The House that Jack Built

by Malcolm James

  “Wow…Astrid must be making a bundle on you. Does she have a piece of the concessions?” He ignored my question, but he had obviously spared no expense and I let my curiosity get the best of me. I plied him to tell me how much this monstrosity was costing him. But he remained silent on the issue, apparently unwilling to discuss numbers. Inwardly, I laughed. He never had problems talking about the money that he spent on the artwork, but when it came to discussing the house itself, like his personal fortune it was a secret he wasn’t about to share.

  I wolfed down my breakfast. A three-egg omelet, hash browns, bacon, sausage, ham, pancakes and toast. While I ate, he explained that it was a steel-frame construction. I doubted him when he suggested that it would withstand a nuclear blast, but the frame was almost complete and he invited me to come to Nova Scotia to see the progress. I nodded and said through a mouthful of omelet that I might.

  “It has no right angles in it, you know.” I looked up at him in mid-scoop of a forkful of bacon and gave him a puzzled look. I shoved the bacon in my mouth and chewed.

  “So?”

  “Nowhere for evil forces to gather and gain strength.” There was a solemn expression on his face and I peered at him and blinked. I do believe he’s serious.

  “Uhm, well, then you’ve got that going for you. How much did Astrid charge to remove the right angles, anyway?” He glared at me but quickly decided not to let my comment irk him. I pushed the clean plate away from me and rummaged in my pockets for cigarettes. I didn’t have any, but it didn’t matter because he tossed me a pack. I nodded gratefully and placed a smoke between my lips.

  “It will be a thing of beauty. And it will contain all my things of beauty.” He paused to sip his coffee and a warm gust of wind from the south blew his hair around his chiseled features. “Ahhhh, what a morning. Have you ever noticed how blue the Caribbean is? I could stand to spend more time here. I think it prolongs life.” He gave me a knowing look, as if he was sharing an inside joke while he swept his hair away from his eyes.

  But as I puffed on my cigarette and exhaled, I noticed that his eyes were still black. Transformed by all the things that swirled around his soul.

  “It’s almost immortality. But not quite.” He finished his coffee and stood up.

  “Well, what do you want to do today? Shall I get Anastasia? We can all go into Varadero and see what kind of trouble we can get into.” I was butting my cigarette in an ashtray. Startled, I looked at him. What could I say? I couldn’t tell him about last night.

  “Uhm, no, I have to catch the Two PM. I remembered I have a board meeting tomorrow that I can’t miss.” I knew it was a lame excuse, and Jack closed his eyes briefly and nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll take you to the airport. When do you want to go?” Now that I had satisfied my hunger, I was ready to leave right away. I didn’t want to see her, for I’m sure my expression would have given me away for the fraud that I am.

  “Better get going now. We can stop for a drink on the way.” Of course, this was all that Jack needed to sanction my need to leave. I got up and made for my cabin, but before I could escape, Jack called after me.

  “I’ll go and get Anastasia. I’m sure she’ll want to say goodbye.”

  I froze for a moment, and didn’t turn to face him. I closed my eyes and nodded. Then I kept going. I didn’t know what would happen if she saw me again. She would probably blurt it all just to lash out at Jack. God, I hoped she didn’t want to say goodbye.

  Thankfully, she was not there when I returned with my luggage. Jack told me that she had a headache and didn’t feel like coming out. Grateful to get off the boat, I jumped in the skiff and we headed back to shore.

  We found a little bar and eyed scantily-clad women while we downed several margaritas. Jack talked about the house until it was time to leave for the airport. As we parted ways, Jack shook my hand and reminded me: I must come to Nova Scotia and see the house. I nodded grimly and said that I’d see what I could do.

  I boarded the plane and loaded my carry-on luggage into the overhead rack. As the plane taxied on the runway in preparation for takeoff, I dialed my voicemail. I wasn’t really hoping for anything, but for some strange reason I thought about Elizabeth. So I shouldn’t have been shocked to hear her voice.

  “Hi, Malcolm, it’s me. Look, I didn’t really want to do this on the phone, but I need to talk to someone right now, and I miss you. I could use a friend, and I thought of you. I know it’s been awhile, and you probably don’t want to talk to me. But if you want to talk, give me a call. Okay? Take care. -click-“

  I closed my cell phone and stroked my mouth with thoughtful fingertips. I didn’t know what to feel, but a bruised ego was a good start. I could use a friend? She had already used me as a friend. Fuck her and the horse she rode in on.

  I thought about her words while the runway whisked by. As the plane took off, I placed my fingers under my nose. Little scent lingered there now, and what was left was masked by my cologne.

  Versace.

  I guess I have a thing for Italian scents.

  Chapter 41

  You’d probably like me to say that I didn’t call her.

  This time your wish would come true. Friendship was absolute horseshit. It would have been a pathetic attempt at rekindling something that promised buckets of shit for me – the same buckets of shit that she immersed me in the day that I tried to atone for my sins, and every day after that.

  I had tried – repeatedly – to get through to her and let her know that our love was genuine. Something worth working at. But all I got for my efforts was a heart that sobbed in C-Minor. Each new episode that she incited added an act to an unholy opera that never should’ve been written. I needed to stop this. If I didn’t, I was dead.

  I patted myself on the back for my strength – the strength to let go. As weeks became months and summer became fall, I spent most of my time thinking about Anastasia. It helped me forget about almost everything. But the haunting image of Lexi visited me frequently to ask me why I fantasized about the Italian bitch when I should have been trying to find her.

  I cried on those nights when she came to me asking me why I’d forgotten about her. But I’d grit my teeth and administer more Scotch, convincing myself that I didn’t want to know what had happened to her. Conversations with Abbey became less frequent, because they always had the same inevitable outcome. Sad discussions filled with remorse and pain over not knowing what happened to that gentle angel.

