Keep Dancing

by Leslie Wells

  When Jack called me at the office around noon, I told him what happened.

  “He’s a breast man, just like his uncle.”

  “That’s not funny. Do you think he can sleep on the couch tonight?” I asked.

  “I dunno. We can try it. I’m going to take him to Odeon for lunch, and then to the studio. Mark’s going to let him bash around on the drums.”

  I couldn’t picture Ollie sitting still for long at the fancy restaurant. “Drums sound like just the ticket,” I said. “Let him get his ya-yas out.”

  After several days I was getting used to Ollie being at our place, but it was taking a toll on Jack. Not that he didn’t love spending time with his nephew. Over the weekend we’d gone to the Museum of Natural History (Jack wearing a floppy hat so he wouldn’t be recognized); to Serendipity on the Upper East Side for ice cream, where Jack got mobbed by a bunch of teenage girls; and on several outings to the studio, where Ollie was allowed to have at Mark’s drums and Sammy’s keyboard.

  After we finished a late breakfast on Sunday, Jack got on the phone with Sammy. “I owe you one,” I heard him say before hanging up. “Me knob’s turning blue.”

  “It’s only been four days,” I said.

  “Four and a half. Sammy’s taking him to the zoo. It’ll be fun for Oliver, and even more fun for me.” Jack waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  I had to admit, I was ready for a little adult time too. Jack roused Ollie from his cartoon-watching and got him dressed in warm clothes. “Do they have elephants?” he asked as Jack pulled a sweater over his head.

  “No elephants. But a very cool panther, I’ve heard.”

  “Why aren’t you coming?” Ollie asked. Jack zipped him into his coat.

  “Julia has to do some editing, and I have to concentrate on this song. It’s only for a few hours,” he said.

  There was a knock, and Sammy entered the loft blowing on his fingers. His sandy brown hair was shoulder-length, and his soul patch had flecks of snow in it.

  “Cold as a witch’s ti—hey there, young fella!” He came up to Ollie and rumpled his hair. “Ready to shake up the wild animals? How are you, Miz Julia?” he asked in his Marietta, Georgia drawl.

  “I’m good. Thanks for this,” I said.

  “Sam-my! Sam-my!” Oliver chanted, pulling on his coattails. “Did you bring me some sweets?”

  “I may have something in here for you,” Sammy said. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a joint. “Whoops, wrong pocket. You ready to rock an’ roll?”

  “Yeah!” Ollie cried.

  “Don’t rush back,” Jack said, plumping Oliver’s hat on his head and escorting them to the door. “Take your time. Go out for lunch after. On me.”

  “All right, I got it. Julia, I want him good and relaxed when I get back,” Sammy replied with a grin.

  I blushed. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Alone at last.” Jack shut the door. “Now come here. I have a vision of what I want to do to you. You’re gonna get very hot and sweaty before it’s all over.”

  After a little nap, Jack rolled onto his back and lit a joint. “De ganja make de mon happy.” He inhaled deeply, held it in for an interminable minute and then blew an acrid-smelling cloud toward the ceiling. “I’m afraid to smoke around Ollie; Sharon would skin me alive. Want some?”

  “I’d better not. I have to get some work done this afternoon,” I said. The few times I’d tried pot, it had really knocked me out.

  “Maybe it would help with the editing.” Jack took another big suck of the joint, sparking the tip. “Puts me in the mood to make music.”

  “It would put me in the mood to go to sleep. After I giggled for about an hour.”

  “That’s what you always say. Are you ever able to read just for pleasure, or are you always thinking while you’re reading? Being an editor, I mean.” Jack gazed at me through his eyelashes.

  “It is a little hard to turn it off, even when I’m reading for fun. I’m usually analyzing the word choices the author made. How about you, when you’re listening to other people’s music?”

  “Nah, I can’t listen without critiquing it. I’m always thinking: How’d they do that? Or else, why on earth did they do that?” He held out the joint. “But you don’t want to have a toke with me? Why not let go a little?”

  I smiled. “I think that’s what I just did.”

  “Yes, you did seem to enjoy yourself. Especially that last time. Something to be said for synchronicity.”

