Jason: The Philistine Heart (Book 1)

by Jean Evergreen

  In the 20 minutes I’ve been here, I haven’t had time to feign admiration for the so-called art. The moment we arrived, Susan stuck me with Caleb, one of Greg’s buddies from college. According to Susan, he’s a hedge fund manager from New York and marches to the beat of a half million per year. She whispered that in my ear before shoving a non-alcoholic cocktail in my hand with the parting words: “Have fun!” How Susan knows these things, I have no idea. I suppose, as someone who works in public relations, she makes it her business to stay well connected and informed.

  When it comes to Susan’s knowledge of my taste in men, however, she did not do her homework. Caleb is tall and gangly. I’d be surprised if he’s ever set foot in a gym. He might be very competent in the financial world, but he looks like he just moved out of his parent’s basement. He’s not terribly interesting to talk to either. He seems to think I should be impressed that his new Ferrari Spider tops out at almost 200 miles per hour. I’m sure that sort of thing appeals to the women in Susan’s circle. An expensive sports car is a way for him to suggest he has money and lives an exciting life, without having to be so boorish as to make a literal claim to the point. Little does he know he’s barking up the wrong tree. I’ve never cared about luxury cars, designer labels or any of the other gimmicks that seem to garner respect in the world of the wealthy and elite.

  I like a strong-jawed, hard bodied, manly man who whispers dirty things in my ear that make me blush at inopportune moments. Maybe I’m more superficial than I realized, or perhaps I view attraction through a filter of Blake. In my mind when I think of a physical ideal, I picture him. I wonder if I’ll ever get over that feeling. In the meantime, it is a mystery to me how anyone can enjoy casual dating. Having to work this hard to find chemistry is exhausting.

  While Caleb drones on about his trip to London earlier this year, I anxiously sip my cocktail. Normally I’m strictly a water and tea kind of girl; the last thing I want to do is drink my calories. Tonight, I’m happy to make an exception — anything that will occupy my lips, so I don’t have to use them to speak. I’ve decided the only way I’ll survive the night, without offending anyone or embarrassing myself, is to smile and nod, with the occasional light-hearted giggle, at anything and everything that comes my way. Inane pleasantries are counter to my nature, but have saved me from looking the complete fool in more than one uncomfortable social situation. Only, I’m not uncomfortable. I feel giddy, bored, but giddy. That doesn’t seem like me.

  “And you wouldn’t believe the horsepower they have. I bet you’d look great behind the wheel of my Ferrari. I’d let you take it for a spin if it weren’t back in New York,” Caleb says.

  “Hmm?” I ask, suddenly jolted out of the safety of my internal dialogue.

  "Oh, yeah,” I reply absently, as I nod and giggle. Caleb looks at me strangely as my giggles seem to keep coming. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s come over me,” I apologize putting my hand over my mouth hoping to prevent an onslaught of hysterical laughter. I should probably feel embarrassed, but instead, I feel distant and uncharacteristically lax.

  Caleb seems amused by my reaction; he probably takes it as a sign that things are going well. “You know, I’ll be in town for a while, Maybe we can...”

  “Hi honey,” comes a familiar voice. I cast a confused glance to my side, only to find the last person I’d expect.

  “Hi Jason,” I reply, confused. Does he think I’m someone else?

  Jason leans in to kiss me on the cheek and places his hand possessively on my lower back. Perhaps I should question the appropriateness of my boss so brazenly touching such an intimate part of my person. But why would I, when I feel instantly drunk off the warm current rushing through my body, no doubt originating from the very spot where his hand currently resides.

  “I didn’t realize you were here with someone,” Caleb says, disappointment spreading across his countenance.

  “Oh, um, yeah,” is all I manage to get out.

  “Well, it was a pleasure talking to you,” Caleb says before bowing out and blending into the crowd, likely on the hunt for another date.

  I barely notice him leave. Jason immediately usurps all of my attention and everything else around me seems to fade away.

  “I thought you could use some help. You looked ready to drown yourself in that cocktail, and he wasn’t taking the hint.”

