In the Details

by H. Claire Taylor

“Yes,” she said firmly. “The couch. I’ll get you a blanket.”

  Slowly, he settled against the armrest again, looking slightly relieved. “Yeah, yeah. Perfect. Thanks.”

  She held her breath until she was in the closet, looking around for the extra set of sheets, where she finally exhaled, feeling the heat rise in her face.

  When she returned with the sheet and a pillow, she said, “You’re welcome to use the bathroom if you need, even if I’m asleep. Just let yourself through.”

  He smiled at her but said nothing, and she refilled her water and hurried into the bedroom.

  Her head had hardly hit the pillow when her phone buzzed on the nightstand next to her. Who was texting her this late at night? Had Cash already seen the photos?

  She unlocked her screen and felt a rush of guilt wash over her when she saw the sender’s name. Despite her intentions to do so, she hadn’t given him a heads up about her new staged relationship.

  Chris: Saw the pictures of the festival on Twitter. Glad to see you’re enjoying yourself.

  Was that bitterness or was he being genuine? And which one did she hope it was?

  She wrote a rambling message then quickly deleted it. She did that two more times.

  The she settled on something simpler.

  Jessica: Thanks. Jameson’s just a friend.

  His response was immediate.

  Chris: It looks like he’s more than that. That’s fine. You don’t have to worry about me.

  What the hell? Why wouldn’t she worry about him and his feelings? Why didn’t this bother him like it should? Was he being generous or had he already found someone new?

  After five minutes of googling “Christopher Riley, Philadelphia Eagles, girlfriend” and only turning up images of herself and three or four of a pig in a green jersey, she had to admit that the results were inconclusive. If he had someone else, he wasn’t making it public like she was.

  Jessica: I miss talking to you. How’s work?

  * * *

  Chris: I miss talking with you too. It’s busy. How’s yours?

  * * *

  Jessica: Same.

  Her glowing screen burned into her eyeballs as she waited for his response. But it never came and she fell asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jessica showered and dressed in the day-two outfit Amber and Hailey had picked out for her. It was while she was blowdrying her hair that she first smelled the bacon.

  “Whoa,” she said when she finally set eyes on the pile of food on the kitchen island. “Thanks.”

  He grinned at her. “Least I can do for you hosting me. There’s coffee in the pot, too.”

  She narrowed her eyes on him. Was there any way she could set it up so that Jameson did this for her every morning and she didn’t have to put out or pay him?

  CONGRATULATIONS. YOU’VE JUST INVENTED SLAVERY.

  Not what I was getting at.

  BUT IT KINDA WAS.

  “Figure you should start the day on a full stomach,” he said as she shoveled eggs into her mouth. “Big plans in store.”

  “Really?” she said, secretly reveling about the massive dump she’d taken right before bed the night before. If this breakfast was any indication of the day’s eating habits, she’d be due for another one later that night.

  “Yep. Breakfast, then festival for a while, and then I heard about this super cool event happening tonight that I want to take you to.”

  “Super cool, huh? How did you know I liked super cool things?” She crammed two pieces of bacon in her gullet before he could tell how much she was lying.

  Nothing in her history or her personality made her a fan of things that people like Jameson, with their supreme likability and natural social skills, would call a “super cool event.”

  But wait, wasn’t the festival “super cool”? And their dinner at S8 Su4, albeit strange as hell and possibly the reason she’d been forced to treat herself for a tapeworm the week before, that had been enjoyable enough.

  Jameson was able to repurpose Jessica’s day-two backup outfit for his own use, saving them a stop by his place to grab more clothes. As they descended the stairs to the front door of her building, after a quick pep talk about the paparazzi who’d been camping out all night to snap photos of them leaving together, Jameson pushed open the door, shooting sunlight straight into her eyes and reminding her to move her shades from the top of her head onto the bridge of her nose.

  “Jessica!” cried a frantic voice as soon as she stepped across the threshold.

