Love on the Edge of Time

by Julie A. Richman

  She watched his lips and tongue savor the rich chocolate crème tunneled in the flaky layers of choux pastry and as he licked the dark chocolate from his top lip, she could see by his expression that he was lost to the rich texture and flavor explosion in his mouth.

  And then he surprised her. Removing his sunglasses, she was overwhelmed by the intensity of emotion in his eyes as they sought and held her gaze. Close up, his eyes were more expressive than she had imagined they would be, yet just as captivating as she had suspected.

  “Thank you for sharing and giving me half.” He finished his last bite, savoring it.

  Half. Mon moitié.

  Kylie sat there for a moment, half an éclair in hand, before extending her hand to Jesse and offering him the remainder of the pastry. Her half. His eyes never left hers, as he smiled and wrapped both his hands around her outstretched hand and brought the éclair to his mouth. Taking the tip of his tongue, he took a swipe of the crème at the center, and then slowly brought the pastry, still wrapped in both their hands, back to her mouth.

  “This is your half. It was my gift to you.”

  She opened her mouth and he grazed her lips with the treat, rubbing crème on them. The same crème his tongue had just swiped. As he fed her the confection, she let the rich chocolate roll over her tongue. This sublime flavor had the hairs on her forearms standing at attention. Did I just taste this? Or was it the last time I was in Paris? Or 1749? All senses were on overload as she savored the smooth crème. When was it? When was it last? When was the first time? Why today? Twice.

  The sticker on the box sitting between them on the counter said, A Paris depuis 1730. In Paris since 1730. I knew that, Kylie mused, though she suspected they cost more than a denier these days.

  He had still not let go of her hand, his gaze intent and serious, as if he needed her to eat her half of the treat, his gift to her that must be consumed. Closing her eyes, Kylie took the last bite of the éclair that remained in their hold.

  Her half.

  It was a taste she had not forgotten and would never, ever forget.

  “Jesse, can I get a selfie with you.”

  The moment was broken as three girls approached, pulling Kylie to interrupted reality as if she’d been plucked off the cobblestones of Rue Montorgueil. Jesse’s eyes flashed sadness and regret, as his mirrored lenses quickly made their way back to obscure their connection as the girls’ cell phones clicked away.

  Leaning forward, he quickly whispered in Kylie’s ear, the anxiety in his voice apparent, “I’ve gotta bolt.”

  She nodded, but he was making his way out the door before she could verbally respond.

  Sitting quietly for a few minutes, trying to process the overwhelming events of the day and Jesse’s hasty departure, Kylie was quickly losing a grasp on containing her emotions, and a public meltdown in Starbucks, after being seen with Jesse Winslow, would not be a good thing.

  Pulling out her phone, she opened their text thread as she stepped back onto the sidewalk.

  I didn’t get to thank you. And I didn’t get to say goodbye.

  And those two things hung over her for the remainder of the day, keeping her shrouded in a sadness that was hard to comprehend. Falling into an uneasy sleep that night, where worlds began to collide and new faces from millennia past walked alongside contemporaries, she found relief from the need to try and make sense of something that would never, ever be possible.

  It was shortly after four a.m. when the text tone from her phone woke her.

  You don’t ever have to thank me and you don’t ever have to say goodbye.

  Smiling at the text, Kylie thought, I’d love to never say goodbye to you. But this stop/start is so frustrating. There was so much I needed to share with you. And today was just not a good day to not say goodbye. You weren’t the first.

  I’m sorry you got busted and had to bolt.

  LOL. Yeah, me, too. The minute my sunglasses came off, I was toast. We’ll figure out someplace new to meet.

  Someplace new to meet? Kylie could feel the dark shroud lifting off her.

  OK

  Now sleep, Toots.

  Night

  Toots? Only Jesse Winslow could get away with calling a woman Toots and make it sound coveted and sexy. Toots, she laughed. Soft and sweet like a Tootsie Roll.

  Please don’t make it another month before I hear from you or see you again, Jesse. Please. I have to tell this shit to someone and not have them think I’m totally crazy. You’re the only one I can talk to.