  “Oh, thanks,” I giggle, very much aware that Jason’s hand is still pressed against my bare back. Jason looks especially dashing in his tuxedo — like a green eyed Guy Madison. He carries himself with an air of confidence that would make anyone take notice. Not that Jason cares who takes note of his presence. He can command a room without asserting an ounce more effort than the simple act of showing up.

  He certainly knows how to get my attention. One delectable flash of his movie star smile makes my heart skip a beat. But that’s too easy; it would be far more challenging to avoid becoming a puddle of malleable goo in his presence, especially when part of his presence is so intimately acquainted to my back.

  “I guess you’re my knight in shining armor,” I say, without thinking. Jason shoots me an amused grin. “What are you doing here?” I ask, doing my best to pretend I didn’t just make that awkward comment.

  “A friend of mine is auctioning her work tonight. Art auctions aren’t normally my scene, but I promised to support her.”

  “That sounds exciting. Are you going to bid on one of your friend's pieces?”

  “Nah, I’m here strictly in a support capacity. Her work isn’t my style. Besides, she’s making quite a name for herself in the art world. I doubt she’ll have to worry about getting bids.”

  “Where is her display?” I ask, wanting to find any reason possible to prolong our conversation and for Jason to keep his hand pressed against my back.”

  “It’s over there,” Jason says, pointing to a display across the room. “I can show you if you’d like.”

  “That would be great,” I say, taking a step in the direction that Jason is pointing.

  “Whoa.” Jason grabs my waist to balance me as I almost trip over my shoes, the remainder of my cocktail sloshing back and forth in my glass.

  “Sorry,” I say, peering disdainfully at my shoes.

  “Ah, not your standard foot attire.”

  “Not at all. I feel like I’m hobbling when I walk. Susan forced me to wear them, along with this dress. She said something about not wanting me to be a fashion victim.”

  Jason’s eyes light up as he gives my outfit a quick once over. Is it my imagination or did his eyes linger a few seconds too long on my chest? Not that it’s difficult to notice. Going out in public without a bra is something I would typically consider less than ideal. The only support I have under my dress are a pair of silicone nipple concealers — yet another fashion tip from Susan.

  “That’s right. I remember Tracy telling me Susan was organizing this event. I haven’t seen her tonight.”

  “Tracy … oh, your friend the artist?” I ask hopefully and am relieved when Jason nods in confirmation. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice her,” I laugh. “I thought she’d made her rounds on every person in the room.”

  “I haven’t been here long. Here let me help you,” Jason says, casually sliding his arm around my waist as he expertly weaves me through the crowd across the room. A tingle runs up and down my spine, as I soak up every moment of being close to him. Everything from his firm yet gentle grip around my waist, to the tantalizing scent of his cologne, has me in a state of rapture, which is so unlike me. I’m normally far more cautious about showing my feelings in public. Who is this wild woman who’s taken over my body tonight?

  “Here we are,” Jason says, waving towards a large photograph hanging on the wall.

  “Oh my,” I say before I burst out laughing. “Sorry, I’m not normally this silly. I supposed I’m not refined enough to appreciate the lines and lighting and all the things an art connoisseur would admire.”

  “Tra
cy likes a strong reaction; that’s why she does this kind of work. She would probably appreciate your bold display of emotion over stifling college talk. Besides, all I see are a bunch of frat boys and bankers. I doubt there’s a single art connoisseur among them. I take it you don’t have a taste for this style of art?”

  “It is quite provocative,” I say, eyeing the black and white image of the full nude lesbian couple, titled The Phallicy. A woman is standing, wearing a leather cage mask while gripping the head of the other woman who is sitting obsequiously on her knees, with her face pushed into the standing woman’s crotch. “To be honest, I’m not a fan of minimal art. I have a hard time understanding how a canvass painted red is making a statement, or how this supposedly artistic photograph differs from a spread in Penthouse — not that I have any idea what's in Penthouse. I’ll take a classic oil painting of a meadow any day over this.” I stop speaking, realizing from the disapproving glances I’m drawing from those around me that my voice is a few decibels too loud. “Sorry, did I offend you?”

