Guilt panged in my gut. “Let’s just leave Nigel out of this, shall we?”
“I like Abbot. He’s a stand-up guy. He’s just not much once he lies down.” Mary K snickered at her own joke.
Mary K replaced the milk carton into the fridge. After lighting a cigarette, she sat in the breakfast nook. “Got enough fixings for a second omelet?”
I nodded and cracked another pair of eggs. She sorted through the mail.
For the first time since I’d known her, I didn’t appreciate Mary K’s respect for my romantic privacy. I wanted her to riddle me with questions about Jake. I wanted to gush about the new passion I’d experienced, the amazing man I’d just spent four days in bed with whose art had moved me to tears. I felt exhaustion down in my bones while everything but my skeleton buzzed with a new, nameless energy.
Joining Mary K at the table, I pushed the eggs around on my plate. My appetite had flirted with me and then left as my mind and my body tingled with thoughts of Jake. The salty smell of the sea on his skin. The rich burgundy taste of wine on his lips. The fragrance of strong coffee brewing in the morning and the warm impression of his body left on the rumpled sheets beside me while he fixed us breakfast. Just recalling how he touched me aroused me all over again. Suddenly I could feel Mary K’s eyes on me, drawing me back into our little kitchen.
“You, Murphy, are positively fuck-drunk.” She slapped me on the shoulder. “’Bout time.”
“I met somebody,” I said.
“No shit.”
“Are you going to be around? He’s coming over. I’d like you to meet him.”
“What, leave now?” Mary K replied. “Wouldn’t miss out on meeting the dude that makes you this stupid.”
I spent the next several hours pampering myself and the flat. I showered, shaved my legs, lotioned myself everywhere I could reach, and put clean sheets on my bed. Looking around our flat, I saw what I hadn’t seen for a long time—a neglected place where two very busy interns lived. After being at Jake’s loft, I was nervous bringing him here. The garage sale furniture and bare white walls said nothing about us, or maybe too much. Until I imagined Jake’s eyes on it, I hadn’t really noticed the shabby details of the surroundings. It was a place I crashed in after double shifts. It was clean and orderly, and I was grateful for that.
Frantically, I dug through drawers and cabinets, finding as many candles as I could. I tossed one of my mother’s quilts over the sagging couch. After I’d turned down the lights, lit all of the candles, and tidied the towers of medical books, the place looked presentable. I flicked through the stack of albums. I found my usual favorites trivial and switched the music several more times before I landed on Dinah Washington. Rain thrumming against the windows added a cozy feeling that pleased me.
Ben nuzzled my fingertips. I scratched his ancient jowls. The dog was just about the only genuinely personal touch to be found in the place, and, but for the musky smell emitting from his damp fur, I liked what he added to the ambiance. He let out a soft whimper of appreciation.
When the doorbell rang at six, I couldn’t resist one last look in the dining room mirror. I’d tamed some of the wildness of my hair and wore my new soft chinos with a white linen shirt. My pale skin wore a flush I’d seldom seen in my own reflection.
When I opened the door, Jake beamed at me. By his side on the porch sat a huge shopping bag with stringed handles, bulging with flowers. He held a large box, which he leaned back to balance. His jacket’s shoulders were darkened with rain and his glasses were fogged. “I can’t believe how much I’ve missed you this afternoon,” he said. “I think I’m going through withdrawal.” I stood drinking in the comic sweetness of his face, his smile. “Can I come in?”
“Sure. Here, let me take that,” I said, grasping the bag. He stepped inside, dripping water onto the entryway rug. He set the box down by the door. “Let me get you a towel.” After he’d dried off, he came in and surveyed the room. “Nice place.”
“Yeah, right.”
“No, really,” he said. “I love these great old painted ladies. Great details. Leaded glass diamond windowpanes. Clinker brick fireplace. Most of these have been wrecked with modernizing. It’s rare to see one in original form.” He walked to the mantle and picked up one of my many bird’s eggs.
“Yours?”
