“By the way, I’ll need that Father’s Day piece by the end of the day.”
“But you said—”
“Your mistake,” Marcus told her, and turned and left her alone in the hall.
Later on in the afternoon, when Tracie was finishing the Father’s Day piece, the Radiohead tickets arrived. Wow! Molly had come through for her. She’d have to leave bigger tips. She had to get this article turned in. She’d called Jon over and over. She had to reach him, or she’d be stuck giving these tickets to Allison for nothing. Just then, the phone rang. It rang a second time, then a third. She needed a distraction, so she took the call. “Hello, Tracie Higgins here,” she whispered into the receiver.
“Hello there, alchemist. What’s up?” Jon asked her.
“Hey, I’m glad you called. Boy, have I got a girl for you tonight!”
“I can’t tonight. I’m going out with Ruth.”
“Well, cancel Ruth, because this girl is really something.”
“I guess it won’t hurt Ruth to be on hold a little longer, right?” Jon asked. “She’s a climber. She likes to hang around.” He paused and then laughed. “If I blow her off for tonight, I’d be Ruthless.”
“Right.” Tracie half-chuckled at the lame joke just for him. He’d be punished for it all tonight. “Come by here at six-thirty. I’ve got tickets to the Radiohead concert. Come to my office and I’ll brief you.”
“Okay. See you later, then.”
Chapter 31
Jon had felt so bad after Tracie walked out on him at Java, The Hut that he couldn’t concentrate on anything and so he had gone to visit his mother. He told himself that he owed her a visit, but it was for him, not her, that he’d gone. She’d made him chicken and noodles, one of his favorite comfort dinners, without even being asked. “Honey,” she’d said, running her hands through his new haircut, “you look so tired. Working hard?” He hadn’t said “hardly working,” though that was closer to the truth. He’d only nodded. “Jonathan dear, why don’t you get yourself a dog?” she had asked. It was the kind of crazy question only mothers would ask. But there was something sweet and even right about the question. All at once, Jon felt a yearning for something true and loyal and warm. He almost told his mother about the fight with Tracie, but he was too ashamed of the rest of his behavior.
So, expecting not to hear from Tracie at all, he’d called her, needing to apologize. He’d been delighted that she seemed happy to hear from him, and even more delighted about the date she’d set him up with. He had thought Tracie was really mad at him, and he’d been ready to do whatever it took to make peace. Although he’d loved this whirl of sexual activity, and had no intention of giving it up, he knew that he needed Tracie as a friend. In fact, she was his only close friend. She was also the only one who knew who he really was right now. And this Chick of the Universe sounded too good to be true, but Jon wasn’t even nervous. He had the concert tickets in his pocket, one of his new Armani shirts on, and the magic jacket, which seemed to do the trick. He hadn’t shaved since Monday, and he knew he looked good, because, although he still didn’t have the confidence to sit at the bar, he’d walked past it and several women had turned their heads to check him out.
Anyway, with Tracie back on board, he had his confidence back. She’d seemed so angry at Java, The Hut, but, though he still wasn’t sure exactly why, seeing her at her office had reassured him. She hadn’t apologized or anything, but maybe setting up this date was her way of making peace. Tracie wasn’t good at being wrong. And he didn’t need her to say “Sorry about that PMS episode” or “Too bad I took out my anger at Marcus on you” to make up. She’d acted normal—no, even nicer than normal—when he picked up the tickets. She’d even approved of his outfit and straightened his collar before she sent him on his way. So that was all right.
He didn’t have much interest in Radiohead—in fact, aside from Karma Police, he couldn’t remember ever listening to anything they’d recorded. But Tracie had briefed him on the Chick of the Universe’s passion for Thom Yorke, and Jon’s only regret was that he hadn’t had a chance to watch MTV to get a few of Yorke’s moves down. If he could copy James Dean, he could surely imitate Thom Yorke. This girl—for a frightening moment he couldn’t remember if she was Alexandra or Allison, but then he figured he’d call her Ali and be safe—would just have to settle for James Dean, the way the other ones had. He smiled slyly and shook his head. In a way, it was lucky he hadn’t known it was this easy; if he had, he probably would have flunked out of high school.