  “You’re not offending me at all; that’s a very fair reaction,” Jason chuckles. “As I said, this isn’t my style. Tracy and her partner are both active in the LGBTQ community. Her work often depicts gay and lesbian couples.”

  My heart leaps for joy when Jason explains that his female friend is a lesbian. I’m sure tomorrow I’ll feel deeply embarrassed at my furtive attempt to flirt with my boss, but tonight, I’m throwing caution to the wind. I decide to probe Jason a bit further. “So are you into the whole gay lifestyle, or, er … I’m saying that wrong. I’m not sure the PC way to say it.”

  “I’m not. I’ve known Tracy for years. We go way back. I’m just a supporter,” Jason replies calmly.

  My heart does somersaults. You can never be too careful these days, especially with a man who’s practically a work of art himself. “I think it’s great that you support that sort of thing,” I reply. “I don’t know much about gay stuff, so it’s not on my radar. Um so … I’ve never seen you in a tux before; this is so weird.” Before I can say anything else, I feel the room start to spin, and my mind goes cloudy.

  “Are you okay?” Jason asks gently, his voice filled with concern as he tightens his grip on me and I lean in closer to him.

  “Yeah, I’ve felt strange all night.”

  “I think you’ve had one too many cocktails.”

  “No, that couldn’t be. I’ve only had one and I don’t drink. This is non-alcoholic. Trust me. I would know if there were alcohol in here. I can’t stand the smell or the taste.”

  Jason gives me a bizarre look that fades quickly.

  “This is all a little much for me, and it’s definitely not my typical venue. I would leave, but Susan’s my ride, which probably means I’ll be here all night.”

  “I can take you home,” Jason offers.

  “Oh no, you don’t have to. You should stay and enjoy yourself.”

  “No really, I’d be happy to. I kept my promise to a friend. Now I’m ready to go. You’d be doing me a favor, giving me an excuse to leave early.”

  “Well, if you’re going to insist, who am I to argue?” I reply. In truth, I am thoroughly relieved that he’s offering. I’d been feeling like it was time to leave from the moment I arrived at the gallery. So much for the plan to turn me into a mini Susan for the night. A leopard can’t change its spots and a solitary creature like myself will never be in harmony with a large crowd.

  13

  Morning Haze

  The next morning, I got a rude awakening from my phone. At first, I tried to ignore the irritating carnival music blaring from its speakers. But after five minutes of listening to it stop, only to start again, I resolved two things: to hunt down my phone, which I found on my living room futon, in a purse Susan lent me, and to change my ringtone.

  “Hello?” I say, drowsily.

  “Bridget?”

  “Hi, Susan.”

  “Ok missy, you have some explaining to do.”

  “Hmm, about what?”

  “Don’t try to act innocent. I saw you with Jason last night. You two were all over each other. Then you left together and never came back. I want the dirt, silly — unless you can’t talk. Is Jason with you?” Susan asks, hopefully.

  “What? No, Jason isn’t with me.” I reply, jolted out of my morning daze. “Listen, Susan, I just woke up. It isn’t a good time for me.”

  “No way, you’re not getting away that easily. I know something’s going on between you two,” Susan scolds. I can practically hear her wagging a finger at me. I can see Susan isn’t going to give up without a fight unless I shut her down completely.

  “There’s nothing to tell, I promise. I wasn’t feeling well last night, and Jason offered to take me home. And we weren’t all over each other. Those torture chambers you call shoes had me walking like a one-year-old in her first pair of trainers. He was helping me keep my balance. That is all.” To my surprise, Susan bursts out laughing. “What’s so funny?”

  “I have a confession. Before I tell you, just promise me you won’t get mad.”

  “Fine, I promise,” I reply, wondering if Susan purposefully chose those shoes for me as a practical joke.

  “Greg thought you seemed nervous when you were at our condo. So he suggested that I give you something to, er, loosen up. I know you’re not used to being around Greg’s kind of crowd and I so wanted you to enjoy yourself. I would have felt awful if you ended up spending the entire night in a corner by yourself.”

