by Bell, Adora
Jack heaved himself out bed and padded over to the window. The sun was just peeking above the rooftops of Paris, gently lighting up the intricate architecture of the city. Already, people were bustling through the streets below, vendors setting up their stalls and opening their storefronts. Stepping out onto the balcony, Jack was hit with the smell of baking bread. His stomach growled. When had he last eaten? He remembered having breakfast at an airport, but he couldn't be sure which one.
Slipping into his jeans, he pulled a warm sweater and a hat out of his suitcase. It was bound to be chilly at this time of the morning. In the hotel elevator, an elderly french couple eyed him suspiciously. For a moment he thought they might have recognized him, but he suspected they were judging his scruffy appearance. Even at 5.30 am, they were both impeccably dressed. With a sigh, Jack ventured out into the streets of Paris.
Ten minutes and several identical looking side streets later, Jack was lost. All he wanted was some food and a packet of cigarettes. He stomped over the cobbles with growing irritation. Why were there no street signs anywhere? He tried to ask an old lady, who rounded the corner with her shopping bag, but she just gave him a confused look and scuttled away. Finally, taking a left that he hoped would take him back to the main street, he spotted a little red sign that read 'Tabac.' This looked promising. He pushed open the small door and heard a doorbell jingle. The shopkeeper, a stout, middle-aged man with an impressive moustache, gave him a hard look before returning his eyes to his newspaper. Jack scanned the small store. He picked up a tempting looking chocolate bar; one thing he was enjoying about Europe was the chocolate, especially the Belgian stuff. He could see why that was famous. He spotted the cigarettes in a small locked case behind the counter, and approached the shopkeeper with what he hoped was a friendly smile.
“Er...bonjour....um, j'aime...cigarettes?” Jack murmured hopefully. All he received in return was a withering stare, followed by a barrage of incomprehensible french.
“Um...non francais...cigarettes, s'il vous plait?” Jack tried, pointing at the locked case. The shopkeeper rolled his eyes and reached into his pocket for the key. Swinging the case open, he grabbed a box of some brand that Jack had never heard of and plonked them on the counter. Jack thought about arguing, but he didn't have the energy. He just set his chocolate down next to them and held out a twenty euro note. The shopkeeper took it wordlessly, dispensed a tiny amount of change on the counter, and went back to reading the newspaper. Charming.
“Merci beacoup,” Jack muttered, and the little man grunted in return. Jack left the store, taking care to slam the door behind him. Jerk. Would it kill people to be a little friendly?
Jack leaned against the wall of the store, next to a battered old magazine rack, and tore the cellophane from the packet of cigarettes. Jack lit his cigarette and dragged the smoke deep into his lungs. He had given up, almost...but some days, he just really needed a cigarette. For a moment, he felt at peace. Then out of the corner of his eye, a familiar face jumped out at him, and he froze. Jack had become used to seeing his face in print. Compass had done a few magazine covers in their time, and there were always the paparazzi shots. Jack, bleary eyed, stumbling out of a nightclub with his buddies. Chatting to an old friend over coffee, who the tabloids would transform into his 'secret lover.' Making out with a daytime TV star at some award show or other...that was not one of his finest moments. But this picture was different. Jack felt like he'd been slapped in the face. His cigarette had lost all flavour, and he threw it onto the cobbles and ground it out with his foot. Then he snatched every visible copy of the magazine from the rack, marched back up to the counter and slammed down a fifty euro note. The shopkeeper began to say something, but Jack was already storming off down the street.
***
Sara groaned as the irritating buzzing sound penetrated her consciousness. She had been in the middle of a good dream. She stretched out her hand and fumbled on her bedside table until she felt the familiar shape of her phone. It wasn't her alarm after all; the screen said 'Unknown Number.' Sara contemplated ignoring it and going back to sleep, but she supposed it could have been work calling.
"Hello?" she mumbled.
"Sara?" The voice was familiar, but the line was bad.