He sat at a bistro table, ordered a beer, and when it arrived, he began swigging it and waiting. He didn’t have a watch to check, but he was sure he was late. How late was she going to be? He wondered for a moment if he had the wrong restaurant, or if he’d been given the wrong information by Tracie. But no, this was the place, and what the hell: If Ali didn’t show up, he’d just call Ruth, or even Beth, and tell her he’d copped a couple of great tickets and ask her to go with him. And if he couldn’t reach one of them, he might actually approach the bar. There might be other girls there in love with Thom Yorke.
Bored, he picked up the menu. It was the usual bistro fare: fancy burgers, pommes frites, chicken paillard. He was just putting the menu down when he saw her. She was standing across the room, looking around. She wasn’t the Chick of the Universe. She was much more: She was an angel. Jon knew immediately that this was the woman Tracie had set him up with, and he blessed her in his heart. Every man and woman in the dining room paused to look at her. And then, as if in a dream, but also as inexorably as his own death, she moved slowly toward him. She was tall, and aside from her shoulders, she was very wispy. Her legs began at the floor and went on forever. Her hair was an indescribable silvery blond, and he would give his life to stroke it.
Be cool, he told himself. Neither Thom Yorke nor James Dean would even blink were she to join one of them. All of Tracie’s training flashed through his mind. He tightened his hand around his glass and forced himself to take another slow sip to steady himself.
“You must be Ali,” he said to her as she reached the table.
“Allison,” she said. Her eyes flicked up and down over him and he could feel her sizing him up. “You must be Jonny.”
He nodded, because it was best not to talk again until he had control of his vocal chords. She was breathtaking, and there was something about her skin that reminded him of the perfectly smooth sheen of the screen on his new laptop. What do you talk about to a goddess? He found himself as tongue-tied as he’d ever been in the Micro/Con hallway with Samantha. God, he couldn’t afford a relapse now, not when the Chick of the Universe was sitting across from him. He was about to really fuck up and ask her how she liked working at the Times, or whether she’d majored in journalism, or what her horoscope sign was, when he remembered that he was not supposed to talk too much. He moved his jaw in the approved James Dean manner, picked up his beer, and sipped it again. He’d wait this one out.
And it was a good thing he did. Because although Allison must have been used to dozens—no, hundreds—of men trying to impress her and entertain her, she wasn’t used to silences except for those that she maintained. He was white-knuckled by the time she spoke, but that gave him time to slow his breathing and get himself back with the program.
“What do you do?” she asked.
“About what?” he responded, and her eyes blinked. Then she almost smiled. Her lips, which had been perfect in repose, were even more desirable when they opened. And her teeth! Ten thousand orthodontists dreamed of making a cast of teeth like that to show future clients.
They talked a little bit, and she wanted to know about his job, his family, what kind of car he drove, and a bunch of other desultory stuff. But while they talked, he realized he’d learned to play the stupid game so that he could graduate permanently to a woman like Allison. Why would you need any other woman if she wanted to wrap her arms around you, to put those lips against yours, to let yo
u touch a square inch of her perfection?
As Jon sat across from Allison in the dim light of the bistro, he fielded her questions successfully but couldn’t get over how beautiful she was. This was the best score he’d had so far.
And then the waitress came over to get their dinner order. For a moment, Jon thought he’d just ignore the girl, who was only a dim shadow of Allison’s beauty. But something inside him spoke. He hadn’t planned it; it just happened. He was on automatic pilot! Jon found himself doing a double take and turning to Allison. “Doesn’t she have the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen?” he asked.
Chapter 32
The next morning, Tracie found herself humming as she walked down the corridor at the Times. She was early again, still in her coat and holding a paper bag with a cup of coffee and a muffin. Beth was in her cubicle, and she looked up. “Hi, Tracie,” she said as her friend breezed by, but Tracie knew she wouldn’t get off that easily. She stopped humming, aware that she was being followed down to her desk by Beth. She sighed. Well, soon all this would be over. Beth could become obsessed with someone else; soon she’d have her friend back, and things with Phil would go back to normal.
