by J. D. Glass
“You, um…you still seeing Trace?” she asked before she gazed at me, her expression indiscernible in the false twilight of the nearby arc lamp.
I thought about how to answer. “We’re not dating, if that’s what you mean,” I said finally. It was true, we weren’t dating—just the occasional fuck, which was something I’d been trying to stop too.
“Oh,” she said, sounding surprised, “I thought, I thought that—”
“No, no.” I caught her sleeve. The muscle in her arm was solid under the layers she wore. “I made a mistake, that’s all.”
When I realized I was about to run my thumb along the hard ridge of her bicep I dropped my hold. I wasn’t thinking at all, I’d been going to pull her closer, and—
“What kind of mistake?” Jean asked softly as she neared.
I laughed a little self-consciously. “The mistake I made last time—fucking doesn’t mean you’re involved.”
“Heh,” she snorted, “I’ve made that mistake myself. But,” and she tapped my shoulder, “I’ve learned from it.” Her tone was as light as her touch.
“Oh yeah?” I asked, forcing my tone to match hers. “What was that?”
Her fingers moved from my shoulder to brush the hair I’d let grow for far too long away from my face, and they were so soft against my skin.
“You don’t have to love someone you’re fucking, but you do have to love them to let them fuck you.”
“Ya think?” I asked, maybe a touch too sarcastically, and Jean dropped her hand, tucking it into her jacket pocket.
“I know,” she said brightly, “and believe me, the more you love? The more fucked-over you get.”
“Well, that I know too.” I laughed as I opened the door again and stepped inside to return to my nap. I had no doubt of what Jean had said: I had my mother as living proof.
*
About twenty minutes before we were allowed to finally leave from our very last class (our exam would be on Monday), we learned that we’d all be sworn in the next Friday at an official ceremony, assuming we all passed, and that would be when we found out what borough, which station, and what battalion we’d be attached to, as well as what shift. That was great news, but at that moment, we were beyond delighted to just be done. Bennie, Roy, and I practically sang as Bennie drove to Peggy O’Neills, and we got even giddier as it started to snow.
We got lucky enough to find a parking spot right around the corner and could hear the live band playing in utter earnestness as we approached. A traditional Irish tune set to a modern beat blew into our ears as I opened the door.
Roy, Bennie, and I stamped our feet, hung our coats up in the vestibule, and entered the bar proper.
It was past midnight and it was jammed; half our class was there, as well as a few of my buds from County, Bennie’s from Access, and Roy’s from 911.
Jean, waiting her turn for a shot at the dartboard, waved us over, a pint in one hand.
“Hey, we saved you seats!” she yelled, and we cut our way through the throng to the table.
Bennie nudged me as we walked. “You didn’t say anything about dating a medic,” she half shouted into my ear.
“We’re not dating, she’s a friend!” I half shouted back.
Bennie smirked. “You better fix that soon, or I’ll ask her out myself.”
I was shocked to feel the blood rush into my neck, and I tugged at my collar to give myself room to breathe. I stopped walking.
“Hey, don’t let me stop you.” I tried to smile. “Do what you want.”
Roy grabbed my shoulder. “Hey, put it back in your pants, guys,” he gave a teasing grin, “because I think we’re about to get a show.” He jerked his chin toward the band.
“Hey!” one of the guys on stage spoke into the microphone, his very Irish accent apparent from the first syllable. “Pat says his sister’s a hell of a singer, so we’d like to bring her up here to do the traditional, ever-classic ‘All Through The Night’ with us, for all of the new members of New York’s best. C’mon, Jean,” he paused and stretched a hand to her, “will ya do it?”
The band began to clap, and we all followed suit as a tall young man whose face was so like Jean’s he could only have been her brother pushed, pulled, and otherwise dragged her to the stage. Jean laughed and held her beer carefully above her as she stepped up onto the platform.
“Here, Pat,” she said into the microphone and handed him her glass, “and if you drink my beer, I’ll have to kill you, even though you’re my only brother and I love you.”
“Don’t forget I’m armed!” he called.
