Come Dancing (32 page)

“Julia, how are you? It’s Suzanne.”

With mixed emotions, I managed to say hello.

“Jack doesn’t know I’m calling you.” My spirits sank; for a second I’d hoped that he’d asked her to get in touch with me. “I just got back from visiting my Mum in England. I wanted to tell you about the thing with Trina; what a cockup. But it wasn’t what you think.”

“How could it not have been?” I asked, hurt that she’d try to sweep it under the rug. “She was in his
bed
.”

“Just listen to what happened. She used an old picture of her with Jack to convince the new doorman to let her up. She probably bribed him too. Anyway, he’s been fired. Jack had no idea she was there; he was over Sammy’s place. When he got home, she wouldn’t leave and he had to call the cops. It’s all on record, if you don’t believe me.”

I could hardly take it in—Jack hadn’t been sleeping with Trina after all? “But why did he wait four days to call me?”

“I know. He was being a sod. Then when he finally did call, of course you were furious. He’s been running around like a wild man lately, out until five in the morning, dragging Sammy and Mark from bar to bar, party to party. It’s like he’s having his last meal on death row.”

Tears brimmed my eyes. For a second I felt much better, but then I thought about his waiting so long to call me. Letting me believe the worst all that time was unbelievably hurtful. And then when he did call, I’d implied I never really cared about him. Now he was off on a binge of partying, which meant he was getting hit on every time he turned around.

“We had a pretty big fight on the phone. I said some awful things. But he deserved it.”

“I told him he needs to get down on his knees to you and apologize. Look, I know Jack pretty well. He cares more about you than anyone else he’s been with, ever since I’ve known him. And that covers quite a lot of girls,” she added matter-of-factly. “If he loses you, he’s going to wind up regretting it. You’re the best thing that’s happened to him in a long time. You really seem to love him for who he is, not what he can do for you. That’s why he’s being so skittish; he knows he needs to make a commitment to you, but he’s terrified to do it.”

“If that’s true, then why he hasn’t gotten in touch with me?”

“Why don’t you call him? I’ll bet deep down he’s hoping you will.”

“
Me
call
him
? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

Suzanne sighed. “You know these guys and their pride. He mentioned that you said talking to him bored you. And you were only using him to take you places.”

“I was really upset. I didn’t mean it.”

“I told him that. I’ll try to get him to call you. The two of you have to work this out.”

On the way back from my run the next morning, I came upon a messenger standing on the curb, gazing up at my building. I took the box upstairs, peeled off my sweaty clothes and tore it open. The first thing I saw was Jack’s face staring at me from the cover of his new album. He looked rakishly handsome in a torn shirt and frayed jeans, his arm around Sammy’s shoulder, Patrick and Mark pointing at something outside of the frame.

Behind the record was another thin cover. Carefully I eased off the brown paper wrapping. It was a vintage Hank Williams album, protected by a sheet of opaque vellum. On the lower right hand corner Hank had inscribed his name. A piece of notepaper fell to my lap. I could barely read Jack’s slashing scrawl: “I began looking for this in July. Also wanted you to have a copy of our new one.”

I ran to the phone; this was the perfect excuse to call him. Maybe there was hope for us, after all. But although I dialed his number again and again over the following week, he never picked up. Apparently he was sleeping somewhere else.

Several days later I was supposed to go with Art to his department’s annual cocktail party. I had been seeing more of him lately; he’d been so sweet to me, asking me how I was doing without prying into what had happened. And from the way he looked at me, it seemed that he really did care for me. I’d told him I wasn’t ready for a romantic relationship yet, but it would be so easy to slip back into it. We had so much in common; knowing the same people from the Lit program, loving the same books.

This was the first time I’d been in the English lounge since I’d graduated. I was anxious about appearing with Art, but everyone was welcoming.

“You remember Julia,” Art said to Phil, his best friend and racquetball partner.

“Nice to see you again.” Phil shook my hand. “I hope we’ll be seeing a lot more of you in the future. Did you hear Chuck’s giving Farley tenure?” he asked Art.

“Only because Farley covered his Dimensions of Diaspora course for the metacriticism conference.”

