Roman and Jewel

by Dana L. Davis

  “I have something you can wear if you wanna change, too. I’ll bring it back.”

  I look up at him. “I swear you can read my mind.”

  He laughs. “I’ve known you for a few million years is all.”

  “Are you about to dress me in your ex-girlfriend’s clothes?”

  “Nothing that salacious. I have some gifts I’ve wanted to give my sister for a while. You guys are about the same size.”

  I take the helmet he’s been gripping in his hand. “I’m coming with you.” I move toward the bike.

  He rushes in front of me, taking the helmet gently from my hands. “Jerzie. I promised your aunt—”

  “It’s just a quick stop-off, right? Then we’ll catch the ride share from your place. I’ll text her. It’ll be fine.”

  I can tell Aunt Karla put a proper fear in Zeppelin because he looks more than a little worried. Still, he says, “Okay. Text her. Yeah. That’ll work,” and hands me the helmet.

  * * *

  Riding on the back of Zeppelin’s motorcycle, pressed against him, my arms wrapped around his waist, the only thing that’s missing is being able to share with the world how happy I am to be reunited with my million-year-old love. Post pictures on my social media. FaceTime Riley. But no one can know about this. Like, no one.

  We’re riding alongside the shore promenade, right by the beautiful blue suspension bridge. The city lights reflect in dark waters like a life-size oil painting stretched from here to the horizon. I rest my head on Zeppelin’s back, enjoying the warmth of his body as the bike coasts through the cool breeze. When we come to a stop at a light, he takes a hand off one of the handles to interlock his fingers with mine.

  “Almost there, Jerzie.”

  I’d say something back, but the helmet sort of makes that impossible. So I squeeze him a little tighter in response.

  The light turns green, the bike revs up, and we take off again. A few minutes later we’re pulling up to an older brick apartment complex. A gate opens, and Zeppelin slows to a stop in the private parking and yanks the key out of the ignition. I pull the helmet off and try to put my mess of hair back into a neat ponytail.

  “Can I help?” Zeppelin asks. “I’m a pro at fixing helmet hair.”

  I laugh and he places his two hands on top of my head and ruffles my hair so that it flies in every imaginable direction.

  “Zeppelin, you lied.” I’m laughing so hard as I force my hands through my wild strands of hair. “You’re terrible at this.”

  “What? Now it’s perfect.”

  Zeppelin helps me off the bike, and I think maybe I’m now addicted to this way of travel. We move to a private side entrance, where he uses a key card to open the door and we step into the lobby of his apartment building. He uses the same key card to access the elevators.

  As soon as we step inside, Zeppelin leans against one wall and pulls me close so that I step between his legs. He lifts my chin so that I’m looking up into his eyes. He stares at me with such intensity, I could seriously get lost in him. If he’s a drug, I’m already addicted. I hold my breath, thinking he’s about to kiss me, but the elevator dings and the doors slide open. Holding my hand tightly, he guides me off the elevator.

  At the end of the narrow hallway, he uses his key card again. The door beeps like a hotel room and we push into a studio apartment that overlooks the bay. I guess there are some advantages to living farther away from the city, because the closer you get to midtown, the smaller the apartments get. This place is huge.

  The studio has an eclectic bathroom with frosted glass doors, a tiny kitchenette, a walk-in closet, and a Murphy bed sitting against the wall. Also worth noting—it’s clean. I’m talking not a speck of dust in sight. I guess I figured Judas was the only meticulously neat and tidy teenage boy with everything in perfect order.

  “Love your place, Zeppelin. It has everything.”

  “Except a balcony. A few units have them. Might trade up if I can.”

  “The room I stay in at my aunt’s has a balcony attached. They are kinda nice.” I step farther inside. “No roommates?”

  “At first. Yeah. I shared this place with my bandmate, Kenyon. We split the rent for a year. Don’t worry. We didn’t share a bed. He slept on a blow-up mattress on the floor. But then he got a place with his girlfriend in Crown Heights right around the time I booked the show.”

