Jane Air

by Anna Wellschlager

“Oh, I don’t think-” I begin.

  “This all looks fantastic, what do you recommend?”

  “I brought plenty,” Dory stands, scooping food onto his plate, “just in case.”

  There they all are, hospitality central, bringing him food and drinks. Discussing his latest film. Offering opinions on the superhero franchise and asking questions about his move to Midnight.

  “What are you doing here?” I finally ask, hoping for a calm, measured tone but knowing my voice comes out slightly strangled.

  “I came to see you,”

  “Aw,” a collective sigh around the table.

  “You just saw me,” I say, this time with teeth slightly more gritted.

  “Yes, but you left so quickly.”

  “Why did you leave him, Jane?” Christine asks, an expression of genuine concern on her face.

  “I…you were all coming over,” I stutter.

  “You could have canceled.”

  “We wouldn’t have minded.”

  A chorus of mild reprimands and displays of feminine disapproval at my departure from David’s presence yesterday.

  “She fled the room,” David continues, cracking a lobster claw over his plate.

  “Which room?” Kate asks.

  “The bedroom,” he smiles and pops the meat into his mouth.

  Dory’s and Christine’s eyes widen simultaneously.

  Jessica’s mouth drops open.

  Kate stares.

  Penelope leans into me, an enormous grin on her face. “You didn’t.”

  “Oh, she did,” David turns to her. “Honestly, I can barely walk.”

  “Well,” Christine smooths her napkin over her lap, “that’s…exciting.”

  “I think it’s great!” Penelope smiles again, grinning at me. I want to hit her.

  “Unexpected,” Jessica says.

  “Not that unexpected,” Dory says lightly, just loud enough for Kate to turn to her with a questioning look. “You should have seen them at dinner,” she fake whispers.

  Kate turns to David, opens her mouth.

  “She fled the room,” David says before Kate can say anything. “Bullets have left guns slower.”

  Kate closes her mouth.

  “I figured I’d only get an honest answer if I cornered you amongst your friends.”

  “An honest answer to what?” I can barely get the words out.

  “To seeing me again,” he smiles, eyes dancing above the rim of his glass.

  The table is silent.

  All eyes turn towards me.

  Penelope is holding her breath so long I worry she will turn blue. Dory and Christine look at me with the hopeful enthusiasm of a puppy. Even Kate and Jessica, my sensible, reliable, level-headed allies, seem to have sided with him.

  “Sure, of course, but-”

  The table bursts into applause. Penelope pounds David on the back in celebration, causing him to briefly choke on a shrimp.

  The doorbell rings again. We all look up.

  Kate slowly places her napkin on the table next to her plate and stands.

  “I’ll get it,” she looks down at me, “unless-”

  “Don’t,” I say, knowing exactly what is going to come out of her mouth.

  “-unless you think it’s another-”

  “Stop it.”

  “-of your lovers?”

  More hoots and hollers from the table. Even David laughs at that. My face is in flames, but there is a part of me, very small and rarely acknowledged, which enjoys this. The fun, flirty side of life I have so rarely experienced. I meet David’s eyes across the table. He’s still grinning, but there is warmth there, the softness I saw at dinner, and several times yesterday morning and afternoon. I feel myself wanting to trust him, to lean into him, to invite him to dinner with my friends more often.

  Slowly, delicately, a tiny part of me, deep down and hidden away, begins to open up.

  23

  David

  The women are louder than I expected. I guess I had assumed my little professor would spend her time with other professors, sitting around with port and aged cheese, discussing Plato and the Bronte sisters.

  But this is a raucous bunch.

  Dory, I know from the restaurant. She’s as friendly and welcoming in person as at work, her hospitality emanating from her like it is a natural part of her disposition.

  Penelope, who I met yesterday morning, is hilarious and open, with a wide-mouthed grin and a loud, head-tilted-back laugh that reminds me of my younger sister.

