Come Dancing (34 page)

I smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of saying no.”

Three Little Birds

“I want you to come to my opening this Friday. There’s a party at our place afterwards,” Suzanne said the next morning once we’d caught up for a few minutes. “After all, it’s the bird paintings that got the gallery owner’s attention. If you hadn’t suggested them, I’d still be trying to bluff my way into a group show.”

“I’m so glad you’re getting to do this.” I was genuinely happy for her; at last her efforts had paid off.

“Jack’s going to be there, so you’ll need something fantastic to wear. I know what— let’s go shopping. Mark owes me one.”

My stomach flipped at the thought of seeing Jack again. “Does he ever say anything about me?”

Suzanne was quiet for a minute. “He did mention that you’re back with the guy you were seeing before. Is that true?”

I wanted to downplay it, knowing what I said could get back to Jack. “I’ve been seeing him some. Not all that much, really.”

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe Jack isn’t ready to be with any one person yet. To tell the truth, he’s with a different girl every night.” My heart sank at hearing this. “But let’s hope for the best,” she added. “Maybe seeing you again will break the evil spell.”

That Friday night I walked to the gallery on Spring Street, wobbling in my lavender heels on the uneven cobblestones. It felt good to have on the new things I’d bought with Suzanne; the periwinkle blouse brought out the blue of my eyes, and complemented the minty tones of the short striped skirt. I just hoped Jack would notice me in the midst of all the other girls swarming around.

Outside the gallery, several photographers milled about smoking on the sidewalk. I peered into the plate-glass window. There was already a crowd clutching plastic glasses of wine, admiring Suzanne’s large, splashy paintings. Perched on stands were live exotic birds that she’d rented from Bird Jungle in the Village. The toucans, mynahs, and cockatoos were used to being cageless, since that was how the pet shop displayed them.

Taking a deep breath I stepped into the high-ceilinged room, where a dazzling blue macaw glared at me from his golden perch. I spied Patrick in a long brocaded coat, enveloped in a throng of admirers. Suzanne was surrounded, so I walked over to gaze at her rendition of a parrot. The artist’s sense of color was startling, and her love for the creatures shone through in every brushstroke.

A man with long blond ringlets, sporting a shiny white tux, was making his way over to me. With an inner cringe I realized it was the guy from the Mudd Club who’d made the comment when I was dancing with Jack.

“Well, hello,” he said. “I’m Chip. I’m with Kappa; we give the Floor’s record label a run for their money. And you’re Julia, right?”

“Yes. Hello.” I didn’t smile, not wanting to encourage him.

“You seem like you could use a drink. Why don’t I snag us something?”

I said okay, just to get him to leave.

“You look stunning!” Suzanne extricated herself from her friends and threw her arms around me. “Maybe this will wake the bugger up,” she added in a low voice.

“Thank you. These paintings are absolutely brilliant; you’ve really found your calling.”

Suzanne seemed pleased. “That means a lot to me, coming from you.”

Mark joined us and gave me a hug. “Hullo, hullo. Haven’t seen you around lately.” He glanced at me sheepishly.

“Thanks for my new outfit. Suzanne took me shopping.”

“Thank
you
for suggesting the birds. Three of ‘em’s got red dots already, so I’d say it’s a blindin’ success.”

Mark moved away as Patrick strutted over. “Look who’s here. I guess you didn’t have much staying power, after all. But don’t feel bad; Jack doesn’t focus on anything for very long.”

There was a commotion at the door, bulbs igniting. Jack walked into the room with the thinnest woman I’d ever seen. She was as tall as he was, and drop-dead glamorous in a slinky silver and gold halter dress that clung to her protruding hipbones, her dark hair piled dramatically high. I watched as they approached Suzanne to give their congratulations. Mark said something to Jack, and he looked over in my direction. He came toward me, skirting laughing groups of people, ignoring the stir he created. His hair was windblown over a torn leather jacket; he looked like he’d been up five nights running. My heart pummeled my ribcage as he approached.

“Well, if it isn’t the prodigal,” Patrick said.

Jack didn’t take his eyes off of me. “Go talk to Clio. She’s dying to meet you.”

Patrick smiled sardonically and left. Jack reached out and lifted a strand of hair off my shoulder.