"Who is this?"
"It's Jack. Hey."
Sara's tummy gave a little flip. Suddenly, she felt wide awake.
"Oh, Jack, hi! Did you get my messages?"
Oh great, why did that have to be the first thing out of her mouth? Way to sound needy, Sara.
"I, um, haven't been online for a few days, sorry. It's been kinda hectic out here." Something in his voice worried Sara. She couldn't put her finger on it, but he sounded a little...off. Had he been drinking, she wondered? She hoped not. Sara liked to think she was more than just a drunk dial.
"No worries. Are you okay?"
There was silence on the other end of the line, until Sara thought they might have lost the connection. Then she heard him let out a long breath.
"No. No, I'm not, not really." His voice cracked a little, sending a spasm of pain through Sara's heart.
"Oh, Jack, what's the matter?"
"I...Oh man, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called. Just, I've been sat holed up in this stupid hotel room for the last few hours, and I realized the only person I really wanted to see was you. Oh god, that sounds lame."
Sara felt a little glow of warmth in the pit of her stomach, tempered with concern for Jack
"I'm here, Jack. Just tell me what's going on."
"Oh Sara, everything's just so fucked up. I don't even know where to start...it'll be in the papers there too I expect. Would you just...ugh, I'm sorry...have you got any plans for the weekend?"
"Um, no, was just going to have a quiet one. Big week at work," Sara responded, thrown off by his sudden change of subject
"Look, I know it's a lot to ask. But would you consider coming out here for a couple of days? I'll buy you a flight, and I could have you back in time for work on Monday. I know it's a long way and everything, I just...I really need to see you."
"Where even are you?"
"Paris. France, not Texas."
"Jack, that's...um, it's a long way..."
"I know, I'm really sorry for asking. I'll understand if you say no. Just...please think about it."
Sara looked down at her fluffy pj’s and the stack of DVDs that constituted her weekend plans. She considered the pain in Jack's voice, and the longing that tugged at her. And Paris...the city of light...she had always wanted to see it.
"If you need me, I'll come."
"You will? Oh my god, Sara, that is amazing. You can pick up the tickets at the airport, I'll message you the details. I've got to go but...I can't wait to see you."
Before she even had a chance to reply, he hung up. Sara stared at the phone in her hand for a moment, wondering if that whole phone call had been part of a crazy dream. Then her email alert went off, and she saw the flight details drop into her in-box. Sara dashed for the shower. She didn't have much time.
***
The knock on the door made Jack jump. He had been sat, staring out of the window at the rain as it fell over Paris. The morning's brightness had turned to a grey drizzle, as if Paris had picked up on his mood. The knocking grew louder.
“Jack! Open this goddamn door Jack, before I call hotel security. Come on man, we need to talk about this.”
“Go away.” Jack grabbed a bottle of vodka from the minibar and took a long, bitter swig.
“C'mon Jack, just let me in for ten minutes. Then I promise I'll leave you alone.”
Reluctantly, Jack went to the door, and let his manager into the room. They sat awkwardly on the giant bed.
“Jack, this will blow over, it always does. “
“They're saying I sold drugs to kids. It's everywhere, Jared. Not just the rags, the real newspapers, all over the internet...they're talking about a police investigation.”
“That's not going to happen Jack
. Not from one stupid little photograph. They're just speculating. Anything to sell another copy, right?”
“Even so. That's it for me. My career. My whole fucking life...who's gonna want to work with me now? Who's going to buy a ticket to see this?”
“Hey, come on buddy, all publicity's good publicity, right? You're a rock star, a little bit of notoriety never hurt.”
“Not like this. As far as they're all concerned, I'm practically a fucking murderer.” There were tears in Jack's eyes, his hands balled into tight fists.
“We'll call a press conference. Call them out on their bullshit. You've done nothing wrong, you've got nothing to worry about.”
