Come Dancing (20 page)

“Watching you dance turns me on,” he spoke in my ear. “Like the first time I saw you. Want to go?”

“Yes,” I breathed. He took my arm and we headed toward the exit. All at once he came to an abrupt standstill, staring at a slim, busty blonde in a midriff-skimming top who was gyrating frenetically around Patrick. Jack started to turn in another direction, but the woman spied him and bounded over to us. Jack stood in front of me, and with a sinking feeling I realized who she was.

“Having fun?” Nicole said, waving her cigarette. “Who’s this you’ve got with you?”

“None of your concern,” Jack said through his clenched jaw. “Let’s go.” He pulled me past the clots of people to the stairs. We hurried out to the street, where the photographers were still lying in wait. The bulbs popped again and again; I was so unnerved by having seen Nicole that I forgot to put on my sunglasses. At least from her jutting hipbones it was obvious she wasn’t several months pregnant.

“I don’t know who invited her, but I’m going to make it a point to find out,” Jack said once we were in the car.

“She really seems to have it out for you.” I wished I hadn’t seen her; now that I knew what she looked like, I could envision him being with her. In fact, she was exactly the type of blonde I’d think someone like him would be with: tall, big-boobed, sort of slutty in an expensive way.

“What a night. I wanted to relax, and then she has to come along and fuck it up. Let’s just forget about her.”

Jack was pouring two mugs of coffee the next morning when the phone started ringing. “Didn’t unplug the goddamn thing,” he muttered, and grabbed it on the eighth ring. He listened for a minute, then I heard him snarl, “Mary Jo will send you one last check, and that’s it. You’ve got to stop calling me.” He pulled out a chair and sat with his head in his hands.

“I’ll have to get Mary Jo to change my number,” he said slowly. “I hate to do it, but she’s not going to let up.”

I was rattled by this renewed assault from Nicole. I wondered what he’d promised her when they were going out together. Something must have gone on between them for her to pursue him this way. An image of Dot scurrying after the guy in the pickup truck flitted across my mind.

“I’m going to head back to my place.” I started toward the bedroom to get dressed. Frowning, Jack pushed back his chair.

“Were you two engaged?” I blurted out.

“Engaged? Why would you think that?” His voice had a rough edge to it.

“Just the way she’s acting.”

“I told you I only went out with her for a couple of months. Very sporadically. My cock liked her for a while, but even that got old.”

Is that what he’ll be saying about me a few weeks from now?
“I need to leave soon anyway. I have plans tonight.”

Jack looked surprised, but that was too bad. He wasn’t the only one who could go out with other people over the weekend.

Cross-eyed and Painless

The sky had just gone dark; I could hear music playing up on the roof. Vicky and I took the elevator to the top floor and climbed a short flight of steps. When she’d called me about this party in Brooklyn Heights—thrown by a friend who worked at Viking—I’d decided I should treat Jack to some of his own medicine. Maybe it would do him good to see that I wasn’t hanging around hoping he’d want to spend all weekend with me.

Vicky adjusted her skirt, which had hiked up during the climb. The stars were beginning to sparkle, and up this high there was a slight breeze to relieve the oppressive heat. The crowd was an interesting mix of publishing people, artists, and punks; the partner of the Viking publicist was a videographer, and they had a lot of edgy friends. We found Kelly and Iris handing out miniature bottles of bubbles and little eggs of stretchy putty. Vicky gave them the bag of mooing cow cubes we’d picked up in Chinatown, as everyone had been told to contribute a favorite party favor. They were so cute, I’d kept a few for myself.

We caught up with the women and then went in search of beverages. I didn’t recognize the music blasting out of the speakers, but Vicky said it was a group called Blue Angel whose vocalist, Cyndi, was fantastic. People were lying back on mattresses, smoking joints and gazing at the stars. Brando’s
On the Waterfront
was being projected on one side of a brick wall; the other side showed one of Iris’s video installations that interspersed women kissing with buildings being dynamited.

“Cool party,” I commented.

“Yes, but why’d they hide the bar over there?” A shirtless guy was pouring drinks at a sticky table made of soldered-together television sets. As we waited, two pink-mohawked women shared lines of coke on a jagged piece of glass. We got our beers and went to the edge of the roof, abutted by a waist-high wall. The lights of lower Manhattan shimmered in the distance, the Towers’ lids glowing like UFOs.

