"Aye, well, Tony - what's your girlfriend think a you proposin'?
"She'd understand. You're a fuckin' goddess."
"You need yer eyes checked, luv.”
"I doubt that, Bridget. I fuckin' doubt that..."
"Right, then,” Jamie said. “I should leave you two to it.”
"Hardly, love,” Bridget smiled.
Bridget flicked her chin upwards and pointed to the upside-down stack of blue and white paper deli coffee cups next to the coffee machine.
"Gimme a tea with two milks, Tony Boy," she said. "My boyfriend back in Ireland might have a thing or two to say about all this."
"Yeah? Fuck that guy!" Tony smirked. "Run away with me."
Jamie piped in. "How much for the Yoo Hoo, Tony?"
"Forty-nine cents, sweetheart. And hey - Jamie, you're still my number one girl."
"Course. Right." Jamie smiled.
"I swear to God, Jamie. I'll marry you both. We'll find a way to make it work."
"Yeah, okay, Casanova,” Jamie said, sliding him a dollar bill.
He smiled. “Hey, Jamie, how’s your girlfriend? Sarah?”
“We broke up two years ago, thanks for asking.”
Tony laughed. “Oh man. Foot in mouth. Sorry to hear.”
Tony pressed the 40 and 9 down on the chunky beige deli cash register, then punched the Total button with the side of his fist and slid her change across the counter.
“There ya go, babe.”
“Thanks,” she smiled. “See ya. Back to work.”
Jamie walked towards the front door.
“Aye, wait up for me, Jamie Brennan.”
Jamie paused by the door. “Sure.”
She was busy checking out Bridget's body as Bridget leaned over the counter - something she rarely did with women – Jamie Brennan was way more into brains and conversation than a fit body. But Bridget was something else. She was like six feet tall in her combat boots and tight faded Levi's. Tall and curvy. Broad shoulders and tanned muscular arms wearing a black, sleeveless Iggy and the Stooges concert T-shirt with those tight jeans and combat boots. Her long Irish dark hair, usually falling down between her shoulder blades, had been clipped up into a loose bun on her head. Even sexier. The superhero as librarian.
And that sweet Belfast Irish accent didn't hurt.
A few minutes later, Jamie, at 5’7”, walked faster to keep up with Bridget’s casual long strides along the sidewalk on East 10th Street.
"The deli man's in love with ya, Jamie Brennan," Bridget smiled.
"I'm pretty sure that was all for you."
“Ach. Doubt that.”
They walked silently next to each other. Jamie noticed how Bridget didn't feel like she needed to fill in awkward pauses like everyone else in the world.
And yet when she did speak it was like the sun came out and the grey-scale New York world got filled with all this Irish color.
"Crackin' day, isn't it?"
"It is."
"Fuckin' hot,” Bridget laughed.
She slid a Rothman out of a pack onto her lips and flipped open a dented Zippo. Sparking an enthusiastic flame and igniting the edge of the cigarette.
She flicked the lighter closed, left the cigarette dangling from her lip and exhaled some smoke.
"So, Jamie Brennan. Author. I read your book - The Readers," Bridget said.
"Yeah?"
"Aye, read it in one go. It was grand."
Bridget had another drag of her cigarette and exhaled the smoke up towards the sky.
“Thanks. That’s nice of you to say.”
Jamie noticed as they walked how many people checked Bridget out.
Apparently, nothing can rattle a New Yorker out of their midafternoon eye glaze like beauty. Jamie was used to a certain number of looks - but Bridget’s reaction from New Yorkers was hilarious. People stared and winked and gawped and guys whistled. She walked tall, head up, shoulders back - confident strides. Not like other tall girls Jamie knew, who were always slouching or bending or crumpling themselves up so as not to look too tall.
"You wanna grab a tea sometime? Not walkin' down the street?"
Jamie knew it was probably as friends. But she had to check.
“Do you really have a boyfriend back in Ireland?"
"Right. Well - sorta."
Bridget glanced across the street and watched a skinny Puerto Rican delivery guy on a skateboard weave around a fire hydrant.
