Body Check

by Deirdre Martin

Here it comes, Janna thought. The part where he thanks me for a great time and then runs out the door. She steeled herself, turning her whole body toward him so they were facing one another. Jesus, he was gorgeous. The temptation just to touch his face, to run her fingers over his eyelids and lips to make sure he was real bones and blood and muscle, and not an apparition borne of her long held hunger for him, was strong. She couldn’t believe she’d kissed that sensual, determined mouth, couldn’t believe she’d been held against that rock-hard body. Nervously, almost tentatively, she reached out to caress his face, relieved when he momentarily let his eyes drift shut in response, clearly enjoying the sensation.

  “I didn’t come here with the express purpose of seducing you, you know,” he murmured quietly.

  “I know that,” Janna replied, pushing a hank of damp hair off his forehead. A small white scar ran parallel to his hairline, another war wound earned on the ice, no doubt. She found it infinitely sexy.

  “But now that it’s happened,” Ty continued, eyes opening to search hers, “I wouldn’t mind if it happened again.”

  “Me, neither.”

  “There’s just one hitch.”

  Janna took a deep breath, held it. “What’s that?”

  He hesitated. “I’m not looking for a serious relationship in my life right now.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “Really?”

  “Why are you surprised?”

  “I don’t know, I guess I just assumed . . .”

  “Well, don’t.”

  “All right.” He began playing with her hair, twirling and untwirling a lock around his index finger. “So you’re fine with keeping things casual?”

  “Well, it depends. Define casual.”

  “Casual as in the occasional dinner and—”

  “Sex.”

  “Right.”

  Janna shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

  Ty looked mildly skeptical. “Yeah?”

  “Am I missing something here?”

  He shook his head as if to clear it. “No, I just . . . I guess I am a little surprised, okay? Usually, women like you—real women, you know, with brains and looks and the whole package—want something more.”

  Janna leaned forward and playfully nipped his lower lip. “Maybe I’m not like other women.”

  “You got that right,” he agreed.

  “There’s one other thing I just thought of.”

  “What?” Ty sounded cautious.

  “I think we ought to be discreet about this.”

  “I agree,” said Ty.

  “The last thing I need is people insinuating I’ve whored myself just to get you to do what Kidco wants.”

  “I’m not doing what Kidco wants,” Ty reminded her.

  Janna ignored him. “And the last thing you need is people thinking you’re using me just to get out of doing what Kidco wants.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “So,” Janna continued, “we really need to be careful how we behave around each other. We can’t afford to give anything away.”

  “We won’t,” Ty said confidently, enfolding her in his arms. “You’re driving your point home excessively, you know.”

  “I know. I do that.” I could die here, Janna thought, and not regret a thing. She snuggled close to him, basking in the moment, dreamily content.

  “Janna?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Do you think it would be possible for me to get a piece of that cake when you finish frosting it?”

  “That’s what this is all about! You seduced me so you could get some cake!” She narrowed her eyes with mock suspicion. “Or maybe you thought this would get you off the hook with Kidco.”

  If the thought hadn’t occurred to Ty before, it did now. “Does it?” he asked hopefully.

  “Nope. Is that how you think it works? You screw the publicist and she’ll stop doing the corporation’s bidding?”

  “Don’t say ‘screw.’ It sounds crude, it doesn’t suit you.”

  Janna raised her eyebrows. “Tell me more about myself, Captain Gallagher.”

  He kissed her forehead. “What would you like to know?”

  Before Janna could answer, there was the heart-stopping sound of multiple locks springing back, followed by the front door opening. They both froze, staring at each other in wide-eyed horror. Dreading what she’d see but unable to stop herself, Janna gingerly lifted her head, peering over the ridge of Ty’s body into the hallway.

  There stood Theresa, pop-eyed. For a split second, the two roommates simply looked at each other. Then, because she couldn’t bear the tension and didn’t know what else to do, Janna waved, offering up a feeble smile. Theresa’s response was to excitedly mouth “OH. MY. GOD,” give a huge thumbs-up, scoop up her gym bag, and flee the apartment.

  Ty sat up. “I guess she wasn’t in the mood for cake.”

