by Claire Adams
“That’s all well and good,” I tell him, “but if I don’t know where you are…”
“You know exactly where I am,” he says. “I’ll see you when you get here.”
He hangs up and I start walking again. Even with all the stars, the night is so dark that I’m having a little trouble finding the correct path through all of the wreckage. Soon enough, though, I’m through and staring up at the Ferris wheel.
I don’t see Jace.
I pull out my phone and call him again.
“You coming up or what?” he asks.
He’s at the top? Last time, he vowed that he’d never climb “that fucking thing” again. I gaze up at the Ferris wheel, trying to spot him, and I manage to make out his shadow against the backdrop of the night sky.
That’s a surprise, all right.
“Come on!” he shouts from the top. “I don’t have all night!”
A thrill flows through me and I make my way to the base of the ladder. Climbing up, I forget my usual fear and just keep putting one hand above the other.
As I get toward the top, though, that trepidation returns and I’m slow to make it to where I can look over the top of the ladder and see Jace sitting in the car.
“You’ve got this,” he says as he holds out his hand.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “What am I doing here?”
“Why don’t we talk about this after you’re in the car?”
I climb up and reach out to him. He takes my hand. It takes a little bit of maneuvering and my life flashing before my eyes more than once, but I manage to get into the car.
Jace reaches forward, puts the pin in the front of the restraint, and turns to look at me.
“What are we doing here?” I ask him as I try to get my body to stop shaking.
“We’re both overcoming our fears,” he says. “They say that the only way to do that is to confront them directly, so here we are.”
“That’s very new age of you,” I tell him, “but you didn’t send a car for me just so I could-”
He reaches down to his side and produces a small bottle of wine.
“It’s nothing fancy,” he says, “but it’s all I could fit in my pocket for the climb up.”
“How did your hearing go?” I ask.
“I’m suspended until they can figure out what to do with me. I was hoping for a little less, but considering that they could have fired me and immediately called for the revocation of my license, I’d say it’s a win.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been ducking your calls,” I tell him. “At first, I was telling myself that I didn’t want to further jeopardize your career by somehow influencing you to go out of your way to protect me during the hearing. When I realized they’d already done everything they could do to me, though, I realized that I wasn’t answering the phone because I wasn’t ready for what you and I were turning into.”
“And what’s that?”
“You put your career on the line for me,” I tell him. “You did that before we were even in a relationship. I don’t know — that kind of selflessness isn’t something I’m used to.”
“It was the right thing to do,” he says.
“They told me I was on the placebo,” I tell him.
“They told me you were on the placebo, too,” he says just as quickly. “They were wrong.”
“What are you talking about?”
“On paper, you were on the placebo, but I may have convinced one of the orderlies to give me access to the room where they keep the stuff. It took a while to figure out which you were on, but as soon as I found out that it was the placebo, I had you changed over,” he says.
“Why would you do that?”
“I wanted to give you a better shot. We don’t have to talk about that now, though. I saw you on the news,” he says. “I called, but you didn’t pick up.”
“Yeah,” I tell him, “that didn’t work out for me any better than your hearing worked out for you. Actually, it went worse because I know I’m fired.”
“Ah, to be unemployed at the top of a Ferris wheel,” Jace says, and I’m wondering how much of that wine he’s already drunk. As if aware of my question, he hands me the bottle, saying, “Let me know what you think. The clerk at the liquor store said it has a velvety texture with a bouquet of oak and citrus. As far as I can tell, though, it’s just another bottle of wine. Maybe you can tell me what I’m missing.”
I take the bottle and have a quick drink from it.
“It tastes like wine,” I tell him and hand it back. “What are we doing up here?”
“I told you,” he says. “We’re conquering our fears.”
“What does that mean, though?” I ask. “Pretty much everything I’ve had to be afraid of in the last year has already happened. If anything, I’d say that’s just more of a reason to be afraid.”
“You forgot something,” he says.
“What’s that?”
“Even with things going bad, we’re both still here.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s something,” I agree.
“I know that you’ve been avoiding me,” he says. “I know that the last time we spoke didn’t really go so well for either of us, but I also know that I like you, Grace. You’re stubborn and you talk like a sailor-”
“Have I ever told you exactly how thoroughly I loathe that expression?”
“What I’m getting at, is that you’ve brought a kind of excitement into my life that I’ve only dreamed of, and I don’t want things to be over between us. If you’ll let me,” he says, reaching into his pocket, “I’d like to spend the rest of my life bringing you the same thrill that your presence brings me.”
Even in the dark, I can see that the motherfucker’s holding an engagement ring.
“You’re not serious,” I tell him.
“Really,” he says, “I am. Grace, will you marry me?”
All right, when the cab pulled up to the junkyard, I figured we were probably on the road toward getting back together, but I did not see this one coming.
