“How was the vacation?” Katsuko looked up, delighted to see her, but she didn’t need to ask. Jessie looked like Jessie again, only better.
“It was exactly what I needed. And look at this place! It looks like you painted it or something. So cheerful and pretty.”
“That’s just the new line. It looks pretty damn good.”
“How’s it selling?”
“Like hotcakes. And wait till you see what I picked up for fall. Everything’s orange or red. Lots of black, and some marvelous silver knits for the opera.” The browns of the winter before were already forgotten. Next year it would be red. Bright, busy, alive, maybe that was a good sign for her new life … new life. Jesus. She didn’t want to think about it yet. And there would be so many people to tell… to explain to … to …
Jessica settled down in her office, looked around with pleasure, and enjoyed the feeling of having come home. It softened the burden of the morning, the meeting with Martin. She tried to keep it out of her mind. She would write to Ian tonight. For the last time. She didn’t want to get into a long exchange of letters with him. He was too good at it. The letters would be … too much. They could work everything out through their lawyer. The less they said to each other, even by letter, the better. She had made up her mind. It was done now, and it was for the best. Now she had to look ahead and steel herself not to look back at the years with Ian. They were over now. A part of her past, like out-of-date fashions. Jessica and Ian were “passé.”
“Jessie? Got a minute?” Zina’s curly head poked in the door, and Jessie looked up and smiled. She felt older, quieter, but no longer tired. And she felt strong. For the first time in months, the nights alone did not terrify her. The house was no longer haunted. Her life was no longer infested by ghosts. Her first night back in the house had actually been peaceful. Finally.
She forced her attention back to Zina, still hovering in the doorway. “Sure, Zina. I’ve got lots of time.” The slower pace of the country was still with her. She didn’t feel harried yet, and she loved it.
“You’re lookin’ good.” Zina sat in the chair next to Jessie’s desk and looked slightly uncomfortable. She asked a few questions about Jessie’s vacation, and seemed to hesitate each time there was a pause. Finally, Jessie had had enough.
“Okay, lady, what’s on your mind?”
“I don’t know what to say, Jessie, but …” She looked up and suddenly Jessie sensed it. The hard months had taken their toll on everyone, not only on her. And she was almost surprised that neither of them had done it before. They probably hadn’t because they were too loyal. She took a long breath and looked into Zina’s eyes.
“You’re quitting?”
Zina nodded. “I’m getting married.” She said it almost apologetically.
“You are?” Jessie hadn’t even known that Zina had a boyfriend. She hadn’t had one the last time they’d talked … but when had that been? Last month? Two months ago? More like six. Since then she’d been too busy with her own problems to inquire or to care.
“I’m getting married in three weeks.”
“Zina, that’s lovely news! What are you looking so sorry about, dummy?” Jessie smiled broadly and Zina looked overwhelmingly relieved.
“I just feel bad about leaving you. We’re moving to Memphis.”
Jessica laughed. It sounded like a horrible fate, but she knew Zina didn’t think so, and now that the news was out, Zina looked ecstatic.
“I met him at a Christmas Eve party, and oh … Jessie! He’s the most beautiful man, in all possible ways! And I love him! And we’re going to have lots of babies!” She grinned contentedly and Jessica jumped up and gave her a hug. “And look at my ring!” She was pure Southern belle as she flashed the tiniest of diamonds.
“Were you wearing that before I went on vacation?” Jessica was beginning to wonder just how much she’d been missing.
“No. He gave it to me last week. But I didn’t want to write and tell you, so I waited till you got back.” And Astrid had forbidden all potentially disturbing communications to Jessie. Like news of the creditors who kept calling about the bills she still hadn’t paid. “It’s such a pretty little ring, isn’t it?”
