Plain Jayne (35 page)

“Do you feel better?” he asks hopefully.

“A little,” I acknowledge. “Cleaner.”

He smiles. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

“It doesn’t take much. Don’t worry about it.” I slide a pair
of panties up my legs and under the robe. After fishing a t-shirt from the
dresser, I go into the bathroom, hang the robe on the hook on the door, and
pull the shirt over my head. Returning to the bedroom, I slip under the covers
on my side of the bed, reach up to kiss Luke’s chin, and burrow down into my
pillows. I close my eyes so I don’t have to see the worried look on his face.
“Good night,” I say as normally as possible.

“It’s not even seven o’clock!”

“I’m tired,” I tell him. “Jet lagged.”

“In that case, your body would think it’s even earlier.
Plus, you’ve been home for two days.”

“I know. It’s finally hitting me.” It’s true that until now
I’ve been too glad to be back with him, after being out in L.A. for a week and
a half, to be tired. Now… well, now exhaustion is crushing me. Reality is
crushing me.

My eyes fly open. “Shit,” I mutter. “I forgot—”

“I’ll do it.” He rolls off the side of the bed and leaves the
room. I hear him open the pantry. After a few seconds, a shrill beep sounds
from the kitchen, where he’s pressed the “test” button on the smoke alarm with
the handle of a broom. The chirp of the carbon monoxide detector’s test tone
follows. I listen for the same sounds from the devices in the other rooms.
Finally, he appears in the bedroom, where he jabs at the alarms on the ceiling.
They dutifully participate in the nightly roll call, after which I can truly
relax.

“Thanks,” I say with a sleepy smile.

“No problem.” He flicks off the lights and stands next to
the bed, broom in hand. He seems ready to say something, but then he simply
bends down, kisses my lips, and says, “Good night. I’m going to… stay up for a
few more hours. I guess.”

“That’s fine. I’m just too tired…”

“Yeah, well if I go to bed right now, I’ll be up in the
middle of the night.”

“I know. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay…” Finally, he moves toward the light on the other side
of the doorway.

“I love you,” I tell him.

He pauses with his hand on the doorknob and says, “I love
you, too,” before pulling the door closed.

*****

Wishing to avoid another tense conversation, I wait until I
hear Luke leave for work in the morning before I get out of bed. I know I’m a
coward. But he’s a persistent a-hole sometimes, and I’m not in the mood to be
harassed about my “career” right now. After the couple of weeks—months—I’ve
had, I deserve to take at least a week off to relax and restore my energy.

And to get used to sharing living quarters with someone
again.

It’s an interesting dichotomy that when I’m traveling I miss
him so much, but when I return home, it takes me a few days to adjust to being
around him again. I love being around him, so it’s not
him
so much as it
is taking into consideration someone else’s wants and schedule.

Last night was the perfect example. When I’m on the road, it
doesn’t matter what time I want to go to bed (as long as I’m not in the middle
of a public appearance; that would be weird). I’m all by myself in a hotel
room, and I don’t have to worry about what time it is or if my going to bed—or
staying up late—is going to be a disappointment or an inconvenience to anyone
else. I simply… do it.

On the flip side, when I’m traveling, nobody gives a damn
what I do or when I do it, as long as I fulfill the obligations I’ve promised
to fulfill. My free time is very lonely. And that’s why I get in the habit of
sleeping a lot when I’ve been on the road. There’s nothing better to do. Which
is ironic, considering I’m traveling all over the country and could see some
cool sights. But just like when I taught at Fairfax and lived a short train
ride away from our nation’s capital, I’ve discovered it’s no fun seeing all those
places alone.

Now that I’m home, though, “alone” is sounding pretty good.
Especially if the price of Luke’s company is talking about my
gasping-for-breath writing career.

The first thing I notice when I go into the kitchen to get
some much-needed coffee and breakfast is my laptop, open and turned on (albeit
hibernating), sitting on the breakfast bar. The barstool is pulled out, as if
inviting me to take a seat. A sticky note on the keyboard says,
“Files are
copied. I made a shortcut on your desktop. LOOK AT THEM! XO Luke.”

“Bossy,” I mutter, shutting the computer so I don’t have to
look at his note or think about writing. I know he thinks he’s helping, but I
wish he could see that he’s only adding to my stress levels.

