“Emma.” Sylvester pointedly glances across at Jack and holds out a goody bag to me. “Did you get your condoms yet?”
“Like I need them,” I mutter, blushing, as I try not to look at Jack.
“Chérie,”
Sylvester whispers in my ear. “What are you waiting for? You need to take zat man to bed—ze sexual tension is driving us all crazy.”
Fat chance of that. The man in question doesn’t even seem to realize I’m a girl. I flush even more from the sexual frustration that’s driving
me
crazy, too, and glance at my watch. Then glance at Jack, who is grating cheese. How quickly can I escape the kitchen? How can grating cheese be sexy?
“Emma,” Rachel says as she collects omlettes. “You won’t believe this guy out here. These green vibrators rival your pink one for tackiness.”
Thank you, Rachel, for sharing that with me, I think.
“
Chérie,
you are a dark horse.” Sylvester pauses as he whisks eggs. “Tell me all.”
“What vibrator?” Katy asks, as she starts to load the dishwasher.
God, I really don’t like Jack right at this moment. Smirking at my discomfort, he rubs the cheese up and down, up and down, up and down…I am in a very bad way.
“Just a joke present from Peri,” I mumble, getting even redder with embarrassment and longing. This is too much.
“It has to be seen to be believed,” Rachel says as she comes back into the kitchen. “Pink, long, very loud…”
“Wow. I’ve never tried one,” Katy says. “Is it any good? Maybe me and Tom could—”
“Can we just drop the subject?” I ask in desperation. I really, really don’t want to talk about sex.
As Jack goes back into the restaurant bearing bowls of garlic bread, Rachel and Katy stop what they are doing and look at me.
“What?” Do I really want to know what they are thinking? Probably not. Probably something to do with Jack.
“Jack’s great,” Katy tells me.
“Jack’s hot,” Rachel adds. “Although not as hot as Hugh.”
“And sexy—but not as sexy as Tom, of course.”
“Delicious.” Sylvester rolls his eyes. “But not as delicious as David.”
“Ohhhkaayy,” I say, holding up my hands. “So we’re all agreed that Jack is great. I get the message, guys, but he’s not interested in me. And I’m definitely not interested in him, either.”
“So why aren’t you sleeping with him yet?”
“It’s not like that,” I say, wondering what they’ve all been saying behind my back.
“Emma, you are one blind chick,” David adds his voice to the Jack fan club from the kitchen door. “Wake up and smell the
testosterone,
sweetie.”
I can’t help it. I have to laugh.
“This is a conspiracy,” I say. And then, “So you really think I should—?”
At that moment, Jack comes back into the kitchen with more dirty dishes so of course everyone stops talking and watches him. Very obviously.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” Rachel says, smiling at me in a knowing, feminine way. “We were just talking about you.”
Oh God.
“Oh, good. Well I hope it was an interesting conversation,” Jack says, obviously confused.
“Definitely interesting,” Katy says.
“Guys,” I plead with them.
“Sylvester, dear, where are the lamb cutlets for table three?” David says, taking the hint. “They’ve been waiting fifteen minutes already. Chop, chop.”
“Voilà.”
Sylvester flounces past him, plates in hand. “A work of art, of perfection, exquisite. Zese zings cannot be hurried.”
“He thinks he’s the culinary world’s answer to Monet.” David rolls his eyes, and heads back into the restaurant.
I need to get out of here for a bit. Tish, Hugh, and Tom will be here very soon, anyway.
“I’m just going to take a few minutes, guys,” I say. “I need a breather.”
I make it halfway down to the waterfront when Jack catches up with me.
“Mind if I come with you?”
Yes, I do mind. The whole idea was to get away from you.
But I don’t say this, obviously.
“Sure,” I tell him in what I think is a definitely uninterested way. “It’s a free country.” I march on, quickening my pace. Endorphins will surely help me. I’m self-conscious and tongue-tied, and Jack isn’t exactly chatty, either.
“Hey!” Jack shouts as he grabs at my arm. And yanks me back from the road just as a black car squeals past, missing me by a hair’s breadth.
“Stupid asshole,” Jack yells as the car screeches around the corner. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I say, trembling, as Jack pulls me into his arms. I could have been killed. If I’d taken one more step into the road, I would be hurt. Or worse. And then I hear a completely pitiful whining and glance toward the pavement.
“Oh, but this guy’s not,” I say, forgetting my fright as I pull
away from Jack’s lovely warmth. “Jack, look. Look at this poor little dog. We have to
do
something.”