“It’s gorgeous. And you’re crazy, but I love you, and I’m so happy for you!” And then a flash of pain struck through to her core. Zina was getting married, she was getting divorced. You come, you go, you start, you end, you try, you lose, and maybe later you get another try, a fresh start, and this time win. Maybe. Or maybe it didn’t really matter. She hoped Zina would win on the first try.
“I feel so bad giving you such short notice, Jess. But we just decided. Honest.” She almost hung her head, but the smile was too big to hide
“Stop apologizing, for heaven’s sake! I’m just glad I came home. Where’s the wedding?”
“In New Orleans, or my mother would kill me. I’m flying home in two weeks, and she’s already going crazy over the wedding. We didn’t give her much notice either. She called me four times last night, and you should have heard Daddy!” They both giggled, and Jessica started to think.
“Do you need a dress?”
“I’m going to wear my great-grandmother’s.”
“But you need a trousseau. Right? And a going-away dress, and …”
“Oh, Jessie, yes, but … no … I can’t let you do that …”
“Mind your own business, or I’ll fire you!” She waggled a finger at Zina and they both started to laugh again. Jessie flung open her office door and marched Zina into the main room of the shop and stopped in front of a startled Katsuko.
“Kat, we have a new customer. VIP. This is Miss Nelson, and she needs a trousseau.” Katsuko looked up in astonishment, then understood and joined in their giggles and smiles. She was relieved that it had gone well. She had been worried for Zina. For the last couple of months it had been frightening to tangle with Jessie. But she was all right now. They could all tell. And now she was bubbling on about Zina’s trousseau.
“It’s going to be perfect with all the spring colors. Kat, give her anything she wants at ten percent under cost, and I’ll give her her going-away suit as a wedding present. And as a matter of fact … don’t I know just the one!” A gleam had come into her eyes, and she walked into the stockroom and came out with a creamy beige silk suit from Paris. It had a mid-calf skirt and a jacket that would subtly conceal Zina’s oversized chest. She pulled out a mint green silk blouse to go with it, and Zina practically drooled.
“With dressy beige sandals, and a hat … Zina, you’re going to look unbelievable!” Even Katsuko’s eyes glowed at the outfit Jessie held up in her hand. Zina looked shocked.
“Jessie, no! You can’t! Not that one!” She spoke in a whisper. The suit sold for over four hundred dollars.
“Yes, that one.” Her voice was gentle now. “Unless there’s another one you like better.” Zina shook her head solemnly and Jessica gave her a warm hug, and with a smile and a last wink at Zina she walked back into her office. It had been a startling morning, and now she had another startling idea.
She reached Astrid at the hairdresser.
“Is something wrong?” Maybe Jessie had hated the window display, or didn’t like what she’d done with the stock. She was worried as she stood there dripping hair-setting lotion on her new suede Gucci shoes.
“No, silly, nothing’s wrong. Want a job?”
“Are you kidding?”
“No. Zina just quit. She’s getting married. And I may be crazy, because with you in the shop there’d be three of us capable of running this joint, but if you don’t mind being the overqualified low man on the totem pole for a while, the job’s all yours.”
“Jessie! I’ll take it!” She grinned broadly and forgot about what she was doing to her shoes.
“Then you’re hired. Want to go to lunch?”
“I’ll be right over. No, I can’t, dammit, my hair is still wet … oh … shit.” They both laughed and Astrid’s smile seemed to broaden b
y the minute. “I’ll be there in an hour. And Jessie … thanks. I love you.” They both hung up with happy smiles and Jessica was glad she had called.
The four of them closed the doors to Lady J promptly at five instead of at five-thirty, and Jessica brought out a bottle of champagne she had ordered that afternoon. Zina had decided to leave a week earlier than planned now that Jessie had Astrid to take her place. They finished the bottle in half an hour, and Astrid drove Jessica home.
“Want to come home with me for a drink? I still haven’t celebrated my new job.”
Jessie smiled, but shook her head. She was beginning to feel the effects of the day … which had begun with seeing Martin about the divorce. It was odd how she kept forgetting that. The morning seemed light years behind her. She wished the divorce were already behind her too.