  He pulls open the door of his closet, and I peek inside. It’s stuffed to the brim. Of course I recognize a lot of the brands. Play, Gucci, Ralph Lauren, Tom Ford—wait—is that a Burberry umbrella? He even walks in the rain in style? There are also racks of expensive sneakers, designer boots, and shoes lining the floor. Dozens of hanging belts and a shelf with a few designer watches. I note a Breitling among the collection.

  “So runway modeling must pay...pretty good?”

  “It pays shit,” he admits. “The main perk of it was the travel. Most everything here, honestly, I stole.”

  “You did not.” I laugh. “You’re lying.”

  “I’m serious.” He reaches up to pull a hanging string in the closet. Dim light casts a glow on all the neatly organized items of couture clothing and accessories. “When a runway show would end, I’d stuff shit in my bags. I wasn’t exactly the greatest kind of kid.”

  I’m sort of frozen under the archway of his closet. My eyes must look some kind of horrified, because he quickly adds, “Don’t worry. I’m reformed.” He takes my arm and gently pulls me into the closet. “Feels like I should ask permission before I touch you. May I?”

  I nod and he wraps his arms around my waist and rests his chin on top of my head. “At least I stopped holding girls prisoner in here. That was a really bad phase.”

  “Zeppelin.” I playfully push him, and he stumbles back. “Not funny.”

  “Kidding about that last part.” He steps forward to kiss me softly on the cheek. His lips feel warm on my skin. “Do you think badly of me now?”

  “No. I mean...so you stole...thousands of dollars worth of clothes. And jewelry.” I guess when I put it like that... Yikes. I look up at him. “You seriously never got caught?”

  “Well. Yeah.”

  “And what happened?”

  “I got arrested.”

  My jaw drops.

  “But my dad’s a lawyer. He got the charges dropped to a misdemeanor. I had to take some classes. Do some community service. My dad still hates me for it though.”

  “Is that why he hasn’t let you see Ava?”

  “That,” he says, “and my friends are a ‘bad influence.’ His words, not mine. Technically I can see her as long as he’s around to supervise. At their house only.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “I haven’t stepped foot in that mausoleum for years and don’t plan to anytime soon.”

  “Why though? At least you’d get to see her and—” I pause. “You know what. It’s none of my business. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I like when you ask me questions. But the truth is...” His expression turns dark. “Seeing his ‘happy’ life, after mom suffered so much...shit seems unfair. Hurts too much to be there.”

  Of course that would hurt. Hurts me just thinking about it.

  “Your turn, Jerzie.” He smiles now. “We’re in a closet. So skeletons are coming out. What’s your secret story? I mean. You are a Slytherin, after all.”

  Do I have any salacious stories? “I’m not a Goody Two-shoes if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Wasn’t thinking that at all.”

  “I’ve done bad stuff.” That’s a lie. I’ve never been arrested. Never stolen anything. Never done drugs. Never had sex. Never, never, never. “Does jaywalking count?”

  “Across a freeway? Yes.” He reaches to grab a black T-shirt from off the top shelf of his closet. Then, he basically yanks off the one he�
�s wearing and tosses it into a clothes hamper. Aaaand now he’s standing half-naked in front of me.

  I can’t help but stare. First at his tattoo. When I saw it in rehearsal, I thought it looked like something by Salvador Dalí. Now I can see that it is Salvador Dalí. It’s The Persistence of Memory, sort of reimagined in black and gray on his arm. Sexy. And then there’s the issue of his body. I’ve never stared at a guy with his shirt off before and thought the sort of things I’m thinking now. Like, I wonder what it would be like to touch each individual muscle on his stomach. Yeah. I’ve pretty much never thought that before.

  “You like this, Jerzie?”

  “Your...body?”

  He pulls the T-shirt over his head. “Sure. But I meant the shirt.”

  Oh my God, how embarrassing! “Oh. The shirt. Duh.”

  “This shirt I didn’t steal.”

  “Zepp. It’s fine. I’m not judging you for your past. I promise.” I shrug. “Sorry I’m short on skeletons though. Guess I’m boring.”