“Don’t forget I’m crazy, and crazy beats armed, every time.” She turned around and spoke with the guitarist, who nodded, then spoke with the bassist, who also seemed to agree.
He leaned into the microphone. “All right, then, there’s been a change. Still a classic, still traditional, though technically not Irish, but Scottish,” he gave Jean a mock scowl, “but since she requested it,” he shrugged, “here’s ‘Will Ye Go, Lassie,’ and…” Jean nudged him.
“Oh, right, then. This is for Scotty, lucky dog, you.” He smiled widely at the crowd, then stepped back.
Everybody laughed as the band clicked in the tune and I said hello to Barbara and Chuck as we found our seats. Roy waved a waitress over.
“I’ve got the first round,” he told me and Bennie as we reached for our wallets. “One of you can get the next.”
I thanked him and waved to Jean as she waited for her cue, and she gave me a quick grin.
Having grown up surrounded by Nina’s music and voice, I was curious to hear Jean’s.
“Oh the summertime is coming, and the trees are sweetly blooming,” she sang, a melodious alto that suited her perfectly. “And the wild mountain thyme grows around the blooming heather…will ye go, lassie, go?”
The beers arrived and I took a very thirsty sip.
Bennie leaned into my shoulder. “And she sings, God…look at those fucking legs, they reach all the way to my neck!” she said into my ear. “There’s no way you haven’t thought of it, and she’s a medic—man, I’ll bet she’s got great hands.”
I put my glass down and stared at Bennie. That was just…wrong. “Bennie, don’t…don’t talk about her like that. She is a great medic, okay?” I returned to my beer.
“And we'll all go together, to pluck wild mountain thyme all around the blooming heather…will ye go, lassie, go?”
Roy leaned over on the other side. “You know, Tori, you never gave me shit about Aileen and the baby, and I never said word one to you about Kerry or your booty call—”
I stared at him. “What?”
He waved a hand. “It’s not like nobody knows, but look, just look.” He pointed to the stage where Jean still sang. “She’s singing that for you, no one else. I hope you’re listening.”
I focused on the stage and saw Roy was right—Jean’s eyes kept returning to me as she sang. She was amazing to watch; she moved with confidence and grace, and as much as I hated to admit it with Bennie sitting right next to me after that comment, her legs were incredible. Then again, so was everything else about her.
“I will build my love a tower, near yon pure crystal fountain…And on it I will build all the flowers of the mountain…will ye go, lassie, go?”
Bennie chimed in again. “I’m telling you, if you don’t ask her, I will.”
This time I glared at her. “Look, I’m not stopping you from doing whatever you want to do. Jean jokes around a lot, okay? You know what? I don’t have to explain myself.” I pushed my chair back. “I’m done. I’ll call you guys Sunday and we’ll work out the drive, all right?”
Bennie grabbed my arm as I stood. “At least wait until she’s done, that’s fucking rude.”
“Oh, so now you’re the expert on fucking rude, right?” I spit back. “First you talk about her like…like”—I was furious as I cast about my mind for the right words—“like she’s meat or something, then you bug me about askin
g her out. What the fuck?”
“Calm down, man, I’m just teasing you,” Bennie cajoled and tugged on my sleeve. “No one’s trying to insult anyone, okay?”
I pulled my arm away, sat back down, and folded my arms across my chest. “Yeah, fine, just don’t, okay?”
Bennie held her hands up for peace. “Hey, here,” she pushed my beer closer, “relax, man.”
I glowered at her another moment as I reached for my pint, and Roy wisely ignored us both.
And just as suddenly as it came, the heat left my body. What was I getting all crazy for? Bennie was good people, and I knew that. If she wanted to ask Jean out… “I’m sorry, Bennie, just the stress or whatever, you know? Sorry.”
Bennie smiled. “Drink your beer and relax. We’re off for a few days, so enjoy it, you know?”
She was right, and I took a sip and enjoyed the rest of Jean’s performance, then stood up with everyone else when she was done to clap enthusiastically. She had a very good voice, and I wondered if she’d ever thought of doing anything with it.
