by Bryce, Megan
She’d said it just like that. As if he was offering nothing more than a pat of butter to flavor her toast with.
She made some comment about his car and he grunted his reply.
She said, “Paying for yesterday, huh? Those emails must have piled up.”
They had. It was not helping with his mood any.
She pulled on her booties and climbed the ladder, and Jack pretended she wasn’t there.
A few minutes later, Gus came crashing through the door. “You bought a condo?”
Jack raised an eyebrow at her and she said, “Mother called. She wants all this nonsense to end and for both of us to move back home where we belong.”
Delia looked down and said, “She said that?”
“She doesn’t need to say it.” Gus threw herself into the chair in front of his desk. “We’ll help you move into your new condo.”
Delia said, “You’ve got to be kidding me. How many times am I going to have to help you guys move?”
Jack said, “Don’t worry, Delia. It’s being taken care of.”
Gus and Delia exchanged a look at his tone of voice. Gus said, “Mother probably gave him the guilt trip to end all guilt trips.”
“Mm-hm. That’s probably it.”
Jack glanced up at Delia and the look on her face said she didn’t think that was it at all.
Gus said, “I want to see your new apartment, Jack. And Delia wants to help even if she won’t say so. She likes to be horrified at all our excess. It makes her feel good about herself.”
Delia spit out a laugh. “That is mean but true. It does make me feel better about myself to see all the stuff you guys have to have to be happy. I’m happy with a door on my bedroom.”
Jack said, “I appreciate the offer but I don’t need any help. I’m not doing any of the moving. I feel like Delia; I’ve moved enough stuff this month.”
Gus pouted. “I still want to see it.”
“You’re welcome anytime. I’ll give you a tour when I’m settled.”
“Let’s go at lunch today.”
He nodded. Gus wouldn’t be happy until she saw his new condo.
After Gus left, Delia climbed down her ladder and sat in the chair. She sat and waited. She watched him.
He ignored her.
She smiled, a small upturn to her lips that said he was acting like a baby and she would love to point it out to him.
He answered an email.
Another email.
He finally looked up at her. “I apologize.”
“For what, exactly?”
“For being rude.”
“Has anyone ever said no to you before?”
When he didn’t answer, she said, “It’s got to happen at least once in your life, Jack. So you can know how mortal men fare. Try not to take it personally.”
Jack said, “It’s not me, it’s you?”
She smiled, laughing at him. “It may be a cliché but it’s still true. I’m an adult now, Jack. I’ve learned to walk around mistakes instead of going straight through them.”
He whispered, “Would I be a mistake, Delia?”
She nodded sadly, as if she wished with everything she had that he wouldn’t be but that she knew differently.
“Why would I be a mistake? I don’t make mistakes.”
“I’m sure it wouldn’t be a mistake for you. It’s not the gods who suffer when they play with mortal men. Or women.”
“I’m not a god, Delia. Just a man.”
Just a man, learning to listen to what he wanted. He’d bought his car, had seen Delia sitting in it and he’d wanted her.
He’d bought a condo with large open windows and he’d wanted Delia to see it. Had wanted Delia to poke at how much he’d paid for it, to complain that it had no history.
Because he’d paid too much and he hadn’t cared. Because he didn’t want history, he was steeped in history. And he wanted someone to remind him that what he had too much of was wonderful, that it wasn’t slowly choking the life out of him.
She leaned forward. “If I tell you the horrible truth, will you drop this?”
“It’s possible.”
She studied him a long minute before saying, “You’re fire, Jack.”
He looked at her hair. “I’m fire?”
She nodded. “You’re fire. I’ve played with fire before and I know it when I see it. It’s fun, while it lasts. It’s everything while it lasts. And when it dies down, you poke your head up and realize there is nothing left because it’s burned everything up.”
He tried to imagine passion like that.
He said, “Was that supposed to have dissuaded me?”
“It didn’t?”
“I’ve never had fire before, Delia. And I’m finding it difficult to believe that you wouldn’t just do what the moment brought you.”
She tilted her head in agreement. “Normally, I would. I’m turning over a new leaf.”
“With me? How am I not supposed to take that personally?”
“You caught me at a bad time, Jack. I have a plan now. You’re not part of it, and if I let you be part of it you’ll take over the whole thing. I know it.”
Jack leaned back, looking at her. “So, what’s your plan?”
Delia pursed her lips and he said, “Maybe I can help with your plan. Maybe I won’t ruin it but instead can make it happen.”
“In exchange for. . .”
He smiled, his mood lightening unexpectedly. “Not in exchange for anything. As a thank you for helping with my sister. As a way to possibly get your plan out of my way.”
She sighed, looking behind him and out the window.
He said, “No strings attached, Delia. Ever.”
“Step one was to not get fired, so don’t fire me for not sleeping with you.”
He kept smiling. “I wouldn’t.”