  “Jerzie.” He reaches behind the rack of clothes and pulls out a decorative gift bag. “I think you’re perfect. Just hope I don’t fuck things up. I have a way of fucking things up. At least, according to my dad.” He reaches in the bag to remove a beautiful purple-and-black flowy tank dress. Supercute. Totally hipster. “Didn’t steal this either. You like it?”

  I love it. “I can’t take your sister’s gift.”

  He hands it to me. “It’s forever yours now. I’ll get her something else.” He pulls a pair of dark jeans off a hanger. “Change now if you want.”

  I swallow. “In here?”

  “You can have privacy in the bathroom.”

  “Oh.” I sort of deflate. He wants me to dress in the bathroom. He doesn’t want to see me nearly naked. Good thing, too, cuz I don’t look anything like a sculpted statue the way he does.

  “After you, bella.” He motions for the door. “Promise not to barge in on you.”

  * * *

  Changing in Zeppelin’s bathroom, I keep waiting for the door to slide open and him to see me half-dressed and stare in awe at my body the way I stared at his. But the door remains tightly closed. We’re alone in his apartment, and he hasn’t even tried to kiss me. Not for real anyway. He even asks permission before he touches me. It’s because he thinks I’m a Goody Two-shoes. I did gape at him in judgment when he confessed his felonious past. God, why did I do that? I once took a mechanical pencil home from school. It was the teacher’s pencil. And actually... I brought it back the next day and apologized for it accidentally ending up in my bag. Two-shoes!

  I step back into my boots and redo my ponytail, using water to smooth the edges, which I’ll pay the price for later when it all frizzes up on me again. The gifted dress is one that can be dressed up to look superchic or down to look casual. It looks casual on me now, but still nice enough to make me feel like I’m going on a real date. When I slide open the bathroom door with my backpack slung over my shoulder, Zeppelin is waiting by the door.

  “Sei bella.”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “That means you look pretty.”

  “Oh,” I say. “You look pretty, too.”

  He laughs. But I’m not kidding. The dark skinny jeans, the boots, the hair now wet and brushed back off his face. His eyes bright. His skin so pale. He looks like a painting. If he were mounted on a museum wall, I would study him. I would never want to leave his side.

  He pulls open the door. “After you, Jerzie.”

  The door’s open. The lights are off. My first time in a boy’s apartment, and I am leaving completely unscathed. How do you say ugh in Italian?

  “Hey.” I stop when I make it to his side. “Let’s take your bike. My aunt doesn’t have to know.” I’m surprised these words have come out of my mouth. Zeppelin must be surprised, too, because he eyes me inquisitively. “You have an extra helmet, right?”

  “I do. Yeah. But—”

  “Great. Let’s do it then.”

  “Jerzie.” Zeppelin’s holding the door open with one hand, and his other hand grabs mine. “I don’t want your aunt’s friends killing me and then serving a life sentence after. Ride share’s cool. It’s actually already here. It’ll give us a chance to talk. Okay?”

  Great. My first attempt to rack up a skeleton has failed miserably. I’m even turning the bad boy good.

  I force a smile. “Okay.”

  * * *

  Zeppelin and I don’t get a chance to talk, because we’re stuck with a ride-share driver who must have a disorder where he can’t stop his mouth from moving.

  “And then we moved to Nigeria, and then my wife and I opened up the first church in Nigeria to have a full-time school and then my wife taught school and I preached the good word.”

  “Wait, you’re a pastor?” Zeppelin asks. “I thought you were a security guard.”

  “I thought you worked in construction,” I add.

  “Yes, yes. All that. Plus, I run a church in Nigeria.”

  Zeppelin and I exchange amused expressions as the Brooklyn Bridge comes into view. Even from the car I can see that the bridge is jam-packed with foot traffic. I don’t want Zeppelin to think I don’t wanna cross the bridge, it’s just that...well... I don’t wanna cross the bridge. It’s such a Jhames family thing to do, plus it’ll be arm-to-arm, shoulder-to-shoulder pedestrian traffic. Not exactly my idea of a good time.

