Just You (11 page)

Just ‘cause I was going out with Justin didn’t mean they all had to know the rest of my shit.

When he got to the reception, Justin looked at me. “Stairs or lift?”

“Stairs.” I was still a coward, the stairs gave me a few more minutes to avoid this–or a few more minutes of torture. Maybe not such a good idea. But as we climbed, his fingers slipped in between mine and gripped hard, offering reassurance.

“Sorry I’m such an idiot.”

“You aren’t an idiot, Portia, you’re perfect. Just relax a little, yeah?”

“Okay.” I tried but my heart was playing a race against time in my chest. I felt like I was going to faint when he opened the door and pulled me through, still hanging on to my hand.

When we walked into the open plan room, several people looked, but not because we were anything special, just out of habit. Instead of looking away, they kept on looking and eyebrows lifted.

Becky’s mouth dropped open when she spotted us, and her eyes widened as she stood up.

Justin said, “Hey,” to her as we passed, ignoring her reaction, and simply walking me to my chair.

Gentleman that he was, he let go of my hand, giving me a big smile, and lifted his fingers to the shoulders of my coat to help me take it off.

I sat down staring at him like a fool. He leaned over and kissed my lips, whispering as heat and air across my mouth, “Just so there’s no confusion, and they know we’re dating,” before he stood up.

There was that odd delicious feeling in my belly again.

The instant he walked away and around to his desk, Becky and Crystal came over. Justin winked at me before he sat.

“Oh my God. You and Justin!” Crystal exclaimed

“Did you lie to me the other day, or was it just starting off?” Becky said, eyeing me with suspicion.

“I just wasn’t sure where we were,” I answered, “But yeah, now we are officially seeing each other.” It actually felt really good to say it. “I’m going out with Justin.”

I got a hug from Becky and Crystal, then they walked away as the sub-editor, Hilary, headed over, no doubt about to say, get on with your work. She turned when she saw them walk off. I had a ton of letters to get done for Mr. Rees. I put my earphones in to discover the first one was to that solicitor in Oregon, denying the paternity case.

God, everyone had thought Justin was a sleaze–Mr. Rees was the sleaze.

I went into my email and typed.
‘
Are you going home to get some clothes to wear out to dinner tonight? You’re going to need a suit and tie
.’

It felt really good to have Justin there at the end of an email again.

‘I haven’t got a suit, baby, no point in me going back home.’

I wanted to laugh, the guy was so not like me, so not my type, and yet… He was perfect too.

‘Then we’re going shopping at lunch time, I’ll buy you some stuff.’

‘I’m not your charity case. I’ll buy my own stuff.’

‘Cool, you pay, I’ll pick! :-)’

‘Not a Tommy Hilfiger shirt and Versace suit though, something I can afford!’

‘Okay :-) Twelve?’

‘Twelve.’

‘It’s going to be a long morning.’

‘It’s gonna be a long day; just thinking about you over the counter, winking face’

‘Well stop thinking!!’ I looked up, and he leaned around his computer, smiling at me and laughing. I smiled too, a full on smile. I don’t think I normally smiled that much at work.

~

Work had been weird, but weird in a good way. I’d felt Justin’s presence all day. Because of what he’d said in the morning, I was thinking about him constantly.

I had somebody on my side. Team Portia. I wasn’t fighting life alone anymore.

We’d gone down to the mall at lunchtime, and he’d got a plain black jacket and a pair of skinny black chinos. I’d picked a very basic white shirt to go with them and a narrow burgundy tie. I was going to wear my burgundy dress, so I thought it would look cool to match.

“Do I need the shades too, to go totally men-in-black?” he’d asked, picking up a pair, like he’d need them in the restaurant. Justin’s sense of humor was foolish at times; but he was just living life while I’d spent a year hiding from it.

I’d flashed him a smile, took the shades off him, and put them back on the shelf.

I’d smiled a ton of times today.

Once, when he’d been joking with Becky, I’d overheard and looked up, caught his gaze, and, God, there was a massive transmission of information between us, like it downloaded in a rush. And it poured right into my heart, sending tremors to my belly.

We were good together.

I kept telling myself that as we walked into the restaurant later. We’d stopped in a bar around the corner and had a drink for courage and I was now a little intoxicated, and anxious–terrified.
We’re good together.
The words whispered through my head. My parents wouldn’t think so.

