And I remembered the fury Rowena and the pixie raised in me.
What sane woman falls in love with a man who infuriates her?
I needed help.
“This is on me,” I said. We were in the bar at Polar. “Consider yourself my therapist for the next hour.”
“Fine.” Alexandra picked up the menu. “Hmm, what’s most expensive?”
“I don’t care. Order everything. Order two of everything. What I’ve got on my mind outweighs any concern about my entertainment budget.”
Alexandra lowered the plastic-coated menu. “Tossing away your hard-earned cash? You’ve got my full attention,” she said.
I took a deep breath, as if preparing for a dive. In a way, I guess I was.
“I like Jack Coltrane,” I said, looking her right in the eye. “Like as in—”
Alexandra raised her hand to stop me. “I know what you mean. Well, all I can say is it’s about time.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I lied, utterly relieved.
“Anna,” Alexandra said with false patience, “it’s been obvious to me for some time now that you ‘like’ Jack. I’m not blind.”
“Then why didn’t you say something?”
“Anna, dear, I did say something. I said several things, on several occasions. At times you chose not to understand what I was hinting at—”
“See, that was the problem! You just didn’t come right out and—”
“—and at other times you took offense at what I was implying. Anyway, it wasn’t my job to break up your engagement. That was your job.”
“Hey—”
“You know what I mean, Anna.”
I did know what she meant.
“What if he’s seeing someone?” I asked.
“He’s not.”
“How do you know? He was at that horrid party with some person in a dress a Victorian fairy would wear. Rowena. I think she’s a witch.”
“I think you meant to say bitch.”
“And there was some pixie chick in his studio the other day.”
“They all mean nothing.”
“They all?” I suddenly felt sick. “How many are there? Wait, maybe I don’t want to know the answer to that.”
“There are a few,” Alexandra said, matter-of-factly. “Not that many. He doesn’t even sleep with them all. And none of them are special.”
Well, I thought grumpily, what does that say about Jack? Was he a cad, a heartless seducer, a lothario, a Don Juan, a Marquis de Sade?
“And no,” Alexandra said. “He’s not any of the things you’ve been thinking. The women he dates are intelligent adults, even if some of them look like refugees from Renaissance fairs. He’s very upfront about not getting involved. And don’t underestimate his taste in women. It just might turn out to be a reflection on you.”
“How do you know all this personal information, anyway?” I demanded.
“I have my ear to the ground. And Jack and I talk. Sometimes. And no, I’m not going to play matchmaker for you. You’re going to have to deal with this situation on your own.”
Okay, I thought. I’m used to doing things on my own. I can handle this. “So, he’s never ...”
Alexandra smirked annoyingly. “Never what?”
“You know. Has he ever said anything about me? About being interested in me?”
“Of course not. He’s not in high school, Anna, and neither are you, which is why I’m staying out of this. I’m not cut out to be a messenger of love. Can you picture me in Cupid’s wings?”
I sat silently for a moment or two. My emotions were rioting.
“What if Jack is just a rebound?” I asked suddenly. “What if I’m only interested in him because I’m upset about breaking up with Ross? What if I’m into Jack just because he’s there?”
Alexandra sighed dramatically. “Anna, you have got to stop thinking so much and just act. Talk to Jack. Jump him. Do something. Besides, your feelings for Jack are real. They have nothing to do with a rebound.”
“How can you be so sure?” I demanded.
“Because there has to have been something against which to bound. What I mean is, you and Ross had nothing. Not really. How can you react against an experience you never experienced?”
“That’s a horrible thing to say,” I said, “and yes, I do know what you’re getting at, even if your language skills seemed to have failed you. Ross and I were a couple for almost a year. We were engaged. Of course we had something! We had a relationship.”
“Not much of one,” Alexandra said. “Admit it, Anna. You were sleepwalking through that so-called relationship. It never really touched you. Not where it counts. Look, you’re so much more than Ross. It might have worked if he’d known that and appreciated it. But Ross never could see you for all you are. It’s just not in him. And because of that the relationship was, well, it wasn’t much of anything.”
I knew Alexandra had a point. And it infuriated me.
“I can’t believe you’re dismissing a year of my life!” I cried. The bartender shot me a look, which I ignored. “How dare you. Did I ever tell you that you were wasting your time waiting around for some married man to dump his wife and appear on your doorstep? Wait a minute. How could I have? You never told me about Luke, not until I dragged it out of you. You were lying to me about your love life.”
“I was keeping a secret,” she said. “That’s not a crime.”
“Well, maybe it should be,” I said, petulantly. “Friends shouldn’t have secrets from each other. I thought you were one person, and then I found out you were someone else entirely.”
“You’ve conveniently gotten away from the topic,” Alexandra said calmly. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said. Yes, you and Ross had a relationship, and it was real. Fine. But my original point still stands. You’re overthinking this thing with Jack. You’re not trusting your feelings, and how can you? You’ve never done it before, you have no practice. Your decision to marry Ross was made with your head, not your heart.”
