Promises

by Susan Rodgers

  ***

  Spying the concierge opening the glass door of Jessie’s building, Matt tensed. He looked closely. Was that Jessie in the slinky little red dress? She seemed uncertain of her footing, and when she got closer to the car he realized why. Mizz Wheeler was already somewhat drunk.

  Matt raised his eyebrows at Jessie as he pulled open the passenger door to the back seat, where she usually sat on escorted trips. He was surprised at her audacity when she grasped the front door handle and kind of fell in there instead. Peeking up from underneath long eyelashes she smiled her best Hanadarko. He closed the door behind her, walked around behind the car and, annoyed, waved at the hawk-like concierge who was watching them with his intrusive beady little eyes. Matt settled carefully, hopefully, into the driver’s seat beside his charge. Perhaps Jessie’s presence in the front was a sign that she was ready to open up to him.

  They were barely out of the parking lot when she spoke.

  “Matt. You’re going the wrong way.”

  He had turned left. He glanced at her, surprised. “Jonathon McCloud’s house?”

  Ouch, it hurt to hear her producer’s name. Jonathon was hosting the wrap party this season. “No,” she said. “I’m not going to the Drifters party. I’m going to North Van.”

  Stiffening, Matt steered the car into a small crowded Starbucks parking lot, then turned around and headed in the opposite direction. He pictured Josh’s face when Jessie didn’t show up, and wondered if the couple had officially broken up. He peeked down at Jess’ left hand. She was not wearing her exquisite engagement ring.

  “Jessie,” he asked in his I’m not in the mood for bullshit low-volume throaty work voice, “would you mind telling me where I’m headed?”

  She gave him directions to a home on the outskirts of the city. It wasn’t an address he recognized, but he knew it to be in a swanky part of town.

  Jessie pulled out her cigarettes and lit one. Matt wrinkled his nose at her.

  “I would prefer you don’t smoke in my car,” he said, a hint of anger and confusion coloring his usually matter-of-fact voice. He knew she’d picked up smoking but was surprised that she’d light up inside the vehicle. Suddenly she was a stranger to him and he caught himself thinking the same thing as everyone else - who was this girl, and where had she hidden Jessie?

  “By any chance, are you rehearsing for a part, Jessie? Researching? Because I have to tell you, I sure as hell hope you are.” He exhaled. She had callously ignored his wishes about the cigarette and was puffing rudely next to him, legs crossed at the knees so that her short skirt rode just below what he referred to as the danger zone. At least she had the decency to roll the window halfway down so the smoke could partially escape.

  Jessie leaned back in the leather seat and looking longingly over at her head of security. “Matt,” she pleaded. “Tell me why everyone’s so freaked out. I don’t see why it’s such a surprise that things aren’t working out with Josh and me. I was with Charlie for eight years, for God’s sake. Then I’m with Josh for a few months and it’s clear the whole world hates him. Why would I want to stay in a relationship where people spit on my boyfriend and leave knives lying around in his driveway?” She took a deep pull on the cigarette, then turned and stared straight ahead. “Life is short. I just want to have fun. Charlie was a drag, and being with Josh is proving to be difficult. I just want to live the single life for a while. Party. See what all the fuss is about.”

  Watching her as he carefully navigated the car over the bridge, Matt wasn’t fooled by her cool demeanor. Actor, shmactor. He knew Jessie Wheeler. And she was lying. Forensics had assessed the dagger, and it was now verified amongst him and the young officer working the case that it came from the Low Country in the U.S., perhaps even from Charleston itself. Miniscule particles of dirt native to that area were found on the blade; found, too, was another substance - human blood. The stylized B had not turned up anywhere yet. Matt and Charles were looking into Deuce McCall, the nightclub owner Jessie obviously feared, but so far there were no connections. The person who left the knife had cleansed it of his (or perhaps her?) fingerprints, and the B didn’t appear to be an initial related to McCall who, unknown to Matt, had legally used the name Deuce instead of Booth from a very young age.