  And like an epiphany, I could have told Bruno was the last thought that ran through her head, before both physical and emotional exhaustion won the battle, stealing the remaining vestiges of her consciousness.

  Chapter 6

  “She’s a friend from therapy,” he said for the fourth time, his tone terse, as his patience clearly waned.

  “Well, you look very friendly eating out of one another’s hands.” The photos were everywhere and everyone wanted to know who was the mystery woman sharing an intimate moment with the famous rocker.

  Thirty-six hundred miles away didn’t diminish the weight of her anger pressing down on him like a lead blanket, the kind dentists use as a precaution when snapping X-rays. In his mind’s eye, he could see the look on her face, that look, the one he knew so well, and he knew she was pressing next, next, next on her keyboard, scrutinizing the photos of him and Kylie in Starbucks.

  After a solid minute of silence, he finally asked, “Are you still getting home next Thursday?”

  Another silence followed, “I was thinking maybe I’d take a few extra days and join some of the girls in Formentera. One of their families has a ranch with bungalows on the beach right off of Platja de Migjorn.”

  “Formentera?” It wasn’t really a question, just more of a surprise at her seemingly sudden decision to vacate to the quiet island off Spain’s coast. The models typically headed to Ibiza for the pulsating nightlife, not chilled-out Formentera.

  The first thought that crossed his mind was, I’ll bet Nick has a place on Formentera, and that was followed by an immediate instinctual testosterone surge that rapidly cooled and dwindled, replaced by relief. Nah, I don’t want to beat the shit out of the guy. Take her. Just take her.

  “Sounds like the perfect relaxing break.” He wasn’t quite sure whether he was talking to her or himself.

  ••••••

  Looking at the picture brightening her phone screen as it accompanied the opening strains of Faith Hill’s “Mississippi Girl” ringtone, Kylie couldn’t help but smile.

  “Sip,” Kylie greeted the caller.

  “Gracie,” the heavily southern accented voice returned.

  “What’s up?” Tossing herself down onto her couch, Kylie was thrilled to hear the voice of her old pageant circuit roommate, Hayley Taylor, the reigning Miss Mississippi, hence the nickname, Sip.

  “You tell me. You seem to be having all the fun adventures these days.”

  Kylie laughed. “I assume you’re talking about my little java rendezvous.”

  “Heck yes. Give it up, Gracie.” Hayley’s nickname for the former Miss New Jersey referencing another Miss New Jersey, the diamond-in-the-rough movie character, Gracie Hart, from the Miss Congeniality movie franchise.

  “Nothing to give up, Sip. He and I have an acquaintance in common and were just having coffee.” Kylie knew it wasn’t her place to reveal that the acquaintance was a psychiatrist and that Jesse was in therapy.

  “Sugar, your voice is like an octave higher when you are lying or talking about your commitment to world peace,” Hayley chuckled. “When you’re ready to divulge this little secret, you know I’m here to listen. And I want every single detail about that hot, hot man.”

  Kylie was smiling as she listened to her friend speak. DYE-vulj. Her classic southern accent and smoldering emerald eyes could charm the pants off any man or woman and the latter was a huge issue for her on the pageant circuit. Many a night Kylie would cover fo
r her roommate and friend who was successfully seducing yet another sweet young thing.

  “I know you are, Sip. And I appreciate it.”

  “Seriously, Gracie,” her voice became soft, almost nurturing. “This is Jesse Winslow we’re talking about. Somehow I don’t imagine boyfriend material is part of his set list.”

  “It’s not like that between us, really. It isn’t.” She wasn’t sure what it was, but it certainly wasn’t anything that had her fantasizing about a happily ever after. They were just two souls on a journey of discovery who no longer had to forge an uncharted, scary and potentially painful path alone.

  “Are you seriously telling me that you’re not attracted to Jesse Winslow?”

  Pausing to formulate a response denying any attraction, she wasn’t quick enough as Hayley jumped in.

  “Hell, woman, I love pussy and even I’m attracted to him. Everything about that man exudes pure carnal energy. So, I don’t believe for a single second that you’re not attracted to him.”