“Here’s to being footloose for one night,” Vicky said. “Just like old times. At least you’re seeing somebody great, unlike me.” She’d had a big fight with Sammy when she stumbled on him feeling up a girl at the Mudd Club.

“At least your job is going great, unlike mine. If romance
and
work ever click, I’ll feel like I’ve won the lottery.”

Vicky raised her eyebrow at something behind me; a couple of guys sharing a smoke. They came over and the first, wearing a scarlet Siouxsie and the Banshees tee-shirt, passed the joint to Vicky.

“How’s it going?” he shouted over the booming music.

“It’s starting to pick up.” Vicky took a hit and held it out to me. I hesitated for a second; pot really wiped me out.

“Go ahead, it’s homegrown on Neal’s windowsill,” the blond guy said. “I suppose you’re from the publishing contingent.”

“How did you know?” I inhaled and held the smoke in, trying to suppress a cough.

“You don’t have any piercings or tattoos. That are visible.” He had a really nice smile. “I’m Dave.”

“I’m Julia; this is Vicky. How do you know Iris and Kelly?”

“I live in the building,” Neal said. “I’m a med student. And part-time herbologist.” He indicated the weed.

“How nice for your patients; natural anesthesia,” Vicky said.

“I’m not allowed to share with them, but many of the staff partake. It helps with some of the student loans. Which I’ll be paying off until I’m fifty.”

“Are you of the medical persuasion too?” Vicky asked Dave.

“Lawyer. Neal will be hiring me when he leaves a roach clip in somebody’s appendix.”

“Hey, they make good sutures,” Neal said. “Keeps the gore in check when we get a gunshot victim.”

“Yeah, that tee-shirt of his used to be white,” Dave commented as Neal lit another joint and passed it around. Feeling much more relaxed already, I decided to have one more toke, this time managing not to cough.

“Let’s nab one of those comfortable-looking beds,” Neal said. “I’ve just come off rotation; I’ve been on my feet for seventeen hours straight. Today we had the complete ER menu: several OD’s, a teenager who gave birth in the admitting room, two working girls with STDs, a nice deep stab wound to the gluteus maximus, twins with double ear infections who screamed nonstop for three hours, and two crispy critters. They set themselves on fire with their crack pipes,” he explained. “And another gay guy wasting away with that weird virus we’ve been seeing. So you’ll have to excuse me if I’m incoherent.”

We followed him to a mattress and sat with our backs against the low brick wall.

“Do you do litigation?” I asked Dave. I stifled a yawn; the pot was already making me feel out of it.

“No, I’m a boring corporate type. Not as interesting, but it pays well.” He glanced at my legs stretched out beneath my leather skirt; I hoped the staples in the hem weren’t too obvious. “What do you do, other than spend a lot of time at the gym?”

“I’m an assistant editor. I can’t afford a gym; I run.”

“Me too, I do the loop around the park. I’m on West Eighty-Third. The neighborhood’s a little iffy but it’s slowly gentrifying. How do you like publishing?”

Disconcerted by his close gray-blue gaze, I wondered if Jack was out on the town tonight. “It’s okay. The goal is to be a full editor, but that takes a while.”

“Kind of like making partner, I imagine.” Dave smiled.

“Minus the big paycheck.”

Beside me, Vicky and Neal were stretched out, murmuring to each other. “Do you want to dance?” I asked.

We went over to join the crush jumping around to the B-52s. My head was starting to swim. The effect of the movie projected drive-in-size, combined with the crashingly loud music, was surreal—or maybe it was just the pot. The constellations were chasing each other around in streaky loops. It hit me that living in New York had the same effect as stargazing; it made you feel tiny, inconsequential, and alone.

Dave touched my arm. “Want to go over there and get some air?”

I nodded. I should have eaten something before the party if I was going to be drinking, much less smoking. I sagged against the wall, trying to quell my dizziness. Suddenly his arms were around me and he was kissing me. I started to kiss him back, but then I pulled away. “I’m sorry, I’m seeing someone.”

“That’s all right; so am I.”

“I’d better go home. I feel kind of faint. Can you tell Vicky I’m leaving?”