  Diving in, Matt took a deep smoke-filled breath before he spoke sharply. The smoke was annoying him, and he was tired of all the drama surrounding Jessie these last few weeks. He was also a man who had seen and experienced a lot of the seedy side of life, the truly disgusting and horrific, and he believed in facing one’s fear head on.

  “You’re full of shit, Jessie.” He stared straight ahead as the car filled with silence. From his peripheral vision he watched as Jessie took a final drag and then flipped the butt out of the window, which also pissed him off. He loved and respected the environment, and couldn’t understand why anyone, least of all kindhearted Jessie, would litter the ground with such waste.

  Jessie didn’t respond. She ached to tell Matt everything, but there was far too much at risk. Besides, she could see a black Ford Fusion not far behind them, and she didn’t doubt that it was Deuce the fuck McCall. She’d seen him following her a lot these last few weeks. She figured he had placed GPS units on their bumpers. Called bumper beepers, she discovered their existence through her research on the net. They were the only explanation for why he always seemed to find her, regardless in which car she was travelling.

  Softening, Matt said, “Don’t think you’re fooling anybody, Jessie. There are things going on around you that you’re not aware of. Everyone’s concerned, and there’s not much doubt that whoever’s got you cornered has scared you pretty good. But you should know that you’re not alone. You should also know that you need to tell someone what’s going on.”

  Jessie straightened, and sent Matt a beseeching look. “Matt,” she said, and he could see the old Jessie in her face, the one that was indeed afraid. He also took note of the fact that she was asking him, with her eyes, to glance around the interior of the car. He was quick to realize she was concerned about the car being bugged. They’d have to shake down the cars as well as their homes.

  She tentatively touched his elbow. “I’m sorry for smoking in your car,” she mumbled. With his left hand, Matt reached over his stomach and grasped her fingers tightly. His lips were pursed in a straight line, and she knew that he’d gotten the message that the car might be bugged.

  At least if it isn’t, she thought, he won’t try to get anything out of me. Whereas he was thinking At least she knows she’s not alone.

  Matt was very good at his job, yes indeed, but not so good that he caught on to the Fusion a few car lengths behind the Audi. He dropped Jessie off at the front gate of the party as Deuce pulled in behind a Mercedes parked on the street.

  “Jessie,” he said, after offering a hand to help her exit the vehicle. “Should I stay?”

  She paused before shaking her head No. “I’ll be late, Matt. Go home to your wife and little daughter.” Yet more reasons not to involve Matt in her sordid life.

  “You’ll call me for a ride?”

  Another shake of the head. “I’ll find a ride.”

  He watched her step lightly up to the front entrance of the big house. She didn’t look back and, as he drove away, Matt caught himself speculating that she didn’t seem drunk anymore. Her footsteps were as sure as those of a tightrope walker gliding across a thin wire two hundred feet above a rocky ravine.

  In the Fusion, Deuce McCall stayed put for twenty minutes before he pulled a U-turn and headed back to his Vancouver apartment. The hourglass of time was running out. He had her on the run, away from Josh and, for tonight, that was all that mattered.

  ***

  The Drifters wrap party was indeed at Jonathon’s house this year. Not far from Josh’s home near the UBC campus, the party was a grand affair that celebrated the outstanding success of the series, which was largely in part due to the chemistry between Jessie and Josh (aka Kate and Billy
). However, the festive occasion was marred by the dismal mood of the partygoers. By now it was obvious that Jessie had distanced herself from all of them, including Josh, although what seemed to likely be an impending breakup had not yet become official. But despite the few tender moments both had held onto over the past month or so, Jessie’s message was clear. She had been gradually pulling away, and her decision not to attend the Drifters wrap party was heard loud and clear. The cast and crew collectively agreed that she’d just been hanging onto Josh long enough to get through the last few weeks of shooting. He knew different. Their good friends on the show held out dismal hope that she might not abandon them as well as Josh, whose heart could be heard breaking all the way to L.A.