“Bastards,” Jack says, squatting in front of the ball of black fur and red blood. “Hit and run. Motherfuckers.”
The small mongrel whines again, then licks at Jack’s hand. Its leg is injured. The hip bone is sticking awkwardly through the flesh.
“I’ll go get my car,” I tell him. “The vet’s will be closed, but there’s any emergency animal hospital about twenty minutes away from here. I went with Rachel when she took one of her cats last year.”
“No,” Jack says, pulling off his T-shirt and wrapping it carefully around the poor creature. “You stay. I’ll go. I have longer legs. I can run faster.”
How nice is that? How lovely is he to not care about his top being covered in blood?
I try to comfort the poor creature as we wait for Jack’s return. I stroke its silky head, murmuring silly meaningless words. I think it’s a girl. I’m pretty sure it’s a girl. She has no ID tag or collar, though, which is not a good sign.
“Poor little girl,” I croon. “Such a pretty little thing. I think I’ll call you Beauty for now. Because you are one, aren’t you? And all dogs deserve a name.”
Jack pulls up and we gently load Beauty into the backseat.
It seems to take forever to get there but fifteen minutes later we hand Beauty over to the vet.
“From her general condition, I’d say she’s been living on the streets,” the vet tells us twenty minutes later. “She’s very thin—her ribs are really prominent. She’s young—about a year old, I’d guess.”
“But will she be all right?” I bite my lip.
“We’ve made her comfortable, but as there’s no owner…” the vet trails off and I know, instantly, that she means Beauty will have to be put down.
“But…” I mentally calculate the funds available to me in my savings account. Or on my credit card. Which is useless,
because I know that I don’t have the hundreds of dollars required to pay for Beauty’s treatment. Tears well in my eyes and I swipe at them as I think of who could lend me the money. Rachel would. I know she would.
I look up at Jack and see the tears in his eyes, too. And I like it that he’s not one of those men who thinks tears are for women. It makes him stronger. More compassionate.
“She’s a lovely dog,” the vet continues. “Such a friendly little thing, despite her pain. She’d make a really great pet.”
“Okay,” Jack says, pulling out his credit card. “Go ahead and do whatever needs to be done. I’ll take care of it.”
Oh God, but he’s lovely.
By nine, Beauty is comfortable and due to be operated on the next morning. We drive back to Hoboken in silence.
I feel curiously shy as I mull over the possibilities of me and Jack. Together. As a couple. But I like the idea, I really do. I think back to the night of the fated dinner, I think about what he said to me on the Fourth of July. He thinks my breasts are perfect…Plus he’s caring, sensitive, considerate.
And as we drive down Washington toward his house, I know. I just know that Tish is right. Life
is
too short. You
do
have to go after what you want, or it’ll pass you by. It’s time to stop dithering. It’s time to
carpe diem.
I’m just wondering about how to start the conversation and subtly turn it around to Jack and me when Jack (who has been doing a really good impression of a deaf-mute since we left the animal hospital), pulls the car over to the side of the road. And turns to face me. And takes my hand.
“Emma, we need to talk,” he tells me. “Properly. No running away, no pretending like we both don’t know what’s going on here. Because it’s time, princess.”
And for once I don’t direct my reply to some inanimate object, on account of no handy door, or floor being available. And because I don’t want to.
“Yes, we do,” I tell him, looking right back into his face. “About my boundaries. And how they’ve changed.”
He smiles, and I breathe a sigh of relief that his thoughts are running to the same place as mine.
“Yeah. And other stuff,” he says. “But not here. Let’s go home.”
Home. That sounds good.
“Okay,” I say, and he keeps a hold of my hand as we continue on our way.
And I
do
feel scared. I
am
nervous. So as we pull into the garage, I try to practice what I’m going to say and how I’m going to say it. But I can’t think of a damn thing, on account of my heart bumping in my chest, so I guess I’ll just have to fly by the seat of my pants. Every now and then, Jack gives my hand an encouraging little squeeze, so I know it will be all right. And I squeeze his hand right back.
But when we get back to the house, there is an unexpected surprise waiting for me on the steps.
Adam.
Crumpled, but still stylish. He is holding a bunch of red roses. The roses remind me of Beauty, and all that blood.
“Emmeline,” he says, getting to his feet. “I’ve been waiting for you for hours.”
“Adam. What are you doing here? How did you get this address?”
He gives me his lopsided Adam smile, the one that used to make my heart pittypat, and I have to admit, there is a small pitty. But only a very tiny one.
“Human Resources,” he says. “They have your address on file.”
Of course they do.