  I felt my face flush. “It was amazing. You do things to me that I wouldn’t think were possible. No one’s ever made me feel so great in bed.”

  Jack put his hand on my thigh and squeezed. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

  Swept up in a tide of feeling, I had to say it. “Jack. I love you.”

  He took one last hit and put the tiny nub in the ashtray. “Me too. Although sometimes you could use a little loosening up.”

  I was sitting on the couch, red pencil in hand, editing a belly-slimming guide that Harvey had signed up. Jack was in the middle of the loft strumming his acoustic guitar, a smoldering spliff in the ashtray. He’d play the same chord sequence over and over again, slightly differently each time. I marveled at his ability to keep bashing away until it sounded right to him. Sometimes he asked me which way I thought was better, but usually I could hardly tell the difference. His ear was so finely attuned that infinitesimal changes were life and death to him.

  Seeing that it had gotten dark outside, I glanced at my watch. It was five o’clock. I wondered when Sammy and Oliver were coming back; the zoo closed at four in the winter.

  Fifteen minutes later they walked in, Ollie holding a wreath of deflated helium balloons.

  “I only lost track of him for a little while.” Sammy peeled off his scarf.

  “We saw the panther! He was sleeping the whole time,” Ollie said. “And the monkeys really liked me. I fed them scads of peanuts! This old geezer told me they’d had enough, but we gave them another bag. Then he ratted me out, and I had to stop.”

  Ollie quit talking and got a funny look on his face. “Phoar, Uncle Jack, what’s that smell? Did someone faff?”

  “Your uncle was having a cigar,” I said, fanning the air. We probably should have opened a window while he was having a toke, but I would have frozen to death.

  “Got any more of that wacky baccy? I could go for a cee-gar myself,” Sammy said.

  Jack merely shook his head and helped Ollie out of his coat. “I see you got some balloons. Did you have fun?”

  “Can you take me back tomorrow?” Ollie said. “I want to feed the monkeys again!”

  “We’ll see,” Jack said. “Bring those balloons over to the sink. I know a good trick we can do.”

  “Here goes the last one,” Jack said.

  Sammy handed the balloon, dripping and bloated, to Jack, who held it out the window. “Ready, aim…”

  “Fire!” Ollie screamed.

  “Bombs away!” Jack released it, and I heard it splash on the sidewalk twelve stories below. The three of them giggled and high-fived like they were all six years old.

  “That’s it for the fun and games.” Jack wiped his wet hands on his jeans.

  “But I want more games!” Ollie cried. “I never get to do this stuff at home!”

  “It’s your dinnertime,” Jack said. “Maybe later.”

  “I’d better get out while the gettin’s good. I’m supposed to pick up Lara at nine.” I heard Sammy mumble something to Jack, and his answering laugh. Sammy often said that he needed a steady girlfriend, but his behavior indicated otherwise. Sometimes I wondered if Jack missed being out on the town, trolling for women. But if he did, he didn’t let on, and I was determined not to second-guess him the way I’d done in the past.

  “Have fun,” I said as Sammy shrugged into his coat.

  “Oh, I will.” He gave me a wink.

  After we dined on sugar pops cereal, Oliver sat in bed next to Jack as he
read Henry and Ribsy out loud. I finished loading the dishwasher and stood in the doorway for a moment. Jack’s dark head was bent toward Ollie, who snuggled into his shoulder, staring sleepily at the page. Jack’s so sweet with him, I thought. He really would make a good father.

  Jack continued reading: “‘I’m not making faces,’ said Henry. ‘I’m wiggling my loose teeth.’” He shut the book. “And that’s it for tonight’s selection.”

  Jack looked up, and our eyes met across the room. Something in his expression created a well of emotion in my chest. I wanted to hold the warmth of that perfect moment—Jack cuddling Oliver, me about to get into bed next to him, the close family feeling; something I’d missed so much ever since I was fourteen—in my heart forever. I tried to hush the inner voice telling me it couldn’t last.

  Chapter Seven

  Mindless Little Insects

  On the way downtown, I stopped at the grocery store to get some biscuits for Oliver. He’d asked for them several times, but I didn’t know what kind he liked, so I got the whack-em tube as well as a box of mix. When I got to the loft, Ollie was sitting at the kitchen table with a squeeze bottle of glue, making a sculpture out of guitar picks and Zig Zag rolling papers.

