by T. Torrest
Mark your calanders!
Save the date for
Sadie and Jack’s wedding!
July 4, 1996
Details to follow…
Sucker punch.
I read it over and then over again, not believing the words I was seeing in front of my very eyes.
Jack was getting married.
There was no air.
I fell onto the couch, the wind having been knocked right out of me. Suddenly, the pieces of the puzzle were fitting together.
There I’d been broken-hearted, grudgingly beginning to comprehend that the demise of our relationship was due to my failure to admit that I loved him.
But that wasn’t all there was to it.
The fact was, he left me behind because there was another girl that he wanted more. I couldn’t commit to him, so he went back to someone who would. How was he able to go from telling me he loved me one minute, to making plans to marry someone else in the next?
Holy shit. Was she in the picture the whole time? If he lied about the tour, didn’t it stand to reason that he was lying about other things?
I thought about that night Jack and I ran into Sadie at The Osprey. She acted more like a jealous girlfriend than a spurned ex. I remembered how mad Jack was with her as he ushered her out the door, probably reaming her out over her fit of jealousy, consoling her with the knowledge that we were absolutely not having sex. It would make sense that he was able to hold off on sleeping with me if he was sleeping with someone else the entire time.
It hurt to know I’d been such a willing idiot, and stupid enough to have believed he cared only for me. I tried telling myself that if Jack was nothing but a two-timing asshole, then my heart couldn’t be broken by someone like that. I shouldn’t be so sad about losing him. I supposed I should have been grateful that I found out what kind of person he really was after only a few weeks: a lying, cheating, calculating snake.
I looked at the card again as the small shred of dignity I’d been holding onto slipped right through my grasp at that moment. As if I hadn’t been humiliated enough. Jack strung me along and then dumped me for someone else. But then just to drive the point home, he sent me this.
Message received, Jack.
I envisioned Sadie at the stationers, pouring over the albums of card designs before settling on that perfect little embossed dove. I pictured her filling out the order form and choosing her font and misspelling the word ‘calendar.’ I pictured her sitting on the floor of Jack’s townhouse, happily addressing the numerous envelopes to alert all their family and friends of the good news.
Then I thought about her having a good laugh as they addressed one just for me.
For all the devastation that little card in my mailbox caused, I was actually glad they sent it. I’d been living in confusion every minute of every day since our separation and at least I finally had some answers. Hell, he even told me flat-out that he needed something more. When I couldn’t give it to him, he doubled down on the sure thing.
Jack was apparently an even better actor than I had given him credit for. When he showed up on the Fourth all miserable and beaten, it was just an act. All that moping and solitude. And I had spent the whole day worrying about him! How could I have predicted then that he was simply looking to hedge his bets?
Even through all of this unsettling information, there was the denial. The useless hope that it couldn’t have all been an act. There were the memories that cracked through my defenses and kept me up at night: The look in Jack’s slate-blue eyes when they’d rake over me in laughter or amazement or even simple appreciation. The way he kissed me; his arms wrapped around me so tight I’d find it hard to breathe. The way he whispered ‘I love you’ that one, beautiful, wretched night.
Maybe he never intended to let things get that far between us. Maybe he planned to break it off with me before sex could even enter the picture. I mean, the night we finally slept together—ahead of schedule, I might add—wasn’t I the one that set up that whole evening? Why wouldn’t he have just gone along with it and taken what I was offering? And for him to go so far as to say he loved me? Maybe he just got caught up in the moment enough, at least a little bit, to say it out loud.
* * *
Whenever I find myself making excuses for all the rotten things Jack did, I shake it off and try to remember the facts. Regardless of the feelings he had for me, it doesn’t change the reality of the situation: He loved someone else more.
It doesn’t help that in the past months, I’ve heard my song being played a few times on the radio. The New York stations have added “Vampire” into the rotation along with “Backyard,” and it seems I can’t go more than a few weeks without hearing one or the other. When I do, pathetic martyr that I am, I can’t ever bring myself to turn the dial.
Especially with the acoustic version of “Vampire.”
My song.
The thing is… I found the hook. It wasn’t the thrashing bass line or the kicking backbeat. It was the words, that up until then had been forced to the background of one jamming song. But with Jack singing it alone, stripped down to nothing but his guitar and a microphone, it all became incredibly clear.
It wasn’t a song about a vampire screaming to God to take back his curse... It was a song about how he’d been cursed by me. I was the vampire who’d led his heart astray.
Between life and death I’ve lived alone
A darkness that I’ve always known
To live again, to live, to Liv:
This heart that beats is not my own…
This face that I’ve been forced to hide
Can’t be seen ‘cept deep inside
To live again, to live, to Liv:
I promise you, it hasn’t died…
Losing sleep, up all night
It’s finally time to see the light
Vampire’s heart
It’s not so dark
After all
Told you I’m lyrically challenged.
As much as it always pains me to hear Jack’s voice, I make myself suffer through it. Every time I make it to the end of one of his songs without breaking down, I feel marginally strengthened by my efforts. Besides, his music is the only thing I have left of him.