“I was right,” he said.

“About what?”

He dropped his hand. “That little beauty mark’s on the left side.”

I flushed, remembering the heat of his lips on that particular spot.

“And you’ve got on a new frock.” He looked me up and down.

“Suzanne took me shopping.”

“Verrry fetching.” He glanced around the room and ran his hand through his hair.

“Listen, Julia.” His brow furrowed. “Have you missed me?”

I looked down at the toes of my shoes. “Yes,” I whispered.

Another pair of heels aligned themselves with Jack’s boots. “What are you doing over here?” Clio wrapped her long jeweled fingers around his arm, French-manicured ovals pressing in. “I’m ready for a drink.”

“Can I get you something?” Jack asked me.

I surveyed Clio’s sinuous body in her soigné dress. Next to her, I felt like a twelve-year-old trying on her mother’s clothes. “No thanks.”

“I’m on it.” Chip inserted himself between us and handed me a glass of wine. “How are you, Jack? Hey, those last couple of tracks on the new album could have used a bit more testosterone.” He put his free hand on my lower back, practically on my butt. I tried to edge away, but he pulled me closer as Jack scowled. “I hope you aren’t losing your touch.”

“Odd you’d say that. Your boss just called Patrick and offered twenty mil for our next one. We were going to consider it, but if that’s what your label really thinks …” Jack shrugged as Chip went a few shades paler than his tux.

Turning on his boot heel, Jack accompanied Clio to the bar. She said something and he laughed, tossing his head. Watching them together made me nauseous. While Chip brayed at a guy he knew, I slipped away to take in more of the artwork. After a few minutes I found Suzanne and congratulated her.

“Aren’t you staying? I thought you were coming to the party at our place.”

“I think I’m going to go.”

Suzanne looked disappointed. “I wish you’d stay longer, but I understand. I’ll call you. We’ll have lunch soon.”

Chip came up behind me. “I’ve got two more parties to hit. Why don’t you come along?”

“I’m going home. I’m not feeling too well.” I couldn’t stand another minute around him, or watching Jack flirt with his arm candy.

“We’ll have some toot on the way over; that’ll perk you up.”

“No thanks, I’ve got to go.” Quickly I went out and flagged a taxi. As I was telling the driver my address, the door opened. Chip flung himself in beside me just before the cab accelerated.

“You’re not getting away that easy,” he said. “Have some of this and I’ll take you somewhere you’ll like.” He took a creased credit card from his pocket and tapped a tube against it. White powder spilled out in a practiced thin line.

I couldn’t believe he thought he could just hijack my cab. “I don’t want any! I need to get home.”

Chip hoovered up the line. “Now that you’ve fucked Jack Kipling, you think you’re too good for anyone else?” he sneered. “Lots of us have had his discards. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you have a good time.”

“I’m not interested. Can you stop the car?” I said to the driver.

The cabbie pulled over. “Problem, lady?”

“I’m getting out here.”

“Keep moving. I’ll give you a fifty,” Chip said.

I opened the door and jumped out. The taxi sped off and I stumbled home, repelled by Chip’s pushiness and feeling utterly discouraged. Tonight had been one big mistake after another. Instead of shooting the breeze with Jack, I should have told him I didn’t mean those things I’d said. And I should have slapped Chip’s hand off my butt. It was horribly frustrating that we hadn’t managed to say one meaningful thing that would help us reconnect. But when I pictured the woman in silver, I realized it was too late.

Reconsider, Baby

“I’m glad I finally get to lay eyes on this Art fellow,” my mother said. Her bus had been delayed, so I’d sat in the dingy Port Authority station for two hours, fending off solicitations from the hordes of pitiful homeless.

Now we were in the warmth of a snug tea shop on Sullivan, awaiting Art’s arrival. For some odd reason she’d been insistent that I arrange this get-together. After fifteen minutes he stepped inside, a cashmere scarf tucked into the front of his charcoal coat. He took off his gloves to shake hands with Dot.

“It’s good to meet you,” Art said. “I hear you’re just up for a quick visit.”

“I have to leave tomorrow. Erwin wouldn’t give me Monday off.” Dot gave a disapproving sniff.