“No,” I tell him. “I mean — no. I mean… Don’t you think it’s a little soon?”
“What do you mean?” he asks. “We’ve already been through more shit together than most people face in a lifetime.”
“First off, I don’t know if that’s true,” I tell him. “Second off, haven’t you noticed that we’ve kind of skipped a few steps?”
“What steps?”
“Well,” I tell him, “we’ve never lived together. We’ve never talked about whether we each want to have kids or anything. We’ve never sat down and planned anything except to defraud your hospital and the clinical trial. Jace, we’ve never said ‘I love you.’”
“Well,” he says, “I lov-”
“Oh, don’t say it now,” I interrupt. “It just makes it seem like you’re trying to prove a point, not that you actually mean it.”
He’s looking at me, the ring still in his outstretched hand.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” I ask with a laugh.
“Yeah,” he says. “I really do.”
“I love you for it,” I tell him.
“I love you, too,” he says. “Does that mean-”
“Oh, hell no,” I tell him. “I’m nowhere near prepared to get married, but I have another idea.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you remember what I was planning on doing with you up here before you started flailing like a moron?” I ask.
“I take exception to most of that question, and no,” he says. “What were you going to do with me up here?”
“Put the ring back in your pocket,” I tell him. “You don’t want to lose it.”
He puts the ring back in his pocket, and I kiss him on the lips. With that restraint in place, we’re not going to be able to be too creative, but I think I’ve got a few ideas for getting around that.
Our arms are around each other, and I can feel that Jace, despite his generally calm demeanor is shaking. Wh
ether it’s from the height or from the breeze or from the adrenaline of the moment, I have no idea.
He’s pulling me close.
“Exactly how far were you planning to go?” he asks.
“Far enough,” I tell him.
“Yeah, I have no idea what that means,” he says. “I’m just thinking that with the bar there, we can’t, you know, and if we unlatch the bar, I don’t think we should.”
I pull away from him and move as far as I can to the other side of the car which, granted, is only about a foot from where I was before. I lift my feet until they’re above the footrest and I straighten my legs only to bend them as if I were going to cross my legs. That way, I’m able to get my legs out from under the restraint and cross them in front of me on the seat.
“Now you,” I tell him.
“Yeah, I get what you did there, but at what point while my legs are hanging over the footrest does gravity decide it’s time I was back on the ground?”
“Quit being such a pussy and just do it,” I tell him.
“You know,” he says, “you’re really going to have to stop calling me that one of these days.”
“You’d think so, but no. Just do it.”
It takes him a while and a fairly impressive string of curses, but he finally manages to pull his legs up and set his feet on the seat, mirroring me.
“Now what? There’s still a lot of-”
“Take your pants off,” I instruct.
He gives me a look as if to say, “How the fuck am I supposed to do that?” so I turn and put my legs over the restraint. I unbutton my pants and slip them down over my knees. Once I get them that far, I pull my legs back toward me and pull them the rest of the way down.
When they’re off, I work my legs back to where they were and I lift my butt to set my pants beneath me.
“Like that,” I tell him.
“I still don’t know how we’re going to-” he starts.
“Just trust me.”
It’s not graceful or even remotely attractive, but he does manage to get his pants off and put beneath him.
“There,” I tell him. “The rest is easy.”
I put my left leg down on the floor of the car and I stand up enough for him to put his legs between mine. He slides down a bit, and I position myself over him.
I’m not going to say it’s not awkward, because it is, but once he feels my wetness on him, he seems to relax.
The particulars of the situation have him a little less than ready, so I lean forward and kiss him deeply on the lips and pull my shirt up just enough to encourage one of his hands underneath to rest on my breasts.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I’m aware.”
I’m kissing his neck and working the front of his buttoned shirt open, trying to keep the car as still as possible as I go.
He reaches around under my shirt and unclasps my bra, giving him access to my waiting skin, and I’m reaching between both of our legs, grabbing his already growing cock and bringing it the rest of the way.
“Now,” I tell him, “no big movements.”
I slide up the length of him and put his tip at my entrance, feeling a renewed surge of adrenaline running through me.
“I’ve always wanted to do this,” I tell him and put him inside.
We move slowly and deliberately together and his arms are out from under my shirt, wrapped around me now, holding me ever closer as he enters me sweetly, again and again.
The night air is getting cold, but I don’t feel it. I only feel him — his arms, his lips, his sex, and his love, warming and comforting me.
“So, you switched the medications for me, huh?” I ask.
His eyes are half closed and his voice is quiet as he says, “Yeah, I did.”
“That was very sweet of you. I don’t suppose you happened to get a look at my scans.”
“What was that?” he asks, his eyes opening.
“It doesn’t matter right now,” I tell him.
So here we are, somewhere between fucking and having sex and making love at the top of a broken down Ferris wheel.