  Late that night as the friends sat around Jonathon’s cavernous living room and listened to the crew swap stories of the shoot that season, Jonathon watched his biological son’s agony gradually consume him to the point where he couldn’t sit still. The older man followed Josh outside to the pool where a live band at the far end was treating the Drifters bunch to a rousing set of jazz and blues, a hopeless attempt at injecting life into the subdued revelers. The producer knew all about heartbreak in love, and not getting to share in his only son’s life as a child was about as painful as it got. Still, Jonathon would have to be careful. Josh was not aware of his parentage or of the love Jonathon still held for the young man’s mother, dead these past many years.

  “Josh,” he said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry about Jessie. I know how much you care about her.”

  Josh thrust his hands in his pockets and stared out at the pool, where a few crew were taking advantage of the warm air, indulging in a midnight swim.

  “I don’t know,” Josh said. “I could maybe accept it if it made sense, but it doesn’t make sense, Jon.”

  “I doubt if love ever makes sense, bud,” Jonathon replied. He chuckled quietly. “Didn’t the storyline from Drifters teach you anything?”

  The storyline of the drama left an open ending. After a myriad of ups and downs, Billy and Kate rode away from each other. How could the writers keep them together if their female lead wasn’t likely returning the next season?

  Josh shrugged helplessly. “What I would like right about now is a big fucking whiskey.” He hadn’t indulged in alcohol since the season one wrap party a year ago.

  “Nah,” Jonathon countered. “That won’t solve anything, son.” He bit his lip. He hadn’t meant to say that-son-it had just come out. Thankfully, Josh seemed to take it as affection, plain and simple. “Maybe Jessie will sort herself out. Or maybe you’ll find someone else, even if she’s always the one that got away. The thing to do, kid, is to hold on to the good times. And find a reason to go on living even when you feel like you’re ready to cash it all in.”

  Subdued, Josh glanced up at his producer and friend. “You sound like you’ve been there.”

  Jonathon smiled at the antics of his cheery crew in the pool, a grip and a woman from wardrobe that were racing each other from one end to the other on inflatable chairs. He liked that his show created the opportunity for intimate friendships. He loved watching Josh and his pals succeed in such close proximity.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been there. I’ve had to let go.” He turned and looked at the boy who shared his eyes. “It damn near killed me, kid. Why do you think I became a writer? Because I like my fake world better than my real one.” He turned to leave, because even all these years later, almost thirty, to be exact, it still hurt like hell to look into the face of the boy whom he created with the love of his life.

  The great loves never went away. They didn’t fade. They were stuck in hearts like arrows from a time gone by, or daggers that were given a twist now and again just to ensure that the ungodly agony of defeat and loss was still felt. There was a catch in Jonathon’s voice when he spoke again, just before he walked back into the warm orange light of his gilded home. “It gets easier with time.”

  Not only was he a famous writer and producer, but Jonathon was also one of the world’s greatest liars. It was all he could do not to turn back and hug Josh, who he left standing there in the blue moonlight being serenaded by sad love songs while miserably aching for a drink to soften the blow.

  But the hardest life lessons to endure must be suffered alone. And Jonathon and Josh, surrounded by good friends and loyal co-workers, had never felt so equally alone.

  Steve’s phone rang exactly fifteen minutes later. He answered it and then somberly forced himself to walk out to the pool deck, where he found Josh balanced on a striped chaise lounge pondering a drink he held between his fingers. He was holding it up to the light, fingering it, cherishing and admiring its amber clarity. Unwrapping Josh’s stony fingers from around the glass, Steve took the drink and set it with a light clink on the nearby bar.

  He held up his keys. He hadn’t been drinking. That year, none of them were giving Josh an excuse to go under. Maggie, Carter, Sue-Lyn and he - as well as their partners - were all stone cold sober, and wishing they were drunk as hell.

  Steve’s voice shook. “Let’s go,” he demanded.

  Josh looked up at him, and the fear in his eyes made Steve’s knees go weak. This was going to suck. Bad endings always did.

  “I got a call from Leeza. She’s at a party in North Van. Jessie’s there. We need to go pick her up.”