Well, that and a folder of photographs. But I already know I’m not strong enough to look at them yet. I pulled them out one day around Thanksgiving and felt my eyes getting hot almost immediately. And I’ve been sticking to my decision not to cry anymore come hell or high water.
I haven’t cracked yet.
I’ve settled into a kind of blessed numbness which I’ve tempered to perfection. This state allows me to smile when I am supposed to and basically look appropriately happy on a daily basis without any suspicions being raised. In all honesty, I am a shell of the person I used to be. The person I was when I was with Jack. But I hide that little fact from everyone fairly well.
Well, everyone except Vix. But thankfully, she doesn’t bug me too badly about it. And even though I’m sure she’s tipped off the girls as well as my parents, they don’t bug me about it at all.
Shana, on the other hand, barely even noticed.
A few days into my death sentence, I finally forced myself to develop and print the pictures from the Tanners’ shoot. Seeing the smiling images of Jack and his family was nothing short of torture. I tried to detach myself from this task by pretending that it was just another assignment. I printed out some 5 x 7s of the best shots and made a contact sheet of the rest.
Normally, at that point, the client would come in to choose which photos they wanted. But obviously, there was no way I could face any of them so soon. When I explained my intention to mail the proofs to Mrs. Tanner, Shana told me that it was a completely unacceptable plan.
Gritting my teeth, I asked if Shana wouldn’t mind taking over to finish the job, based on my unique circumstances with those particular clients.
Her response? “Oh, just suck it up and do it.”
My resp
onse was to quit.
In spite of that, a few days later, I went back. The negative things that were happening in my life in regards to the whole Jack Chronicle were out of my hands. The bad blood with my friend wasn’t beyond my control, however. I just wouldn’t have ever felt right about how I’d left things and wanted to at least clear the air.
Shana looked up from her desk, caught off guard to see me there.
Before I could lose my nerve, I started in. “Shane, first of all, I’d like to apologize for storming out on you like a big baby. I just—”
“You just left me out in the cold with no full-time photographer!” she snapped. “Do you have any idea what I had to offer Manuel to take on all those extra hours?”
Well, I knew she wasn’t going to make it easy. “Shane, like I was trying to say, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to leave you in the lurch. My emotions have just been a little close to the surface these days.” She didn’t lash out again, so I continued babbling. “Look. You and I both know what working together is doing to our relationship. I don’t know what’s been happening lately between us and it makes me sad. We used to have so much fun together.”
I plopped down onto the couch next to her desk. She took off her glasses and turned her chair to face me. After a huge sigh, she said, “Liv, I know you stayed here longer than you ever thought you would. I also know you did it because we’re friends and because you knew I needed you. Truth is, I stayed here longer than I ever thought I would, too.”
“What do you mean? You live for this place.”
She shook her head down at the floor. “No. It was a weigh station for me, too. Kind of a way to kill time after college until I could get my Mrs. degree.”
That actually made me smile. “Seriously?”
“Yep. Thing is, between you and my mother, this little time-killer did better than I ever imagined it could. But I don’t see myself doing this forever.” She picked up a pencil and jabbed it in my direction. “At least a few more years though, so if you’re planning to strike out on your own, stay away from my turf.”
That made us both laugh. It felt good to laugh with Shana again. Hell, it felt good to laugh at anything again. Strange that it should have been Shana of all people who was responsible.
I felt better about how I left things the second time I walked out of there. Shana sent me on my way with the Tanner portfolio, though. She explained that the pictures were more mine than hers anyway and that I could deal with them any way I chose.
So there I was, starting a new business with my very first clients: The family of my ex-boyfriend.
I did end up mailing the proofs to Mrs. Tanner, however. There was just no way around it. I enclosed a business card of a good photo printing service—one that Shana had always refused to shop any business out to—and figured the Tanners could order their own pictures. The reason would have been self-explanatory. If it wasn’t, I didn’t feel guilty about letting Jack handle the inevitable questions.
Sicko that I am, I admit that I kept a copy of the proofs for myself, just for those days when I might need a little extra torture. They’re stored in a blue folder—along with our photo booth pictures from the boardwalk, my random shots of his gigs, a pressed red rose, and my cassette tape of ‘Vampire’—in the “T” section of my filing cabinet.
In preparation for my new freelance photography business, I set up a makeshift office along one wall of the living room in my apartment. Along with the filing cabinet, I’ve amassed a computer and a fax machine. They sit on top of my old desk which I reclaimed from my parents’ garage. I finally broke down and got a mobile phone to use as a work line for Real Life Portraits and took out some ads in the local papers.
The business started off slowly, but once word of mouth got around, things picked up. I am currently a proud member of the Women’s Small Business Association of Clifton, and just last month, Real Life was the subject of an article in the Star-Ledger. That little write-up has been responsible for a flood of new clients. I’ve been thinking of hiring another photographer to handle the overflow, but I won’t have the time to devote to expanding my company until after Tess and Ronnie’s wedding.
Four more weeks and then I can start thinking about it.