I nodded, a little embarrassed at the childhood collection. Now and then I’d find a new one to add to the assortment.
He picked up a second egg, examining it like a jeweler examines a diamond. “Why eggs?”
“Started when I was a kid.” I stepped toward him, pressing my cheek against his shoulder. “Each one has evolved to be the maximum thickness that a chick of its particular species can peck through. In other words, it’s as strong as it can possibly be for protection, but thin enough to allow escape. And each is designed for its habitat. Rounder eggs are from birds in secure nests. More pointed eggs are for species that lay eggs on rocks or hillsides; they roll in a circle so that they won’t get too far from their nests. Evolutionary perfection.”
“And beautiful.”
I’d never asked myself why I loved the eggs before. I looked with new eyes at the collection. “Yeah. Beautiful.”
Ben moseyed over to Jake, gave him a quick sniff, and licked his hand. “How you doing, big guy?” Jake petted Ben’s head, which came up to his hip. “Your description didn’t do you justice, old man. He’s even bigger than you described. I guess that means you’re not prone to exaggeration.”
“No,” Mary K said as she entered the room. “Murphy doesn’t tend toward hyperbole.” Her hair was loose and shiny. Her blue eyes shone like jewelry.
Jake reached his hand out. “You must be Mary K. I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s a pleasure.” Jake flashed Mary K a world-class smile. The two shook hands and Mary K gave Jake a sideways appraisal. “Here,” Jake said, “I brought something for you. Sort of a nice-to-meet-you gift. Kat told me what a big animal lover you are.”
It seemed odd to me for Mary K to hear Jake’s intimate nickname for me. He reached into the shopping bag, set the flowers aside, and pulled out a book of photographs tied with a leather strap. “It’s a collection of photographs of artists with their animals. Georgia O’Keefe with her horses. You know, shots like that. It’s a first edition given to me by the artist. Richard Avedon. He’s a good friend of my friend, Burt. Avedon is a great portrait photographer, and—”
“I know who Richard Avedon is,” Mary K interrupted, her voice brittle.
Confusion filled me. What had changed the tone in the room? I didn’t have a clue who Richard Avedon was and wondered if he was somehow offensive to Mary K.
“Of course,” Jake said. He looked down at the floor. “Anyway, I really enjoyed getting this as a gift, but I’m not one to hold on to things. It deserves a new set of more appreciative eyes.”
Jake held the box out to Mary K. She reached into her pocket and grabbed a cigarette, lighting it before taking the box from him. “Thanks,” she muttered. “That wasn’t necessary. First edition. Sounds a little valuable.” She set the package, unopened, on a side chair. Her face wore creases of suspicion.
“Gifts are only valuable if they’re being enjoyed.” Jake reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze. I squirmed involuntarily, realizing that though I’d watched Mary K with dozens of her dates, I’d never been physically demonstrative with a man in front of her. Nigel and I only touched when we were alone.
“There’s a wolf in there,” Jake continued. “One of old Ben’s distant cousins. Ooh, and I almost forgot.” He reached into the bag and extracted a cellophane bag filled with dog bone-shaped cookies. “They’re from this place on Union Street. They make healthy pet snacks.” Jake unwrapped the package and removed a bone, which Ben took delicately into his teeth and began munching.
I wanted to smooth the rough edges of the exchange. “Thanks, Jake. Ben seems to love his treat.”
“He’s a bit of a snack whore,” Mary K replied. �
�Don’t know that gourmet goodies can be fully appreciated by an animal that drinks from the toilet.”
Jake pulled two bottles from the bag. “Wine and sparkling water,” he announced. “Thought we could share a drink together.”
Mary K eyed the water and sent me a piercing glare that said, You told him, didn’t you. I averted my eyes. So much had gushed out of me since I’d met Jake, I couldn’t believe he’d recalled the details of Mary K’s health and had brought her something. My cheeks stung. Mary K blew a silver stream of smoke toward me and it could not have sliced me more if it had been a dagger.