  “Hi Ollie, where’s Jack?” I dumped my backpack on the couch.

  “Back here.” Jack came out of the bedroom wearing jeans ripped at the knee, pulling a long-sleeved tee-shirt over his head. I caught a glimpse of his ridged abdomen before he drew it all the way down. God, it would be nice to be alone together tonight. But Oliver was still sleeping in our bed.

  “I have to go to the studio. I probably won’t get back ’til one or two,” Jack said. “You okay hanging out with Ollie?”

  “I guess,” I said uncertainly. I had planned to do a lot of work tonight, assuming Jack would be around to entertain his nephew. I also wanted to concentrate on tomorrow’s interview at noon with Hawtey House’s publisher, Perry Stroud. I’d never met Perry, but Vicky said he had a rep for being snooty and difficult. I wanted to anticipate any tricky questions he might ask about my resume, or the list of books that I’d edited. “Didn’t you rehearse this afternoon?” I asked Jack.

  “Robin had to move my tutoring session to later; she was out shopping with some friends. She didn’t leave until a few minutes ago.”

  “How old is Robin?” From what Jack had said, I’d always pictured her as kind of frumpy; not the type to socialize much.

  “I think in her thirties. Or maybe twenties, I’m not sure.” Jack laid his guitar case on the couch and gently cradled his Gibson inside. “Oh, and she brought over a lasagna. Maybe you and Ollie could heat some up for dinner. I had a piece; it’s really good.”

  “Why did she bring food? I didn’t even know you liked lasagna.”

  Jack put on his coat. “Neither did I, ’til I tried it. She said she likes to cook.”

  Did Jack complain to her that I’m a disaster in the kitchen? Maybe I should meet this tutor. “What does she look like?” I asked.

  “I dunno. I haven’t paid much attention.” He zipped the case and shouldered the strap.

  “She’s a stunner!” Ollie said. “But I thought she’d never leave.”

  “Which is what I have to do, or we’ll never be ready for this tour.” Jack rumpled the top of Ollie’s head and gave me a distracted kiss on the cheek.

  “Could you try to get home a little earlier? My interview with Hawtey is tomorrow. I need some time to collect my thoughts.” I was annoyed that he’d forgotten. At times his all-consuming focus on his music made my own career seem like an afterthought. With the upcoming tour, I knew the demands on Jack were urgent—but mine were just as important to me.

  “Oh, that’s right.” Jack gave me a guilty look. “I’ll try. Patrick and I have to work out this thorny bit in one of the songs. He wants to do it his way, and I want to do it the right way. Same old story.” Jack rolled his eyes. “But we’d better get it sorted, or they’ll be throwing rotten veg at us.”

  I doubted that; The Floor’s fans were rabid and adoring. But my concerns must seem piddling compared to letting down hundreds of thousands of concert-goers. “Well, please get back as soon as you can. This interview’s really important to me.”

  “You’ll fix Ollie dinner? He wasn’t hungry earlier.” Heading to the door, Jack ignored my last comment.

  “Sure. And I bought him some biscuits.” I pulled the tube out of the bag.

  “What’s that?” Oliver said.

  “Didn’t you say you wanted them?” I asked.

  “He meant cookies,” Jack said. “I’ll pick some up on my way home.”

  Then why didn’t he say he wanted cookies? I thought as I shoved the tube in the fridge.

  Neither Ollie nor I felt like having the showoff’s lasagna. I slathered butter on his spaghetti, and we sat at the kitchen table with the mantis cage between us. Then he wanted ice cream, so I scooped out a big bowl. “What did you do today?” I asked as he stirred it into a chocolate soup.

  “I watched TV while Uncle Jack was asleep. Then I turned up the sound, and he woke up.” Oliver’s big brown eyes met mine.

  “He didn’t get mad, did he?” I asked.

  “No, just quiet. We went out for pancakes. Then we went to a record shop at Sint’ Marks.”

  Jack liked the vintage 45s at St. Mark’s Music Exchange. “Did you get anything good?”