“Hah! Since when was that any help? They'll rip me to shreds. If I talk, they're going to keep digging, and then they'll find out about Laura...I can't have all that raked up, Jared, I just can't.”
Jared sighed. He cared for Jack like a son, but at the same time, he had the rest of the band to think about. There were schedules, contracts...income that he depended on.
“Jack...you've had a good run, kept certain things from the public for a long time now. But now this has happened, and we can't change that. Wouldn't it be better to just come clean now? Tell the world what happened before some dickhead with a notebook gets hold of it. They'll understand, I promise. Hell, I bet they'll even respect you for it.”
“No. Not gonna happen. Not now, not ever.”Jared reached out and squeezed his shoulder.
“Ok buddy, I get it. So no press conference?”
“No, no fucking press conference.”
“Right, fine. No worries. You just go out on stage tonight with your head held high, and show 'em you're not going to stand for their gossip.”
“I'm not going to the gig tonight Jared. I can't.”
“Jack, the boys all want to go ahead. They're behind you, one hundred percent, but we've got a tour to finish. The show must go on, right?”
“They can do it without me. Mike can take the vocal, he knows how. He's been wanting the lead for long enough now.”
“Jack...come on, if you don't show then they'll assume there's some truth to this. And there isn't, right?”
Jack whipped his head round and looked the older man in the eye.
“Are you seriously asking me that? Seriously? You know my fucking history man, do you really think...? Fuck.”
“Hey, hey, Jacky boy, relax. I was just...I know you would have done anything for Laura. Maybe one time, you were trying to help her out...I just mean, if there's any substance to this, any at all, I need to know so we can do damage control.”
“Get the fuck out, Jared. I mean it. Before I do something I'll regret.”
'Okay, okay, I'm sorry....look, we need to be at the venue by six. Think about it. I'll call you later.”
“Just leave me the fuck alone.”
“You're a good guy, Jack. You can't punish yourself forever. It's not worth throwing away your career for.”
As the door clicked shut, Jack let his head sink into his hands. He had never felt so alone in his whole life.
***
Sara felt self-conscious as she approached the check in desk. Half way to the airport, she had almost told the cab to turn around...all this was just too crazy to be true. But then, she never thought she'd get to meet Jack Carter...so maybe crazy dreams come true some times. She smiled at the pretty blonde behind the counter and held out her passport.
“There, um, should be a ticket for collection.”
The attendant examined her details and the computer screen for a few moments, before breaking into a brilliant smile.
“Ah yes, here we are Madam. One first class ticket to Paris via London, leaving on the 1.30. No checked luggage? Okay, if you follow this corridor through security, then you'll just need to show your boarding card to access the Gold Lounge. Have an excellent flight.”
Sara read and reread the ticket in her hand. First class? Wow. She didn't even like to think what that had cost. Looking down at her faded skinny jeans and comfy sweatshirt, she wished she'd dressed up a little more. With a wry grin, she pulled her sunglasses out of her bag and put them on, checking out her reflection in a pane of glass. There, now she could be mistaken for an off-duty celebrity, dodging the paparazzi. Was this what Jack's life was like all the time, she wondered? No, they probably travelled by private jet. Hauling her weekend bag over her shoulder, Sara made her way towards security.
Leaning back in her enormous, plush seat, Sara felt like pinching herself. This really was the way to travel. The first class seats were divided into little cabins, with private televisions and fully flat beds. The friendly stewardess had provided a glass of champagne along with a refreshing hot towel, before pointing out her copy of the extremely extensive food menu. Compared to her usual cramped seat on a budget airline, this felt like another world. Sara kept wondering when someone would find her out and escort her back to economy, and found herself scanning her ticket for the little note that said 'First.' Her companions in paradise were mostly fifty something guys in expensive Italian suits, who seemed to take no pleasure in the experience whatsoever. Thirty minutes into the flight, most of them were either tapping furiously on their laptops, or had downed some prescription sedatives with their champagne and passed out. It occurred to Sara that even luxury could get boring eventually. There were a couple of interesting passengers though. One was an elderly lady with a Russian sounding accent, whose makeup had to be at least an inch thick, and who tottered onto the plane atop six inch red stilettos. The other, whose cabin was separated from Sara's by a sliding partition, was a guy in his mid-twenties who could have stepped out of a Tommy Hilfiger ad. From his piercing blue eyes to his strong, tan jawline, he was six feet 2 inches of all-American hunk. The stewardesses were extremely attentive to all the first class passengers, but they spent extra time hovering by his cabin, batting their eyelashes as they offered refreshments.