  “I’m never going to hear the end of this.” Janna sighed. “She’s going to want to know every blessed detail.”

  Ty rose to his feet, extending a hand to Janna to help her up. “And what will you tell her?”

  “Every blessed detail.”

  Ty flashed a seductive smile. “Don’t tell her everything. Some things are private. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Janna nodded, a haze of weakness for him filling her head.

  “Now about that cake . . .”

  Tonight would be the gabfest to end all gabfests. Janna knew that the minute it hit six P.M., Theresa would bolt out of work, hail the first cab she could find, and race back to their apartment. In anticipation, she had chilled a bottle of Bordeaux, tossed a salad, and had already put the moussaka in the oven to bake.

  After Ty left, she spent the afternoon floating in a mild dream state, her mind endlessly replaying what had happened while she analyzed it all, dissecting sentences, parsing emotions, scanning lines for missed meanings, inflection, nuance. Was it possible he had slept with her sister but lied? Was it possible that a man like Ty Gallagher, who could have any woman he wanted, would really want her? Had she agreed too readily to keep things casual? On and on her second-guessing went, until finally, having so ruined the buzz of having been with him, she sought respite in a shower and a nap. It helped; she awoke feeling fortified, ready to field the endless barrage of questions Theresa would be firing at her.

  As if on cue, Theresa came barreling through the door, breathless. “I swear to God, I almost had to throw some poor schmuck under a bus to get a cab!”

  Janna watched from where she sat curled up on the living room couch as Theresa quickly unbuttoned her coat, hung it in the hall closet, hustled into the kitchen, and came back bearing two glasses of wine. Usually, Theresa changed out of her work clothes immediately before settling down to relax. The fact she went straight for the vino indicated just how newsworthy she considered her tryst with the captain to be.

  “Okay. Here’s some wine. Spill. Dinner smells great, by the way.”

  Janna took a tiny sip of wine, deciding to be devilish. “Let me finish watching the news first.”

  Theresa snatched the remote off the steamer trunk and switched the TV off. “It’s on again at eleven.” She turned to Janna. “Well?”

  Smiling happily, Janna proceeded to tell Theresa everything—well, almost everything. When she was done, she sat back, letting Theresa take it all in, awaiting her friend’s pronouncement. At first, Theresa said nothing. Then she got up and began pacing, her footsteps silent on the Oriental rug.

  “Let me make sure I’m getting this straight,” she said very seriously. Between the pacing and Theresa’s tone, Janna felt like she was in a courtroom drama. “You agreed to keep it casual.”

  “Right.”

  “So am I correct in assuming you’re finally going to ditch that drain on humanity, Robert?”

  The question seriously shocked Janna. “Of course I am! I would never sleep with two men at the same time! That’s so sleazy.”

  “And what about Ty?” Theresa stopped moving, planting
herself right in front of Janna. “Is he planning on sleeping only with you?”

  Heat flashed up Janna’s neck to her face. “I—assume so,” she replied, flustered. She hadn’t even thought of that.

  “You assume but you don’t know,” resumed Theresa, Perry Mason-style.

  “Theresa, what was I supposed to say?” Janna’s eyes began following her friend as she resumed her pacing. She was beginning to feel incredibly stupid.

  “How about, ‘Are you planning to continue to sleep with other people, Ty?’ ” Theresa’s expression was resolute. “You have a right to know, Janna.”

  “I know, I know, I know,” Janna replied, feeling harangued. She sipped her wine. “I guess I was just so—I don’t know—stunned by what happened I didn’t think to ask that.”

  “Well, the next time you two decide to christen a kitchen floor, I think you should.” She perched on the arm of the couch. “Guys are different creatures, Janna. Their definition of ‘casual’ and our definition of ‘casual’ are radically different.”

  “Really?” Janna replied sarcastically. “I had no idea. Tell me more about relationships, Miss Twelve Years in Catholic School.”

  Theresa pulled a face. “Look, I’m not trying to piss in your Cheerios, okay? I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “How can I get hurt?” Janna asked plaintively. “We both agreed to keep it casual.”