As I’m pouring myself a bowl of cereal and waiting for my
coffee to brew, the elevator bell sounds to let me know someone’s on their way
up. Since it’s a Monday, I expect it’s Paulette, so I’m not surprised when she
appears in the kitchen doorway a few minutes later.

“And there she is, returned from her travels,” she greets me
warmly with a quick squeeze of my shoulders from behind. “You should have
waited for me; I’d have whipped up some brekkie for you, Luv.”

“I’m not that hungry,” I tell her, pushing the computer out
of the way so I can sit at the bar and eat while she unloads her canvas bags of
groceries.

“And how was Hollywood?” she asks enthusiastically.

I smile sheepishly. “The hotel was nice.”

“Oh, you! You’ve got to get out there and see some of the
sights!”

“I did, when I went to New York, and Gus went with me,” I
defend myself. “That was fun. And Luke and I had a good time in Seattle. But
it’s not the same when I’m alone somewhere. Plus, by the end of the day, I was
so tired. I didn’t care to gawk at a bunch of big houses behind gates and
walls.”

“Your publicist must be a real stick-in-the-mud to not want
to hang out with you,” she posits.

I laugh. “Jules is fine. I don’t make friends easily. I’m a
solitary person.”

Her expression softens as she tilts her head at me. “And who
could blame you, considering…”

Before she can get all misty-eyed at the thought of my past,
I swallow a bite of cereal and say, “Anyway! I’m home now. And if you love
laundry, do I have a present for you!”

“Oh, goody.” Her statement sounds so sincere that it makes
me laugh. Folding her empty canvas bags, she says, “It’s good to have you back,
Jayne. Luke is quite grumpy when you’re away. But don’t tell him I told you
that.”

He has no one to boss around
, I think sullenly before
checking myself. Actually, it’s sweet that he misses me so much that it affects
his moods. I grin at her. “Aww.”

“Yes. One day, before I was leaving for the evening, he told
me to never again make what I’d made the night before for dinner, because it
was disgusting. And then he said he’d take the leftovers to a homeless shelter,
but he doesn’t like to kick people while they’re down.”

I gasp. “What?! No, he didn’t!”

She nods and chuckles. “He did.”

“What an asshole!”

She waves away my condemnation. “Ah. I knew he was simply
missing you and taking it out on the only person around.”

“Yes. That would be the definition of ‘asshole,’” I insist.
“Paulette, I’m so sorry.”

“No need for you to be sorry, Dear. He apologized the very
next day. And he gave me Friday off so’s I’d have a long weekend.”

“Did he give you a raise, too?”

Now she gets very serious. “No! And you’d better not try,
either. My salary is burden enough on the two of you, now that I don’t work for
the O’Sheas.” She pulls her shoulders back and straightens her shirt. “Not that
I would, after the way they treated Luke. Shame on them, who have no shame.
Detestable, ungrateful—”

“Well, we don’t want to share you with anyone, anyway,” I
interrupt before she gets too worked up. “And your salary isn’t a burden. We
wouldn’t know what to do without you, Paulette.”

This statement makes her fidget and stammer. Finally, she
says, “I’ll be seeing to that laundry, then. Unless you want me to do the
washing up in here first.”

I look around and note that my cereal bowl and spoon and
Luke’s coffee mug comprise the “washing up.”

“No. I think I can handle putting three things in the
dishwasher. But thanks.”

After she leaves, I do just that, pour myself a cup of
coffee, and sit down at the counter.

Tapping the shiny cover of my new laptop with my fingernail,
I bite my lip and consider the consequences of
not
looking at the files
while Luke’s at work. He has no right to order me around like I’m some sort of
freshman author under his tutelage. It’s my career. If I want to let it die, I
should be allowed to let it die.

Plus, if I decide to buy out my contract, it will be a
blessing for him. He won’t have any reason to stay at Thornfield, and he’ll be
free to go work for a company that he respects more. Maybe somewhere in New
York. Or Connecticut. I love Connecticut…

I think of the house on Marblehead that Luke’s rebuilding,
mostly at my urging. Oh, yeah. That thing. I couldn’t stand the idea of a place
with such important—if not always “good”—memories no longer existing. And I do
want to make more memories there, but I wish there were a way for us to move it
with us somewhere else.