Sara settled in with a romantic comedy, nibbling at a tray of assorted snacks that was perched on the small side table. Soon the warmth of the cabin and the comfy seat took their toll, and despite her intentions to savour the experience, she soon drifted off to sleep.
In her dream, Sara was walking down an endless corridor. The thick carpet felt soft beneath her bare feet. The walls were lined with doors, each one numbered, but somehow she sensed that none of these was the one she was looking for. Sara realized she was dressed only in her favourite black lace underwear, but she didn't feel cold. As she passed by another set of doors, they swung open, and she felt a prickle on the back of her neck, like someone was watching her. But the door frame was dark and empty. Sara carried on down the hallway, picking up speed as she felt a growing sense of urgency building in the pit of her stomach. Eventually she was running, aware only that she had to reach the end of the corridor, not sure what she was hurrying towards. The hall seemed to stretch as she sprinted along it, the end always just out of sight. Then all of a sudden, the door seemed to rush towards her, and she stopped dead. This door was larger than the others, painted a deep shade of blood red. It didn't have a number. Instinctively, Sara raised her hand and knocked. She heard the sound of shuffling on the other side, as if someone was hauling themselves up to answer her. Suddenly she was overwhelmed with anxiety, as if something hideous might be lurking behind the door, ready to pounce on her. Yet she remained rooted to the spot. It was too late to go back. The handle turned, and the door swung open agonizingly slowly. At first, there was only darkness. Then the light came on behind Jack, who was leaning against the door frame, wearing only his tight, faded jeans. Wordlessly, she fell into his arms,. His hands roamed over her skin, as if he wanted to familiarize himself with every last part of her. Winding her hands in his hair, she pulled his lips toward her, thrusting her tongue roughly into his mouth until she felt him respond. She started as his teeth sank into her bottom lip, pain and pleasure mingling until her senses were on fire. His hands were on her breasts, kneading them roughly, pinching her nip
ples into hard little points. As his hard cock nudged the soft curls of her pubic hair, she realized their garments had had somehow melted away, but she was past the point of caring about anything except his touch. Jack wrapped his strong arm around her waist, and they fell together onto the carpet, sinking down into it's softness. She relished the sensation of his weight bearing down on her, rendering her entirely helpless. Sara gasped as the head of his stiff member pressed against her entrance, stretching her opening as he slid deep inside her. She felt filled, consumed by him entirely, and already intense waves of pleasure were coursing through her. Sarah moaned as a monumental orgasm gripped her, every muscle in her body trembling as she came harder than she ever had before. At the same time she heard Jack moan into her ear. Then, as the pleasure began to subside, that moan transformed into almost a sob, a sound so filled with pain that it brought tears to Sara's eyes. She felt him slip out of her arms and slide, limp, to the floor, his strong frame and proud muscles withering beneath her hands.
"Jack!" she screamed at him, but he seemed not to hear her. His face was ashen, all the light gone from his eyes, as if his very spirit was slipping away. Sara tried to grab him, screaming his name, but to no avail. He seemed to become a ghost, slipping through her fingers, away from, back towards the darkness of that mysterious room. As she ran towards the doorway, still calling for him, the door slammed shut with a resounding crack
Sara jolted awake, still breathing heavily. The cabin lights were dimmed.
"The captain has switched on the fasten seat belt sign. Please return to your seats and have your belt securely fastened."