“Emmeline, I really need to talk to you. In private,” he says, for the first time acknowledging Jack’s existence. Jack squeezes my hand.
“Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to you,” Jack says. “Emma, let’s go,” he tells me, tugging at my hand.
But he’s wrong.
I do need to speak to Adam, to hear what he has to say. He was so important to me just a few months ago, and he disappeared from my personal life so suddenly that I didn’t have a chance to resolve things. I need to know why he rejected me. At the time it was almost like Adam the lover died. I think I need closure, so that I can move on to a new relationship.
With Jack.
“Jack, it’s okay,” I tell him, squeezing his hand in a reassuring way. But he doesn’t squeeze back. Instead he pulls his hand away.
My hand is cold, his face is stony and unforgiving.
He
has
to understand. He just
has
to.
“I’ll see you later. We’ll talk properly, I promise,” I say to his back as he bounds up the steps.
“Sure,” he says, closing the door. “Maybe.”
Oh God.
TO DO
“Emmeline, I’m leaving Cougan & Cray,” Adam tells me as we sit on a bench in the park. “Sezuma Advertising want me back. They called me yesterday and made me a fantastic offer.”
“That’s great,” I tell Adam, while I worry about Jack.
“Yeah. They want me to head their office in Hong Kong.”
“Wow. Hong Kong,” I say. Jack
must
know how I feel about him.
“The thing is…” Adam starts. “You know about me and Stella?”
“Yeah, I heard. I’m sorry about that,” I say, and mean it.
“It’s okay. It’s a relief, to be honest. I was blinded by her money, her beauty, her power. And I’m man enough to admit I have my faults.”
“That’s very good,” I say. “Self-awareness is very important.”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to say,” Adam says. “Self-awareness. You see, I’ve realized a lot about myself over the past few months. And one thing I know, is that I made a mistake with you, Emmeline.”
“You did?” I ask.
I think I made a mistake leaving Jack.
“Huge mistake. Stupidest thing I ever did, breaking up with you. So the thing is, I want you to come to Hong Kong with me.”
“What?”
There’s one I wasn’t expecting.
“Oh, Emmeline,” he says, taking my hands in his. “I was a fool to ever let you go. I was a fool to let Stella turn my head—”
I was a fool to leave Jack.
“I love you, Emmeline,” Adam says, and in that instant I know that I love Jack.
“I want you to marry me,” Adam says, and I know that I want Jack, married or not.
“It’ll be great. You and me. Mr. and Mrs. Blakestock, living the high life in Hong Kong. And you could be my assistant—I’ve made that part of the deal. You won’t be a secretary, you’ll be an account manager—just like you wanted. Isn’t that great? We’ll have to learn to speak Mandarin, but the company will pay for private lessons for both of us. And they’ve offered me a house as part of the deal. Private schools for the kids…”
It’s weird, isn’t it? If Adam had offered me all this three months ago, I’d have bitten off his hand right away. For sure, he’s successful, handsome, and getting-to-be-rich. I’d never have to worry about orthodontic care for the kids, or college funds or anything. And I’d get to live in Hong Kong, with a great apartment in Greenwich Village.
But I’ve changed.
I think about my ridiculous list of what I wanted to achieve by thirty. In a heartbeat, if I just say yes, Adam can give me everything.
Except Adam would
never
ruin his clothes for the sake of a mongrel dog. He’d
never
pay several hundred dollars to save it. Even if I loved Adam, which I don’t, I could never trust him again.
All the time I aspired to live in Manhattan, I couldn’t see that everything I want is right here in Hoboken. My friends, Jack…
All the time I wanted to get a great career…Well, I still want that, but not because someone handed it to me on a provisional plate.
And sure I want kids…but not with Adam.
“Adam,” I tell him. “Thank you. But I don’t love you. I can’t come to Hong Kong with you.”
“But—but why not?” he asks in disbelief. “Which part didn’t you like? Is it still the Stella thing?”
“Oh, it’s a great package,” I tell him, getting to my feet. “And I’m sure you’ll find the right woman to share it with. It’s just not going to be me. Good luck, Adam, I wish you well.”
And as my feet carry me away from him, I know that I mean it. Even though he is a bastard ionic bonder.
I walk quickly, because I have to see Jack and tell him that I love him.
But when I get home, the house is empty. It is
Jackless.
Maybe he went for a walk to clear his head? I’ll just make some herbal tea and sit and wait for him. But it’s late—it’s already eleven…I’ll wait for him in the living room.
I wake to the sound of voices in the kitchen, and for a moment I can’t think where I am or what I’m doing here. And then I remember I’m waiting for Jack.
