Come Dancing (18 page)

The car stopped in front of Odeon, where we were hustled back to a banquette and given drinks. Dot polished off her gin in record time. The waiter immediately brought a refill, after which she picked up her menu and read each entrée out loud to us, along with the prices. “I’ll have the chicken,” she concluded. “Although I don’t see how they can charge eighteen dollars.”

“That’s New York for you,” Jack said. “For that price, it should come with a side of Moroccan. What do you have on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“I’d like to see the Statue of Liberty,” Dot replied. “And Bloomingdale’s.” She got a fresh pack from her purse and shook out a cigarette. Jack reached into his shirt pocket and flicked his lighter for her.

“Those places are miles apart. I’ll have Rick pick you up in the morning; I can take a cab to the studio.”

“Oh, that would be great. My feet are killing me,” Dot said. “Is that a… music studio you’re going to?”

“Yes, we’re working on a new album, trying to finish it up.”

“I’ve always liked your songs. The earlier ones are better than your last few, though,” she stated unapologetically. “But your hair looks better than before. You used to wear it much too long.”

I stuck my tongue in my cheek to keep from laughing. Jack merely nodded and said, “I suppose a lot of people agree with you.”

The waiter put our dishes on the table and brought fresh drinks all around. Dot stabbed out her cigarette in the bread plate and sawed into her chicken with gusto. She gestured at Jack with her knife. “Julia was keeping you a secret,” she said, her words slurring a little. I hoped she wouldn’t get too sloppy before the meal was over.

“She was? Hmm. She’s a cool one, your daughter. Very closed-mouthed at times,” he said, his eyes alight with humor.

“I would have come a lot sooner if I’d known.” She forked up her mashed potatoes.

“You would?” Jack grinned. It occurred to me that he was enjoying this far too much.

“Oh, sure. I need to keep tabs on her. I’m not much older than you, you know,” she added with complete lack of segue.

“I would have thought you and I were the same age, if you didn’t have a grown daughter,” Jack said flirtatiously.

“People do say I don’t look a day over thirty-nine.”

“I would have said thirty-five, tops.”

Dot inclined toward him confidentially. “Julia’s not getting any younger either. She’s twenty-four.”

“Jack knows how old I am,” I interrupted.

“I’m starting to think she’ll never get married,” she continued.

“I think you should be concerned,” Jack said, regarding me through his eyelashes. “She’s no spring chicken.”

“Can you not talk about me as if I’m not here?” I asked.

“Sorry, Julia. I didn’t know it was such a sensitive topic,” Jack said.

“It’s not. You’re the one who’s no spring chicken.”

“I thought I had a twenty-year-old’s physique,” he replied in an injured tone.

“You do look like you’re in good shape,” my mother said. “You just need a haircut.”

“I was saying the same thing to Julia the other day. You caught a ride up here with someone; is he a beau?”

“I used to play the field, but Darrell’s just a friend.” Dot drew on her cigarette.

“How
is
the field in Pennsylvania?” Jack asked.

“Sometimes the pickings are slim,” she admitted.

“I’ll bet you don’t find yourself without company very often.”

“Lately I’ve hit a dry spell. The past couple of years, to be honest.” Her expression slumped. “It’s tough being alone at my age. At a certain point all the men want to go out with much younger women.”

I glanced at Jack; he didn’t seem to take this comment personally.

“It worries me to death, Julia being in such a big city all on her own. She thinks she can handle everything herself. I used to be that way too, before I got married. But life has a way of slapping you down. I don’t want that to happen to her.” She gave Jack a hard look. “And I don’t want her to get hurt by anyone who doesn’t realize how special she is.”

I stared at my mother; never in a million years would I have expected this speech.

The waiter came by and I said, “Check, please,” before Dot could order another drink. Seeing her rising unsteadily from the chair, Jack took her arm on the way out. I opened the car door so he could help her in, and he sat between us.

“So Dot, I might not see you tomorrow since I tend to rise late, and I have to be at the studio by one. But I’m glad I got the chance to meet you,” Jack said.

“I’m glad you got to meet me, too,” she muttered, her eyes at half-mast. She looked like she might pass out on his shoulder.

Jack held her elbow again so she wouldn’t stumble going up my stairs. We entered the loft and I stood by the door.