“I’m going to check out the hors d’oeuvres,” I said. As a student I’d been in awe of the professors’ scholarly talk, but now it seemed a little removed from reality.

After the party, Art and I walked to his apartment in the brisk late October wind. He poured brandies and we settled in on the sofa. “I hope that wasn’t too boring for you,” he said.

“Oh no, it was great to see everyone.” I sipped my drink, feeling the pressure of his thigh against mine. His hair was growing out some; I liked the way it curled around his ears.

“What were you doing the other day at work? You seemed in a big rush to get off the phone,” Art said.

“Harvey needed a bunch of letters done right away.”

“You must be really fast; I still hunt and peck. I need to brush up on my typing so I can get my paper in to the journal.”

I pictured the pile of work on my desk, then I reminded myself of how nice he’d been to me. The least I could do was help him with his paper. “I can type it for you.”

“I wouldn’t impose on you like that. I know you’re really busy.”

But I felt like I should. “Give me a chunk of it to take home tonight.”

Art put down his drink. “I was hoping you wouldn’t want to go home.” He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. His lips met mine slowly at first, and then became more demanding. We slid back and he lay on top of me. I was getting caught up in his caresses, my defenses crumbling. It felt good to be held and touched; I’d missed Jack’s hands so badly.

Jack’s hands
… I sat up and buttoned my blouse.

“I’m sorry. I’m just not ready for this yet.”

Art followed me as I went to get my coat. “I don’t understand, Julia. It was so good before. Don’t you want to be close?”

“I’m not really sure what I want right now. Let me have your paper.”

Art got it from his desk and gave me one more lingering kiss before putting me into a cab. On the way home I gazed out the window, my breath fogging the pane. On every corner it seemed there was a couple laughing, holding hands, oblivious to the rest of the world. I wondered who Jack was with tonight.

Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps)

When I dropped off an author photo in publicity, Erin invited me along with some friends to watch the Halloween parade in the Village. That night we waited behind the barricades as a group of majorettes with hairy legs started things off. Virginal Princess Dianas passed by, decked out in lavish wedding gowns.

“I bet that doesn’t last a year,” Erin commented on the royal union.

“It’ll take at least that long for Di to get the thank-you notes posted,” I said.

Jesus and the apostles followed, discoing to music from a boom-box and tossing communion wafers to cheering onlookers. A Ziggy Stardust in a bright red mullet and silver bodysuit went by on stilts; several other Bowie incarnations flitted past, blowing kisses. I looked beyond Cleopatra’s float to see what was coming next—and pulled back in dismay. Patrick and Jack were walking down the street, calmly waving at the crowd.

As they got closer, I realized that of course it was only an extremely good costume. Patrick’s double was tarted up in a glittery tank top and platform heels, his feathered blond hair a convincing imitation of the real thing. “Jack” wore an astonishingly true-to-life black wig pointing in all directions, his eyes mascaraed darkly. The two passed a fake foot-long joint back and forth as they paraded.

Jack looked in my direction and winked. Erin glanced at me. “Are you okay? You’re pale as a ghost.”

“I think I need to get home. I must be coming down with something.”

When I got in, I put on the Floor’s new album, lifting the needle to play Jack’s song over and over, absorbing his voice. After the fifth repeat, I debated myself as I stared at the phone. Finally I picked it up and dialed.

“Yeah.” There was a lot of noise in the background; people shouting over blaring music.

“Hi, it’s Julia.” I froze. What did I want to say?

“I’ll call you right back,” Jack said.

I hung up, wondering who was at his place; it sounded like a big party. The phone rang. “Here I am. How have you been?” He must have moved to his bedroom.

“I was … I went to see the Halloween parade.”

A woman’s voice sounded in the background. “Jaaack, come on!”

Jack shouted something and slammed the door. Muted music pounded through the walls. “Now I can talk.”

“It sounds like you’re busy.” This was a lousy idea; I didn’t want to force myself on him.

“I’m not busy. What are you up to?” Someone was banging on his door. Jack held the phone away and yelled, “Hang on!”

“I’ll let you get back to your guests.” I regretted giving in to the impulse since obviously he had someone with him.

