Keep Dancing (8 page)

“Here’s my advice: Eat vegetarian tonight.”

“I think I’ll go ahead and serve them, and we’ll see.”

I hung up and went back to the kitchen. When I opened the oven, it emitted an odiferous puff. Jack stifled a cough behind his hand.

“I’m going to take this out and check if it’s cooked enough. At least we can have the other stuff if it isn’t.”

I put a towel under the pan so it wouldn’t leak black drippings on the floor, and put it into the sink to drain. I got out two plates, speared a charred hen onto each, and scooped a good portion of the rice and green beans on the side.

“Why don’t we eat on the couch?” Jack said.

“Yes, it’s way too smoky in here.” We carried our plates out front, Jack pouring us each another glass of wine. I watched as he cut into his chicken and put a piece in his mouth. He chewed slowly and swallowed.

“Not bad,” he said, taking a big sip of his drink. “Not much different from the last squab I had.”

Heartened by his reaction, I took a bite of mine—and immediately spat it out. “Oh, that’s horrible!” I seized my glass and took a huge gulp to wash out the execrable taste. Burnt to a crisp on the outside, the meat was raw and, amazingly, still cold beneath its blackened surface. “Don’t eat it! You might get sick.” I snatched up both our plates, took them to the kitchen and threw the meat into the trashcan. I scraped the rice and beans onto clean dishes and brought them back to where Jack was sitting.

“At least we can have the rest of our meal.” I took a forkful of the rice. A gummier mess I’d never had in my mouth; gummy and, I realized, somehow still uncooked, as I crunched down on several tough grains.

“Don’t bother trying to eat this.” Tears came to my eyes.

“The beans are delicious,” Jack said, chewing a mouthful.

“Oh, it’s all awful.” I jumped up and took our plates to the kitchen.

Jack followed me in. “Maybe something
is
wrong with the oven. I’ll get somebody to look at it. All right with you if I order Chinese?”

“I’ll have some too. It’s probably not the oven; Vicky said I should have defrosted the hens first.”

Jack shrugged. “That never would have occurred to me, either.”

The next morning, Meredith stopped by. Quickly I slid the
Post,
my secret vice, inside a copy of the
New York Times
.

“How’d it go with the Cornish hens?” she asked.

I hesitated for a moment. “They caught on like a house on fire.”

Kid

“Crikey, look at all the bugs!” Oliver shouted. We’d just gotten back from picking him up at the airport with Jack’s driver, Rick. Although it was only late afternoon, I already felt tired. Ollie had peppered us with questions about what we were going to do (“Anything your heart desires,” Jack said with a fond smile); whether he could see the Statue of Liberty (“I’m sure that can be arranged”); and if he and Jack could shoot a fish off the Empire State Building (“Err, probably not”). Once we got through the tunnel, Ollie began exclaiming about the sights on Manhattan’s slushy streets.

“What’s that guy doing?” He pointed to a man carrying a dripping stick with a dirty sponge taped to it.

“That’s a squeegee. He wants to wipe the windshield with it,” Jack said as Rick edged the car forward at the stoplight. The man followed, gesticulating angrily.

“Why doesn’t Rick let him?” Ollie wanted to know.

Rick turned around in the front seat. “Because he’ll only make it dirtier.”

“What’s he doing now?” The guy had grabbed the radio antenna and was bending it down toward the hood.

“He’s upset that he didn’t get a tip,” Jack said as the car roared through the red light. “Next time, give ’im a fiver,” he added to Rick.

Now that we were in the apartment, Ollie was gesturing wildly at the praying mantises, making the tiny green creatures scrabble to the opposite side of the mesh cage.

“That was my Christmas present from Julia.” Jack went to stand beside him. “Isn’t it great?”

“Can I play with them?” Ollie looked up at Jack, his brown eyes sparkling, one eyebrow lifted. If I didn’t know better, I, too, would have thought he was Jack’s love child.

Jack put his hand on Ollie’s shoulder. “They’re too young to play with, but maybe we can let one out of the cage for a while next week, when they’re bigger. They’re fun to watch.”

“I love bugs!” Ollie shouted.

The mantises scuttled frantically into a corner, piling up on each other.

“Indoor voice, please, Ollie,” I said, recalling what Sharon had repeatedly told him.

“I don’t have an indoor voice!”