  “Yeah, but you’re lying.” Before Janna could protest, Theresa was off again. “I know you, MacNeil. I know when you really like someone, and you really like this guy.”

  “So?” Janna sniffed defensively.

  “So given the choice, you’d really rather have a relationship, but since Captain Kitchen Sex wants to keep it casual, you’ve agreed, because having something with him is better than nothing.”

  “Sister, you are so wrong,” Janna insisted. “For one thing, I don’t think Ty Gallagher and I could have a relationship: The man lives, eats and breathes hockey. It would never work outside the bedroom. For another thing, I don’t want to jeopardize this gig with Kidco. They’re paying me a lot of money, you know. I really have to make sure that work remains my priority. I know you don’t believe me, but a casual fling with Ty Gallagher suits me just fine. I’ve got enough on my plate without having to worry about keeping some guy happy.”

  “Hhmmph,” Theresa harrumphed, clearly not buying it. “You want to believe that, that’s fine. But don’t come crying to me when you find out he’s shooting his puck into some other woman’s net.”

  Janna cringed. “Oh, that was bad. Bad, bad, bad.”

  “Cut me some slack, I had an awful day at work.” Carefully holding her glass aloft, Theresa let herself tumble sideways off the arm of the couch onto one of the cushions.

  “Speaking of which,” said Janna, “I need to talk to you about something business-related.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Do you think you could arrange for one of my guys to do a cameo on The Wild and the Free?”

  Theresa blanched. “A cameo? What are you, nuts? These guys aren’t actors, they can’t speak lines.”

  “It’ll be three lines max, Theresa. You know that.”

  Theresa paused, thinking. “What about Lubov?”

  “Lubov?!” Janna exclaimed. “As you know, he can barely speak English.”

  “I bet I can teach him,” Theresa purred.

  “Your obsession with Lex is becoming unhealthy, you know.”

  “I’ve told you repeatedly that I want to go on a date with him but you refuse to listen.”

  “Hey, you had your chance at the Chapter House,” Janna pointed out.

  “Hardly!” Theresa retorted. “That toothless gavone Michael Dante wouldn’t let either of us get a word in edgewise!”

  Janna remained unmoved, so Theresa put on her best let’s-make-a-deal smile. She began massaging a crick in her neck. “If you won’t help me, then I just don’t know if I’ll be able to help you.”

  Janna clucked her tongue. “Fine, I’ll tell Lex you’re interested if you get me the cameo. We’ll go down to the locker room before the game Friday night, okay? After that, you’re on your own.”

  Theresa leaned forward eagerly. “You’ll butter him up beforehand, though, right? Let him know it was really him I wanted to talk to that night at the bar, etcetera, etcetera.”

  “Sure. Fine. Whatever,” Janna agreed, too tired to argue.

  Theresa smiled. “What would I do without you, Jans?”

  “Gee, I don’t know, Ter. What would you do?”

  “Starve. Be bored. Have no way to get into hockey games for free.” She reached out and tweaked Janna’s cheek. “You’re the best, MacNeil. Who knows? Maybe you and me and Lex and the captain can go out for a casual dinner one night.”

  “Right, and maybe my boss is going to go veggie and start running five miles a day. C’mon, let’s go check that moussaka. I’m starved.”

  Chanting “You can do this” was usually her work mantra. This morning, however, Janna was trying to fortify herself in order to break up with Robert. They were meeting for coffee at the Happy Fork Diner. No Starbucks for Robert the artiste, no sir, God forbid. He’d nearly bitten her head off when she even dared to suggest it, spewing something about Corporate America, how they force you to say “tall” when you really want “small,” pesticide-coated arabica beans and God only knows what else. Once, his vehement politics would have had her swooning, he was just sooo committed. Now it drove her to the point of coma, she was so bored. She let him pick the place, she picked the time, and they left it at that.