I’m out of a job, he’s suspended, but probably out of a job, too, and I’m still dying.
But I’m not dying today.
Today, I’m just learning to breathe.
Epilogue
Grace
A lot can change in five years.
After I lost my job, I got a lot of calls from people who had heard what I was trying to do at M.E. If that press conference was good for anything — debatable — at very least, it boosted my public image.
Still, it’s taken me this long to find a position that I really wanted to take.
I moved out of the city after Jace was told that he would keep his license, but he was fired from the hospital. There was nothing left for either of us there.
I’m waiting in Jace’s office for him to show up. Apparently, one of his patients came down with pneumonia, a result of chemotherapy’s assault on her immune system.
After a while, though, he finally comes in, saying, “Hey, Grace. How are you this morning?”
“Annoyed,” I tell him. “When I agreed to marry you, you told me that you’d give me the world, and now look at me.”
“I think you look great,” he says, scanning over the file in his hand.
“Whatever,” I tell him. “Your ten o’clock is waiting in your office, and Mr. Landau called to say that he’s going to need you to come by. I guess his nurse called in sick and he can’t make it to the door on his own.”
“The help can’t make it to the door?”
“No, the patient,” I tell him. “You’re really going to do the grammar thing with me right now?”
“Give him a call and let him know that I can get out there on my lunch break,” he says.
“After your ten o’clock,” I tell him, “you’re clear for the rest of the day.”
He stops before entering his office and says, “You know, in New York, I maintained a very busy schedule. Of course, I had competent help back then, too.”
He stops laughing when the stapler I throw dents the wall near his head.
“Jeez,” he says. “Calm down. I was just kidding.”
“So was I,” I tell him, looking back down at the cross word puzzle in front of me. “If I was serious, you’d probably be on the ground right now.”
Okay, so maybe being the secretary to my husband of three years isn’t the most glamorous job in the world, and I should know; I used to have one that was a lot closer to that particular peak.
I finally heard back from the station I’ve been wooing for the last few years or so and they’re bringing me in for a second interview. Hopefully, that means I can stop treading water as Jace’s assistant — a term that I cling to dearly — and get back doing what I’m good at.
Ironic as it may seem, after all the time I spent trying to put the now defunct Memento Entertainment in a position to acquire KJBP, I’ve found myself in a position where KJBP is trying to acquire me. I just hope it’s not Andrew asking the questions or I think my chances might not be so great.
It only took the station five years to start taking me seriously.
Jace finishes up with the patient in his office and calls me in through the open door.
I get up and bring my purse, as there are no more patients in the office to see.
I’ve been telling him that we should have opened up his office a little closer to one of the major parts of the city, but he’s gotten to be very adamant about his free time nowadays.
“Yes, Doctor?” I ask in my best Marilyn Monroe voice.
“Sit down,” he says. “Your scans finally came in.”
He tells me that the oligodendroglioma is still in my head, but that it doesn’t seem to have shown any significant signs of growth. He’s been giving me the same speech for the last five years.
“I know you’d like to hear something different,” he says,
“but with this thing being as slow growing as it is, it’s not likely we’re going to see much change month to month.”
“Yeah,” I respond absently.
“I have good news, though,” he says. “There’s a clinical trial coming up and I should be able to get you into it.”
I just start laughing.
“Are we going to have to go through the whole you being disbarred or whatever the hell it is they do to doctors again?” I ask.
“Disbarment is what they do to lawyers,” he says. “With doctors, they take away your license and no, you actually qualify for this one. I won’t have to break any laws or ethical codes to get you in.”
“You’re still nailing your patient, though,” I tell him.
“Yeah, but I hardly think that’s relevant to the trial,” he says. “Besides, if you’ve never bothered to notice, I always fill out your paperwork under the name Zoe Brinkman.”
“Zoe Brinkman?”
“Yeah,” he says. “It was a girl I used to date before I met Melissa. She was totally out of her head, but she was a demon in the sack.”
I think I may have rubbed off on him a little too much over the years.
“How charming,” I tell him. “So, what you’re saying is that you’re going to get me into the trial without lying this time, except when it comes to my name or the fact that we’re married, right?”
“Actually,” he says, “none of that’s going to matter. I called Dr. Marcum and he’s going to recommend your inclusion into the trial so we don’t have to falsify anything.”
“Yeah, except any and all records of me ever being his patient,” I scoff.
“I sent him your file so he could send it to them,” Jace says. “You’re already in if you want to be in.”
“What kind of drug is it?” I ask. “Is it going to be better or worse than the chemo?”
“Part of the fun is finding out,” he says and I’m now convinced that me rubbing off on him at all is a bad idea.
“All right,” I tell him, “but if it puts me in a bed unable to move, I’m going to have to insist on breast massages at least three times a day.”
“I’ll check with your trial doctors,” he says and looks back to the paperwork on his desk.