As Jacob surrendered to the music the catcalling stopped. Women in the front row speculated about how they could meet the sexy guy in the yellow shirt and black cowboy boots with the sultry, husky voice.
Above, Spot Bob watched with wonder, and bathed the boy in light.
***
Chapter Thirteen
It was cold in Edinburgh, relatively speaking - six degrees Celsius - but the sun was out tickling the cobblestoned streets with the promise of spring, shining its earnest rays into living rooms and kitchens, raising spirits and warming moods, offering gentle encouragement to the hardy Scots.
And so when Jessie knocked on Jacob’s door and invited Katrine out for a coffee, the girls decided to sit outdoors under gaily-striped awnings with under-the-rooftop heaters. It was still a little on the chilly side despite the conjoined effort of real sun versus man-made warmth, but the kindly staff was accustomed to keen coffee lovers who cocooned all winter and wanted to breathe in the invigorating and fresh March air. So they brought out some woolly grey blankets for the women to place over their knees and then, with the arrival of a single origin Brazilian roast and warm cinnamon rolls, all seemed well with the world.
But even the cajoling of caffeine and the promise of near-eternal outdoor days spent in joyous sunshine were not enough to eradicate the sense of helplessness Jessie was feeling since Jacob left on tour. Katrine had avoided her wholeheartedly at first, but the boys were soon expected back and so today Jessie sought the company and insight of the carefree French girl who had become her very good friend in Scotland. Katrine couldn’t very well avoid her when Jessie was standing at the door, the picture of misery and confusion, and so the smaller woman had placed a periwinkle blue crocheted beret over her spiky hair, grabbed a handmade shawl she knit herself in primary colors of yellow, red and blue, threw knee-high brown leather boots over a pair of black leggings, and had somewhat diffidently accompanied Jessie down the hill to their local café.
Now, Jessie opened the conversation with no holds barred.
“Explain to me what happened that day, Katrine. The day before Jacob left.”
Katrine sat back in a cocoon of blanket and shawl, her intelligent eyes bristling from beneath the large crocheted hat. She was also wearing fingerless gloves, which she wrapped around her mug in an almost futile attempt to absorb a little more warmth. Jessie thought she looked a bit like some exotic bug, her eyes jumping out from beneath all the colorful camouflage.
“I will,” Katrine responded affirmatively in her Scots infused French accent. “But first, we talk about love. You need to understand Jacob.”
Immediately, Jessie felt her defenses rush to the surface. She willed herself to remain calm. She felt she clearly understood love. Hell, she wrote about it. She sang about it. She sacrificed for it.
Katrine continued, propping her booted feet up on a nearby chair, a habit she picked up from Jacob. She spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully to ensure she made the right pronunciations. “Love…eet is like a box you put around yourself. Some boxes are paper, some are cardboard, some are made of, how you say? Steel. Jacob’s is steel. He ‘as a door that he lets people in and out of, but most of ‘im is… impenetrable. He ‘as tight control over who he let in, who he let out.”
She adjusted her seat and raised a hand for emphasis. “I am made of rice paper, very thin.” She smiled widely then as she recalled her own shell. “I ‘ave lots of lovers, women and men. I no worry so much about who I let in. I am ‘appy enough wit myself to not worry. No one get hurt.”
The small French girl paused as she studied Jessie. The singer was sitting on the edge of her seat, worried, unable to relax, her legs crossed. She was wearing a short skirt again – she almost always wore short skirts in Scotland, since in Canada they were something she never dressed in, apart from party dresses or sundresses. On this day she also wore thick leggings and a pair of colorful Bogs, which, unknown to Katrine, reminded Jessie of Deirdre Keating’s flower garden, so adorned were they with images drawn from nature. Plus, they kept her feet warm and dry. She had drawn a thick cream cable sweater over her shoulders, accenting it with a bright fuchsia scarf to match the boots. Her hands were cold, red, and like Katrine’s, were also clutching her mug, but not for warmth. Jessie needed something to hang on to.
Katrine reached down to her bag, which was leaning against the café’s folding wooden chair. With one swift movement she pulled out one of the magazines Jacob bought that fateful day at the grocery store. Without breaking eye contact she dropped it on top of Jessie’s untouched cinnamon roll.