“Why don’t you let me take you home?”

I just shook my head. Dave returned in a minute with my backpack. “I don’t see them. I’ll get you a cab.” The elevator’s sinking sensation made me feel like I was going to throw up. Dave hailed a taxi and handed me a twenty. “It’s going to be an expensive ride,” he said when I tried to give it back. “Here’s my number. Call me sometime.” He shut the door and I gave the driver my address, asking him to take the turns slowly.

When I unlocked my apartment, the phone was ringing. It stopped just as I reached it and I crawled into bed, grateful that I’d made it without losing my lunch. After a few minutes it began again. Woozily I crept over.

“Hello?” I croaked.

“You finally got home,” Jack said. “How about if I stop by? I’m in the neighborhood.” A car horn blared; he must be using a phone booth.

I look like something the cat dragged in
. “I’m really beat.”

“That’s okay, I won’t molest you. I’ll just go to sleep.”

“I can’t make it out of bed again.”

“Go straight to your window. I’m on your block now.”

I went to peer out and saw Jack striding down the street. I tossed the sock and got back in bed. In a minute I heard his boots thunk on the floor, followed by a low moo.

“Who’s Dave?” He was holding the strip of paper I’d dropped on the table along with the cow cubes.

“Some guy I met at a party with Vicky.”

“Nice fella?”

“Yes.”’

“Smart? Good-looking?”

“Very.”

Jack took the paper and went into the bathroom. I heard the toilet flush. “That takes care of him,” he said.

I started to tell him he had no right, but I was too wasted to muster the energy. Jack stripped off his clothes and got in beside me, his erection poking my hip. He sniffed my hair. “I thought you didn’t do too well with the maryjane.”

“I don’t. I almost threw up.”

“Want some water?”

“I had some.”

“Feeling better now?” He nuzzled my neck.

“Mmm … “

His lips on me felt so good. I touched him, and he groaned. “You’d better not do that unless you want to be up for a while.”

“I think you’ve awakened me.”

Slippery People

I tiptoed around my apartment getting ready, trying not to disturb Jack. He was still conked out face-down on the pillow as I put on my shoes. I took one last look; tangled hair spread across his shoulders, stubbly chin already needing a shave, silky black lashes brushing his cheekbones as he slept. His bare bottom had such a lovely peachlike curve that I was tempted to take a bite.

Walking uptown, I mused about the weekend. Dave was cute and witty; if I wasn’t seeing Jack, he was exactly the type of guy I’d want to go out with. But Jack’s irresistible pull drew me like a moth to a flame. I thought about his surprise visit to my apartment last night. Maybe the way to hold Mr. Kipling’s attention was to keep him guessing; there was no doubt he’d lain in wait to see if I came home with someone. And he’d seemed to want me so burningly. Recalling the forceful way he took me caused a catch in my throat.

I was in such a daze for the next forty-eight hours, it took me twice as long to get anything done at work. Tuesday night I hoofed it down to Fanelli’s feeling sweaty and disheveled, my jacket balled up in my backpack. I shrugged into it before I entered, hoping to convey a professional impression. Mary Jo was already seated on a stool, wearing a tailored pants suit. Hal brought my draft and we caught up for a minute.

“This is your local bar,” Mary Jo observed.

“I’m right over on Broome,” I said before recalling that she knew this already.

“Getting to be a pricey neighborhood.” She arched her eyebrow.

I wondered what she was implying. “I have a pretty good deal on my rent right now. Hopefully my landlord won’t raise it.”

“So you work in publishing, Jack tells me.”

Here comes the interrogation
. “Yes, I’m an assistant.”

“He described you as an editor,” she said in a challenging tone.

“I’m an assistant editor, which means I have a tiny office,” I added, not knowing why I felt the need to explain.

Mary Jo seemed to consider this. “Jack says you’re different.”

I started to ask “Different how?” but decided to just leave it alone. I took a sip of my beer and let the silence sit for a minute.

Mary Jo cleared her throat. “I haven’t seen any money flowing your way yet, which certainly does set you apart in that respect. Just an air conditioner, which is probably mostly for Jack since he hates being hot.”

So this was why she was here; she wanted to see what I was going to cost him. “I didn’t ask him to buy me that air conditioner.”