  Kylie just sighed. She couldn’t even begin to tell her friend the truth. How insane would all this sound?

  “Gracie, you need to take a look at those pictures. The way the two of you are looking at each other, mmm…mmm…mmm hotter than an egg frying on a Texas pick-up truck in July. It’s like there’s no one else in the world. You have the look of absolute bliss on your face. What was he feeding you?”

  “An éclair.”

  “An éclair? Seriously, sugar? Our backwoods Starbucks don’t carry éclairs.”

  “Ours don’t either. Jesse brought it for me from my favorite bakery in Paris.”

  There was a snicker on the other end of the phone. “Paris? As in Paris, France? He brought you éclairs from Paris?”

  “Yes. From my favorite bakery. It wasn’t éclairs. It was just one single, lone éclair. He ate the other one,” Kylie giggled.

  “Did he know it was your favorite bakery?” Hayley was digging.

  “I may have mentioned it.”

  “May have mentioned it,” she laughed. “Claudine, your days are numbered, you stuck-up bitch.”

  “Seriously, Sip, it’s not like that.”

  “Gracie, turn on your PC and take a look at those pictures and the way you two are looking at each other. Every woman dreams of a man looking at her like that. And for you, it’s a man half the women on the planet have fantasized about.”

  Hanging up the phone, Kylie grabbed her iPad and googled Jesse Winslow. Her screen immediately populated with hits.

  “Jesse Takes a Bite”

  “Rockers Prefer Redheads”

  “Claudine Who?”

  “Rocker and Mystery Woman Share a Moment”

  “Jesse’s New Love”

  The same four pictures appeared in all the articles. As Kylie studied them closely several things crossed her mind. I need to see Zac more often and work out harder because I look like a beast in profile and Hayley is right! Look at the way we are looking at each other.

  There was no denying it. She and Jesse Winslow were sharing a connection. A very special connection. But it wasn’t the connection the rest of the world, including his very famous girlfriend, thought it was. But even Kylie couldn’t tell them exactly what their bond actually was.

  ••••••

  “We were scheduled for a regression today,” Claire commented, perusing her notes.

  “We’ll see,” the tone in Jesse’s response revealed a dark mood.

  “Let’s talk about what has you out of sorts today.”

  Unlacing his boots, the rocker kicked them off, lying down on the couch and pulling a throw pillow behind his neck.

  “Lots of shit. Detoxing is hard. Staying sober is hard. I’m trying to substitute positive things for the destructive, but I’m on edge, my fuse feels short. People say shit to me and I just want to punch their faces in.”

  With a pencil in her mouth, Claire absentmindedly ran it back and forth through her lips. “So, what are you doing to counteract all the aggression and negativity?”

  Running his fingers slowly through the long dark spikes of hair, Jesse remained silent as he focused on a spot on the ceiling. Finally, “I’ve been working out like a motherfucker and I do it at the gym so that I’m getting my ass out of the apartment.”

  “You don’t have a problem being stalked in the gym?” Claire was envisioning the gym packed with women in brightly colored, tight sports bras and yoga pants on the days Jesse worked out.

  He laughed. “The owner has a gym within the gym set-up for people who need privacy. It’s card access only with the owner’s permission.”

  “Well, that is certainly convenient,” her remark ended with a smirk.

  “Yeah. It is. So, when I was in Paris with Claudine there was no connection there between us and I’m pretty sure there’s some guy in her life. I know making more changes in my life while in recovery is probably not the smartest thing I can do for myself,” his thought trailed off.

  “Changes are triggers. We know that. But staying in a situation that is either negative or destructive is not healthy either. Is staying going to make it easier? How do your interactions with her leave you feeling?”

  Snickering, Jesse shook his head, “Like shit. We’re both miserable.”

  “Are you happier when she is not around?”

  “Infinitely,” he didn’t miss a beat in responding. Chuckling, “Well, there’s my answer. You know what, Doc?” Turning his head, he looked at her. “I really think I’m okay this time. I’m not in some bullshit place in Malibu. I’m taking responsibility for myself, by myself. I’m writing. I’m working out. I haven’t missed a session with you.”