  Ollie’s brow furrowed. “We had to leave because I dropped one. I didn’t mean to break it!”

  “I’m sure it was okay.”

  “The guy was mad, but Uncle Jack paid him. Then we came back here ’coz the reading lady was coming, but she was late.”

  I couldn’t quite conjure up a picture of the reading lady. “What did she look like? You said she’s beautiful?”

  “She got cheesed off when I wouldn’t go in the bedroom. But I wanted to play out here!”

  “What color is her hair?”

  Ollie scrunched his face in concentration. “Can’t remember.” He went back to stirring his ice cream.

  “What’s your favorite thing about New York so far?” I asked him.

  “I liked the zoo. And the water balloons.” He looked a little sad.

  “Are you okay, Ollie?”

  “I like it here. But I miss Mum.” He fiddled with the latch of the cage.

  Poor little guy; of course he missed his mother. “Want me to read to you?”

  “Sure!” Oliver hopped up and went to fetch the book. He climbed in my lap as I began reading, my chin brushing the top of his head, breathing in his little-boy smell. It felt really nice, just the two of us in the quiet kitchen, the only noise the sound of my voice and the occasional scratching of the mantises. After a couple of chapters, Ollie was getting wiggly.

  “Had enough for now? I can read some more before you go to sleep.”

  “That one’s climbing on top of the others!” He put his face close to the cage.

  “I’m going in the bedroom for a while to do some work. You’ll be okay out here?” I was hoping I could squeeze in an hour’s work.

  Ollie didn’t answer, so I left him gazing at the insects.

  I slid into bed and stacked the nonfiction proposals on the pillow next to me. If I speed-read, I could get three or four done quickly, and also try to come up with some semi-intelligent questions to ask in my interview. Vicky had said it was a good idea to bring up a few things that showed I’d done my research on the company. I began rapidly flipping the pages.

  An hour later, I still didn’t hear any noise from the front of the loft. I had finished the reading, and had just started jotting down some notes for my interview. Guess I’d better go check on him, I thought reluctantly. I put my pen and paper aside and headed toward the kitchen. As I went past the fireplace, my foot crunched on something. I lifted my bare heel and with my fingernail, scraped off a dried piece of grass. I took a closer look—Oh my god!

  On tiptoe I ran into the kitchen. The cage door was open. Ollie turned to
ward me, several mantises in his hand.

  “Ollie! What did you do?”

  He gave me a sheepish look. “They wanted to play with me.”

  “They’re going everywhere!” I cried as the little green creatures hopped off the table and onto the kitchen counters, the parquet floor. I ran over and flipped the cage door shut, but only a few were left inside. Jeez, I didn’t know they could fly!

  “I’ll help!” Ollie stood up.

  “Don’t move! Sit here.” I pressed his shoulders down into the chair. “You might squish them walking around. Just sit still, okay? Let me put these two back in the cage.” I took the ones he was holding and placed them inside. Damnit! The rest seemed in a frenzy to escape. I scooped a few off the counter, opened the cage door a crack and slid them in. Closing it, I went to snag a couple more off the floor. Those that were flying seemed to be the larger ones. Just as I nabbed a few from the glass coffee table, the front door opened.

  “The power went off. A truck hit a pole at the corner of Eighth,” Jack said as he propped his guitar case on a chair. “Did one get out?” he asked, seeing what I had in my hand.

  “More than one.”

  “What happened?” Jack took off his coat and ran his hands through his hair, making it stand on end.

  “We had a little accident. I was in the bedroom trying to get ready for my interview, and—” I looked at Ollie, who’d come up behind me.

  “I didn’t mean to!” he said tearfully.

  Jack sighed. “Let me get the dustpan. We’ll catch more that way.”

  “I’ll get it!” Ollie shouted, running toward the broom closet.

  “Bring it over here. I see a few on the amp.” Jack had him hold the pan while he gently nudged them in. Once some of the larger groups were taken care of, we had to go after individual bugs. The airborne ones were incredibly fast; we took paper cups and chased them through the apartment.

  Ollie raced around the table, his brown eyes sparkling with excitement. “This is the best night of my whole life!” he exclaimed.