“These aren’t my guests. It’s a bunch of idiots Patrick invited over.”

“I was just calling to say hello.”

“Fine. Up to you.” The receiver clicked, and I passed a restless night flipping my pillow, trying to find a dry place to park my head.

The phone rang bright and early at seven-thirty. Wondering who’d be calling at that hour, I crept over to get it.

“Did you go for your run yet?”

I tried to collect my thoughts. “What are you doing up?”

“Never went to sleep. I kicked them all out, and Patrick and I stayed up working on some songs. He just left. Meet me for coffee, okay? I’m gonna have the Irish flu if I don’t get some caffeine.”

My heart hammering, I raced around getting ready, trying to look less like the living dead.
Has he missed me at all? I wonder what he’ll have to say. Can we get past that stupid incident with Trina and make up—or has he already moved on?

When I entered the café, breathless from hurrying and a bad case of nerves, Jack was sitting in the corner with his back to the entrance. His creased leather jacket looked like it had been slept in.

“Julia.” He smiled at me, sooty shadows under his eyes. “I thought you might not show.” He ran a hand through his hair, which was longer than I’d ever seen it. “I ordered coffee for you. Milk, one sugar, right?”

“Yes,” I said, my mouth dry. I took a sip of the scalding mug. “How have you been?” I tried for a breezy tone.

“I’m not sleeping much, but this has been awfully good for the songwriting. Patrick loves the stuff I’m cranking out.” He gave a wry smile, creating those handsome parentheses around his mouth. I didn’t know if he was implying he wasn’t sleeping because he missed me, or because he’d been out partying.

“I’ve seen ads for the new album everywhere. Congratulations.”

“Reception’s good so far. Mary Jo’s been reading the reviews to me. And she’s found me a tutor.”

“How is that going?” It was awful to make small talk with him, as if we were only acquaintances.

“It’s hard, but I need to do it. So why did you call me?” He gave me his chocolate gaze.

“I just wanted … to thank you for those albums you sent. That was so nice of you.”

He nodded. “Glad you liked them. What have you been up to?”

I thought of how he hadn’t been in his apartment for days on end; the woman calling his name last night. I didn’t want him to think I’d been pathetically sitting by the phone all this time. “Actually I’ve been seeing Art again. He and his wife didn’t stay together after all. It’s been nice to reconnect.”

Jack scowled. “I bet you’re having deep intellectual talks about all sorts of things.” He dumped the container of sugar packets onto the table, ripped one open and poured it into his mug. “Unlike the ones I’ve been having lately.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, the champagne on the Concorde was flat. Or the nail on their pinkie finger got torn right before a big shoot, and what a disaster that was. Or how they had to fuck three different guys and then they didn’t even get the part, but at least the flake was excellent.”

“Well, it’s your choice who you spend time with.”

Jack began carefully restacking the sugar packets. “And I guess your choice is some dusty old English professor.”

His comment made me bristle. “At least he isn’t jumping into hot tubs with naked bimbos. Or an old girlfriend turns up in his bed, and he doesn’t bother to let the person he’s with—” I couldn’t finish for the lump in my throat.

Jack looked at me for a minute. “You’re right. I’m just a raunchy, tasteless rock musician.” He frowned, and then pulled a piece of crumpled paper from his shirt pocket. “My tutor gave me a list of books I’m supposed to get.” He unfolded it and smoothed it out on his knee. “She recommended this place, Books of Wonder. Want to come?”

“Sure, I’ll come with you.”

It was strange to be in the car with Jack again. It brought back vivid memories of our fevered kisses the first night we got together; our steamy makeout after we left Dot at my place.

“Let me see your list,” I said, determined to treat this outing lightly. He handed it to me as we entered the shop. “All the Beverly Clearys are great. There’s this hilarious scene where Henry and his dog Ribsy try to capture a giant salmon.”

Jack gave me an intent gaze. “I do believe we have similar tastes in books; I still think about those people in
Wise Blood
. Although I’m a little below that level right now.” He smiled. “Actually, this list is for once I make some more headway. I still get tripped up on the longer words. Like ‘Heffalump.’”