  Zeppelin’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He checks the screen. Studies it for a second.

  “Everything all right?” I ask.

  “Kenyon and Thomas are watching live music at Washington Square Park.”

  “Who’s Thomas?”

  “He plays bass in our band.” He quickly types a message. “Don’t worry. Told them I was busy.”

  “Let’s go.” I sit up.

  “You don’t wanna walk across the bridge?”

  “I mean.” I shrug. “I do.” Not. “But we can do that any day. When’s the last time you got to hang with your friends? Unless you don’t want me to meet your friends.”

  “You kidding? My friends would love you. But full disclosure, this is Greenwich Village on a Sunday night. I’ve done this with them before. All they do is smoke and drink.”

  “So. I’ve smoked. I drink, too.” I’m lying. I reach into my bag like I’m searching for something, hoping this time he can’t read me the way he always does.

  Zeppelin leans forward, speaking to our driver. “Could you actually take us across the bridge. To Washington Square Park?”

  “Oh. Yes. I can do that,” the man says. “And we will drive past the ferry. I used to drive the ferry.”

  “Wait. You’re a sea captain?” Zeppelin asks.

  “Ferry master. Yes.”

  “I bet you used to pilot airplanes, too,” Zeppelin says.

  “No, no,” the man responds seriously. “I only fly the airplanes when I’m in Nigeria. No license to fly in America.”

  “And we think we’re important, with our fancy Broadway jobs,” Zeppelin whispers.

  * * *

  The park is packed. People are eating, drinking, and relaxing as they listen to the live music. Some lie out on blankets. Kids run barefoot through the famous Washington Square Fountain. The Empire State Building in the background and the night lights of the city just starting to flicker on, it’s a perfect moment to whip out the camera and snap a quick selfie.

  “Zeppelin?”

  He turns to me.

  “Quick pic?”

  He rests his head on top of mine, and I snap the shot. I laugh at the picture. “We look like a Gap ad.”

  “We’re fucking adorable,” he says.

  I laugh again.

  The live band is playing underneath the Washington Square arch. An arch that, with its intricate designs cut into the pristine white marble, ma
kes me think it should be somewhere in London instead of Lower Manhattan. The band is covering old Motown songs, so tons of people are dancing, while others lounge on the few rows of plastic chairs they have set up, bobbing their heads along.

  Zeppelin points. “There they are.”

  I recognize the boys from Zeppelin’s band. They’re sitting on blankets with two girls, surrounded by drinks and snacks, like bags of chips and cookies. All four look seriously thrilled to see Zeppelin approaching.

  “Zepp!” The boy with the man bun stands to wave us over.

  Zeppelin wraps an arm around my shoulder. “That’s Thomas. I apologize in advance for him. The other guy is Kenyon.”

  Kenyon is dressed simply in jeans and a T-shirt. Thomas...he sorta looks like Jesus. Like, I’m not kidding. At least, he looks like the guys that get to play Jesus in the movies. Where Jesus is a ridiculously attractive blue-eyed British man.

  “Kenyon kills on the drums. And Thomas is the best bass player I know. They’ll both be famous for sure someday. They’re like my brothers. Known them for forever.”

  “And the girls?” I ask as we approach.

  “Girlfriends. Tanya is with Kenyon and has been for years. You’ll like her. She’s a love-and-light type person. Always positive and saying shit that makes no sense. And Thomas’s girl. They’ve only been together for a few months, but she’s good for him. Her name is Melissa. You’ll like her, too.”

  I’m greeted by a warm chorus of hellos as Zeppelin and I make it to the group’s layout. We pop a squat on the corner of the large blanket.

  “Oh my gosh, it’s Jerzie.” Tanya’s grinning at me. She’s sitting between Kenyon’s legs, leaning back against him as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. “We saw your video. So many good vibes. I felt the chemistry like whoa.” Tanya’s kinky curly hair is cut supershort but so stylish. She’s wearing one of those boho summer dresses with gold bangle bracelets and rings. She’s also got a septum ring through her nose. It suits her.