“I loved Ross,” I lied. I knew Alexandra wasn’t fooled.
“You knew all along I didn’t think Ross was the one for you. So what? Nothing’s changed. Why get mad at me now?”
Why, indeed? Because now that Ross and I were over there was nothing tangible in the way of my reclaiming my life—or maybe claiming it for the first time. There was nothing tangible in the way of my pursuing a relationship with Jack Coltrane. There was nothing in the way of my future but my fears. And they seemed very tangible.
“I’m not mad at you,” I mumbled.
“Yes, you are,” she said. “But that’s okay. I can be horrible.” Alexandra reached for her bag. “Look, honey, I think I’ll just go straight to Luke’s now. Do yourself a favor and think about what I’ve said.”
I watched as Alexandra left the restaurant, on her way to meet her lover. I almost hated her at that moment. Almost.
85
Blow
“Anna.”
“Hmm?”
“Remember I told you about the San Francisco offer?”
“The what?”
I was at Jack’s studio. We were reviewing the success that had been the Gott event.
“The San Francisco offer,” he said. “I told you about it last month.”
I thought for a moment. “Vaguely.” There had been so much going on in my life; some days I didn’t trust myself to remember my own name. “You did mention something. Why?”
“Well, it’s going through. I’m going through with it.”
I felt my stomach drop, my world bottoming out. I leaned back against the worktable and gripped its edge with both hands.
“Going through with what?” I said past the sudden roar in my head. “What are you talking about?”
Jack attempted a grin. “And you accuse me of not listening. I’m moving to the West Coast in about three weeks. I’m joining up with a small photography group. Look, I can hook you up with a good photographer in Boston so you won
’t be left high and dry.”
“I know other photographers,” I snapped. “I don’t need your connections. Why, Jack? Why are you leaving?”
“It’s not so much that I’m leaving Boston as that I’m going to San Francisco. I’m starting over.”
“Midlife crisis?” I spat and immediately regretted my words and their tone.
“If it makes you happy to think so,” he replied coldly.
“It doesn’t. I’m sorry. I just don’t understand.”
“Do you have to?”
“I’m your friend. I would like to understand.”
Jack sat at his desk and swiveled around to face me.
“Maybe there is nothing to understand,” he said. “Maybe I’m just going. No big motivation. Just time for a change of scenery.”
I said, “I’ll believe that the day I get a tattoo of George W. on my forehead. Don’t be an ass, Jack.”
For a while the conversation went dead. Jack swiveled back to his computer; I stood and stared at the wall. Why, I thought desperately, hadn’t I told him how I feel? Maybe it would have made him stay in Boston. But maybe it wouldn’t have. If Jack didn’t have feelings for me in return—and it was clear he didn’t, since he was planning to move across country in just over two weeks!—what would I have gained by revealing my secret? Nothing except embarrassment.
I looked then at the back of Jack’s head, his dark wavy hair, his strong shoulders. I could tell him now, I thought. I could ask him not to go. I could beg him ...
Jack swore under his breath, damning Photoshop, which had just crashed again. And then I thought, Face it, Anna, it’s too late. You missed your chance. You can’t tell Jack now that you’re in love with him. It would be totally unfair. He’s made his plans. Don’t make a mess of everything.
“What about your work?” I said, suddenly. “Your own work. What about that project you’re working on, those nudes I saw?”
“What about them?”
“Don’t be obtuse. I thought—”
Jack looked over his shoulder at me. “You thought what?”
I threw my hands in the air and groaned. I think it was the first time I’d ever done that. “I don’t know what I thought,” I admitted. “I guess I thought you might be spending more time on your own work and less on the business. But I guess you can’t do that when you’re starting up with a new group.”
Jack swiveled around to me again and shrugged. “I guess not.”
“What is it then?” I challenged. “Do you have friends in San Francisco?”
“No.”
“Family?”
“No. I’ve never even been there.”
I put my fingers to my temples as if I had a headache. It was another unfamiliar dramatic gesture. Where were they coming from? “You’re relocating to a city you’ve never even visited! Jack, that’s insane!”
Jack waited a beat before replying. “Anna,” he said calmly, “people in San Francisco speak English. California is part of the United States of America. It’s not as if I’m moving to some remote Maui village.”
“But what if you hate it? What if you get out there and start the new job and buy an apartment and then, suddenly, you find yourself pining for the Northeast?”
Jack laughed. “First of all, I’m not the pining type. Second, if I hate San Francisco, and I don’t think I will, I’ll either suck it up or move on.”
I think I might have gone temporarily insane.
“I get it,” I said, with the same conviction as if I’d just discovered, without a doubt, that the Earth was round. “There’s an old girlfriend. That’s why you’re going to San Francisco. You’re having an early midlife crisis and you’re running off to California to dye your hair blond, buy a red convertible, and win back the only woman you ever loved.”
Jack looked at me with a strange expression on his face. “Nothing,” he said, “could be further from the truth.”
Once again he turned back to his computer.