  She turned to her left and saw Jesus hobbling at her along the sidewalk. “What in the …” She motioned for Jameson to step back and allowed Jesus to go inside. She followed him, dragging Jameson right back in with her, and shut the fogged-glass front door for a bit of privacy.

  Though Jesus didn’t have a black eye, there was distinct bruising and a cut on his cheek that indicated he might have one the next day. The Ratt T-shirt Jeremy had lent him was torn at the shoulder—which was probably for the best if it meant getting the thing out of circulation—and one of Jesus’s shoes was missing. And that didn’t even begin to account for the strange wet spots and dirt on him. “What in the hell happened to you?” Jessica asked.

  “Joshua?” Jameson said, one of his eyes squinting to half the size of the other. The two of them had hit it off at Jessica’s bakery launch party a half-year before, but she was surprised that with everyone Jameson met, he remembered her half-brother’s name. Or rather, his fake name.

  Jesus took a moment to catch his breath. “I believe I did something wrong, but I’m not sure what it was.”

  “It looks like you were beat up.”

  His head swayed back and forth rhythmically, and she wasn’t sure he was agreeing with her or about to pass out. “Yes, I was beaten. To be clear, I don’t think the intent was to murder me.”

  “That’s good, but it also sounds like you’re defending whoever did this to you. Why would you— Oh.” She rolled her eyes as it dawned on her. “You were beat up by a bunch of homeless people, weren’t you?”

  He steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, bowing his head solemnly. “Yes. But I believe it was just a misunderstanding. I was trying to help them, you see.”

  She exchanged a glance with Jameson, whose wide eyes indicated he was even more out of his depth than she was.

  “It looks like they didn’t want your help.”

  THEY DID NOT.

  “You stay out of this, Dad!” Jesus said. He looked to Jess for sympathy. “Always with the judgment.”

  What did he do?

  “Nope.” Jesus snapped his fingers in front of her face. “You cut that out. I can tell you’re talking to Him. I see your eyes glaze over. No gossiping behind my back. All I did was try to provide for them, and they turned on me like a pack of meanies. It’s like I’m being tested. I— I can’t explain it.”

  I CAN. HE TURNED A CRACK ROCK INTO A BUNCH OF FISH.

  “Oh, for shit’s sake, Jesus,” Jessica moaned, dragging a hand over her face.

  “Daaad,” Jesus whined. “I asked You to stay out of it.”

  Jameson looked back and forth between them. “Did you just call him Jesus?”

  “Yeah. His name’s not Joshua. He’s Jesus.” She saw the question in his eyes. “Yes, the Jesus.” She grabbed Jameson under the armpits to pull him up as he attempted to kneel to her half-brother. “Seriously not necessary.”

  Jessica turned to Jesus. “Go get yourself cleaned up. And in the future, don’t steal people’s drugs, okay?”

  “Their signs said they were hungry,” he protested.

  “Yeah, for McDonalds. Not a bunch of dead fish.”

  Jesus opened his mouth to respond, then snapped it shut.

  She let out a long, exhausted exhale and pinched the bridge of her nose where a headache was starting to bud. “They weren’t dead, were they?” she asked.

  Pressing his lips together tightly, he shook his head. “And now I’m starting
to see where the misunderstanding might have started.”

  With lessons learned, Jessica nodded for Jameson to follow her back onto the street again to greet the paparazzi for real this time.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Are you going to tell me what the surprise is, or do I have to guess?” Jessica asked as they parked on the street in a warehouse district and Jameson led the way down a poorly lit sidewalk. “Oh, is it my murder?”

  “Of course not. If I’d wanted to murder you, I’ve had way better opportunities before now.”

  “Not thrilled that you’ve already thought about it.”

  Day two of the festival was much like day one, except she didn’t run into Quentin and Callie. Perhaps they weren’t there or she simply didn’t see them in the massive crowd. Or maybe they were avoiding her.