  Just verbalizing his accomplishments lifted the funk that had walked through the door with him. “Ya know what, let’s try this thing.” And he reached over to the end table for the headphones and glasses.

  Closing the shades and dimming the lights, Claire began her relaxation monologue, listening intently for the changes in Jesse’s breathing patterns. As they became deep and regulated, more so than she had seen in previous sessions, she began to ask him to focus on events in his childhood.

  “Jesse, can you take me back to when you were three years old.” She paused and watched the expression on his face change. His brows drew together in a questioning line. “Where are you?”

  “In the basement.” His voice was tentative.

  “At your house?” Claire probed.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “No. Daddy is here with his band. They are practicing. The music is loud.”

  “Do they know you are there, Jesse?”

  Shaking his head, “Nope, I’m sitting on the stairs. They can’t see me from there. Daddy is really mad at Marco.”

  “Who is Marco?”

  “He plays bass. They are taking a break now. Daddy is still mad. I can smell smoke. They are all smoking.”

  “Cigarettes?” Claire clarified.

  “Yeah and a pipe, too. Marco is putting a lighter under a spoon. And Scotty, the drummer sounds mad, too.”

  Holding her breath, Claire could feel the hairs on the back of her neck grow stiff. This three-year-old was about to watch a man shoot up.

  “Icky. He’s getting a shot and he’s not even at the doctor’s office.”

  “Tell me what you see, Jesse.” Maybe this would shed light on some of his demons.

  “Marco has his head back on the couch. I think he’s going to take a nap. Scotty is slapping him. Telling him to wake up. Daddy’s trying to help but Marco is just shivering and shaking, except it’s not cold. His eyes are white and he’s turning red and now purple. Everyone is screaming. Mommy is running down the stairs. She sees me and is screaming my name. Now Daddy sees me. Daddy is yelling at her to get me out of there. He looks like he’s mad at me.” His face crumbles.

  “What happened next, Jesse?” Claire makes note of his shallow, rapid breathing.

  “Mommy is trying to pick me
up but I’m holding onto the handrail. I’m scared. I don’t know what I did wrong to make Daddy so mad at me. I just wanted to hear the music. I love the music.” Pulling at his spiky bangs, his anxiety is manifesting physically.

  “Go on, Jesse.”

  “They are trying to carry Marco up the stairs, but I’m in the way. Daddy is yelling at me to move and I’m crying.” His face screws up in pain, “Oww,” as he grabs his right shoulder.

  “Jesse, tell me what’s going on.” Claire’s voice remains calm, detached.

  “He just picked me up and threw me to get me out of the way. I hit the wall.”

  “Okay, I’m going to count to three now, Jesse. I want you to take a deep, cleansing breath with each count and at three you will be back here and present.”

  Claire counted. At three, Jesse’s exhale emptied his lungs as he stared into her eyes.

  “I had no conscious memory of that.” His voice was shaky. Putting his face in his hands, he shook his head. “At three years old, I watched a man overdose and die. Ironic, huh?”

  “He died?”

  Nodding, “Yeah and I’d always known that my Dad’s bass player overdosed. I just didn’t know that I was there watching it. I didn’t think that I remembered anything from that far back.”

  “It was there. Just not a conscious memory.”

  “Wow.” Jesse continued to shake his head as he absentmindedly kneaded his shoulder. Finally, he looked up at Claire and smiled. “Big breakthrough today.”

  “Very big. You’ll find the process will accelerate quickly now.”

  Patient: Jesse Winslow

  Session: #36

  Date: January 7, 2015

  Regression: #7

  Length: 10:15 A.M.–10:35 A.M.

  Entity: Jesse Winslow (age 3)

  Location: Basement of his childhood home

  Year: 1991

  ••••••

  Just leaving Dr. S’s. I had a memory, he texted as soon as he got down to the street. Meet me

  Where? The response was almost immediate.

  Are you familiar with L9?