Because
when
my writing career goes up in flames, I
wouldn’t mind going back to teaching. You know the old saying: “Those who
can’t, teach.” I never believed that before now. Now, I’m a living example.

So, again… what’s the worst that will happen if I ignore
Luke’s directive to look at those writing files today? He’ll sulk. Or raise his
voice. Or give me the silent treatment (no, I won’t be that lucky). I envision
a bit of a rant, followed by sulking, followed by the appearance of agreeing
with me while he actually tries to use reverse psychology on me to get me to do
what he wants me to do.

As Paulette would say, “Oh, goody.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

To my surprise, Luke doesn’t say a word about the files when
he gets home. As soon as he steps from the elevator, he glances around and asks
me (the nearly-permanent fixture on the couch), “Is Paulette still here?”

I set my magazine on the coffee table. “No. She left a
couple of hours ago. Why?”

He crosses to the couch in economically-large steps.
“Because I want to make sure I have you all to myself,” he says suggestively.

“Oh, I see,” I flirt back. Reaching up, I let him pull me
against him and wrap his arms around me. “Yes. I’m all by my lonesome.”

“Not anymore.” He grabs two handfuls of my butt and lifts me
off the floor.

When I yelp and laugh, it knocks him slightly off-balance,
so he steps backward to regain his footing, but his leg meets up with the
corner of the coffee table, and before I know it, we’re on the floor in a
laughing heap.

“What happened?” I ask incredulously.

He answers while staring at the ceiling, “Apparently, I fell
down.”

His over-simplified assessment makes me giggle. “I see.”

“Well, nothing that embarrassing has happened in a while,”
he points out proudly.

“No, I thought maybe you’d outgrown your coital clumsiness.
I haven’t said ‘Ow’ during sex in months.” I unbutton his shirt and kiss his
chest. “But I suddenly had a flashback to trying to have sex while you had that
stupid leg cast.”

After a groan, he says, “Yes… I think that was the last time
there were any serious injuries. That thing was dangerous.” He rubs my back.
“Oh, man…! Now we’re going to have to change the OSHA sign in the bedroom.
‘Zero days since last reportable incident.’”

“I won’t tell anyone,” I whisper against his skin.

“Oh, you’re so naughty.”

I let loose a dirty laugh to match my supposed naughty
nature.

He rolls me over and slides on top of me. “I’m so glad
you’re home.”

“Me, too,” I agree.

“Are you?” he double-checks. “You seem… tense.”

This observation makes me stiffen.

“Like that,” he asserts.

I try to relax. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’d be better if you’d shut up and finish what you started,”
I allow.

“Alright, then.” Without further hesitation, he follows my
orders.

Who’s pulling rank now?

*****

Quite a while later, Luke pulls on his underwear and hops up
from the floor. On his way to the kitchen, he asks casually, “Did Paulette
happen to make anything for us to eat for dinner?”

Drolly, I reply while donning my t-shirt and panties, “No, I
told her we didn’t want any disgusting food that we wouldn’t even feed homeless
people.”

He freezes with his back to me but then spins on his heel to
face me. Eyes wide, he says, “I can’t believe she told you! I told her not to
tell you!”

I laugh at his humiliation. “You are such a dickhead. How
could you say that to her?”

Wincing, he explains, “It slipped out, okay? I was in a
horrible mood, and… and… Jayne!”

“Luke!”

“It was seriously the grossest thing I’ve ever eaten. Worse
than anything I’ve ever cooked.”

“That’s saying something.”

“Exactly! I think she made a mistake when she was measuring
ingredients, or something. Distractedly, he scratches his nipple. “I’m not even
sure what it was supposed to be. Some sort of meat and vegetable concoction,
but it was, like, bitter…? Or something.” He makes a face as if he can taste it
right now. “Anyway, I wanted to make sure she never made it again, whatever it was.”

“I hope she spit in the next thing she cooked for you.”

“Hey! I apologized and gave her an extra day off.”

“Too little, too late. I bet she cried herself to sleep when
she went home after you insulted her cooking.”

“You’re trying to make me feel like a jerk.”