Jack.
I must speak to him, I have to tell him…
As I hear the sound of feminine laughter, I pause at the kitchen door.
There’s a woman. In the kitchen.
With Jack.
I don’t
believe
it. There’s got to be some mistake. Maybe it’s all perfectly innocent. I have to put my faith in him, I have to trust him. I push open the kitchen door.
“Princess.” Jack laughs at me, his arm around Laura, or Susan, I can’t remember which one she is. “Come and join the party. You remember Karen, don’t you?” he says, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Lovely Karen.”
At this point I should just head out and leave them to it. Obviously, I’ve read all the signs wrong. Jack wouldn’t do this if he really cared about me.
Really
wanted me. But I can’t move. My feet are rooted to the spot. I can’t leave this unresolved, I have to know.
“I thought you wanted to talk,” I say, “I thought you’d wait for me.”
“Yeah, well, a guy can’t wait forever. So where is good old Adam?”
“You’re drunk,” I say.
“Not drunk enough,” he says, turning to Karen. “Let’s have some whiskey.”
“Now, honey, we don’t want you too drunk,” she tells him, laughing. “Too much of the sauce ain’t good for the gander, if you know what I mean.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, which is stupid, because I know full well what’s going on. Jack is back to his old ways. He’s pissed at me, so he called Karen.
“I could ask you the same question, princess. So what did good old Adam want? Like I can’t guess.”
Pride, in the name of saving face, I think to myself. Got to salvage something.
“He asked me to marry him,” I say. “He wants me to go to Hong Kong with him.”
“Congratulations, princess. He’s all you ever wanted. Hope you’ll be very happy with him and your Tiffany ring.”
Call me a dog worrying at a bone, if you like, but pride aside, I can’t leave things like this.
“Jack, I don’t understand,” I say. “I thought we had a—a
thing
going here…”
“Hon, we never had a thing. See, the problem with you is
that you’re too—too—
effusy.
You know. Hugh explained it to me. Smart guy, Hugh. Smarter than me, that’s for sure.”
“What? This is getting too weird for me,” Karen says.
“Effusy?”
I ask.
“Yeah. Gas particles. Lots of pressure. Passing through the eye of a needle, or something small, anyway. Tiny opening. See, that’s you. You find a tiny opening and you run. Slightest excuse and you escape.”
I don’t have a clue what he’s talking about, but then he is drunk so I figure that must have something to do with it. But he wasn’t drunk when he left this house, desperately seeking Karen. Is this how it would be?
“So this is what you do when you’re pissed at someone?” I ask.
“Don’t know what you mean, princess.”
“What I
mean
is that I had a lucky escape. If you go in search of the nearest skirt every time we have a difference of opinion, it doesn’t hold much hope for us, does it?”
“Hey, I’m not a skirt,” Karen says. “Me and Jack go back a ways.”
“Princess,” he says, taking a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle. “See, that’s where you got it wrong. What is this
us
you keep talking about? There is no
us.
There never
was.
”
Jesus, I really did get it wrong. I’m a fool. I’m an idiot. I want the ground to open up and swallow me.
“C’mere, beautiful,” Jack says to Karen, then pulls her toward him and kisses her.
With tongues.
My humiliation is more or less complete. I have nothing more to say, or do. Except one thing.
“I’ll move out first thing tomorrow,” I say.
“Anything you want, princess,” Jack tells me, then returns to kissing Karen.
I will not be dismissed like this.
I let Adam get away with this, I sure as hell am not going quietly into any sweet night this time. Not without having my say.
“If you could just put her down for a moment,” I say, because my temper is kicking into gear. “I have a thing or two I’d like to say to you.”
“Can’t we talk later? That
is
your thing, isn’t it, princess? Talking later? Why do it now if it can wait until tomorrow?”
“Hey, shall I leave you two alone?” Karen asks. “I don’t get what’s going on here, but this is the strangest uncle-niece thing I ever saw. I’ll wait for you in the bedroom, sweetie,” she tells Jack. “Don’t worry, I know the way.”
“She’s not the only one, is she, Jack?” I say after Karen leaves. “The whole female population of Hoboken knows the way to your bed.”
“Yeah, well you’ll never find out what you’re missing,” he says, slashing my heart with his tongue.
“That’s your trouble, Jack. You hide the real you with one-night stands, just because your
stupid
fiancée slept with your
stupid
best friend. You think we’re all like that? You think I’m like that? You think I’ll betray you at the first opportunity?”