She turned back to Jamie. "Let's talk about somethin' else."
Bridget let a smile curl on her lips and glanced sideways at Jamie.
“So…” Bridget began and then left it hanging. Her blue eyes shone and sparkled like sunlight on the Irish Sea.
Jamie noticed how Bridget looked at her almost inside her. Like she knew something about her even Jamie couldn't remember. Where she’d left the house keys. What she used to dream.
"I hear yer a gay, Jamie Brennan."
Jamie laughed. "Oh, God."
"No, it's alright, I've got one in my family - my cousin Beatrice. She works in the garage down by the pub."
"Of course she does. Who told you that I was a -"
"Dennis on the first floor told me. Feckin' chatterbox, that one."
"Fucking Dennis."
Jamie knew not to tell that old queen anything. If you changed your lipstick for some reason Dennis knew and put it in the ‘things he needed to tell other people’ docket.
"What else did he tell you?"
"Not much."
Jamie looked at Bridget sideways.
"What else."
Bridget took a puff of her cigarette. Blew out some smoke through her nose and mouth as she talked.
"I dunno. You had a livin’ in girlfriend for a coupla years then she left ya. And blah blah ya wrote a brilliant book, got discovered by a publishing lady Connie somethin’ who found it, blah blah, New York Times bestseller... Blah blah..such a pretty girl should really wear dresses... blah blah..."
Jamie laughed. She shook her head.
"An' also - y'know none a my bizness - and deffo not his - but he said..."
Jamie’s heart sank. Fucking Dennis.
"He said somethin’ happened a couple of years ago - said you got mugged. West Village, one night before Christmas. That after that you were out of work for a few months and you came back to work with a black eye and your hand didn't totally work still. Like you smashed it or something."
Jamie squinted into the sunlight and focused on a beat up looking green Dodge Dart driving by on 10th Street with a loud muffler.
"Yeah... well..."
They walked silently for a minute, just the sound of traffic and the clomp clomp of Bridget's combat boots.
"It was a long time ago. I don't really think about it.” Jamie shrugged. Amazing how a lie falls off the tongue easier and easier as you tell it, she thought.
"Gotcha. Look - my boyfriend...”
“None of my business,” Jamie smiled.
“No, it’s okay. He’s not - we’re not together anymore.”
“You break his heart?” Jamie smirked.
Bridget let a quick smile flash across her face. “Okay, now you’re gonna feel bad.”
“Why?”
“He died.”
“Oh my God, I’m such an idiot. I’m so sorry.”
As Jamie turned to look at her, Bridget peered off to the other side of the street again. This time watching as an old lady navigated shoving a too-big, brown package into a mailbox.
“That old bag’s really givin’ it the wellie…” Bridget said.
“I’m so sorry. About your boyfriend.”
"Thanks.”
Bridget let out a little laugh. “Look - I don't wanna ruin your mornin’ with my depressin’ Belfast shite.”
"God, no. It's not going to ruin - how did he—?"
Bridget turned to her. She winked. “Ach. Doesn’t matter.”
“Yeah, of course. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be so
rry. ”
Bridget had a puff of her cigarette, breathed the smoke out and gave Jamie a sweet sideways glance. “Don’t be sorry. It’s nice someone cares.”
There was a sparkle in Bridget’s eyes that Jamie had never seen in anyone before. That sweet sunlight on the water sparkle. But there was a sorrow underneath. Now she knew why.
“Fuckin’ Belfast,” Bridget laughed, “It’s not like here. Lemme just say that. I’ll take yer Son o’ Sam any day over car bombs and checkpoints and can’t cross the street to the wrong side or the army might shoot ya.”
Bridget had a haul of her cigarette and breathed out the smoke while she talked.
“Fuckin’ I mean, really, who gives a shite about who’s Catholic and who’s Protestant and if we’re parta England or Ireland? A fuckin’ U.D.A car bomb goes off in front of a school with little kids in it, those kiddies don’t give a shite about goin’ to church. They jus’ wanna play hopscotch or what have ya.”
They walked along not talking again. Bridget smoked. Jamie tried to keep up with Bridget’s long strides.