“Have you heard from him? Did she shoot him down?” Beth asked.
Tracie shrugged, though she knew that wouldn’t end the questioning.
“She shot him down, didn’t she? She’s such a fool!” Beth cried.
“Beth, I have more important things to do than track every blip in the love life of my friends,” Tracie told her. She took off her coat, hung it up, and sat down. Sara entered the room.
“Did you hear?” she asked.
“Hear what?” Tracie wanted to know.
“It’s about Allison. It’s something about Allison,” Beth said breathlessly.
And then Sara smiled with the superior look of a person who has heard office gossip a minute before anyone else. Tracie shook her head and turned away, opening up her breakfast bag.
“Well, guess who just called in sick?” Sara asked.
“Marcus?” Tracie inquired. “Gee, I hope it isn’t hysticular cancer,” she said.
“Allison! Allison called in sick? On an editorial meeting day?” Beth asked.
“Marcus will kill her,” Sara said.
“She’s fearless. She probably iced Jon,” Tracie said confidently, then smiled. She opened the bag and took out the farm cake and her coffee. “Beth, I thought you were getting help to get over these obsessions. What does your therapist say?”
“He’s just interested in prescribing new meds for me. We don’t really talk. He’s more of a mental bartender. Speaking of obsessions, I thought you were through with those chocolate cream cheese muffins. You know, they’re addictive.”
“I haven’t had one in awhile. Just this once . . .” Tracie began.
“You’re worried about something,” Sara said.
“No I’m not!” Tracie answered a little too quickly.
“Okay. So tell us what Jonny said about Allison, then,” Beth insisted.
Tracie turned away from them. “He didn’t say anything. He didn’t call,” she admitted.
“He didn’t call? Oh my God! He always calls. Oh my God! Tracie, she’s got him. She’s got him, just like she got the others. He’s just a fish on her hook, another pike on her lure, a trout,” Beth ranted.
“Would you please cut the fish talk? I can’t take fish analogies on an empty stomach.”
“Poor Jonny,” Beth said, shaking her head. “He deserves better.” Tracie knew that as far as Beth was concerned, Beth was the only thing better. Oh well, everyone had their blind spots. Then Tracie’s phone rang. “It’s him! I bet it’s him. I’ll get it,” Beth exclaimed, going for the receiver.
“Excuse me! I think this is my phone and my office,” Tracie reminded her.
“Well, it’s definitely your cubicle,” Sara quipped. The phone rang again.
“Please let me pick it up,” Beth begged. “I’ll give you fifty dollars next payday.” The phone rang once more and Tracie tried to reach it, but Beth blocked her way. Tracie, too, was dying to hear what had happened, but she wouldn’t reveal that for fifty dollars, a hundred, or even for a farm cake. How many rings before it kicked into voice mail? Usually three, but sometimes four. She tried to reach past her friend, but, like a goalie on speed, Beth blocked her again.
“Beth, stop it!” Tracie said. “Have some self-respect.”
“God! This is better than The Young and the Restless,” Sara joked.
Feinting to the right, Tracie grabbed the receiver from Beth’s left side before Beth could pick it up. “Would you guys grow up?” she said as she placed the receiver to her ear. “Hello.”
“Tracie? It’s Allison.” Ha. Tracie could torture Sara and Beth now, payback for their harassment. Plus, she’d get to hear how Allison had leveled Jon, and she’d savor every minute of the story. She didn’t like to think of herself as a bitch, but he really deserved it, and he’d be glad of it in the end.
“Oh, hey, Allison,” Tracie said smoothly. As she expected, her words galvanized Beth and Sara. Sara’s eyes opened so wide, they might have popped, while Beth’s curls actually looked as if they were standing on end. Sara jumped up from the desk and came to Tracie’s side, motioning to get at the receiver, while Beth immediately did the same on the other side. Tracie tried to wave the two of them off while she listened to Allison.
“I’ve got this problem, Tracie. I can’t get out of bed.” Tracie thought that’s what she heard, but Allison’s voice was getting even lower. She sounded awful.
“Is it the flu?” Tracie asked.
