“What the hell is a marble rye?”
“Don’t tell me I’ve found myself a real live shikse? Do you mean to tell me you’ve never had a marble rye?”
I shook my head.
“Oy,” he exclaimed, donning his old Yiddish accent. “A marble rye is such a marvelous thing it cannot be explained. It’s only to be experienced. A beautiful mixture of rich brown rye and creamy white challah woven together, dark and white, in a braid. Just like you and me here.” Jake began tickling and kissing me until I could take no more. “I need a bite of this creamy white bread,” he said, biting me gently. Suddenly he stopped his silly play and looked up at me. “I can’t remember when I’ve felt so happy.”
I pulled him close.
“Oh, yeah,” Jake said, then rose from the pallet we’d made on the floor. “I gave everybody presents but you.”
I leaned up on one elbow. “I think you just gave me a pretty nice present.”
“That was for both of us. This is for you.” He slid the box he’d been balancing when he’d arrived across the hardwood floor.
I wrapped myself in a blanket and lifted the flaps on the box. Inside rested the earthen bowl filled with smooth, dark stones that had been on his hearth. He lifted the heavy bowl and placed it on my hearth. I pressed my hands against my heart, unable to speak. I lifted one of the cool stones, running its smoothness against my cheek.
“Don’t get all choked up,” he said, his eyebrows twitching. “It’s just a bowl of rocks.”
I pulled him toward me, overwhelmed with feelings I couldn’t name.
Jake pushed me away from him.
“What?” I asked. “What’s the matter?”
“You wouldn’t happen to have a bed anywhere in this joint, would you?”
We laughed together, and I realized Jake had been here for hours but hadn’t stepped more than ten feet from the front door. I led him by the hand into my bedroom, where the candles I’d lit hours ago still glowed, each an island in its puddle of melted wax.
* * *
The morning sky, exhausted from its nightlong tantrum, shone brightly through my bedroom window, casting white quadrangles onto the rumpled bed. I slid from beneath the covers and pulled on my robe, then went to find Jake. Already I was familiar with his habit of staying awake after I’d fallen asleep and rising before I did. I heard the soft snap of the door latch and turned to see him coming in the front door, followed by Ben, whose head hung low as he walked.
“Morning,” he said, smiling. He carried a cardboard tray with large cups of coffee and a paper bag.
“How long have you been up?” I asked.
“Most of the night. You inspired me. Just had to get to my studio for a little while, but I figured I owed you this.” He pulled a large loaf of bread from the bag, dark and light woven around each other. “Marble rye. From Max’s Deli.”
“But—”
“Don’t ask. Just enjoy.” He ushered me into the kitchen, where the table was already set with placemats I hadn’t seen in years and a single gardenia blossom was floating in a cereal bowl.
I looked around the room and saw that the bouquet he brought had been placed in water glasses all around the kitchen.
“Come on, the bread is still warm.”
I sat at the table. He tore off a large hunk of bread, spread a little butter onto it, and tucked a piece of it into my mouth, filling me with its rich, yeasty flavor.
“It’s not quite New York,” he said. “But it comes close. In honor of our sexy union, I think that marble rye should be our official bread.”
“How could I argue with that?” I took another bite and a sip of my coffee. “You remembered cream and sugar.”
Jake touched the rim of his glasses with his index finger. “I’m studying you, Dr. Murphy. Not a detail has escaped my bespectacled observation.”
As I chewed, I looked over to where Ben Casey lay on the kitchen floor. His rib cage rose and fell with his rapid panting. “Did you bring Ben with you to your studio and the deli?”
“Sure,” Jake answered. “He needed to get out and you were still zonked. We hadn’t gotten much sleep, so I thought I’d keep Ben from waking you.”
My chair moved behind me with a screech. “Did you run him?”
“’Course not. He just rode in the car. He was with me the whole time.”
I felt the first flash of anger I’d felt toward Jake. “You shouldn’t have taken him. He’s been really sick. Mary K would freak.”
I felt the dog’s nose, expecting its cool wetness, only to find it warm and dry. His tongue lay long and limp, touching the floor. His leg twitched, and he seemed unable to lift his head. “Did he get wet?”