“I understand ‘bout your ring now, Jes-sie.” She said her friend’s real name slowly, shockingly, the s’s almost sounding like z’s, drawing it out so it garnered the attention it deserved. “Your man, ‘e is dangerous. So you go away. But you still love ‘im. His box, it eez made of cheap, how you say, wood? Ply-wood? ‘E is weak.”
Staring at the image of herself on the front cover of the magazine, Jessie uncrossed her legs and tried to breathe. She shoved the coffee mug out of the way, to the right, almost tipping it over. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes when she spied Deirdre and Charles peeking out from the thumbnail images. Dee was leaning against her husband’s chest, devastated, her eyes betraying a lingering profound sorrow. Hands shaking, her stomach sick, Jessie tried to thumb to the article inside but she couldn’t make her body work in conjunction with her brain. Finally she gave up and set the offending rag bag back on the table, upside down so she wouldn’t have to face the Keatings’ tragic stares.
Then the full impact of the magazine hit her with a full and explosive force.
Jacob knows. Jacob knows. Jacob knows.
Which led to that’s why I am losing him. They were not in touch throughout his tour, apart from her clumsy attempts that first day to reach him. And then, the worst fear of all, Oh God, what will he do with that very private information?
Terror-stricken, Jessie looked up at Katrine. Will she tell? Has someone already told?
Spying Jessie’s death grip on the arms of her chair, Katrine eyed her warily. “Go. I dare you. Jus’ get up and run away again.”
“You don’t understand,” Jessie responded wretchedly. “None of this is what it seems, Katrine.”
But Katrine made it sound so dirty, so menacing, as if leaving home and the people who loved her was some sort of heinous crime instead of an attempt to escape a threatening world and a stalker who beat her and threatened to kill the man she loved – whose capability to kill was solidly proven. It was disheartening, the way Katrine was looking at Jessie now, with one corner of her lip curled up as if she tasted something very, very bad but couldn’t spit it out because her parents would growl at her.
Jessie leaned forward. She needed to clear the air, to set Katrine straight. Then she would maybe run. Leave everyone behind again. She closed her eyes and swayed in her chair. The thought of leaving these new friends –Jacob – behind…it made her dizzy, sick…she was tired of being alone. She was tired of feeling lonely.
“Katrine,” she started slowly. “Let me explain. Josh, he…he didn’t hurt me. My past caught up with me. That’s what happened. It – someone – caught up with me and he is the one who hurt me. Not Josh. I left Josh because this man threatened him too. I left – everyone – because I couldn’t stand it anymore. I couldn’t be with Josh because I had reason to believe this man would hurt him if we were together. That he would kill him,” she said, trying to keep her emotions under control. Jessie had buried these terrible thoughts so deeply now that she almost thought she was Annie Hayden. Like playing a character in a film or television show, she had adopted Annie on some level by channeling Holly Hunter’s Grace Hanadarko character. Only she stayed in character twenty-four / seven. Becoming Jessie Wheeler again, even just to explain how things stood to this little French woman, was difficult and painful.
“That’s why I wear the ring.” Jessie pulled her solitary link to Josh out from under her s
weater. Sunlight danced on the diamonds underneath her touch as she fingered it. Jessie was losing the battle with her emotions. Her voice trembling, she said, “I love Josh. I will always love him, Katrine. But I can’t go back – not just to Canada, I mean, but also to him. You can’t go back.”
Incensed, Katrine jumped forward and whipped open the magazine until she found the offending article. Emphatically, she jabbed a finger at it again and again, maintaining eye contact with Jessie. Her eyes flashed.
“You are weak. That is jus’ an excuze. Of courze you can go back.” The small finger pointed out Charles, Dee, and then Charlie. “You see what you ‘ave done to theez people? Charlie, who I guezz eez still your friend, ‘e volunteer every week with people who ‘ave no ‘ome, that heez way of getting close to you. Thiz lady who love you, she must take pills now, for strezz? Anxiety, you say? And she work all the time.” Katrine waved a hand in a characteristic flourish to accent her point. “That show you work on, it done now, no more, you left a ‘ole cast and crew, it say here, a ‘ole production, ‘anging.”