  She and Jameson had left before the headliner to return to her condo and shower (separately) and prepare for the evening’s surprise plans, which her limited imagination had kept her from making an educated guess about. Her only clue was that she could wear whatever she wanted.

  She’d taken that to mean whatever she was wearing would likely be destroyed by the end.

  Paintball?

  No. No one played paintball at night.

  “How about I just give you a hint?” he said.

  “I’ll take it.”

  “It’s a blind date.”

  She stopped walking and stared at the back of his head until he realized she was no longer beside him and also stopped. “That’s not— You just plain told me what it was. Are you setting me up on a blind date?”

  She’d thought this was a date already. Or close enough.

  “No, no. That’s the hint. Blind date.”

  Shit, was he blind? Had he been blind this whole time and she was too unobservant to notice the signs? Or was he introducing her to some blind friends? That last one would be fine, and it would explain why he didn’t care what she wore.

  He reached back and grabbed her hand, pulling her forward. “Never mind. You’ll figure it out in a second.”

  It was much more time than that before she wrapped her head around the situation. In fact, it wasn’t until she was seated at the table across from Jameson, she presumed, surrounded by total darkness that the hint landed. “Ohh,” she said. “Blind because we can’t see.”

  “Right.”

  The reception area for this event was lit by fluorescent lights, which meant that when she first entered, the light streamed in through the door, illuminating some of the surroundings. The tiny glimpse of them left her wondering if this place would pass inspection for tenement housing in the 1800s, let alone a place that served food in modern days.

  “How does this work?” she asked, feeling around the table carefully for her napkin.

  “The same way it does at any old restaurant, only now you’re blind.”

  “I got that bit. I’m more wondering why we’re blind.”

  Jameson laughed. “When you eliminate one of the senses, the others are heightened. You can try it yourself. Close your eyes next time you’re eating a chocolate bar. It makes the sensation much more pleasurable. It also works for other things, but, well, not everyone’s into that.”

  She knew he was talking about sex, so she changed the subject. “I guess the food must be really good here, huh?”

  “I assume so. This is more of an exhibition, meaning it’s only in town a limited time.”

  That made sense of the location and lack of decor, at least.

  She could hear Jameson lean toward her by the change of volume as he spoke. “But mostly, I wanted you bring you here to celebrate.”

  “Celebrate what?” Hadn’t they been celebrating all weekend? Granted, she lacked quite of bit of life experience in the celebrations department, but she imagined it looked a lot like getting high at a music festival two days in a row.

  “The progress you’re making. I know it was hard for you to embrace this role as a major celebrity”—she wanted to correct that to “minor celebrity” but she refrained—“but you’ve done a tremendous job of it. And as a reward, I thought it might be nice to take you out to dinner somewhere no one can recognize you and you can let your hair down a bit.”

  “That’s incredibly sweet and thoughtful of you, Jameson. Thanks.”

  “Don’t act so surprised.” He laughed. “I’m more than good looks.”

  “That you are.”

  Jameson explained further about the blind dinner, saying it was to raise awareness and (more importantly) funds to help the visually impaired around Central Texas. He also said he’d heard that the waitstaff was entirely blind.

  As the waiters handed out the dishes, she heard an awful lot of clatter as they ran into objects here and there. Either these people weren’t blind and were struggling to navigate the darkness the same way she had upon first entering, or these people were not great at being blind. Either way, when one of them set her plate down in front of her, she pretended that not only was she blind, but she was totally into it.

  What would a blind person do? She thought.

  The blind person would use her sense of touch, smell, and taste to enjoy the meal, obviously. She held her palms over the chicken-fried steak she’d ordered, excited to use the heat to warm her chilly hands.

  Huh. Maybe her other senses were still adjusting, because she felt no warmth coming off of her plate.

  Or perhaps they got the orders mixed up. Maybe it was a salad they’d brought her instead of a chicken fried steak.

  She reached down to touch the food, and her fingertip hit cold gravy followed by soggy breading.

  Her sense of touch was not impressed.

  It was still entirely possible that the thing tasted good. So she cut off a bit and threw it back.