After a bowl of spaghetti with butter, two ice cream cones, and a giant lollipop, Oliver chased Jack around the apartment playing tag as I tried to get some editing done in the bedroom. Jack came in, panting. “I think I’ve finally worn him out,” he said. “Time to get him to bed.” He went into the walk-in closet and came out with sheets and a pillow. Although Jack’s loft was huge, it had only one bedroom, so we planned to put Ollie on the fold-out couch.

“I’ll come say goodnight.” I put my pages aside.

“Want to read him some
Henry and Beezus
?” Jack had been working with a dyslexia tutor for several months, ever since his reading problem was identified. Now he was making his way through the Beverly Cleary novels, which I had loved as a kid. I hadn’t met the tutor yet; she came in the early afternoons when I was at work. She must be really good though, because Jack had made incredible progress.

“You don’t want to read it yourself?” I asked.

“Why don’t you? Me eyes are a bit fagged.” He switched to his native Cockney.

I got the book and went out to the couch, which Jack had already unfolded. We spread the sheets and Ollie clambered in between us. After a few pages, he climbed onto my lap to better see the pictures. I could feel his heart beating against my chest like a little wild animal’s. I wasn’t sure if he’d want me to, but I cuddled him close until his head began to nod. It felt nice to hold his small, warm body. Jack’s arm was around my shoulder, his long lithe frame stretched out beside me.

“Let’s get him tucked in,” Jack whispered.

As I eased Ollie onto the sheets, his eyes popped open. “I always sleep with Budgie. Did Mum remember to pack her?”

“I’m sure she did. It’s his favorite stuffed animal,” Jack said to me. He knelt to poke through Ollie’s bag and then straightened up. “I don’t see it in here. You’ll be all right without it.”

“I can’t sleep without Budgie!” Ollie sat up, wide-eyed. “She’s my lovey!”

“Hang on.” Jack hurried back to the bedroom. I was starting to feel bleary, having gotten up at five a.m. to finish reading a manuscript. Jack came back with something yellow and frizzy bundled under his arm. “This is
my
lovey,” he said. I saw what it was; the scuzzy blonde wig that was usually crammed onto a shelf in his closet. “I’ll let you borrow it while you’re here. It’s nice and soft, isn’t it?” He rolled it into a ball and tucked it in next to Ollie. “I call her…” He looked at me for help.

“Frowsy?” I suggested.

“Blondie,” he said firmly. “Her name is Blondie.”

“She’s nice and soft,” Ollie murmured, snuggling into the wig. His eyes began to close. Jack put his finger to his lips, dimmed the lamp, and gestured for me to follow.

“God, all day I’ve been dying for it,” Jack said as he picked up speed. I felt the sinews shifting in his back, his shoulders flexing with tension. “I can’t hold off much longer.”

“Try not to make any noise,” I said, grabbing him tightly.

“He won’t wake up. Ahh…” Jack’s voice became a moan. It rose in pitch as he moved faster, building toward his climax. “I’m gonna—”

The doorknob rattled. “Uncle Jack!”

I snatched at the sheets as Jack quickly pushed up off me. I managed to cover my chest before Jack opened the door, holding a tee-shirt over his groin. Ollie burst into the room. “What happened? I heard someone crying!”

Jack plopped down on the edge of the bed. “I was just—having a dream.” He rubbed his face tiredly.

“Can I stay here? Blondie’s itchy.”

Jack looked at me. “I don’t think we’ll get any rest otherwise.”

“All right. But can he sleep on your side?” I whispered.

“Sure.” Jack moved to the middle of the bed. “C’mon, Ollie. It’ll be like that time we went camping.”

Ollie scrambled onto the pillow next to Jack. “I knew this trip was going to be great!”

I awoke at my usual early hour, feeling Jack’s warm hand cupping my breast.
Mmmm, he probably wants a quick toss before I go to work.
Instead of being tired, I was really in the mood for it. I stretched, arms over my head in the darkness, feeling my nipple harden as his fingers squeezed me gently. I rolled to my side to reach under the covers—and jerked away as a small body snuggled against my hip.
Oh my god, I forgot Ollie was in bed with us! He must have switched places with Jack in the night.
I removed the sleeping kid’s hand from my boob and slid out from under the covers.
Good god, I almost…
I shook my head at the thought.
He’ll have to stay on his side of the bed tonight. Maybe I can barricade myself with pillows,
I thought as I got dressed in the bathroom.