“Mom. I’m staying at Jack’s tonight. I’ll probably be back before you wake up. Okay?” I hoped she wouldn’t make a fuss about it.

Dot looked at us and shrugged. “All right, I guess you’re a big girl.”

We hurried downstairs and got in the car. Wordlessly we grabbed hold, kissing and feeling each other all the way to his place. We ripped off our clothes as soon as we got inside. Jack backed me up against the wall, bent his knees and impaled me. His strong hands cupped my behind, the force of his thrusts lifting my toes off the floor. Just as his entire body started to tense, he pulled away.

“Let’s get in bed,” he said in a husky voice, breathing hard. He led me back to his room. “I’ve put money in your meter, baby; now I’m gonna check your oil.” He scooped me up and laid me on the sheets, pushed my thighs apart, and teased and licked until I writhed in pleasure. Immediately he glided into me again.

“I think you like this, Miss Nash,” he murmured. In answer, I wrapped my legs around his waist to draw him in deeper. I felt his muscles gathering, but then he withdrew, moved down my body, and touched me with the tip of his tongue.

“That first time was all right, but I’m sure you can do better,” he said. Syrupy and saturated, I didn’t think I could—but he proved me wrong.

Once more Jack climbed onto me and parted me with his cock. His taut abdomen brushed me as he moved, creating exquisite aftershocks that made me want to hold completely still and relish the sensation. Just as I was sure he was letting go, he left me yet again and slid downward. This time I came so hard, I heard myself scream. Jack rammed into me, gave three molten strokes, and with a wild cry, finally erupted.

“God, Julia. You’ll have to have your mother up more often,” he commented as we lay there recovering.

“That was definitely … the climax of the evening,” I said, trying to collect my wits. “Although the meal was delicious.” It was hard to have a casual conversation with him after such an earth-moving experience. I turned toward him on the pillow. “I hope she didn’t seem too awful.”

“Not awful in the least. I understand she wasn’t a great parent when you were younger, but she struck me as kind of lonesome.”

“Part of the reason she’s lonely is that she got a bad reputation. She broke up her marriage to my Dad by sleeping with her manager at the hardware store.”

“Well, you never know what goes on between a couple. Two sides to every story.”

“In this case, I think the fault was all hers. But anyway, thank you for being nice to her.”

“It’s always easier to get along when it’s not your own. My Mum has her moments too. What time do you want Rick to pick you up, so you can see Bloomingdale’s and the statue before she leaves?”

“I love how she lumps them together. I don’t know, maybe seven?”

“I’ll have him stop by. Oh, Suzanne told me to ask if you’d like to see her studio tomorrow afternoon. You said something about it the other night, so I gave her your number. She’d love to show her stuff to a new victim.”

“That would be great.” Having never been to an artist’s studio, I was intrigued.

“Don’t get your hopes up in terms of the artwork,” Jack commented. “But at least you two could have a nice lunch, if she’ll go for something other than tofu. I have to record some vocals and do an interview with Patrick, then we’ll hit that party at the Mudd Club. If you aren’t planning to stay in with your fucking homework.”

I tried not to act too gleeful. “Sure, if it won’t get in the way of your other plans. I have an idea; want to trade places with me, since you like my Mom so much? You can explore the perfume counters, and I’ll fill in on guitar.”

Jack smiled. “No such luck. What time’s her bus?”

“Eleven o’clock. I’ll get her there nice and early so she doesn’t miss it.”

I got up at five the next morning and walked back to my place. True to his word, Jack sent Rick over and we made it to both landmarks, much to Dot’s delight. We got to the Port Authority terminal on time, and she told me goodbye with an unsolicited promise to return soon.

“I really liked Jack,” she said. “His hair kind of grew on me.”

I treated myself to a visual of my mother with a wild rock’n’roll ‘do sprouting from her head. “He liked you too.”

“You know, with the restaurant prices around here, Jack would probably appreciate you cooking for him once in a while. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” she advised. “Maybe he’d like a cake.”

“I’m not much of a cook.” That was an understatement.

“Oh, it’s simple. You just need an egg beater; I didn’t see one in your drawers.”

She’d probably rummaged through every nook and cranny while I was out. “All right, Mom. Have a good trip.” With a sigh of relief, I put her on the bus and took the subway home.