“No thanks, love. Not tonight.”
“Afraid to fraternize with the help?” Jessie laughed at the thought.
“No, silly, I’m pooped and I’m already half crocked from the champagne, and … I’ve got a letter to write.” Astrid’s face sobered as she listened.
“To Ian?” Jessica nodded gravely, the laughter totally gone from her eyes now.
“Yes. To Ian.”
Astrid patted her hand and Jessie slid quietly out of the car with a wave. She unlocked the door and stood in the sunlit front hall for a moment. It was so quiet. So unbearably quiet. Not frightening anymore. Only empty. Who would take care of her now? It was odd to realize that no one knew what time she came home or went out, or where she was. No one knew and no one cared. Well, there was Astrid, but no one to report to, explain to, rush home for, do errands for, wake up for, set the alarm for, buy food for … an overwhelming sensation of emptiness engulfed her. Tears slid down her face as she looked around the house that had once been their home. It was a shell now. A hall of memories. Someplace to come back to at night after work. Like everything else, it had suddenly been catapulted into the past. It was all moving so quickly. People were going and changing and moving away, new people were taking their places … Zina getting married … Astrid in the shop … Ian gone … and in six months she’d be divorced. Jessica sat down on the chair in the front hall, her coat still on, her handbag slung on her shoulder, as she tasted the word aloud. Divorced.
It was almost midnight before she licked the stamp on the letter. She felt a hundred years old. She had forced Ian out of her life, and she would stand by her decision. But now she had no one except herself.
Chapter 29
“Well, look at you! What are you up to tonight?”
Astrid looked embarrassed as she buttoned the mink coat. It was May, but still chilly at night, and the fur coat looked good on her.
Jessie had just locked the doors to the shop. The arrangement was working out well. She, Katsuko, and Astrid got along like sisters. They made a powerful team, almost too much so, but they liked it, and the boutique was doing much better. Calls from creditors were getting rare. You could see the relief in Jessica’s face.
“All right, nosey-body—” Astrid looked at Jessica watching her with amusement—“I happen to have a date.” She said it like a sixteen-year-old, with a faint blush on her cheeks, and Jessica burst out laughing.
“And you already look guilty as hell. Who’s the guy?”
“Some idiot I met through a friend.” She looked almost pained.
“How old is he?” Jessie was suspicious of Astrid’s passion for men over sixty. She was still looking for Tom.
“He’s forty-five.” With a virginal expression, she finished buttoning the coat.
“At least he’s a decent age. For a change.”
“Thank you, Aunt Jessie.” The two women laughed and Jessica pulled a comb out of her handbag.
“As a matter of fact, I have a date too.” She looked up with a small smile.
“Oh? With whom?” The tables were turned now, and Astrid looked as though she enjoyed it. But Jessie had been going out a good deal in the past weeks. With young men, with old ones, with a photographer, a banker, even with a law student once. But never with writers. And she never talked about Ian anymore. The subject was forbidden and mention of Ian met with silence or black looks.
“I’m going out with a friend of a friend from New York. He’s just in San Francisco for a week. But what the hell, why not? He sounded decent on the phone. A little bit of a Mr. New York Smoothie, but at least he seemed halfway intelligent. He had a nice quick sense of humor on the phone. I just hope he behaves himself.” Jessica sighed softly as she put her comb back in her bag. Her hair hung well past her shoulders in a sheet of satiny blond.
“You should worry about how he behaves? Big as you are, you can always beat him up.”
“I gave that up when I was nine.”
“How come?”
“I met a kid who was bigger than I was, and it hurt.” She grinned and propped her feet up on the desk.
“Want a ride home, Jessie?”