“Step two was to make more money, to finally have enough. Enough to live on. Maybe have a retirement account. Maybe a mortgage. I don’t know if I really want a mortgage.” She pointed a finger at him. “And don’t tell me that having a little thing with you wouldn’t distract me from figuring out how to earn more. Wouldn’t take up time I should be spending on doing something more productive.”
He didn’t disagree with her. If they were going to have a “little thing”, if they were to be burned up by the fire, he’d expect it to take up all their time, all their energy.
He waited for the rest of her plan and she said, “That’s it.”
“That’s your plan?”
“It’s my first one. You can’t expect me to be great at it right out of the gate.”
“Okay, well, to make more money you could charge more.”
She gave him a look. “Could I? For painting a ceiling?”
“Second, you could believe that you are doing a real service that is worth a lot of money. Something that people cannot do for themselves.”
“Like make paper?”
He laughed. “No. Exactly the opposite of paper. Paper is abundant and needed in great quantities so I can make a tiny bit on every piece I sell and still come out ahead. What you do is rare and needed one-off and you need to make a hefty profit on each one to come out ahead.”
Delia said, “If what I do is rare and has a hefty price tag, I either have to be a master, which unfortunately I am not, or I need to be able to butt-kiss, which unfortunately I cannot.”
“Or you need to be at the right place, at the right time, and take advantage of it. And all you have to be is an artiste. They are notoriously hard to work with, which unfortunately you already are. How much did you charge to paint this ceiling?”
She told him and he shook his head. “It’s worth five times that.”
“I don’t know anyone who would pay that much to have their ceiling painted.”
“You know one. My mother.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I’d like to see it up close.”
“You don’t. It’s meant to be seen from down here. ‘It’s a full-on Monet. Up close it’s a bi
g ol’ mess.’” At his blank look, she said, “That’s from a movie. Clueless.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” he said and she shook her head at his cluelessness.
Jack said, “My mother knows a lot of people with ceilings who would like this sort of thing.”
She sunk into the chair. “Oh, God. Are ceilings going to be my bread and butter now?”
“What would you like to be your bread and butter?”
“My paintings. I can do them standing up on the floor instead of lying on my back ten feet up. As God intended.”
“Do you have any already painted?”
“Of course.”
“How come I didn’t see them when we were moving Gus in?”
“I don’t move them around with me. They’re in a storage facility.”
He shook his head. “Third, you don’t hide your assets in a storage facility. You make them available for people to buy. I’d like to see them.”
Delia took a deep breath. “Are you going to buy one of them?”
“If I see one I like. I do have a new condo to decorate.”
“I’m going to charge you five times more than I think it’s worth.”
He stood. “Good. Let’s go take a look at them.”
She stayed seated, her face scrunched up in pain and fear.
“Delia, you’re never going to have enough if you don’t sell your product.”
“Stop calling them assets and products. They’re not.”
He said softly, “I know. They’re pieces of your soul.”
“Do you feel that way about your paper?”
“No. But I’m not an artiste.”
“But you are, unfortunately, hard to work for.”
Jack lifted her by the elbow. “That’s because I like to get my way.”
“That’s because no one ever says no to you.”
He’d get his way in this as well. He just hoped her paintings weren’t chicken scratch.
He glanced back at the ceiling as he escorted her out of the office and thought he probably didn’t need to worry about the quality of her paintings.
And he was looking forward to getting an up close look at something she’d painted. Getting a look at those shadows.
Justine was thinking about heading home when night security called her, letting her know Delia was downstairs waiting for her. Justine threw the rest of her work in her bag and went downstairs. Delia was chatting to the security guard, on first name basis already, and Justine waited until there was a pause in the conversation before she pulled Delia away.
Delia waved goodbye to the guard and shoved her hands into her pockets.
Justine sighed. “Oh, God. Did you get fired?”
“No.”
“That’s your ‘I got fired’ face.”
“It might be. It’s also my ‘I got propositioned by my boss’ face.”
Justine shook her head. “Why does this happen to you? I don’t know anyone who’s been propositioned by their boss. I don’t know anyone who would want to be propositioned by their boss.”
“I didn’t want to be propositioned by him.”
“I just meant that he’s gorgeous instead of being fat and bald like most of us are stuck with.”
Jack and Gus had helped Delia move her pitiful amount of possessions and all Justine could think was Delia had been right. He was beautiful, there was no other word for it. She sighed, remembering, and said, “His eyes.”
Delia nodded. “I know. Melted chocolate.”
“Though how chocolate can be cold, I don’t know.”
“He’s not cold. He’s uptight and he tries to do everything ‘right’. It comes out as cold.” Delia snapped her mouth shut and Justine flicked her eyes at her.
Delia shrugged. “He warms up.”
Justine narrowed her eyes and tapped her chin. “I bet. What kind of proposition are we talking about? Maybe something that could lead to a nice settlement?”
Delia laughed. “No. He hasn’t touched me. He hasn’t made me uncomfortable. I told him no.”
“Then why are you looking like Christmas got canceled?”
