like standing between two different worlds.’ Jack raised an eyebrow at me. ‘Or maybe that’s just weird and I should be shutting up now.’
‘No. I get it,’ he said. ‘There is something about it. Why did you choose New York? You never did tell me.’ Jack put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer.
I sighed. How could I answer that question without lying to him?
‘Nobody’s supposed to care about you in New York…’ Jack’s brow lowered but he continued to listen. ‘They’re supposed to be too wrapped up in themselves and I needed…I wanted to disappear.’ I adjusted my glasses on my nose, tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. Heart to hearts didn’t come naturally to me but there was so much we’d have to talk about at some point, I had to start practising straight away.
‘Because of what happened to your husband?’ Jack asked, kissing the top of my head as he did so. Trading kisses for answers, how unfair. He was so gentle and warm in that moment I wanted to tell him everything. In fact, I had a desperate urge to tell him my entire life story, starting with my inconvenient and rather clichéd birth in the back of a taxi but I reminded myself that maintaining a modicum of mystery was no bad thing. I issued a stiff nod. ‘But you didn’t disappear. You’re still very much here,’ he said.
‘Turns out the whole “unfriendly New Yorker” thing is a myth. Muggers and murderers aside, I mean. People who say New Yorkers are unfriendly have clearly never been to London. You know what I’m talking about? People look through you. Sometimes even walk through you. If you’re lucky you’ll be tutted at.’
‘Yeah. I know what you mean. It can be a hard, cold place at times,’ he replied.
‘What about you? Why New York? Isn’t LA where all the fabulous people are?’ I looked up at him but he had his sunglasses on so I couldn’t read his eyes.
‘Well, I love my job but, come on, I’m not some twenty-one year old with their whole career ahead of them. I’m getting into this late and can’t get caught up in that. I had to live somewhere between England and LA. Between the two worlds, as you might put it.’ He squeezed me even closer. ‘You can get a flight from New York to LA easy enough and, I don’t know if you’ve ever been to LA, but I didn’t want to be drawn into its weird little vortex. It’s the land of plastic surgery and the Beverley Hills Diet. It’s not for me.’
‘Well, I like you just as you are. If you ever give up doughnuts or pancakes I promise to stage an intervention. A horrible turn of phrase but we’re in America and that’s what they call it here.’
Jack laughed, then looked at me and sighed.
‘What?’ I knew what. Or I thought I knew what but it was too early to say anything about it so I opted for acting the innocent. Jack shook his head.
‘I’ve just never met anyone like you, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, you sort of mentioned that last night.’ I grinned. Were his cheeks turning red? Maybe he was just over-heating. We were completely exposed on the bridge and the sun was climbing high towards its one pm peak. ‘You stand out in the crowd yourself,’ I said, entangling my fingers in his.
Lunch in Brooklyn turned into ice cream at Brooklyn Heights. The sky was so blue it seemed a crime to sit inside anywhere and we were both keen to be near the water. In the end, we lazed out on park bench in each other’s arms.
‘We’ll have to be getting back soon.’ Jack looked at his watch. ‘It’s three o’ clock and I don’t want to get on the wrong side of Mona.’
‘No way. If Alan’s scared of her that’s reason enough for me to be,’ I agreed.
‘So, will I see you tomorrow?’ Jack was sitting up now and trying to shake off the sleepiness that’d fallen over both of us.
‘I’d love to but Mum’s flying in for a visit. I like you but I’m guessing it’s a little soon for you to meet the parents.’ I smiled but Jack had the start of a frown on his face.
‘You, you don’t want me to meet your mother?’ This was about the last question I’d ever expect to hear from a man the day after sleeping with him for the first time and my mouth hung open.
‘Well, I mean of course I do. I just … I didn’t know…’ I stuttered.
‘I’m so tired of holding back. And of the past.’ He looked into my eyes and put a hand on my face, drawing it closer to his. ‘Aren’t you?’ Our foreheads presse
d together and my breath deepened.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I am.’
‘So, I know there are things we need to talk about. Both of us. A lot can happen in thirty-eight years.’ He smiled with about a third of his mouth.
‘And in thirty-three years.’ I looked down at the pinstripes on his blazer. There was something comforting about their precision. All of them equal length apart. All heading in the same direction. On the straight and narrow.
‘And opening up isn’t going to happen overnight. I understand that. And maybe it’s for the best but for now, let’s just look forward, OK?’ he said, and with that he was kissing me again. I opened my mouth and let him in, moving into my favourite position where I was sat across him and pulling at his T-shirt. He wrapped his arms tight around me and I heard him gasp as I kissed along his jawline down to his neck. We looked at each other panting.
‘Maybe, maybe I should remember where we are.’ I said, noticing a woman walk by with a pram and a toddler in tow. Jack laughed, his hands working up the shirt I was wearing, pressing along my body until his hands were on my breasts.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t wait till tomorrow to see each other again,’ he said. ‘What are you doing tonight?’ I looked at him and smiled.
Chapter Eighteen
Waiting for Mum’s evenly powdered face to appear in the crowd at JFK airport was more nerve-wracking than I’d imagined. I’d a bad case of dry mouth and the hard, yellow strip lighting combined with an overly efficient air-conditioning system wasn’t helping my general feeling of dislocation. Besides anything else, it was impossible to be here and not think about my own arrival to New York just over a year ago. Sweaty and carrying my small suitcase, I’d hopped on the now-discontinued JFK Express train. As it turned out the word ‘Express’ wasn’t that accurate. The journey into the city was slow and I soon became over-heated. Everyone else was a tourist arguing about what they’d see first: the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building. They were contemplating dinner at The Plaza, wondering if they could score Yankee tickets or what the booking process was for shows on Broadway. All I wanted to do was get to the cheap motel I’d booked in Brooklyn, order in some pizza and work out what the hell I was going to do now that I’d sold my flat, quit my job and flown more than 3000 miles away from everything I knew. More than twelve months in the States and I still hadn’t figured that one out. I was starting to wonder if I ever would.