Jake filled our glasses. The room was static with awkward small talk. I felt like an ambassador introducing leaders of two warring nations. “So, you’re from New York,” Jake said.
“Queens,” Mary K replied with a flat tone.
“I grew up in Manhattan. I guess we were neighbors.”
Mary K took a long drag off of her cigarette. “Queens isn’t Manhattan.”
Jake’s smile faded, but returned a second later. “My father would agree. He’s a dyed-in-the-wool Manhattanite.”
I straightened with pride. “Jake is an artist. He has a sculpture installed in Central Park, and another near the Met. I saw photos.”
Mary K squinted, calculating. “Wait a minute. Are you Jacob Bloom?” I started with her recognition. The layers to Jake’s fame were just beginning to unfold for me.
“Guilty as charged,” Jake said. “But friends call me Jake.”
“So your father is Aaron Bloom. Bloom Tower. Bloom Industries. Bloom Symphony Hall.”
I felt the fast jerk of my neck as I turned to look at Jake. With all we’d talked about, his father’s notable identity had not been mentioned.
“My father and I don’t exactly—”
Mary K wore a snide look. “I never thought one of the Kowalski clan would be sharing a Perrier with Bloom Industries in her living room, that’s for sure.”
“I’m not Bloom Industries,” Jake said, his voice tinged with the first note of anger I’d ever heard from him.
Mary K read my face. “You didn’t know that your new, uh, friend has the single most recognized last name on the Eastern Seaboard? Largest private owner of land in all five boroughs, and God knows where else in the world. Wall Street king. Bloom holds up a little pinky and fifteen waiters piss all over themselves just trying to put a fresh olive in his martini.”
Jake’s jaw clenched. “That would be my father. Not me.”
Of course I recognized Aaron Bloom’s name. Nearly anyone in America would know who Aaron Bloom was. I just hadn’t put Jake’s last name together with the mogul’s as Mary K had.
“That’s right. That would be the Big Bloom, isn’t that what they call him? You’re the Little Bloom, right? Oh, now wait a minute, what did I read in the papers back when I was in high school about the mogul and his only son? I was about sixteen. That would have made you, what, maybe twenty-two or so at the time?” Mary K tapped her forefinger on her cheek. Sarcastic words slithered from her lips. “I guess my mind is just too full of medical facts to recall the details. But wasn’t it some kind of assault? A gun was involved, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Jake said. His jaw twitched. When he looked at me his eyes had paled.
“Yeah, I remember New York’s prince not being charged with anything despite the firing of a weapon. Winged the old man, didn’t you?”
Jake’s shoulders slumped. “There’s a lot more to the story.”
“Ain’t there always?”
Hot anger burned in me. “That was a long time ago,” I said, surprised by my urge to defend Jake. “Jake’s told me that he and his father have a tumultuous relationship.”
Mary K stood up suddenly, ignoring Jake. “Just pay attention, Murphy,” she said, her eyes boring their gaze into mine. “Thanks for the bubbles and the book. Turns out I’ve got a date after all. I’m sure you guys will enjoy the privacy.”
I tried to draw a breath, unsure of what had just happened. Mary K wore a smug grimace. “I won’t be home until tomorrow morning—late,” she said. “The weather is nasty, so I don’t want to bring Ben out into it. Can you keep your eye on the mutt until I’m back? I don’t think he should be alone.”
I wrestled my confusion. “Don’t worry. I’ll watch him,” I said. On cue, Ben lifted his head.
“I already injected him, but this dampness is really pounding his old bones. He may need another morphine shot before bed.”
Before I could respond, Mary K kissed Ben, grabbed her coat, and flew out the door. The candles all flickered with the gust of air that blasted in her wake.
Jake refilled our wine glasses. “Well, that was fun.”
“I don’t know what got into her.”
“I’m kind of used to my family name evoking a certain range of extreme responses.”
“You could’ve told me about that,” I said.
“You knew my name.”
“You know what I mean.” I felt foolish and clueless for not having put the pieces of Jake’s identity together on my own.