“No. I just can’t get out of bed.” Beth gave Tracie a sharp elbow in the ribs, not because she’d heard what Allison said but because she couldn’t. Tracie had the phone pressed tightly against her ear.
“Well, there’s a lot of virus going around. And you have laryngitis for sure.”
“No I don’t. I’m not sick,” she said in a whisper that sounded annoyed. There was a pause. “I can’t get out of bed because I don’t want to. I’m here with Jonny and . . .” Tracie fell into her chair, nearly knocking Sara over.
“Oh shit,” Sara said. “This’ll look great for Marcus.”
Beth and Sara tried again to listen in, but then they noticed that Tracie’s expression had changed from her superior smile to a grimace. She turned her back to the two girls, who were watching her intently. She felt as if her head was spinning. She’d missed something that Allison had said. “. . . I just can’t get out of bed. I don’t want to ever again. And I’m exhausted.”
“But . . . but . . .” What could she say? He’s not really that good in bed; he’s just my friend? Don’t believe what you see and feel; he’s really a dweeb? Don’t be nice to him; punish him because he deserves it? “But . . . the editorial meeting,” she said lamely.
“The hell with Marcus and the meeting. This is just too good.”
“It is?” Tracie asked before she could stop herself. After all, she was a girl who had blown off work for a bad haircut. “It is?” she asked again.
“The best!” Allison whispered in a knowing voice.
Well, if anyone knew, it would be Allison, Tracie thought bitterly. What was wrong with this picture? Beth was pushing her on one side and Sara on the other, but Allison was talking again.
“Tracie, I owe you an apology. I never thought you liked me very much, but I guess I was wrong.”
No you weren’t, Tracie thought. But you’re wrong now.
“What?” Beth said. “What did she do to him?” Tracie elbowed Beth and covered the phone with her hand.
“I guess I just want to say thank you,” Allison continued. “Jonny told me what close friends you are and . . . I’m just really grateful to you for the best night of my life.” Allison’s voice sounded teary and she stopped as if to catch her breath. “Thanks,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” Tracie replied.
“Oh, he’s waking up. I have
to go,” Allison informed her. “Thanks again, Tracie.” And then the phone went dead.
Tracie put the receiver down and slowly turned back to her two friends. “She spent the night with Jonny.”
Beth groaned. “I can’t stand it. It’s just not fair.”
“She’s in bed with him now,” Tracie said, shocked to feel tears rising in her eyes. She suddenly felt incredibly lonely. “I don’t get it. I mean, how good is he?”
“Really good,” Beth told her, then got up slowly and turned to leave. “Maybe I should go back to Marcus,” she said as she walked out of the cubicle.
Sara looked at Tracie. “What are you going to do?”
Tracie forced herself to sit upright in her chair, picked up her farm cake, and took a huge bite. “Wait till Sunday’s brunch,” she said with her mouth full. “I’ll kill him.”
Chapter 33
Jon lay against Allison, dozing, his legs against her silky backside. Her skin was one of the wonders of the world. He moved against her, freshly aroused, his cock bumping gently against the small of her back. For a moment, he thought of Parsifal. If there were a way to build this into a virtual reality game, he could buy Bill Gates out in a matter of months.
Jon smiled. Last night, like the previous two nights with Allison, had been incredible, but it topped a whole series of successful nights. If he wanted to think of his recent sexual successes as conquests, Allison was Waterloo and he was the Iron Duke.
His cock moved again. He supposed there would never be a more perfect moment in his life. Yet something was missing. He thought, for some reason, about the Bible: not because Allison was a blessing, though she was very angelic in appearance, but because of the way the Bible described sex. In the Bible, when men slept with women, they “knew them.” In a way, he could understand that, because the act of mounting Allison, of seeing her beauty naked and open beneath him, was an act of knowledge. And when he entered her, there was a thrill of possession and of a deeper, more forbidden knowledge. But he did not know Allison. Not in any real way. Perhaps someday he would, but he had no idea what he would find. All he knew right now was that she was exquisite and that moving on her and in her and over her had become a pas de deux, more erotic and beautiful than any ballet. But he also knew that he was lying next to a stranger. And he was worse than a stranger to her: He was an imposter.
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