It’s true. I didn’t see it before, but I know I’m right. Jack is saying nothing, he’s leaning against the refrigerator with his bottle in his hand.
“You just don’t know how to trust,” I continue. “The slightest problem and you assume someone’s going to cheat on you. The smallest glitch and you’re off chasing skirts to preserve the good old Ionic Bonder Jack image. Well, you’re lying to yourself, Jack,” I say. “And now you’ll never find out if we had a chance or not.”
For long moments there is silence, and I’m just starting to hope that my words have sunk in.
“You sound like Peri,” Jack says, finally. “You finished the lecture now? ’Cause I’m going to bed. See you around, princess.”
Upstairs in the attic, I systematically gather my things together ready to pack into my car. I want to leave now, but it’s too late to call any of my friends. I don’t want to stay another
night in this house, not with Jack and Karen making out only a floor below me, but I don’t think I have any choice.
There’s always the backseat of my car…
No, I didn’t sleep in my car last night. I did think about it, then dismissed it as stupid and dangerous.
I was packed by five this morning, so I quietly crept up and down the stairs, carrying my possessions out of Jack’s house to my car. Despite about twenty trips up and down the stairs, I carefully avoided looking at his closed bedroom door.
By six, I was done and out of there. I managed to get a parking space near to Tish’s apartment, which is good, and then I whiled away the time at the station—the café there opens at some ungodly hour.
By my third coffee, I’ve had plenty of time to reflect on my life and it isn’t pretty. Yet again, I’m back to square one. Boyfriend-less, homeless, hopeless.
But at least I have a job, I tell myself. Maybe I should just forget about men and concentrate on my career for a while. At least I have my excellent friends. Actually, I saw an interview with Will Smith on
E!
some time ago and it’s kind of stayed with me. He said that achievement was all a question of math. All I have to do is imagine where I want to be, work out where I am now, and try to figure out what I have to do to get there. Now I come to think of it, math is exactly like Zen, isn’t it? Will Smith and Angie are two very smart people.
Anyway, I shall start planning my career on Monday. I’m not going to work today or tomorrow. I’m taking time off sick, because I am sick.
I have Jack-itus.
I have a broken heart. I thought it was broken after Adam, but I was wrong. After Adam I was humiliated and hurt, but my heart was only bruised. A little ragged round
the edges, maybe, but basically intact. It took Jack to worm his way into my affections and break it into a million tiny pieces.
I hang around the station until nine thirty, and a fourth cup of coffee, when I know Tish’s shop will be open. I am glad to leave because the guy in the coffee shop is starting to think I’m a hooker looking for a client. I will not think about sex, I tell myself, because it’s unlikely I’ll get any in the foreseeable future.
Thank God Tish is here, I think, as I push open her door.
“Emma, what are you doing here, shouldn’t you be at work? Oh my God, you look like shit. You look sick. Are you sick?”
“Yes,” I tell her. “I have Jack-itus. It’s incurable and I may never get over it. Can I rent your apartment?” I ask, then burst into tears.
Friday evening
“But I don’t get it,” Katy says, for the umpteenth time. “I was so sure I was right about you and Jack. Don’t you two agree?” she asks, looking at Tish and Rachel.
“No,” Rachel lies. “Definitely not the guy for Emma—definitely a bastard ionic bonder.”
“Well, maybe I thought that at first,” Tish says, then after Rachel glares at her, “but not now, of course not now. Bastard ionic bonder.”
My friends are so lovely. So loyal.
“He was in Rufus’s deli earlier,” Tish adds, and my heart starts its familiar pittypat. “He looked like shit.”
“Serves him right,” Rachel says, “It was probably his hangover and his guilty conscience. Anyway, the AIDS benefit was a huge success. Sylvester and David are still counting the proceeds. Have some more wine.”
See what I mean? Rachel is swiftly changing the subject to save me from more pain.
We are having a girly night at my (Tish’s) place. I must say, it’s strange living here without Tish—but there is a lot more space, and it’s nice not to have to sleep on the sofa.
The reason for the girly night, despite having men waiting for them at home, is because they are afraid that if left alone I will do myself harm. They should know by now that I am allergic to pain in any shape or form. Except
Jack
pain. I think I’ve cried me more than one little river…
Anyway, tonight we have pizza, because Tish, Rachel, and Katy worry that I’ll undo all my good work and lose weight. Due to my broken heart. The pizza is large, thin-crust, with extra cheese, of course. We have wine (Australian Shiraz of a very nice vintage—we developed an expensive taste in wine after Tish stole six bottles of Adam’s good stuff) and the video of choice tonight is
Men in Black.