  Kate and Jessica, both standoffish at first, seem to have warmed up, once they felt I was trustworthy.

  And the last one, Christine I think, is quiet, friendly and unobtrusive. She apologizes for having never seen my movies and I feel like I have seen her somewhere before, or perhaps seen her face in a magazine or newspaper, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

  Even the new one, Dawn, whom only Kate knows, seems friendly and unassuming.

  “Oh, wow,” Dawn says, as Kate brings her into the kitchen. She makes eye contact with me, “You look just like-”

  “Dawn, meet David.”

  “Oh, that’s the same name as-”

  “David is an actor,” Penelope says helpfully.

  “Oh, right,” Dawn looks at me, eyes widening in recognition. I brace myself for a shriek or a panic, but none comes. “Right. Well, that’s…unexpected.” She nods at all of us.

  “Welcome to Midnight,” Kate smiles, offering her chair and turning to drag an armchair towards the table.

  I’m not used to groups like this. Close friends. Open conversation. No hang ups over appearance. No obsession with networking. No one has slipped me their phone number. No one has tried to convince me to invest in their personal project. Hell, no one even wants an autograph.

  Instead, they talk and laugh. Drink and eat. Smile and reassure. Listen and support. Kate tells stories from the corporate jungle and Jessica recounts her latest night behind bars for protesting. Christine mentions the drive at the food pantry and Dory tells us about Philippe’s temper tantrum when she accidentally imported the wrong brand of Belgian chocolate. Penelope, making sure everyone has enough food and drink, tells us about her weaving students, and classes in metalwork she’s teaching at Jane’s college.

  And Jane, glowing in the warmth of her friendships, as beautiful as she was the other night, lit by candlelight, and yesterday morning, naked in my bed with the sun streaming over her. Jane laughs and jokes and rolls her eyes with the rest of them.

  I can’t take my eyes off of her.

  “So how long are you staying up here?” Jane asks Dawn, the overhead light glinting off her hair.

  “I’m not sure,” Dawn smiles, slightly nervous in her movements, “but hopefully Kate doesn’t mind if I stay for a few days.”

  “Stay as long as you want,” Kate waves her hand in the air, “I love guests.”

  “Just don’t touch her art,” Jessica says with a laugh.

  “That’s good advice in general,” Penelope adds.

  The evening seems to be drawing down. I stand at the sink, washing plates as Kate and Jessica fight over the last piece of blueberry pie.

  “Why did you really come by tonight?” I hear Jane’s voice behind me, low enough to only be heard between the two of us.

  “Just what I said.” I turn off the water and toss her a towel. She grabs a plate and begins to dry.

  “It hasn’t exactly been a long time since I last saw you.”

  I shrug.

  “You could have called.”

  I smile, turning to her, the last of my plates in my hand. “Are you angry I came over tonight?”

  She seems surprised at my question. “No, but…you didn’t need to.”

  “Why would I have need to?”

  She shrugs, “You know.”

  I fold the towel in front of me, “Clearly I don’t.” My voice is low, “Please enlighten me.”

  She glances at the table where her friend
s continue to laugh. Penelope is telling a story about her loom which, it seems, is hysterical.

  “Sometimes, after a one-night stand, men tend to…check up on women,” she speaks softly, her voice only loud enough for my ears.

  “‘Check up on? What does that mean?”

  “Come on,” she fixes me with those professor eyes, an inescapable gaze. “You’ve never sent a next-day text or phone call? ‘Hey, how are you? Last night was fun. I’ll see you around.’ Just to make sure there are no hard feelings and you’re both on the same page?”

  I nod, “I have done that.” I pause. “After a one night stand.”

  “So, you didn’t need to come over. I’m fine.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” I pull the abused dishcloth from her hand, “Unfortunately, I am not.”

  “Wha-”

  “Now that you’ve just told me last night was a one night stand.”

  She looks confused. “Well…”

  “Did you only want one night?”