Her brother Pat gave her a big hug as she came off the stage, then handed her a fresh beer.
“You might have guessed this ugly so-and-so’s my sister,” he joked as they neared. Jean punched his shoulder and I held out my hand.
“Nice to meet you, I’m—”
“Tori Scotts, or Scotty,” he answered for me with a smile as he took my hand. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
“All lies, I’m sure.” He had a good handshake.
“Oh, so you do know my sister,” he said and grinned again, which earned him another smack from Jean, this time on his ear.
I laughed, like I always did around Jean, and everyone introduced themselves as she wiggled around the table to find a seat and pull it up not quite next to me and half behind me.
Bennie shot me a quick smirk that earned her a scowl, so she volunteered to get the next round, and we got food to go with it.
The rest of the night flew by, between the beers and the music, the dart games that began to get dangerous when Roy pinned someone’s hat to the wall—I grabbed Jean’s wrist when she aimed at her brother Pat’s ass.
“But I’m a medic, I know how to fix that!” she protested as she tried to throw it anyway.
“It’s called ‘darts,’ not ‘dodge,’” I told her, and we both laughed as she tried to escape. I put my arm around her waist to catch her, and the next thing I knew, I was staring into her eyes.
I forgot we were in one of the straightest, most Irish bars in all of Brooklyn when I dropped her wrist to reach for her face; I didn’t think of anything except how smooth and warm her skin was under my fingertips.
I don’t know what happened to the dart because the band had started to play “Whiskey In The Jar,” Jean closed the distance between us, and surrounded by friends and peers, I kissed her.
I fell in love with her mouth all over again, stunned by the realization that I’d been aching to feel it for so long; I was lost, wonderfully lost in the completeness of the moment.
It wasn’t until the rousing rendition of “Irish Lullaby,” which signified the end of the night (it was four a.m. and even the bartender appeared exhausted) and required group participation, that we finally came up for air.
“You’ve got a great voice, you know,” I told her as I held her.
“Thanks, but it’s not like your cousin’s,” she said, and I smiled as I watched the light pink that spread across her cheeks.
“Well, whose is, right?”
We finished the last verses together, and Roy stood next to me, belting his heart out, which garnered him a quick, bemused glance from Pat.
“Hey, my last name’s Mulligan. Haven’t you ever heard of Black Irish?” Roy joked, and continued singing as Pat cracked up and couldn’t continue.
“Did you drive or can I give you a ride home?” Jean asked as the song ended and the party broke up.
“I’m supposed to go with Bennie and Roy, I’ve got the toll tonight,” I said regretfully. I would have liked to spend more time with Jean, give in to the tide that pulled on my blood, but then…I didn’t really want to hear the speculation from Bennie when we saw each other next. That kiss had been very public, but everything else—if there was anything else—I wanted to keep private. “They’re probably waiting for me.”
“I totally understand.”
We separated though we remained touching, her hands on my waist and my fingers through her belt loops. Although I doubt she did it consciously, when she moistened her lips it was one of the most sensual things I’d ever seen.
I didn’t want to let this go, didn’t want to let things just…hang…between us.
“I’m free for a few days, if you want to…you want to do something?”
Jean flushed and glanced down before speaking. “Actually, tomorrow my parents, they’re having a bit of a dinner party for me, you know, because, well, they’re all proud and stuff.” When she looked at me, her grin was so charmingly self-conscious I wanted to kiss her all over again.
“Doyouwannago?” she asked in a rush.
I had to touch her. I took her face in my hands and kissed her, a delicate glide of my lips on hers. When she again granted me entrance to her mouth, I could have sworn that I knew exactly how it would feel to have her ride my tongue, and the sensual image was so strong I thought my knees would give as her hands wreaked havoc along my neck and shoulders; I could literally feel her heart beat against my chest.
“So…that’s a yes, then?” Jean asked, breathing hard, as hard as I was, and I couldn’t help but repeatedly brush her long strands of hair behind her ears.
“Just tell me when and where. I’ll be there.”