Only twenty-six more days until I have to face Jack again.
When Tess first told me that she had invited him, I was taken aback. When she told me last week that he’d sent back his response card checked ‘yes,’ I almost fell over.
She explained that they couldn’t not invite him, but that she never thought he’d actually come. He was one of Ronnie’s oldest friends, regardless of the fact that they hadn’t spoken in close to a year.
It seems I’m not the only one who hasn’t heard from Jack in the past ten months.
Sometimes during that span, we’d find ourselves down at Monty’s for random weekend parties. Even though I knew Monty hadn’t spoken to him, I always expected Jack to come walking through the door.
But he went completely MIA after our breakup last summer. The guys had all at one time or another put a few calls into him, but I guess he never bothered to check his messages while he was off bouncing around the country. After a while, they gave up. I suppose they thought he was just pulling another disappearing act on them again. It seemed to be his pattern when he was with Sadie.
And now... Well, now he’s planning a wedding with the bitch.
I could just die when I think about it.
I slow to a walk by the second footbridge of the peninsula and peek over the railing to look down at the water below. The lake is almost black, the color of molasses, and moving just as slowly. Spring came late this year and from the looks of it, the water isn’t sure whether it’s supposed to stay solid or thaw out. The tiny waves lumber in slow-motion and lap against the still-frozen earth at the shoreline.
I blow some air into my hands and do a quick jog in place to stay warm while trying to enjoy the view. Even after only thirty minutes of being out in this weather, I’m wet and cold and ready to go home. The overcast, drizzly day has turned even uglier. It is now officially raining. My car is still a half-mile away, so I decide to make a break for it. Sprinting is supposed to be good, no?
I flip the hood up on my sweatshirt and set off at a respectable pace, trying to drown out my thoughts.
I inhale deeply, feeling the cold air enter my lungs. Thank God I don’t smoke anymore; I’d be coughing up one of those lungs by now.
But then, right there on the road I am running on, I see something that makes it even harder to breathe than had I smoked a carton of cigarettes before coming out here today.
A few paces up is a brand new home on the lake, under construction, but nearing completion. I appraise the house, reluctantly admitting to myself that it’s unbearably charming. I would be more accepting of the pleasant sight if it weren’t for one, tiny, little detail:
A beautiful house, a perfect location...
...and the white and gold sign out front which reads: “Yet another Home by Jackson Tanner.”
CHAPTER 40
Sunday, May 26, 1996
12:45 PM
Bridal Room at The Breakers
Spring Lake
“Crap.”
My nerves are already at the breaking point and now apparently, so is my shoe. My refusal to stop applying makeup and use the bathroom—for the millionth time this morning—had me dancing around on my feet in front of the mirror. One wrong step and the damn heel has broken off of my lavender, store-dyed stiletto. Serves me right for buying cheap shoes.
As if this day isn’t stressful enough already.
I’ve been suffering from schizophrenic emotions in regards to Tess and Ron’s wedding. Mostly, I’m just excited for my friends. They’re an amazing couple and I couldn’t be happier for them.
But a huge, selfish part of me is in dread over the thought of having to face Jack again.
I’m not too proud of myself about that.
So, because of my stre
ss over seeing Jack, I’m dealing with my guilt over being a self-centered friend on top of some general bridesmaid-anxiety.
I’m keeping those thoughts to myself, however. Externally, I am The World’s Greatest Bridesmaid today. I woke up at the crack to pick up bagels for our bridal suite brunch. I spent two hours supervising Tess’s stylist, making sure every hair on my friend’s head was curled to perfection before I even got my own bod into the shower. I was the one who ran out to the store when we realized we didn’t bring cups for our mimosas. Basically, I’ve been hovering over Tess and making sure the day goes as smoothly as possible. For her, at least. And actually, as long as I concentrate my focus on my friend, I’ll be distracted from the terrifying prospect of being in the same room with Jack Tanner later.
It doesn’t help that it’s the anniversary of the day we met, one year ago today. Tess and Ron picked this date because it’s kind of their anniversary, too. It was exactly one year ago that Ron told her he loved her for the first time. Twenty hours later, Ron was with me at The Tradewinds the first time I laid eyes on Jack.
They have also methodically chosen this reception hall in Spring Lake because it’s right down the street from where they first met, at Monty’s house.
They could have done worse for themselves.
The Breakers is a charming, oversized beach cottage with all the amenities of a fancy reception hall.
The bridal suite is basically an entire apartment located upstairs from the main ballroom. We’ve been here all morning getting ready for the wedding. The ceremony is going to take place across the street, right on the beach.
Tess picked this place specifically to have oceanside nuptials and I’d hate to see the festivities get relegated to the indoors due to inclement weather.
I thought it was a pretty bold decision to plan an outdoor ceremony during the month of May in New Jersey, what with the climate being so unpredictable and all. Although, Tess and Ron have thus far lucked out. It’s a cloudy day, but not raining, and it looks as though the sun will win the battle by the afternoon. We’ve all been keeping our fingers crossed.