She sat back angrily and whipped the magazine shut as Jessie closed her eyes, the wet trails on her hot cheeks unnoticed as she thought of Jonathon and the crew she loved on Drifters. She hoped they all found other work, but she knew that their period Western was a rare and perfect place to earn income in Vancouver. Would they have shot more seasons if things hadn’t gotten so fucked up? If Jessie stayed involved? Likely.
Katrine had more to say. “You are cruel, Jes-sie. You are zelfish and inconsiderate. Do you stop to think ‘bout the people you are ‘urting?”
Dramatically, she thumped a hand against her chest. Her eyes were tearing now, too. Jessie recalled Jacob telling her one dreamy night Katrine thought she loved her too. He had smiled sleepily as he laid beside her, tenderly trailing his fingers over Jessie’s belly, her breasts. Was it possible for Katrine to love anyone exclusively? Then again…he did. And he certainly did not think that was possible. So. Jessie hurt Katrine as well as everyone else. Sometimes it was all too much.
“You walk away when the going get tough.” Katrine stood then, the grey blanket falling to her feet like a puddle. A small arm shot out and she yanked on the leather thong holding Josh’s ring. It gave beneath the instant and hard force of the pull, and Jessie reacted by throwing a hand on the back of her neck and crying out. Katrine held the ring in her fist, its weakened leather strap in two parts now, hanging down between and over the sides of her white-knuckled fingers. She shook it in Jessie’s face, so close that Jessie leaned backwards.
“This eez a noose around your neck. Eventually you will ‘ang yourself with it, Jes-sie. If you don’t want to die, if you believe in life, in living, then go and do something about this. End it. Go back and face your demons.”
She threw the necklace down on the table in front of Jessie. Katrine hadn’t meant to explode the way she did, which shocked the serving staff as well as the other patrons in the café, although they had no idea what the fight between the artsy little gal and the lavender haired taller gal was about. Incensed, Katrine stomped away, pissed at Jessie’s charade, but also at the strong emotions she didn’t expect to ooze from within herself.
But then again, there was something indefinable about Jessie Wheeler, or Annie Hayden if you chose to see her as the imposter - that got under your skin. Something indefinable, untouchable, enigmatic, covert. She was one of those people whom you hoped would never hurt, but whom you knew did hurt. She was someone you hoped could be happy forever, because when she was happy and at ease there was a light in her eyes impossible to ignore, a light that shone outwardly to everyone around her, surrounding them with peace and glory. When she was hurting…well, the world hurt with her.
Katrine left Jessie at the café and stormed up the hill alone.
Later, after rather quickly downing a bottle of Pinot Grigio, she answered a quiet knock at Jacob’s door. All that her concentrated effort on thinking seemed to have accomplished, fueled by the wine, was in making the circle of angst go around and around for an impossibly long time. Incessantly it beckoned her, swirling like a black chaos into an ever-present torturous collage of images – the Keatings, Jacob, Charlie, Josh, Jacob, herself, Jacob, Jacob. She and Jacob did not have time that fateful day to discuss how all this affected him, but Katrine knew from John Paul’s brief messages during the American tour that he was suffering. She also knew the boys were not travelling home together as planned. She didn’t have to wonder where Jacob was going. Katrine knew.
When she answered the door, wine glass teetering in her hand, Katrine was saddened to see Jessie leaning hopelessly against the doorframe, face tear-streaked and smoky eyes puffy. She was the picture of dejection.
“Katrine,” Jessie sobbed quietly. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
Katrine bit her tongue. She wanted to say you’re a wealthy woman. Isn’t the world your oyster? Instead, she pulled her friend inside and into her arms. She breathed in the lavender scent of the girl she had known as Annie, and she thought if I am having a hard time reconciling who she really is, and the impact of what she’s done, then imagine the torment she is enduring.
Jessie let Katrine pull off her boots, and then her scarf and sweater. She wandered over to the couch where another bottle of wine was opened, then the girls sat and talked for a while.
“Josh has found someone else, Katrine. That’s another reason I can’t go back. I don’t want to. I don’t want to see him with someone else.”
“Mon Cherie, amour, love – eet is precious and rare like an orchid.” Katrine spoke always with lovely, graceful flourishes, her hands lily-white miniature angels floating through the air. “Once you find it, how you let it go? If what you say eez true, and Josh Sawyer did not hurt you, then ‘ow can you be here and let ‘im be there? Jes-sie. You been wearing eez ring around your neck for what, two years? You wear it with Jacob!” With the right hand fisted, she hit her chest over her heart to emphasize the point.