“Kat, it’s not even raining any more. I wouldn’t—”
“God, Jake!” My brain scrambled for what to do next. “He’s not right.” I jumped to the cupboard where we kept Ben’s medicine and pulled out the syringe. I pulled the plunger, filling the vial with morphine, then flicked it until the bubbles were gone. My fingers found the pulsing artery on the side of his neck. “It’s okay, boy,” I whispered as I pressed the plunger.
I grabbed the wall phone in the kitchen and began dialing every number I knew, looking for Mary K while Jake looked on in horror and petted Ben. My hands flew through pages of the phone book until I found a listing for The Lex, her favorite bar. “Yep,” the bartender said. “She was here last night. Stayed late but was by herself. I think she left at closing time.”
Jake fell to his knees beside Ben. “Maybe we ought to take him to the vet.”
“No,” I snapped. “She wouldn’t want that. We’ve been just making him comfortable. She just doesn’t want him to be in pain.” I lay down on the floor, placing my head next to Ben’s gigantic face. “Hold on, buddy. She’ll want to say good-bye to you. Please, please hold on.”
Jake scooped Ben up into his arms, grunting under the dog’s weight, and set him on the couch. My mother’s quilt lay under him, its threadbare patches mimicking Ben’s weariness. We spent the morning there, the three of us—waiting. I kept my eyes on the door, hoping to see Mary K.
* * *
Hours later, I rested my head on Ben’s unmoving body.
“What should we do? Should we take Ben’s body to the vet?” Jake combed my curls with his fingers.
“No,” I sniffed. “She’ll want to see him. Why don’t you go ahead? Weren’t you supposed to meet Burt today?”
“I don’t care about that. I’m so sorry about Ben. I didn’t know he was that—”
“We’ve known his time was close for a while.” I watched death in the hospital every day without crying, but I couldn’t hold my tears as I ran my fingers through Ben’s coarse fur. “I think it’s better if you go. She’ll want to be alone with him. She wouldn’t feel comfortable—”
“I’ll call later. If you need me for anything, call. Okay? He’s a big dog. If you need any help, you know, taking care of him.” He kissed my cheek and patted Ben. “Wish I’d known you longer, old man.”
I sat alone with Ben’s body. I tucked the quilt around him and stroked his fur. I was afraid to leave the room, afraid that Mary K would walk in and find Ben all alone. I tried to squash my anger at Jake. Though he’d meant no harm, he’d been impulsive and presumptuous taking Ben out without asking. I had grown to love that dog in the nine years we’d lived together, but as much as I loved him, I knew Mary K’s feelings for him were immeasurable. He was her family.
Finally, at nearly noon, the front door opened. Mary K stood silent at the threshold, her eyes fixed on Ben’s body draped in front of me. Color drained from her face and she let her rucksack slip off of her shoulder, onto the floor.
“I tried to find you,” I whispered. “I guess you already turned in your pager.”
I stood. My urge was to rush and hold my friend in my arms, but with Mary K it was always better to read her for cues when it came to affection. She passed me and sat on the edge of the couch near Ben’s body. Resting
her head on his shoulder, she buried her face in his fur.
“It was quiet,” I said. “He just got quiet and slipped away.”
Mary K said nothing.
“He was with us all evening,” I said, filling the miserable silence. “He walked in with Jake this morning and just laid down on the kitchen floor—”
Mary K sat up in a shot. “With Jake. What was he doing with Jake? Did he take him out in the rain?”
Instantly, I regretted mentioning Jake. “No, no. It stopped raining by then. Jake just took him out to his studio and to get breakfast, and—”
“You let Ben out with a stranger! How could you?”
“Jake’s not a stranger,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “I was asleep and he just took him for a ride—”
“I asked YOU to watch him. Not him. If I’d wanted Ben out in the cold, I’d have fucking taken him with me. Jesus, Murphy.”