  Wrinkling his brow, Josh felt a momentary glimpse of hope. Jessie needed him. He squinted at his phone but there were no texts or calls. Leeza, of all people, had called Steve to come get Jessie. What the hell? He eased himself up off the chaise lounge and followed Steve out the gate to the side and then to the front of Jonathon’s imposing brick house. The jagged flagstones seemed to go on forever underneath their feet. Then they were in Steve’s car flying up the road towards North Van. They found the party with no trouble, luxury cars were double parked up the long driveway, leeching their entitlement into the street. At the wrought iron gate, the waiting Leeza gave Josh’s hand a squeeze. She was sober, which surprised him. Seemed the young starlet was growing up.

  Leeza led the way inside and up a gracious curved mahogany staircase. She pulled open a heavy door. As his eyes adjusted to the light, Josh spied Jessie naked in bed with Ryan Forester, a chisel chinned blonde twenty-something second-rate actor he recognized from one of her old films. His heart in his throat, Josh forced himself to carry on with some semblance of awkward forward motion. Steve had the decency to back out of the room while Josh grabbed Jessie’s red dress, which Leeza helped wrench over the singer’s head. Jessie groaned. The alcohol had achieved its desired effect. She was unsteady, uncooperative, drunkenly defiant, her face a curious olive green in the harsh bluish-white light swathing the room from the sizeable window.

  Josh wrapped Jessie in a light beige cotton coverlet and then scooped her up in his arms. He carried her close to his hurting heart all the way down those interminable stairs, with the eyes of everyone at the damn party witness to his failure to love and protect her. He yearned to destroy something, that lamp in the corner, perhaps, for its inability to light Jessie’s way. Or perhaps he should hurl, through the immense bay window, that damn Jim Beam bottle, the one lying tipped over on the round marble-topped table, its last droplets a dizzying maze of shallow puddles. Or maybe he should run back up the stairs and wield the heavy bottle angrily at the actor who still dozed in a drunken stupor on the cursed bed, oblivious to the sudden arrival of Jessie’s fiancé. Josh wanted to brain him, to scream obscenities and leave him on the Persian rug in a puddle of his own urine and blood, but somewhere underneath the incessant low hum of decay there was another voice. It was calming. And it was Jessie’s.

  There is always hope.

  Somewhere underneath this rotten mess Josh could still hear that long ago voice of reason. And it was because of her tender intonation and unwavering belief in him that he was able to stagger away, one horrendous step at a time, from the stinging desire for violence and retribution. Enough was destroy
ed that day. His heart, for instance, which was crumbling and disintegrating with each burdened footprint.

  After opening the overbearing carved front door so that Josh could leave the site of Jessie’s treachery behind, Steve walked behind his friend as Josh carried Jessie to the small car. Jarred to life as the fresh air hit her, Jessie moaned in protest as Josh positioned her illegally in between his knees in the front seat so that she had to lean back against his pounding chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around her. After buckling them in together, he shot Leeza a hard look, thanking her in the only way he could manage. The younger woman actually looked chagrined, standing there sober amongst all those lost souls and drunken idiots.

  They drove towards Jessie’s building with her head against Josh’s chest, and only made it about halfway before she drunkenly begged Steve to stop. She grabbed the wheel and almost caused them to spin off the road, but Steve skidded to a halt just in time. Josh barely got the door open before Jessie gripped his thigh with both hands, leaned over, and puked on the ground. Whimpering, she tried to climb over him but he managed to stumble out first and help her, holding her hair back as Steve had done a few weeks-a lifetime-earlier. There was no need for words. The few words she’d needed to say to him were spoken in whispers and intrigue and mystery over the last month. In the end she had spoken loud and clear.

  Josh pulled her close and held her, but he could smell Forester’s revolting sweaty scent instead of lavender on Jessie’s skin, and that drove the dagger ever deeper. Silently, the boys steered Jessie to her place and Josh tucked her in for the last time.

  Somewhere in her scattered nightmare she heard him off in the distance, whispering to her, “I get it, Jessie. I get it. You don’t need to do that anymore, okay?”

  She nodded almost imperceptibly, then around her fragile body he tucked a duvet upon which was delicately imprinted the sweet innocence of fresh pink Sakura blossoms, and he left the room.