  Oh god. Holy hell.

  There was no doubt in her mind that the deprivation of her sight led to other senses becoming heightened. It was just that she wish they weren’t.

  The beef was like trying to chew a rubber band ball. The breading was incredibly generous with the pepper, causing her to search the air carefully but urgently for her glass of water.

  “Damn,” Jameson muttered.

  Jessica leaned forward, whispering, “Does yours taste like shit, too?”

  When he burst into laughter, so did she. “I didn’t think you could screw up mac and cheese,” he said.

  “‘I’ll take the check and my eyesight back.”

  “No kidding.” She heard him set his fork clumsily back onto the table, clattering it against his plate in the attempt. “Sorry, I thought this would be fun.”

  She reached forward on the table, knocking an unidentified but extraneous utensil to the ground, until she found his hand. “It is fun. If I’m hungry later, I can eat. This is a sweet gesture, and it is nice to not have to worry about being photographed.”

  He squeezed her hand back. “As long as you’re enjoying yourself, so am I.”

  One of the waiters bumped into her chair, and she instinctively said, “Oh, sorry,” which was of course short for “Sorry for existing and occupying space,” even if her conscious mind wasn’t aware of that.

  Then a hand landed on her shoulder, gripping confidently, and the squeak of a chair across the linoleum floor followed, turning the table for two into a table for three.

  “Jessica,” said an all-too-familiar voice. “Fancy seeing you here. Get it? Seeing?”

  How in the …? “Go away, Jimmy.”

  “Jimmy?” said Jameson. “As in Jimmy Dean?”

  Jimmy chuckled charmingly. “Actually, it’s Reverend Jimmy Dean, but I won’t hold it against you. There’s someone I’d like you to meet, Jessica.”

  She remained silent, not wanting to give him the slightest morsel of anything, except maybe a forceful mouthful of her chicken fried blob. How dare he interrupt their meal to barge in and introduce random people. “Jessica, this is Emily. Emily, Jessica.”

  The back of a hand clumsily whapped Jessica�
��s face before she was able to snatch it for a microsecond of a shake. Judging by the angle, Emily was standing next to Jimmy’s chair. “So nice to finally meet you, Jessica. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “I bet you have.”

  “Emily is my fiancée,” Jimmy explained, “in case you don’t watch the news.”

  “Congrats,” Jessica replied sarcastically. “And I watch enough news to know that. It’s cute that you introduce her as your fiancée rather than your favorite victim.”

  Emily sighed like a patient mother. “I was so wrong, and I feel terrible. I’d misconstrued his love for us as a need to control, and in my mistake I poisoned the minds of so many others. It’s all my fault Jimmy’s being tried in the court of public opinion.”

  Jessica’s sense of empathy had not been heightened by the visual deprivation. “Doesn’t that work out well, considering it’s all Jimmy’s fault that I’m tried in the court of public opinion on a quarterly basis.”

  “Don’t be dramatic, Jessica,” Jimmy said. “Your social clout is higher than it’s ever been. Due in part, I presumed, to the tireless efforts of Mr. Fractal and the rest of your PR team.”

  “What do you want, Jimmy?” It was always best to get to that question sooner than later.

  “What do I want? All I truly want is for you to give me the benefit of the doubt every now and then. You treat me as your whipping boy, your sacrificial scapegoat, and it’s like there’s no path for redemption for me in your eyes, nothing I can say or do to snap you out of this false and negative opinion of me.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “There’s nothing you can do or say to make me stop thinking you’re a sleaze. And I’m not withdrawing the lawsuit, if that’s where this is going.”

  He leaned forward, the heat of his breath far warmer than her meal. “Look, I know I’ve made mistakes, but I’m only human. Sumus omnes porcos, you know? That doesn’t exclude me. If you want to harden your heart to the point where people who care about you are punished forever for making simple mistakes, well, I hope you’re ready for the disastrous results of that over the long term. It can truly calcify the soul.”