  Silence.

  “Believe it or not, I’m not in the habit of one night stands.” I fold the towel on the counter. “I was, when I was younger, but you get older, and you want different things. At least, I do.”

  She’s staring at me like I have grown a unicorn horn right in front of her.

  “Of course, if you don’t, that’s ok too, but we should probably clear this up.”

  “I- I-” she sputters, her hands clenching at her sides, “I just assumed.”

  “Ah,” I smile. “Assuming. What was it you taught me about assumptions? ‘If you can’t find evidence, never assume anything.’ Wasn’t that it?”

  “That refers to textual analysis,” she says.

  “Well, couldn’t it also refer to people?”

  She presses her lips together, eyes unblinking. “Yes,” she says, after a pause.

  “Do you prefer one night stands, Jane?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Do you like me, Jane?” I grin as I say this, thinking about how much she liked me yesterday. My thoughts must be clear across my face because her cheeks turn a delightful shade of pink.

  “Yes,” she says, voice lower, that sexy word, the same word she whispered, moaned, screamed countless times yesterday morning and into the afternoon.

  “Ok. Then I repeat my first question, are you mad I showed up tonight?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Then why all the questions?” I toss the towel on the counter.

  “I’m not asking lots of questions,” she huffs.

  “You,” I lean into her, tipping her chin upwards me with one finger and leaning into her, “most certainly are.”

  I look into her eyes, deep and brown and soft. She softens slightly against me, her body remembering mine. I watch her lids dip and bend my head towards her.

  “A-HEM,” comes a loud cough from the kitchen table. Jane steps back, flustered and drop my hands to my sides, wiping them against my jeans.

  Six pairs of eyes stair at us from the table.

  I feel like a deer in a field of headlights.

  Or, perhaps more accurately, a pair of headlights shining down on six frozen deer.

  I adjust my stance and the spell is broken. Everyone begins to move at once, pushing back from the table and standing up.

  “I need to go.”

  “It’s time for me to leave.”

  “Let’s head back to my place.”

  “Thanks for dinner!”

  “I’ll get the book back to you next week!”

  In less than five minutes, they’re out the door. The table cleared and wiped, dishes put away. Someone even took out the trash.

  Jane and I stand in the kitchen, bewildered at the speed with which her friends torpedoed out of her house.

  Even Dory’s enormous freezer box, and all the miscellaneous shells, napkins, and leftovers, is gone.

  “That was quick,” I say.

  “They can really move when they want to,” Jane turns to me. “You should see them at the outlets on Memorial Day.”

  “Really?”

  “Total stampede.”

  “Hmm.”

  Silence.

  It’s been a long time since I felt hesitant around a woman. I guess when so many people have been such a sure thing, you begin to lose your touch. Jane stands next to me, hands fussing with a dish towel, and I reach for her.

  “David,” she places a hand gently on the center of my chest, eyes on mine.

  “You like me, Jane. You’ve admitted it and it’s too late to take it back. And I like you.”

  “David-”

  “I told you that before, and it seemed to freak you out.”

  “David-”

  “But then you rocked my world all day long, so I figured you wouldn’t mind if I admitted to having affectionate feelings for you.”

  “Affectionate feelings?” Her mouth quirks to one side. “That’s…quite a phrase.”

  “Yeah. Affectionate feelings. There we go.”

  “I have…affectionate feelings for you too.”

  “Great,” I step closer, but she holds me back.

  “We’re really different.”

  My eyebrows go up.

  “I mean, that’s fine, but this is…I don’t know what this is.”

  “Ok. Do we have to label it?” I peer down, her eyes staring at my chest, seeming to unfasten a button with just the power of vision. That hesitation again, a hint of nervousness. “What are you worried about, Jane?”

  “I don’t know,” she shrugs and looks up at me. Her hand rests on my chest, fingers lightly pressing against my breastbone. She looks like she wants to say something more but thinks better of it.