“ ’Ow you think that make me feel? Make Jacob feel? You love the man in Canada. ‘Ow can you have found it, and then just let it go? One day you will be ninety and your time on earth will be done. And what will you ‘ave to say for yourself? That once you loved and then you lost? Will you ask yourself if you tried hard enough? Did you fight for theez man? You sacrificed yourself for eez safety. But you lock yourself into a steel box like Jacob’s. You are in a prison, whether you accept it or not. What freedom is there in being lock inside steel box while the man you love wander the earth suffering, while others around him and in your life pay the price as well? While the world is meezing out on Jessie Wheeler’s music and acting – gifts from the heavens above that you no longer sharing?”
Katrine was leaning towards Jessie now, her wine glass tipsy and threatening to spill like the tears Jessie did not seem capable of stopping. Her little French friend was making a lot of sense.
The girl continued emphatically, passionately. She was not in the least affected or intimidated by Annie’s real identity. Instead she was determined to make the girl see the light, to climb out of her deep, dark cave.
“You are selfish and cruel, yez, but mostly to yourself, Jes-sie. You are hurting yourself the most. What you did for Josh, for yourself, to save him…it was beautiful, Jes-sie. Greater love hath no man than theez, that a man lay down his life for heez friends. Ah? Eet’s in the Bible, girl! But also, Jes-sie,” she paused, fighting her own waterworks now. She was impassioned, and had consumed more than a full bottle of wine. She was on a soapbox. “You sacrificed yourself for this man. But you sacrificed him, too. And all of the other people you loved and left, and now – us.”
She settled comfortably back into the couch and triumphantly held up her glass. “Mama, she make us children go to church every Sunday. What I remember the most? In the Bible it also say Love one another, as I have loved you. Do you see, Jes-sie? Get over yourself. Get over your fear. Love them all. But most of all – love yourzelf.”
Jessie shook her head. “Katrine,” she said, weeping openly. “What about Jacob? I love him. I do.”
Katrine touched Jessie’s cheek tenderly with her fingertips. “But you no wear Jacob ring around your neck. You see how much theez hurt ‘im too. But there are all kind of love, mon Cherie. All kind.”
Then she set down her wine glass, took Jessie’s from her, and tugged her into an embrace so Jessie could pour out her pain safely in the arms of a friend. She held her close so Jessie couldn’t see her own tears as they careened down soft cheeks. Katrine, too, couldn’t help but love this lonely and troubled girl.
Finally, emptied, with nothing else left to give, Jessie fell asleep on Katrine’s lap, her head on one thigh, arms wrapped around her friend’s waist. She was angelic in the white moonlight, like a sleeping child, cheeks rosy pink from the wine and the heady emotion.
Katrine let her fingers drift slowly through the lavender hair. She bent down and kissed Jessie’s forehead, the tip of her ear, her cheek. Under her gentle touch Jessie stirred, and encircled her own fingers through and around Katrine’s. Fondly, gratefully, Jessie kissed Katrine’s fingertips, and then they fell asleep together, grasping each other’s strength in preparation for the difficult road to come, the empty wine bottles taunting them from the nearby coffee table.
***
Chapter Fourteen
The Vancouver International Airport has a few options for travel into the city. One is the Skytrain’s Canada Line, built for the Winter Olympics, but Jacob decided to splurge on a rental car instead. He wasn’t sure if he could go through with his plans. He was tired; he had whiskers because he hadn’t bothered to shave over the last few days. They felt scratchy on his skin, like ten thousand little pinpricks. Occasionally during his flights Jacob reached up and ran a thumb and forefinger over the stubble. It was an unconscious movement – he was lost in thought, and was also trying to stay awake. Touching the abrasive brand new beard jarred him back into reality. Annie/Jessie often teased him about his whiskers. She told him he looked extra sexy – his Indiana Jones look – and then she rubbed her cheek against his, laughing at the coarseness of his skin. Was everything going to remind him of her now? He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Josh had gone – was going? - through. Even if he did beat her badly enough to put her in the hospital, love was never cut and dry. She loved him, as evidenced by that damnable anchor she was still wearing around her neck.
No Greater Love Page 13