“Did Julia tell me you work at a hardware store?” he asked politely.

“Plumbing supply: ‘You name it, we drain it.’ Erwin always says, ‘We fix leaks so you can take one.’”

Art looked puzzled for a second, then he chuckled. “I understand you’re really good at what you do. Erwin should value you more highly. Let’s order; unfortunately I have to wade through twenty compositions today.” He signaled the waitress and asked for loose-leaf oolong, and I requested green tea.

“I’m a Lipton gal. Do you have any of that?” Dot asked hopefully.

The waitress smirked and said she’d try to dig around in back for some. “If not, I’ll have what she’s having,” Dot said. She turned to Art. “So you teach at the college. Do you have to read all the time, like Julia?”

“I reread everything I assign so it’s fresh. And of course I keep up with the scholarly articles. There was a very good piece on solipsism in Joyce’s
Portrait
that I’ll have to show you,” he said to me.

“Joyce who?” Dot asked.

“Joyce is the last name. James Joyce.”

“Oh. I thought you might mean Joyce Sutter,” Dot said, citing her favorite novelist. She took a sip of green tea, made a face and dumped in some milk.

“I’m not familiar with her work. Is she good?” Art dipped his silver tea ball.

“Oh, she’s fantastic. All her books take place somewhere different. This last one was in northern Scotland. The ending had the earl, whose wife died during childbirth, falling in love with the wench that was in charge of his linens. For a while you thought he was going to go for the rich lady from the estate next door, but it turned out she was a real two-timer and was seeing this duke on the side.” She looked at Art expectantly.

“That … sounds like quite the storyline,” he managed to say. “What do you two have planned for the rest of the day?”

“Mom needs to do some Christmas shopping at Macy’s, so we’re heading there next.”

“I love Macy’s,” Dot said. “My friend Paulette wants to take the bus with me next time I visit Julia and go there. She wanted to come this trip, but she’s saving up to have her teeth fixed.”

Art smiled uncomfortably and glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid I’d better be going.” He pushed back his chair. “It was so nice to meet you. Don’t rush on my account,” he said to Dot, who had no intention of it. As he opened the door, cold air billowed into the cozy shop.

“He sure was in a hurry,” Dot commented.

“He has to get his final grades in for the semester.” I was annoyed with her for making me set up this ridiculous meeting.

“Are you planning on marrying him?” she asked, widening her eyes.

“I’m not planning on marrying anyone. Not everything has to be a romance, unlike those novels you’re always reading.”

“Usually there is romance, if you’re going out with a person,” Dot observed.

After traipsing Macy’s various floors for three hours, watching my mother pick up, exclaim over, and then replace all the things she couldn’t afford, we left with a small box of candles and a soap caddy. We ate takeout on my couch while she described her ups and downs with Erwin and people from Buck’s. As always, she seemed to forget that I didn’t know them, and therefore might have only a passing interest in these stories. Finally she seemed to collect herself. “I guess I do ramble on a bit. It’s nice to have someone to talk to at night; I’m used to eating alone with the TV on.”

“Why don’t you go out with Joan or Paulette sometime?”

“Oh, their husbands expect dinner on the table.” She folded her arms. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I liked Jack much better than Art.”

“I realize that, Mom.”

“Art could go back to his wife at any time. Technically he’s still married, you know,” she said primly.

This was annoying, coming from her. “I didn’t think you of all people would have a problem with an extramarital affair.”

My mother narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I tried to back-pedal. “Never mind.”

“No.” She sat up straight. “I want to know. What did you mean by that?”

“You were still married when you started messing around with that guy from the hardware store.”

She turned to face me, eye shadow bleeding into the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. “I didn’t start seeing him until your father left me.”

After all this time, I resented her lying about it. “Come on, Mom. I know you were.”

She looked like I’d slapped her. “Your father accused me of that, but it wasn’t true. I flirted a little with Wayne, but it was harmless.” A shadow crossed her face. “Your dad was very possessive, you know. He accused me of having affairs, but it was all in his mind.”

I had the strangest sensation, like a fuse had blown. Like the top of my head had been forcibly unscrewed and things were flying out of it. I licked my dry lips. “Then why did he leave?”