They were both still asleep when I tiptoed out of the apartment for my early-morning jog. Before I left, I tucked a twenty-dollar bill into my sneaker tongue; a New York City runner’s trick so I’d have something to hand over if I got mugged. I came back an hour later, my face numb from the cold. Quickly I showered and left for work, leaving Jack and Ollie snoring lightly on the pillows.

When Jack called me at the office around noon, I told him what happened.

“He’s a breast man, just like his uncle.”

“That’s not funny. Do you think he can sleep on the couch tonight?” I asked.

“I dunno. We can try it. I’m going to take him to Odeon for lunch, and then to the studio. Mark’s going to let him bash around on the drums.”

I couldn’t picture Ollie sitting still for long at the fancy restaurant. “Drums sound like just the ticket,” I said. “Let him get his ya-yas out.”

After several days I was getting used to Ollie being at our place, but it was taking a toll on Jack. Not that he didn’t love spending time with his nephew. Over the weekend we’d gone to the Museum of Natural History (Jack wearing a floppy hat so he wouldn’t be recognized); to Serendipity on the Upper East Side for ice cream, where Jack got mobbed by a bunch of teenage girls; and on several outings to the studio, where Ollie was allowed to have at Mark’s drums and Sammy’s keyboard.

After we finished a late breakfast on Sunday, Jack got on the phone with Sammy. “I owe you one,” I heard him say before hanging up. “Me knob’s turning blue.”

“It’s only been four days,” I said.

“Four and a half. Sammy’s taking him to the zoo. It’ll be fun for Oliver, and even more fun for me.” Jack waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

I had to admit, I was ready for a little adult time too. Jack roused Ollie from his cartoon-watching and got him dressed in warm clothes. “Do they have elephants?” he asked as Jack pulled a sweater over his head.

“No elephants. But a very cool panther, I’ve heard.”

“Why aren’t you coming?” Ollie asked. Jack zipped him into his coat.

“Julia has to do some editing, and I have to concentrate on this song. It’s only for a few hours,” he said.

There was a knock, and Sammy entered the loft blowing on his fingers. His sandy brown hair was shoulder-length, and his soul patch had flecks of snow in it.

“Cold as a witch’s ti—hey there, young fella!” He came up to Ollie and rumpled his hair. “Ready to shake up the wild animals? How are you, Miz Julia?” he asked in his Marietta, Georgia drawl.

“I’m good. Thanks for this,” I said.

“Sam-my! Sam-my!” Oliver chanted, pulling on his coattails. “Did you bring me some sweets?”

“I may have something in here for you,” Sammy said. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a joint. “Whoops, wrong pocket. You ready to rock an’ roll?”

“Yeah!” Ollie cried.

“Don’t rush back,” Jack said, plumping Oliver’s hat on his head and escorting them to the door. “Take your time. Go out for lunch after. On me.”

“All right, I got it. Julia, I want him good and relaxed when I get back,” Sammy replied with a grin.

I blushed. “I’ll do my best.”

“Alone at last.” Jack shut the door. “Now come here. I have a vision of what I want to do to you. You’re gonna get very hot and sweaty before it’s all over.”

After a little nap, Jack rolled onto his back and lit a joint. “De ganja make de mon happy.” He inhaled deeply, held it in for an interminable minute and then blew an acrid-smelling cloud toward the ceiling. “I’m afraid to smoke around Ollie; Sharon would skin me alive. Want some?”

“I’d better not. I have to get some work done this afternoon,” I said. The few times I’d tried pot, it had really knocked me out.

“Maybe it would
help
with the editing.” Jack took another big suck of the joint, sparking the tip. “Puts me in the mood to make music.”

“It would put me in the mood to go to sleep. After I giggled for about an hour.”

“That’s what you always say. Are you ever able to read just for pleasure, or are you always thinking while you’re reading? Being an editor, I mean.” Jack gazed at me through his eyelashes.

“It is a little hard to turn it off, even when I’m reading for fun. I’m usually analyzing the word choices the author made. How about you, when you’re listening to other people’s music?”

“Nah, I can’t listen without critiquing it. I’m always thinking: How’d they do that? Or else, why on earth
did
they do that?” He held out the joint. “But you don’t want to have a toke with me? Why not let go a little?”

I smiled. “I think that’s what I just did.”

“Yes, you did seem to enjoy yourself. Especially that last time. Something to be said for synchronicity.”