Bridget slipped her cigarette between her lips and had a haul, then exhaled the smoke through her nose and mouth.
“He got shot. Billy. A Protestant sniper shot him outside the pub."
Jamie felt herself audibly gasp. She hoped Bridget didn’t hear.
"Oh my god.”
"That's life in Sunny Belfast. If the army don't get ya, the Protestants will."
The light turned green and Jamie followed Bridget, across Broadway. Bridget looked back at Jamie and smiled.
When they got to the other side of Broadway, Bridget stopped in her tracks and grabbed Jamie’s hand.
She took a last puff of her smoke and flicked the lit cigarette into the street where it sparked and skidded.
“Jamie Brennan, what’s yer favorite book?”
“Um - ”
“Cause ya wanna know mine? Your book. The Readers book. About all those people that come into the bookstore. The way you saw who they were – like someone actually finally saw them. It was grand. When I read it I kept wishin’ I would turn the page and somehow by some miracle you’d a written about me - which I know makes no sense cause I never met you when you wrote that book,” Bridget chuckled. “But I kept thinkin’ - all that good you see — those little things… Maybe if you’d see me like that, maybe I’d be one a those people too.”
Jamie let the words land. This was her favorite review ever. “Bridget, that’s so - that’s sweet.”
“I’m not gonna lie - Jamie Brennan, I think I got a crush on you,”
Her confidence was such a turn-on. Was it Ireland? Being tall? Being gorgeous? Did it come with the superhero package?
Jamie’s face flushed. She hoped Bridget couldn’t see. “Wow, that’s – wow. Thank you?”
Bridget stared at Jamie’s mouth then back to her eyes.
“You wanna go make out somewhere?”
Jamie laughed. “I’m sorry - what?”
Bridget shrugged. “Why not, right?”
“Bridget – I don’t even know you.”
“Aye, but isn’t that even better?”
Jamie held her gaze. Finally she turned and started walking.
“Let’s get back to work,” she smiled.
Because Jamie Brennan knew the last thing she needed was some impulsive makeout session with some gorgeous girl she didn’t even really know. What would that solve?
Five minutes later, Jamie felt Bridget's hands sliding up her body under her shirt. Bridget's soft wet mouth was on Jamie's and their bodies were pressed against each other leaning on a skip of cartons in a dark corner of Receiving.
“What if someone sees us?” Jamie whispered.
“They’re on lunch.”
“Leo?”
“At lunch. Stop talkin’,” Bridget said quietly as her tongue slid in Jamie’s mouth.
“Cesar?
“Not here...”
Jamie felt Bridget’s hand slide up under her t-shirt and caress her breasts.
“What if someone -”
Bridget stopped kissing her. She stared into Jamie’s eyes.
“Look at me, Jamie Brennan...”
Jamie did and her stomach got hot.
“Yeah?”
“It’s just you and me...”
Jamie pulled Bridget into her body and Bridget forcefully shoved Jamie’s body against the stack of boxes as they kissed.
This was the kind of kiss Jamie hadn’t had in... ever. Deep, hot, wet, panting. Bridget’s hands sliding up and down her body and stroking her skin while her tongue explored Jamie’s mouth.
Jamie was so turned on feeling Bridget's soft mouth on hers. Bridget’s wet tongue entwined with her own.
This one kiss had become so much more. Their chemistry was electric and now they couldn’t stop.
“Oh my god...” Jamie whispered.
The whole thing was a huge turn on - Bridget tasted like Yoo Hoo and cigarettes.
Her searching fingertips slide up under Jamie’s shirt, stroking her skin. She kissed with the confidence of a guy and the softness of a girl.
Bridget leaned in, her mouth next to Jamie's ear in a sexy whisper. "You want more?”
What the fuck was even happening? Jamie thought.
Jamie heard herself say, “Yes.”
Who was this 20-year-old she wanted to surrender her whole body to? What the fuck did they get up to in Ireland that you could find yourself turned on and making out furiously within five minutes of meeting?
"I have to get back upstairs,” Jamie whispered.