“Because I said no!”
And Delia never said no, to anything. She was like that movie, saying yes to everything because life was short.
Delia said, “He bought two of my paintings. One for his condo, one for the office lobby.”
Delia handed two crumpled up checks to Justine and she squinted at them. She choked when she finally made out the amounts.
Delia said, “I told him he couldn’t buy me.”
Justine laughed, picturing her friend waving her finger in his beautiful cold face, her other hand clenched around the checks. “What did he say to that?”
Delia took the checks back, stuffing them into her pocket. She walked down the subway stairs and finally said so softly that Justine had to lean in to hear, “He said he didn’t buy them to get me to sleep with him. He said he bought them because he needed something colorful and happy and feisty in his life.”
Justine thought if Jack Cabot had said that to her, she wouldn’t be standing here. She’d be pantsless in the back of his car. And she thought he was a cold asshole.
She wasn’t sure how Delia had summoned the willpower to walk away from him.
Justine hooked her elbow through her friend’s. “I know what my job is here. To get you nice and drunk.”
Delia nodded.
Justine said, “To make you forget all about Mr. Smooth Chocolate When He Wants To Be.”
Delia nodded again.
Justine vowed to herself that his name would not pass either of their lips the rest of the night. She said, “We’ll go back to my place, you can sleep on the couch like old times, and we’ll keep you occupied until the danger has passed.”
“What about Paul?”
Justine shook her head. “We’re still on weekends only.”
Gus let out a long breath. “Then I think that’s a good plan. I don’t think Gus would know how to keep me away from her brother tonight. Or even that she should.”
Justine said, “How is living with the sister?”
“Were we ever that young? It’s like watching a baby chick crack out of its shell. It’s adorable watching her shake her feathers and realize she has room now. Room to figure out who she is.”
Justine mentally put away any thought of getting any more work done tonight and said, “Teenagers are just not described as adorable enough.”
Justine and Paul had gone to his sister’s for Thanksgiving. Justine had held Little Princess in her arms and had tried not to squeeze her to death.
Karen had plopped the baby in Justine’s arms, saying, “She doesn’t care who’s holding her as long as it’s someone.”
Justine had smelled that baby smell, felt that heavy warmth in her arms, and when Karen had taken the baby back, it had taken all of Justine’s willpower not to rip the child back.
Justine didn’t know what she was doing, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d held a baby.
Three years ago? Four?
Her experience with children was limited. She hadn’t done any babysitting in high school, she didn’t have friends with children.
She honestly didn’t know why she even wanted any. Rationally, she shouldn’t.
And she knew, she wasn’t rational about it.
She saw a baby in a stroller and she smiled like she’d never seen anything so wonderful, as if having a baby was really the point of life.
As if not having a baby made everything else in her life worthless.
Justine knew Mother Nature was merciless. Mother Nature wanted one thing. To survive.
Justine stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, pulling down her little round container of pills and thinking that even if you could outsmart Mother Nature, she had other tricks up her sleeve.
Paul had come home with her after dinner, was waiting for her in bed.
Justine closed her eyes and felt once again that
baby filling her empty arms.
She wanted that. She wanted that more than anything, more than anything. She wanted that more than she wanted to like herself.
Justine popped the pill out of its foil and stared at it. She heard Delia screaming at her to not do it. To not trap him, to not make this decision without him. To not make this decision when she wasn’t sure herself.
She remembered Paul’s sister saying kids weren’t what you thought they were going to be like. And how she’d wished she’d done it sooner because the older you got, the harder it was. The more you gave up for them.
She thought of Paul saying how he wished the decision would just be taken out of his hands. A good old-fashioned shotgun wedding.
Justine listened to them all, and she looked at that little pill. And then she dropped it down the drain.
Nine
It had taken the ever efficient Ms. Charles a few days to get Delia’s painting framed and hung, Thanksgiving had interfered, but finally, it was there. Front and center in Jack’s lobby and Delia stood in front of it, grinning.
If you were thinking paper, like most people who came through the door would be, that’s what it looked like. Brightly colored specks of paper, flying, like a brisk wind had just flown in through an open window and flung the papers in the air.
And they did look colorful and happy and feisty. They looked joyful in their one moment of freedom.
Jack had asked what she called this painting and when she’d said, “Supernova,” because she thought she’d been painting an exploding star, he’d said, “Now it’s called Paper.”
She hadn’t even argued with him. He was right, it was paper. She thought she’d been painting the stars and it had turned out to be paper.
And that seemed just about right.
Delia floated to Jack’s office. She couldn’t decide what she was happier about, having her painting there or having the check deposited in her bank account.
They were all really, really great feelings.
And this week, Jack’s desk and bookcase would be moved to the other side of the office and Delia would start painting the other half of the ceiling. Half-way done.
Delia smiled at Ms. Charles and breezed into Jack’s office. When she found it empty, she deflated a bit, but realized this was probably for the best.