“No thanks, love. He’s picking me up here. I thought I’d show him the action at Jerry’s.” Astrid nodded, but Jerry’s wasn’t her style. It was a local “in” bar, full of secretaries and ad men looking to get laid. It made her feel lonely. She was having dinner at L’Etoile. That was much more her style. It would have been Jessie’s style too, if she’d let it. But she was still seeking her own level. A new level. Any level. Jessie knew Jerry’s wasn’t for her, but the action gave her something to watch as she listened to the hustles being carried on at the bar.
“See you tomorrow.”
Jessie waved good night, and Astrid passed a young man on the steps. He was slightly taller than Jessie and had dark bushy hair. He was wearing a gray turtleneck sweater and jeans. Nice-looking, but too “fuzzy,” Astrid decided, as she smiled and walked past. She wondered how Jessie stood them; they all looked the same, no matter what color their hair, or how they dressed, they looked hungry and horny and bored. Astrid was suddenly glad she was no longer thirty. Thirty-year-old men had so far to go. With a sigh, she slipped into the Jaguar and turned on the ignition. She wondered how Ian was doing. She had wanted to write to him for a month, but she hadn’t dared. Jessica might have considered it treason. Astrid saw the letters torn in half before they were opened when she emptied the wastebasket in the office they now shared. Jessie could be unyielding when she decided to be. And she had decided to be. The door to the shop opened and Astrid saw the young man go inside.
“Hi, Mario. I’m Jessie.” She assumed he was the young man she was waiting for, and offered him her hand. He ignored it with a casual smile.
“I take it you work here.” No greeting, no introduction, no handshake, no hello. He was just looking the place over. And her with it. Okay, sweetheart, if that’s how it is.
“Yes. I work here.” She decided not to tell him she owned it.
“Yeah. I think I just passed your boss on the stairs. An old chick in a fur coat. Ready to go?” Jessie was already bristling. Astrid was not an “old chick,” and she was her friend.
He seemed bored with the action at Jerry’s, but he had four glasses of red wine anyway. He explained that he was a playwright, or was trying to be, and he tutored English, math, and Italian on the side. He had grown up in New York, in a tough neighborhood on the West Side. At least that’s how he put it. But Jessie wondered. He looked more like middle-class West Side than tough anything. Or maybe even the suburbs. And now he had grown up to be unwashed, unfriendly, and rude. It made her wonder about the friends who’d given him her name. People she knew through business, but still … how could they send her this?
“Well, how’s New York? I haven’t been back in a while.”
“Yeah? How long?”
“Almost eight months.”
“It’s still there. I went to a great cocaine party last week in St. Mark’s Place. How’s the action out here?”
“Cocaine? I wouldn’t know.” She sipped her wine.
“Not your thing?” He continued to look bored
while working hard at looking cynical. Big-city kid in the provinces. Jessie was wishing he would drop dead on the spot. Or disappear, at least.
“You don’t dig cocaine?” He pursued the point.
“No. But this is a nice city. It’s a good place to live.”
“It looks dull as shit.” She looked up and smiled brightly, hoping to disappoint him. Mario the playwright was turning out to be an A-l pain in the ass.
“Well, Mario, it’s not as exciting as West Side New York, but we do have our fun spots.”
“I hear it’s an intellectual wasteland.” So are you, darling.
“Depends on who you talk to. There are some writers out here. Good ones. Very good ones.” She was thinking of Ian and wanted to cram him down this jerk’s throat. Ian was quality. Ian was charming. Ian was brilliant. Ian was beautiful. What was she doing out with this pig? This boor? This …
“Yeah? Like who?”
“What?” Her mind had wandered away from Mario to Ian.
“You said there are some good writers out here. And I said like who. You mean science-fiction writers?” He said it with utter distaste and that cynical smile that made Jessica want to plant the wineglass in his teeth.
“No, not just science-fiction writers. I mean like fiction, straight fiction, nonfiction.” She started reeling off names, and realized that they were all friends of Ian’s. Mario listened, but offered no comment. Jessica was fuming.
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