A few minutes later, Jamie was completely hot and turned on and feeling alive. She hurried through the main floor of the bookstore and up the stairs to the second floor.
"Jesus,” Jamie whispered. “What am I doing?”
Halfway up the stairs, she waved to Dennis on the first floor and noted his new toupee. Red to the point of Magenta. Not a good look.
Bridget Dwyer. Too young. Probably straight. Probably have a new boyfriend soon. All sex. No future. Impossible and ill-advised. Someone who could never actually be hers.
This could work out perfectly.
15
“Connie? I said are you going to Gristede’s because I’ll give you a grocery list.”
Connie Pell heard the words but they didn’t make any sense, so she didn’t respond.
She glanced up from the driver’s seat of her plum-colored Plymouth Duster, gazing at the worried, usually cheerful apple doll face of her husband’s mother, Grace Pell, 68. White hair fluffed into a Dairy Queen whip. Pale blue old lady eyes. An always-smile set on perpetual cheerful. Smoker’s lines along the top rim of her thin upper lip where the crimson lipstick seeped in. The cigarettes probably made life tolerable.
Connie was idling in Grace’s New Rochelle driveway. Her mother-in-law holding the baby, standing next to the car and peering into the driver’s side.
Grace grinned at Connie like she was willing things to happen. Willing everything to be okay.
“Connie?”
Connie saw Grace’s face droop into worry. She took that as a cue to speak.
“Yes. Right!”
“Are the drugs making you tired, Connie? Because I can go to Gristede’s instead of watching the baby.”
Connie didn’t answer.
Grace Pell’s eyes widened. Then her volume flared.
“Connie - ARE THE DRUGS MAKING YOU TIRED?”
Connie quickly snapped out of her haze. Because no one needed all of New Rochelle to know she was forced by her stupid doctor to take Lithium.
“Grace, really, I’m fine.”
Last week Connie could feel too much and she was sad. Today she was in a cloud - she couldn’t feel sadness but she couldn’t feel anything.
Because five days ago, there she had stood with Ray outside that pharmacy next to Jahn’s Ice Cream Parlor in Eastchester. (They couldn’t go to a drug store in New Rochelle because people might talk.)
<
br /> She stood there holding the prescription for Lithium in her hand, tears brimming in her eyes.
“Ray, I don’t want this. I’m not crazy.”
Two little kids came out of the ice cream parlor. She watched them jump on their banana seat bikes and ride away. She envied their freedom.
Ray gave her a little smile. Reassuring. Kind. Him.
“No one’s saying you’re crazy, Con,” Ray said. “It’s okay.” He pulled her close and hugged her.
She felt the tears spill down her cheeks. She had tried so hard to make this sorrow lift but nothing had worked.
And now her doctor was saying she was manic depressive and this drug would help her.
But it seemed like no one listened when she kept asking, “Is there any other way?”
So there she stood outside a drugstore next to a cheerful ice cream parlor, holding a prescription for Lithium in her hand, and she gave in. Maybe she didn’t know what was best. Maybe he did. And Dr. He did. What else was there?
Grace Pell squinted her eyes and peered at Connie sitting in her car.
“Connie…. DO YOU NEED ME TO GO TO GRISTEDE’S?”
“Of course not, Grace. You two have fun here,” Connie said, forcing herself to smile. The curves of her mouth edging up like two determined tugboats.
“Alright, then,” Grace Pell said. “Because I really don’t mind.”
They stared at each other with frozen fake smiles.
“I’m terrific, Grace. Thanks so much for watching the baby.”
Connie placed her hand on the silver gearshift knob on the steering wheel column and pulled it down one to Reverse.
She tried on a happy sounding tone.
“I’m off!” she chirped. “I’ll see you two at five.”
Grace made the baby wave. Using her voice as Connie’s daughter’s. “Bye bye…”
Connie turned and glanced behind her as she reversed down the wide driveway.
She glimpsed the neighborhood through the dirty back window of her car: the perfect lawns, the built-in-the- post-war colonial houses. It was the perfect setting for a perfect life, created for the men who came home from war who needed something nice to come home to.
What about the women who went through wars no one ever saw? What did they get?
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