Bennie and Roy were already waiting in the car when I finally walked out of the bar with the time for tomorrow and Jean’s parents’ address written neatly and folded into my wallet.
As I slipped into the backseat I caught the quickest of grins between Roy and Bennie.
“Thought you might get a…lift…from Scanlon tonight,” Bennie commented, peering at me through the rearview as we pulled out. I could see the smirk trying to work its way out from the corner of her mouth.
“What, and have you remind me every day for the rest of our lives that I skipped out on the toll? Not on your life.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Bennie retorted, laughing. “Roy owes me twenty, donchya?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled good-naturedly and fumbled for his wallet. “You won, fair and square.”
“Knew I would.” She laughed harder. “I told you.”
“Do I wanna know what this is about?” I asked from my perch in the back as we flew over the bridge.
“Yeah, you do,” Bennie said.
“Definitely not,” Roy said at the same time.
“Now I really want to know.” I looked from one head to the other expectantly.
“Shit.” Roy sighed dramatically.
“No big thing,” Bennie said as we turned down my block. “I just bet Roy a twenty that you’d ask Jean out by the end of the night.”
“What?”
“Yeah,” Roy sighed again. “I thought you might wait a few days, but she”— he jammed his thumb in Bennie’s direction—“thought if you got pushed enough you’d do it sooner, like tonight sooner.”
“But only because you both looked like you were going to combust every time you looked at each other by the grease trucks this whole week, and you know, that would have deprived the rest of us of coffee. And when I found out for sure you hadn’t asked her out, I figured you needed…assistance,” Bennie added helpfully.
I shook my head, more amused than anything because as much as I hated to admit it…well, I did have a date with Jean the next night. But still, I couldn’t let them get completely away with it, either. “You guys suck. And you both kinda lose, ’cause I didn’t ask her out.”
“That’s right, you didn’t,” Bennie agreed. “You were just practicing rescue bre
athing, borrowing each other’s lungs, vertical fu—”
“That’s enough. I’ll call you guys Sunday to work out the week,” I said as I got out of the car. “And just so you know?” I told them through Roy’s window, “You both still suck.”
“That’s what friends are for.” Roy grinned at me.
“Yeah,” Bennie said, leaning over to the window. “Just remember, we suck in the right way.”
I rolled my eyes. “Good night.” I walked the path behind the house to my apartment, kicking the snow as I went. I’d take care of that first thing in the morning, I thought, but first, I was going to take a shower, as cold as I could possibly stand it, and hope it cooled the fire Jean had set ablaze under my skin.
*
After clearing the snow, then sparring with Samantha in the morning, I decided to get a haircut so I’d look presentable when I showed up at Jean’s folks’ place. I preferred my hair to skirt my collarbone rather than flow past it.
The Scanlon home was a three-story brownstone not far from Peggy’s in Bay Ridge, and I was glad I already knew how hard it was to find a parking spot or I’d never have gotten there on time.
Several young men in leather jackets and kilts lounged along the stairs that led to the front door—two police department and two fire department, from the colors of them, and the music that poured out of the door was distinctly Irish.
“Hey, Scotty!” One of the young men detached himself from the cement railing and became Pat in the early twilight as he bounded down the steps. “Welcome to the ceilidh!”
He grabbed my hand and dragged me up the steps. “Ignore these dirty layabouts. They’re just here for the free beer.”
“What’s a ceilidh?” I asked Pat as he took my coat from me.
He stared at me, mock horror on his face. “Your last name is Scotts and you don’t know what a ceilidh is?”
“Nope,” I shook my head, “I don’t.”
“Don’t let my da hear you say that!” He grinned. “Or you’ll be listening to a Scanlon version of Celtic history for the next hour!”
“And who’s needing a history lesson?” A distinctly male rumble cut through the noise and I knew, without a doubt, that this burly man, with his shock of thick gray hair and barrel chest, wearing the same tartan Pat wore with a navy blue fire-department polo shirt, was none other than Pat and Jean’s dad. She had his eyes, a sparkling warm brown, and I realized what they made me think of: cider. Dark, hot, cinnamon-spiced cider.