“Don’t ask me to be supportive of this, Jack.”
Without looking away from his work Jack said, “I’m not asking you for anything, Anna.”
I left shortly after. Jack had made it perfectly clear. It didn’t matter what I thought. He was going whether I liked it or not.
86
Leap
Maybe, I thought, I should get an aquarium. The companionship might be nice. Or maybe even that small, nondestructive dog Ross and I had considered adopting. Someone to greet me each morning. Someone to love.
But it wasn’t in me then to make the commitment. Face it, Anna, I told myself. The fish will up and die and the dog will up and run away, and you’ll be left all alone to mourn. Again. And I was so, so tired of loss.
Loss. I had to come to terms with the fact that Jack was leaving or go insane.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
I burst into the studio. The door swung back against the wall with a metallic crash.
“You used to call before you came by,” Jack said laconically, over his shoulder.
I did used to call, I realized. I used to do a lot of things differently.
“I have an idea,” I said, “and I want you to hear me out before you say no. Okay? Please?”
Jack saved whatever it was he was working on and swiveled around in his chair to face me. “Fine. What’s your idea?”
“I’d like to mount a show, something small but important.”
“And?” Jack grinned up at me annoyingly. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Don’t be dense,” I snapped. “I want to mount a show of your work. Some older works, some new; I’ll leave the content up to you, and I don’t know a lot about hanging photographs, but I’ll learn or I’ll hire someone to hang the show. I want to do this, Jack. A show before you leave Boston. Think of it as a farewell if you want, I don’t care. What do you think?”
Jack was unnaturally still. It almost frightened me. I continued to stand before him, although it was tempting to collapse into a chair.
“I leave in two weeks,” he said, finally.
“I know. It won’t be easy. I have to get a space first and—”
“I’m not good at being the center of attention.”
I smiled. At least he hadn’t said no. Yet. “So be the socially awkward artist and stand in the corner.”
Jack twisted the mechanical pencil he held in his hands. “Anna, look, give me some time to think about this.”
My enthusiasm deflated. The adrenaline just flooded from my body. “You mean, no thanks.”
“I mean, give me some time to think about this.”
“We don’t have a lot of time—”
Jack cut me off. “I’m aware. And I know you’re aware of the fact that if you push me you’ll only damage your cause.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.” I checked my watch, unnecessarily. I had no other place I needed to be. “Look, I’ve got to run. Just—just let me know.”
Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I thought as I clumped down the metal stairs to the lobby. Only weeks ago my life was all planned out. Now? I had no idea what was to become of me or of my life.
The phone rang at eleven o’clock that night. It was Jack. I hesitated to take the call. Why not let voice mail record Jack’s negative answer for me? And then I lifted the receiver.
“Hi,” I said, flatly.
“Okay.”
Truly, it took a moment for this to register.
“What?” I finally snapped. “You mean yes, you’ll let me do this? You’ll let me put together a show for you?”
“That’s what ‘okay’ means. Yes. Go ahead. Just answer this one question for me.”
“Okay.”
“This show is partly for you too, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “It is.” I waited for Jack to mock. He didn’t.
“So,” he asked, tone brisk, “what’s next?”
“You mean, what’s first. I’ve got so
much to do!”
“Leave me out of the details, okay? Like should we have beer and wine and should we have a fruit platter or just cheeses. You make the decisions.”
“You won’t be sorry, Jack.”
Finally, he laughed. “Yeah. I’ve heard that before.”
“I mean it.”
There was a beat of silence before Jack said, “I know you do.”
87
In Action
Some people are at their best when busy. Some people flourish under pressure. Some people produce their best work when a deadline is barreling toward them. Some people rise to the occasion when their budget for a project is tight—and coming out of their own pocket.
By the following afternoon I’d rented a space in Teele Square, Somerville, from a friend of a friend of a friend; talked to the caterer; put together a preliminary guest list; enlisted Rasheed Kelly as Jack’s assistant for the show; considered where and how to advertise; and begun to draft a press release.
By seven that evening I was exhausted and happy and eager for Alexandra to arrive with the Thai food. When she did, I told her about Jack’s plan to leave town and about the show I’d decided to mount.
Alexandra carefully patted her mouth with a napkin before responding. “Why are you doing this?” she asked. Her eyes betrayed her concern.
I poked at the remains of my dinner and contemplated an answer. Did I really think Jack would be so grateful for my belief in him as an artist that he would fall madly in love with me and decide to stay in Boston?
Yes. No. Mounting the show was a scheme, though not a very complicated one. I just didn’t have the nerve to tell Jack how I felt. I just didn’t have the nerve to hear what he might have to say in return.
I pretended nonchalance. “I thought you were the one who told me I should tell Jack how I feel.”
“Tell him, not trick him.”
“I’m not tricking him,” I protested.
“But you’re not being honest with him. And your motives aren’t entirely altruistic. Not that anyone’s ever are. Still, Anna, I’m worried you’re setting yourself up for heartache.”
Babyland Page 29