“What was I supposed to tell you? That my dad is one of the richest motherfuckers ever? That his name is on the side of half a dozen high-rises and twenty different companies? Should I have explained how, when I found out that my dad had bribed a woman he didn’t deem suitable for my station to break up with me, it enraged me so much that I picked up what I thought was an unloaded pistol from his gun cabinet and aimed it at him in front of about three hundred rich people at a cocktail party? When it went off, I nearly fainted. His influence kept me out of jail, on the condition that I go into inpatient psychiatric care. What would all that have meant, Kat, if I told you?”
“I’ll admit, it requires some explanation, but it doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s just information about who you are, is all. I told you about my family. When I asked you about yours all you said was, We’re not very close.”
“We’re not.”
“Why the secrecy?”
“I have no secrets, Kat. I’ll tell you anything.” Jake ran his fingers through his hair. “I just like it when I meet somebody who doesn’t think they already know everything there is to know about me because of my last name. You can’t believe everything you read. I’m not my dad. We haven’t had contact in years.”
“None? No contact at all?”
“He sends fat checks every birthday and Hanukah. I never cash them. That’s how we talk. He talks with money. I talk by rejecting it. Not exactly father and son of the year.”
“So, the gun. Do you make a habit of shooting people?” My heart hammered against my ribs.
“That was by far the dumbest thing I ever did. My dad is unbelievable. But I wouldn’t have intentionally shot him.”
“And the psychiatric treatment?”
Jake paused. “I was pretty troubled. After that I broke the connection with my dad. Burt became family. That’s what I needed to do to have a good life.” Jake reached and took my hand, rubbing my knuckles with his thumb. “My family is—I hope this won’t spoil things for us.”
An image of my mother’s body flashed into my mind—small and fragile, lying in the satin-lined casket at St. Anne’s. Knowing that she’d killed herself felt like a shameful, sorrowful stain on what I’d always thought of as my ideal family. “Nobody’s family is perfect. I guess yours is just on a grander scale, huh?”
Jake pulled me close. Every part of me softened as I took in the soapy fragrance on his skin. His face was newly shaven, and I missed the stubble that had grown while we’d holed up at his place. I pulled off his glasses and set them on the coffee table. His mouth found surprising locations of excitement: under my chin, on each temple, and at the hollow of my throat.
A sudden burst of light flashed, followed by a growl of thunder, knocking out the power. The house went dark, and Dinah Washington’s voice wound to a stop. The room radiated with candlelight from every corner and the flickering glow from the fireplace.
Ben Casey’s tail thumped a slow rhythm against the floor.
Firelight glowed amber on our skin as Jake unbuttoned my shirt. He cupped my breast in his hand, the warmth of him penetrating deep into me and the cavern where my heart drummed in more and more rapid response to his touch. His lips, his tongue, searched my skin. Soon I found myself naked in the firelight, but without any urge to cover myself.
Hungrily, I opened his shirt, then the buttons on his jeans, glad to see that he was as aroused as I was. Both stripped of our clothing, we melted together in front of the fire. I pleasured in the textures of him—the layer of feathery hair on his chest, the firmness of his thighs. I loved the sound of his panting, a sign of his eagerness for me. “Wait,” he said, gasping just a little. He pulled my mouth away from him. “I have to slow down a little.”
He laid me back, tucking my hands under each of my hips. “You first. Let me take care of you.” My body responded to his touches with shudders of pleasure. Lightning flickered in the distance as if we were creating it.
As my breathing quieted, I watched the rise and fall of Jake’s chest. With a smooth motion I rolled on top of him, my legs astride. Our bodies found their synchronized rhythm, our eyes fixed on each other. In the glow of the candlelight his face was a twist of bliss and anguish. His moan drifted into a soft sigh until all tension left his body.
Together we lay, entwined as one form, our bodies distinguishable only by the contrast of his olive skin and the near whiteness of mine. The pop of the fire and the rain against the roof were the only sounds in the room. Jake laughed. “We look like a marble rye,” he said as he looked down at our bodies.
Fire & Water Page 6