The maitre d’ had given our coats to someone at the door, and now we trailed behind him as he led us across the busy room, weaving about tables.

My sweaty palm pressed against Justin’s as his hand gripped mine, our fingers threaded. I wanted to wipe my palms on the skirt of my burgundy dress, but it was silk and that would ruin it. And besides, I didn’t want to let go of Justin’s hand.

I caught our reflection in a mirror as we passed it. Justin looked good in his jacket and tie, and we complemented each other.
We are good together.

“Portia.” I turned to see Dad stand up, and then Mom. They both looked at Justin. It wasn’t the color of his suit or tie they noticed; it was the color of his skin. It wasn’t that they were racist, it was just that they wouldn’t think he was the right guy for
me
…

“Mom, Dad, I told you I was bringing a friend. This is Justin Preston.” I took a breath, I had to do this. I had to give him full credit. “We’ve been dating; he’s my boyfriend.”

Justin let go of my hand and reached out. “Mrs. Hemming, It’s nice to meet you.”

Maybe I should’ve warned them he was black, but I didn’t think it mattered. Justin was Justin, the color of his skin was irrelevant. Mom stared at him for a second or two, then finally took his hand and shook it. “Justin.”

When she let his hand go, he turned to my dad, and held it out again. “Mr. Hemming.”

“Justin.” My dad’s acknowledgement was short and sharp. Then he threw Mom a look that said it all.
What the hell.

They could think what they wanted. I was done with their fake life, and their stupid facade.

Justin pulled out my seat before the maitre d’ could, and helped me sit, pushing the chair back in.

“Well then, what brings you to New York?”, I asked as Justin sat. My hands were shaking, and my stomach felt like Jell-o.

“Can we not come to the city to see our daughter?” Dad opened.

Except… they weren’t visiting me, they’d come to shop and sent me an invite to visit them.

“Is there some fashion thing going on Mom?” I looked at Dad then. “Or do you have some particular friend in town that you wanted to visit.” I couldn’t resist the dig. I knew there was something that must have brought them here, it wouldn’t be me.

“It’s going to be like that then, is it Portia?”

“Perhaps.”

Justin’s fingers gripped my thigh beneath the table, offering reassurance–solidarity. Go team Portia.

The conversation dropped to silence.

“Your menus.” Having handed them out, the waiter began explaining every dish in complex detail, trying to get our taste buds flowing–mine were numb.

When he walked away, Mom said over the top of her menu, “So what do you like to eat, Justin?” She was speaking to him like he was a child.

“Mom, Justin works on all the photographic images at work, he worked his way through university. He can pick what he wants from a menu without you prompting.”

“I didn’t mean–” she shot back, but I cut her off as Justin’s fingers rubbed up and down my thigh.

“Leave us to decide what we do and don’t want, Mom.” The conversation died.

After the waiter had taken our order, Dad tried again. “So what have you been up to, Portia?”

My instinct was to cut back,
what have
you
been up to
? I didn’t say it, I figured I ought to at least try and be a little nice, they had asked me out after all. “Working, not much else.”

“Do you do much shopping, or–“

“I just work, Dad, there’s nothing wrong with that. Remember when you used to do it?”

“Portia.” My name was the barked order I’d grown up with that said stop.

My lips compressed and I just stared at them. It seemed I couldn’t stop myself. This was torture. I wished I hadn’t come.

“Justin,” Mom looked at him, ignoring my irritability, “so what is it you do?”

“He airbrushes, Margery, takes the inches off and adds the six packs.” Dad answered for Justin like Justin couldn’t speak for himself; trying to come across as though Mr. Popularity-Hemming knew everything.

“He doesn’t, we work on a sports magazine, Dad, the people we cover are hot anyway, we don’t need to airbrush them.”

Justin’s fingers clawed a little on my thigh, and I heard him take a breath, before he spoke. “Actually, babe, I do, sometimes. I get rid of all the blemishes and stuff, they all want to look good.” He looked at my dad. “But mainly, Mr. Hemming, I cut images to fit, overlay stuff, change the color contrasts and structure sometimes, and build text over them, and make up fun images to pull articles together.” He shrugged when he finished speaking. Dad looked at Justin like he didn’t know what to say.