“I’m sorry, but Jake took very good care of him. He really liked Ben, and he—”
“How do you know he liked Ben? He knew him for ten minutes. Ben should have had his last hours with—” Mary K gulped, her lips forming a grimace. “He shouldn’t have been out. If he hadn’t gone out—”
“I’m so sorry Ben’s gone.” I reached out to touch my grieving friend. She jerked her arm away.
Mary K’s eyes stared straight into mine. “Just shut up.”
I was prepared for Mary K’s grief, but her anger hit me like a cannonball. “I’m sorry about Ben. Jake and I—”
“You’re not getting this, are you? I don’t want to hear about Jake. Jake Bloom is a pampered prince. A playboy. Probably a whack job. And now he probably fucking killed my dog.”
“What’s the matter with you?”
“Let’s see, aside from my dead dog, I don’t know.”
“We’ve known Ben was going to go soon for a long time. Why are you taking it out on Jake? He couldn’t have been nicer to Ben. Brought him treats and stayed with him until the end.”
Mary K lifted the cellophane bag of treats and flung them across the room. They scattered like hail on the wood floor. “Fuck Jake Bloom!”
She stomped into her room and slammed the door. Normally, Mary K’s temper kept me away. I’d wait until the storm subsided and approach once it was safe again. But this felt different. I followed her steps and opened the bedroom door. “I don’t want to fight with you,” I said, searching for enough calm to speak. “We have to take care of Ben.”
“Ben’s already been very well taken care of. I can see that.”
“Stop this,” I shouted. “Is this about Ben or Jake? Why did you take such an instant dislike to him?”
“If he’s so great you’ll ride away on a white horse. But I just want to go on record. He’s trouble, I’m telling you. I can smell it. You’re just too blind to see it. If he’s that great, what do you care if I like him or not? ”
“I care, all right. I care because I’m really in love with this guy and it would be nice if my best friend at least didn’t act like she hates his guts.”
“So you’re in love with him. That’s rich. You hardly even know him. He comes in here with all of his bribes to get into the good graces of your friend and her old, dying dog. Don’t you think that’s just a little much, Murphy? Don’t you think that some expensive first edition picture book is just a little extravagant? That shit doesn’t impress me. He even dressed you up like his little doll, for fuck’s sake.”
I looked down at the garments I wore, wrinkled and covered with Ben’s wiry hair. Just yesterday I’d felt so pretty in them. “Jake is big with the grand gestures. He’s an artist. He’s exaggerated. And if he comes from as much money as you say, the cost of the gift isn’t exactly relevant, now is it? You could at least give the man I’m in love with a chance. And just yesterday you liked the clothes.”
“For your information, just because somebody gives you a good tumble or two doesn’t mean you’re in love with him.”
I fumed, feeling the muscles in my jaw clench.
“Don’t you think you should know a little about this guy before you fall completely? He’s made the New York papers more often than the Mets and the Nicks combined. Did you know he was arrested for going ape-shit and vandalizing The Met? Of course, Daddy’s money got him out of that one, too. Oh, and let’s see, there were the affairs with international heiresses. And let’s not forget about him shooting his old man. Not that half of New York wouldn’t throw a parade if Aaron Bloom took an ass cheek full of lead, but that little antic landed your boyfriend in a serene country setting for quite a little while. You and me, we’d be in the clink.”
“He said you’d do this. That you’d rain a shit storm about what the press had said. He told me all about the incident with the gun. He’s hiding nothing.”
“Don’t be naïve. Even if ninety percent of what I’ve read is bullshit, the ten percent that’s true should be enough to make you run screaming in the other direction. This guy is a serious sack of nuts, even if he is a wonderful fuck.”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “You’re certainly the expert there. All I’ve heard about for years is your wonderful fucks. I’ve watched your endless parade of air-headed ingénues. Your coke addicts. Biker girls. I’ve taken their sobbing phone messages and signed for their flower deliveries. I’ve listened to their giggles and moans through your bedroom walls. I’ve said nothing. NOTHING!”
I swallowed hard. The force of my words was volcanic. “I’ve treated each one of your tumbles with kindness, probably more than you showed them. And now the first time I actually have somebody who makes me happy, you just shit all over it. Nigel was too boring. Now Jake’s too wild. Please, please, Dr. Kowalski. Can you write me the prescription for the perfect man? What’s the proper dosage of excitement factor for a lover for me?”