Nite Klub

After unpacking my weekend reading, I put on Billie very low. I was editing a new nonfiction manuscript of Harvey’s about the Korean War; something I didn’t know much about, but had to trust that the author did. Just when I was ready for a break, Suzanne called and suggested we meet at her studio.

I walked across town to Avenue B, passing bleary-eyed people creeping out of decrepit buildings that appeared to be condemned. The entire East Village was basically one giant crack den, which meant you had to be on your toes even in the daytime. Picking my way around discarded syringes outside Tompkins Square, I reached Suzanne’s place and took a creaky freight elevator to the top floor. The door opened into an airy loft with several big skylights. Suzanne looked the part in overalls spattered with paint, her red hair bandannaed out of her face.

“It’s so nice of you to come.” She gave a toothy smile and held her cigarette aside to kiss my cheek. “Let me show you what I’ve been working on.” She gestured toward two unfinished pieces on easels.

“Those are very nice.” She had daubed splotches of paint on the canvas and put feathers into the wet patches to dry. The effect was, as Jack had put it, like a parakeet had flown into a window and bled colors down the pane.

Suzanne smiled. “Thanks. I’ve been feeling kind of stuck lately.” She dropped her cigarette and crushed it into the tarp. “I was thinking of adding another type of material; maybe glass beads?” She seemed to be asking my opinion.

“That might be interesting.” I recalled the bird-watching guide I’d just finished proofing. “Or since you love birds so much, what about doing paintings of them? A lot of people are really into them.”

“Hmm, that’s an idea. I’ll think about it.” Suzanne put her hands on her hips and stared at the canvas. “To be honest, I’m getting a little bored with the artist thing. Maybe I should go back into fashion. I just feel …” She turned to me, a searching look in her eyes. “… like I need something of my own to do. Mark doesn’t want kids yet, and I don’t really either. But I need something to keep me occupied, other than organizing his life. You know?”

“I think it’s good to do your own thing,” I agreed. “Did you like being a designer?”

“Not that much, really. It was mostly Mark forcing his friends’ wives and girlfriends to buy my dresses. Once they’d all bought a few, it kind of dried up.” She lit another cigarette and blew smoke toward the skylights. “What I’d really like is to have my own hair salon, but he doesn’t want me dealing with the public.”

“Has Ariel been any help in getting into the art scene?”

“Not really. She’s dragged me along to a few parties, but I always feel like they’re laughing at me. I don’t know why it has to be so difficult; I see ridiculous things selling like hotcakes. This Schnabel guy glues pieces of his dinner plates to canvas, and he’s considered a genius. Let’s get lunch,” she said, her expression brightening. “There’s a great macrobiotic place on First.”

We hit the street and walked to a cubbyhole of a restaurant. A sullen waitress poured us green tea without speaking and put an ashtray in front of Suzanne, who lit another cig. “I usually get the brown rice and steamed vegetables,” she said.

“I’ll have that too.” The waitress went behind a beaded curtain and started shouting at someone in the kitchen to wake up.

“I admire you for working so hard at your job,” Suzanne said. “Aside from the painting, I haven’t done much since I’ve been with Mark.”

“How long have you been together?”

“Six years. We met when I was a stylist in a salon in London. I did his hair, and one thing led to another.”

The waitress plunked down two steaming bowls.

“I feel so much better since I went macrobiotic. I’m very careful what I put into my body,” Suzanne said, stubbing out her cigarette. “I’d like Mark to go all-natural, but so far no dice. He says Jack would give him too hard a time. They like to tweak each other, as you may have noticed.”

“They do seem close.” I took a bite of undercooked brown rice.

“They’re like brothers, and Sammy takes everything up a notch. They egg each other on, which can be funny, but sometimes it gets tiresome.” She put down her fork, having eaten only a few mouthfuls, and lit up again.

“Does Patrick hang out with them much?” I asked, since she hadn’t mentioned him.

“Oh, Patrick is a special case altogether. He’s been in his own world the past couple of years. The blow-me bubble, Jack calls it. But Jack doesn’t let him get away with it. Mark and Sammy are intimidated by him, but Jack just lets it fly. Plus,” Suzanne added, “they have their little four-way competition going.”