Mom dived in. “So do you like what you do, Justin?” It was said in a tone of voice that implied he shouldn’t. The work we did was below either of them.

“Uh huh.”

“But have you plans for the future?” Dad asked. “I mean, it’s not something that’s ever going to make you successful…”

Justin shrugged, “Surely success is dependent on what you want to achieve. If what I want to achieve is a good picture for the front cover tomorrow, then I’m successful. I’ve achieved it.” He smiled at Dad, not at all intimidated.

I smiled too, relaxing for the first time. I needed Justin’s chilled logic in my life.

I slipped my hand underneath the table and gripped his thigh too, then slipped my fingers up and brushed his crotch. His whole body jolted and he coughed.

“You okay?” Dad asked.

“Yes, thank you Mr. Hemming. I’m just gonna go use the bathroom.” I looked up at him, feeling like someone was ripping my right arm off when he stood up.

His fingers brushed my cheek gently, only for a second, as his brown eyes said,
you’ll be okay
.

He was only five paces away when Dad started. “Really, Portia, a black boy!”

“How could you, Portia?” Mom added. I hated her siding with Dad when he was such a cheating bastard…

“Where does he even come from?”

“A neighborhood in the Bronx, Dad.”

“Portia!”

“He doesn’t have any prospects…” Mom added.

“Why does he need prospects, Mom? He’s good fun, he looks hot, he’s nice, and he’s good in bed…” I checked the things off on my fingers, then looked a Dad. “Oh yeah, and he’s loyal, ‘cause his Dad messed around…” I threw him a smile.

“There is no need for that.” It was Mom who answered, the wounded party, but the wounded party who quite happily turned a blind eye and pocketed all his money.

“Portia, you should think about this, before you let yourself get in too deep. I know you came to New York because you were angry with us, but there’s no need to try and shock us…”

“Dating Justin isn’t anything to do with you, or what happened…”

“No…” It was said as if there was no way I could really want to be with Justin.

I hated my parents. They were bigots. How the hell had I come from them? Really I should divorce them. Why couldn’t you divorce your parents, and have their names taken off your birth certificate?

“Hey baby.” I looked up as Justin came back, and he bent down and kissed my cheek. I guessed he knew they’d been talking about him. He sat down, and reached for his drink.

“So, Justin, Portia says you come from the Bronx…” Dad said it as if he expected Justin to launch into a confession of murder or something…

“Yep.”

“And your family?”

Justin smiled at him. “Yep, they come from there too.”

“And do you have brothers and sisters, what does your mother do?” Mom took over.

He glanced at me, recognizing that she didn’t mention his Dad, and obviously guessing I’d said something. I gave him a sorry smile, but he shook his head to say he didn’t care. Then he looked at Mom and answered, “I have three brothers, ranging from eight to seventeen. And Mom’s a nurse in an old folks home, she works hard to keep us, always has. I have a lot of respect her. Despite everything she’s been through, she has a lot of love and she keeps us all together.”

Well that shut my parents up. I smiled smugly at Dad. Then looked at Mom. I should feel sorry for her, but she was weak and soulless as a Mom. I couldn’t feel sorry for her. She’d never given me anything that Justin’s Mom gave him. Love.

Justin put his hand on my thigh again, but this time palm up. I slipped my hand under the table and gripped it. The gesture said–
I got you.

I changed the subject to safe talk. “So how’s the business going, Dad?” That would keep him talking for an hour.

When our first course arrived, Dad was still talking and I ate my Parma ham and orange salad, while Justin got all messy with his stringy melted deep fried cheese thing, both of us nodding at Dad, but not really listening.

When they came to take the plates, Dad ordered another bottle of wine, and I took the opportunity to swap the conversation over to Mom. “What have you been up to? Have you got anything planned with your friends?” She went on to talk about this party they were planning for spring, to raise money for a local charity.

Her life was so false, she made out to the world her marriage was perfect. Her friends probably knew the truth anyway. Dad wasn’t discrete.

They brought over the main courses. Justin had gone for steak. I’d picked the sea bass. The conversation dried again as we started eating, but then the notes of a
Jay Z
song rose from Justin’s jacket pocket. He let his knife and fork fall, and his eyebrows lifted as he leaned over to look for his cell.