  “What did you do, Susan?” I ask sternly.

  “I crushed a few Xanax pills and put them in your drink.”

  “A few?”

  “Well, you looked like you needed a lot of help. From the moment we arrived at the auction, you were shaking like a frightened little bunny. It’s not like I could spike your drink, you won’t touch alcohol. So I did the next best thing. All in the name of friendship.”

  “So you decided to help by drugging me? What if something had happened?” I should be angry, but instead, I feel like reprimanding myself for not seeing this coming. This is Susan after all. That impish grin and the mischievous look she gave me after practically shoving the non-alcoholic cocktail in my hand, should have set my internal alarm bells ringing. Instead, I was so consumed with trying to appear interested in the banal stories from the Caleb guy she stuck me with, that I didn’t notice what should have been a gigantic red flag, vigorously waving, right in front of me.

  “I wouldn’t have let anything happen. I was watching you out of the corner of my eye all night. Besides, it looks like things ended happily ever after,” Susan says, making another sly attempt to draw information out of me.

  “You let me leave with Jason,” I say, in an accusatory tone.

  “That’s only because I knew you were in good hands. At least from where I was standing, it looked like Jason did an excellent job handling you.”

  “Oh gosh,” I groan. “Yes, he handled me, but not in the way you’re implying.”

  “And what might I be implying? Care to fill me in on the details?”

  “You are impossible,” I laugh despite myself. “Listen, you’re still not off the hook for the Xanax stunt. When I come out of this haze leftover from last night, I’ll probably be pretty upset. You might want to steer clear of me for a while. And as for Jason, if there were something to tell, I would tell it. Anyway, I have to let you go. I have a ton of errands to run, and I want to make it to the gym before noon, otherwise I’ll have to wait forever for an open treadmill.”

  “Um Bridge, have you checked the time? It’s 12:30.”

  “You’re kidding me!” I exclaim as I look at the clock on my phone. “Oh, Susan!”

  “You know, I think you’re right. You have other things to do. I’ll talk to you later,” Susan says hurriedly, before promptly hanging up.

  I toss the phone on my futon, all the while feeling my irritation for Susan increase exponentially. Susan knows how careful I am to keep drugs and alcohol ou
t of my system, especially when they can alter my mood or personality. I’ve seen how a substance changes a person, destroying everything good until all that remains is a monster. Whatever my neurosis, they are mine to grapple — with a sober head. A person like her will never understand how I feel. She views intoxication as a natural part of life. I see it as a violation and betrayal of my body, and sense of self. But then, Blake never understood my aversion to alcohol either. As an adult, it’s a predicament I continually revisit. When it comes to abstinence from mind-altering poisons, I’m mostly on an island alone.

  I slump lethargically onto the futon. Thanks to Susan, I’ve lost my morning. The last time I woke up this late, I was an undergraduate in college, and that was just because I stayed up all night cramming for a test. As I stare at the ceiling, I try to think back to the events of last night. I hadn’t been entirely honest with Susan — but when am I ever?

  I remember being with Jason in the elevator to the parking garage. I felt nauseous from the motion, so I shamelessly draped myself all over him, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist and leaning my head on his shoulder. Every once in a while, I would look up at him — no doubt starry-eyed, he looked exceptionally delicious last night, and he would smile warmly at me.

  When we made it to the parking garage, I asked him if I could wait by the elevator while he brought the car around to me — between my perilously high heels and feeling the room starting to spin, I couldn’t stomach the thought of walking any further. Instead, he effortlessly lifted me into his arms, in An Officer and a Gentleman fashion, and whisked me away to his car, gently placing me in the passenger seat. Even in my impaired state, I felt the chivalry of it all.

  His car was a BMW lined in black leather — the light scent of his cologne present throughout. I found it soothing, it was as though he was enveloping me in his warm embrace. Not long afterwards, I drifted off to sleep. I don’t recall if I gave him my address, but he found it somehow. I woke up to him caressing my hand, asking in a soft whisper if I wanted him to carry me to my apartment. I declined. So he assisted me to my door.