  She’d never broken up with someone before, at least not someone with whom she’d been involved for three years running. Granted, she had been the one to pull the plug on her relationship with Tony Alhandro in college, but that didn’t count, because it was college, and anyone who claimed to be a Marxist while owning a gold Amex card courtesy of Mummy and Daddy deserved to be dumped anyway. But still, it did make Janna wonder why, up until now, she always found herself attracted to these lefty, artist-types. Could it have to do with deliberately choosing men who were different from her driven, working-class father? Or did she subconsciously pick men she could feel superior to economically? Maybe there wasn’t a grand reason behind it at all. Maybe she was, as Theresa so delicately put it once, a “freak magnet.” But if that were true, how did one explain the appearance of Ty Gallagher on the radar screen?

  She pushed through the heavy swinging doors of the diner, grateful for the rush of warmth immediately enveloping her, and the fact that Robert wasn’t there yet. It was cold outside, the morning forecast calling for possible flurries. Spotting a booth in the back, she hurried toward it, quickly slipping off her trench coat and sliding onto the maroon Naugahyde bench.

  Within seconds a dark, heavyset man with a distinct unibrow appeared and grunted what sounded to her like “Coffee?” Janna nodded and he plodded away, returning a minute later with a sloshing cup of viscous black liquid and a menu the size of a small headstone. Janna told him she was expecting someone else and would wait to order. His response was to hurl some sugar packets down on the table and trudge over to the next booth. Janna sipped the contents of her cup, which had spilled over onto the saucer. Oh. Yuck. This might have been coffee yesterday, she thought disgustedly, but today it’s diesel oil. After she was done breaking up with Robert, she would head over to Starbucks for a double cappuccino, no two ways about it. There were some things a body simply couldn’t do without.

  Perusing the menu, she kept one eye cocked on the door. The diner was loud and crowded. The mousy-looking guy in the booth behind Janna was screaming into his cell phone about “the operation not being successful.” In the booth across from her, an older couple were eating dry English muffins and reading the Post.

  Just when she was on the verge of developing extensive biographies of her fellow diners to entertain herself, Robert came in. Janna felt her guts plummet to her feet. He ambled toward the tabl
e, his secondhand overcoat swimming on his licorice-thin body, his black beret tilted at what he probably thought was a rakish angle. Mortification seized her. Was this really the man she’d been seen around town with for the past three years? What had she been thinking?

  “Ma cherie.” He leaned down and planted a chaste, affectionate kiss on her cheek before hanging up his coat, the strong scent of cigarettes wafting from him, the result of the très expensive Galoises he insisted on smoking. He didn’t have money for a decent coat, but he’d spend money on imported French cigarettes. Amazing.

  He slid into the opposite side of the booth from Janna and craned his head around, searching for the waiter. “Garçon, a cup of coffee, please,” he called out.

  “Can you cut the Chevalier imitation for just one minute?” she asked, irritated.

  “Someone seems cranky this morning.”

  “Someone is.”

  Amazingly, the waiter appeared within seconds with a cup of coffee for Robert.

  “Ah, merci.” He smiled at Janna, a clueless smile she wished she could rake off his face. “Are you ready to order, my sweet?”

  Janna shot him a look that could curdle cream and glanced up at the waiter. “I’ll have a chocolate chip muffin, please,” she said politely, handing back the oversized menu.

  “And I’ll have a croissant,” said Robert pleasantly. The waiter disappeared. “So, what’s on your mind?” Sympathy lined his face. “You look tired.”

  “I am. I’ve been working really hard.” Just seeing him sitting there, so unsuspecting, filled her with guilt. “You look tired, too,” she observed, stalling.

  “I was burning the midnight oil. You know me, I work best at night, as is the case with many artists. But”—his face broke into a self-satisfied grin as he reached into his back pocket and he pulled out a folded wad of papers—“the lack of sleep paid off. I wrote three new poems, which I intend to read at the Poetry Slam tonight. In fact, one of them is about you, it’s called ‘Angel in Practical Shoes, A Canto.’ Want to hear it?”

  “No, I don’t.” She’d heard his poetry before, and admittedly, it wasn’t that bad. But this was neither the time nor place for him to recite a poem about her, especially in light of what she was about to do. In the meantime, she had begun shredding the napkin in her lap. She hesitated, looking for the right words. Then she realized: there were no right words. No matter what she said, he’d be upset. Better to just get it over with.