I stood and stared at Mary K, waiting for a response. My pulse pounded in my ears. Rain began to beat hard again against the roof and flow off the eaves of the house, falling past the window in sheets. I waited, breathing hard, for some surrender, some softness in my friend’s face. Her lips thinned into a hard, straight line.
Hot raged roiled in my gut. “Maybe it’s time I get my own place.”
“Maybe it is,” Mary K muttered, lighting a cigarette.
“Fine. I’ll start packing tomorrow.”
“Works for me.”
Silence hung between us like rotting meat.
“And don’t go blaming Jake because you missed Ben’s passing. If you hadn’t been such a bitch leaving the house, you might have been here.”
“Fuck you, Murphy.”
I turned and left the room, slamming the door behind me. I flung myself around my bedroom, gathering a suitcase and throwing items into it. On the way out of the house, I gave Ben one last good-bye stroke.
My car groaned with the first crank of the key. Rain made the windshield a blurry wall. I cranked the car once more, hearing the engine’s merciful rumble. With the windshield wipers chasing my pulse rate, I made my way to South of Market, threading my way through the gray, wet streets.
Standing in the pouring rain, I knocked on the corrugated metal door. Jake opened it, his face showing surprise in seeing me.
“Can I come in? I might need to stay a while.”
Different Worlds
I spent the next few days at Jake’s loft like a featherless bird huddled in the nest of his bed. At first, I slept, waking only briefly, then falling back into near catatonia. Jake sketched in an oversized drawing pad at the other end of the loft. It seemed I had not slept in years and I was making up for it. In twenty-eight years, I could hardly remember a single fight I’d had with a family member or a friend, and now, in a matter of days, I’d had two giant blowouts that had severed me from Mary K and my family. I was ill-equipped for conflict, it left me exhausted. I’d emerge from my murky haze to find Jake in the chair beside the bed, his gaze upon me like a shaft of sunlight that warmed my skin. He’d climb under the
white down comforter. I felt drunk, reeling from his touch, his smell, the taste of him, drunk enough that I forgot everything outside of the bed.
Jake prepared beautiful, simple meals, intricately spiced and comforting: gingery lemongrass soup; butter lettuce salads with figs and almonds; jasmine rice and stir-fried vegetables. I’d awaken to the scent of a fresh gardenia on the ebony wood bedside table, white stones arranged in a spiral around it, or miniature landscapes of cinnamon and freshly ground nutmeg raked into serene patterns. Fresh coffee greeted me and I’d find clean sheets on the bed after my bath. Each time I emerged from sleep it was with a new sensation, an image, smell, or taste that reacquainted me with my body. And always, there was his touch.
On the third day, Jake coerced me into going on a walk with him, and then a drive. We watched kids flying kites at the marina. Ate falafel at the Embarcadero. Shared clam chowder at the Cliff House overlooking the beach where I’d first seen his ice sculptures. I sipped wine as we looked out of the picture window from our table. Sea lions waddled on rocks below.
“So,” Jake said, dragging crispy fried calamari through cocktail sauce. “Have I ruined things forever between you and Mary K?”
My whole body jerked. “No. Absolutely not. She’s stubborn and brash. She’s—”
“She’s your friend. I know what Burt means to me. It would kill me if something came between us. If she thinks I’m doing that, she’s right to hate me. I would.” Jake looked up at me through his dark brow. “And she did lose Ben, after all.”
“I lost him, too,” I said, my voice more petulant than I wanted it to be. I looked down at two squabbling sea lions, barking and biting at one another. “She’s just not used to me having someone else. That’s all. She’s been the one with all of the romance drama. I’ve never really been—” I looked at the crashing waves below, hoping they would carry the word I searched for. “I know I’m twenty-eight and a doctor and everything, but I’ve never been serious about someone.” I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t say I’d never felt in love before—until now.
Jake’s face lightened and a smile crossed his lips.
Fire & Water Page 7