  “I’d like you to stay tonight.” She says suddenly, seeming surprised by the words even as she says them.

  “Ok,” I smile, bending down again, my lips soft against hers. “But, on one condition.”

  She tilts her head. “What is it?”

  “No sex.”

  She laughs lightly and loops her arms around my neck. “Why? Too tired?”

  “Yes,” I answer honestly, “and…”

  “And…?”

  I wrap my arms around her waist and press my mouth to her ear. “The houses in this neighborhood are closer together than the houses in mine.”

  “So?”

  “You’re very loud.”

  “Ha!” She laughs and lightly taps the back of my head. “Rude. Fine. I promise only whispered conversation all night long.”

  “And I didn’t bring a toothbrush. Or pajamas.”

  She runs her fingers through my hair and urges my mouth closer to hers.

  “I can help with an extra toothbrush…”

  “And the pajamas?”

  She smiles against my mouth. “Well, I don’t wear any. Why should you?”

  24

  Jane

  The sun trickles through the leaves overhead and I can’t believe I am stretched naked on a blanket, beside my favorite swimming spot.

  Well, actually, I can believe that. I’ve been here before, naked here before in fact.

  But this time, I’m not alone.

  And I’m not shy. Not anymore. It’s as if weeks with David have quieted that voice in my head, the one that said I wasn’t good enough, or pretty enough, or funny enough. The one that said I need to be the smartest, the most prepared, the best speaker and presenter and researcher because if I wasn’t the best at those things, then I was nothing. There was nothing else to me.

  I watch the shadows of the leaves beneath the sun cast shapes across his shoulders, smiling at the patterns forming across his body. How odd it must be, to be so beautiful, to make a living being beautiful.

  “Were you born beautiful?”

  He looks up, hands still on the large bag he’s placing on the blanket next to me. “What?”

  “Did you ever have an awkward phase? Like braces or big feet or no pubic hair? Or did you…” I gesture at him with one han
d, “come out like this?”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “You’re such a little weirdo.”

  “I just can’t help but think that it affects your development.”

  He puts both hands on the bag. “Do you suspect there is something wrong with my development?”

  “No, well, maybe.” I laugh as he tilts his head towards me, briefly offended. “I just think, without those formative experiences, you know, without those moments of vulnerability and terror, how can you…be a compassionate person?”

  “Are you saying I’m an asshole?”

  “No, no,” I laugh, more at myself than at him and how badly I am bungling this. “You’re very lovely. I just mean, have you ever wondered what it’s like to be someone else? Someone who has had a very different life?”

  He leans forward, placing a light kiss on my forehead, “That’s what acting is, sweetheart.”

  He reaches for the bag again and unpacks it, still seated next to me, fully dressed. He told me to meet him here at noon and the moment I stepped into the clearing, demanded I take off all my clothes. Not one to refuse a great idea, I did and now I’m enjoying the warmth of a light summer breeze, the smell of earth and forest, and the sound of various containers being unpacked and spread out.

  “What is all this?” I ask, my eyes closed and head resting on my folded arms. I am lying face down, and David gently pats my bottom as he continues to unwrap and open tiny containers.

  “We’re picnicking.”

  “You prepared a picnic?” I open my eyes and lift my head slightly, just enough to glance at his offerings. My eyes widen as I see the selection before me- truffles from the chocolate store, slices of pie from Dory, a container of lobster meat, grilled scallops, a salad of chicken and dried cherries, and a pitcher of fresh iced tea with lemon wedges floating in the top. It was a who’s-who of Midnight’s finest delicatessens, bakeries, and cafes.

  “When did you buy all this?”

  “I went shopping yesterday.”

  My eyebrows lift, “In town? In public?” Despite our many nights and afternoons together, David and I rarely spend time in public. While there is no screaming or staring or stampeding (yet), I overhear whispers about him in line at the grocery store, comments about him in the bookstore.