  I lost myself in the memory of Anastasia’s forbidden scent. I lived each day because I had to, not because I wanted to. I immersed myself in a day-to-day routine of working, drinking and occasionally, whoring. Yes, my black book came out again. I became ruthless. I used it like a lawyer uses legal precedent.

  I was relentless. Willing to bend any rule I could to get what I wanted. And I did it without a glimmer of conscience. As callous as that may sound, my life became good for awhile, so I didn’t care about the morality – or lack thereof – of my actions. I had paid far too many prices in my life, and they extracted unhealthy tolls. I was emotionally bankrupt.

  Taking back what should have been – by all rights –mine, was exactly what I needed to get through the bullshit.

  And that’s when it happened. That moment in time that you never expect, because you’re far too busy expending all your energy on trying to figure out how to keep your life moving forward.

  Progress has a way of erasing – or at least blurring – the past. When the past becomes a distant dream that can’t easily be recalled, you know you’re living in today. No matter how much today sucks. And that’s when it happens. When you least expect it. When you’re not prepared to deal with it, because you’re trying to live in the present.

  All the strength that you built-up in the past remains in the past, because that’s where you left the memories. Like the eye of a hurricane, all is calm. But when the memories come back to haunt you, the eye has passed. Suddenly, you’re in the storm again.


  Just when you thought that it was all over. Just when you’ve managed to find the strength to let go. Someone reappears.

  Someone who has the ability to sense when the conditions are absolutely perfect. Like a Perfect Storm. Conditions are ideal for the unleashing of all the fury that heaven can muster. I don’t understand how she knew, but she couldn’t have picked a better time to contact me.

  ***

  One day in September, not long after Varadero, I answered a knock at the door.

  It was her.

  Looking at me, with utter trepidation that was bested only by the look that must have been on my face. She wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t frowning. She just stood there and stared at me.

  I was forced to take in twelve years of change, and apply it to her. It was bizarre, exciting, strange, uncomfortable, shocking and mind-boggling all at once. She looked older. Not a girl of nineteen, but a woman. She lost all the weight she had gained in university and was quite slender.

  She wore glasses. They made her look intellectual, maybe even a little solemn. And her hair was shorter. Hanging just above her shoulders, blonde streaks made it lighter. She was dressed differently, but she was a lawyer. While an unfamiliar sight, seeing her in business attire was a huge turn-on.

  And while she was still the same Elizabeth that I’d fallen in love with so many years before, she was different.

  I gasped. I had just gotten out of the shower and was standing there dripping and wearing nothing but a bathrobe. I had raced to get the door because the bell’s urgency indicated that it had been ringing several times. So I held the robe closed as I stared at her in shock and amazement.

  I think I sighed. My mouth was open as if to say something, but nothing came out. I wondered if it even should. She peered at me, and a glimmer of a smile crept onto one corner of her mouth.

  “Aren’t you even going to say hi?”

  I raised an eyebrow, leaning against the door and trying to look cool dripping and half-naked. I squinted and looked in her eyes, just for a moment. But I couldn’t hold eye contact with her and I stared at the floor.

  “Hi.” I didn’t know what else to say. After all the time, after all the pain that I experienced because of her. It was so typical of her to show up unannounced and trounce back into my life. Something stirred inside me, but I didn’t know if I liked it.

  But now that she stood in front of me, I never wanted her to leave.

  “You’d better come in. It’s cold out.” I shivered, as if it was the first time my body noticed that I had been standing half-naked and soaking wet in the doorway. She nodded and came in. As I closed the door behind her, I peered at her and didn’t know whether I wanted to hug her or hit her.

  We stood uncomfortably for several moments before she broke the tension.

  “Uhm, are you going to put some clothes on?” I nodded, as if I was only half-listening to her. I turned around and walked down the hallway, gesturing to my left.

  “The living room’s in there. Make yourself comfortable.”

  I quickly changed, picking something casual yet classy. I jumped into beige dress slacks and a black crewneck sweater. Quickly fixed my hair and checked myself in the mirror one more time. I took a deep breath. You look great, I said to myself. She doesn’t know what she missed out on. I nodded to no-one but myself and picked a piece of lint off my sweater. Okay, here goes. Another deep breath.

  I walked into the living room. She was sitting on my black leather lounger. I stood for a moment. Watched her and wondered if I should ask her if she wanted anything. If I did and she said, ‘no, I just dropped in to say hi,’ then I’d be really pissed for showing courtesy.

  But I couldn’t, wouldn’t be that way. After all this time, I couldn’t let the anger, hurt and pride consume me.

  “Can I get you anything?” She shook her head. I sat down on my couch, upright with my hands folded, while I peered at her. God, the place was a mess. Had she called to say she was coming, I could have cleaned. But since she didn’t call, I guessed that I’d have to keep the place clean every day for twelve years before she showed up again.

  God, I was angry. Years of frustration that welled up inside me flowed freely once again. I clenched my jaw for fear that I’d say something that we’d both regret.

  “So how are you?” She broke the uncomfortable silence and I warmed to the sound of her voice. The caring tone still resided there. I closed my eyes and sighed yet again. I look at her and nodded.

  “I’m alright. You?” Before she had a chance to respond and in spite of myself, I said, “You look good.” She smiled weakly.

  “Thanks.” In spite of herself, she returned the favor. “You too.”

  I let out a huge sigh, in such a way that my cheeks and mouth expanded during the expulsion of breath. I wondered how long the discomfort would go on, before she got to the point. Why did she come to see me, after all this time?

  I became cynical as I grew older. I would rather cut to the chase and get on with things. Frankly, none of this would have been an issue, if I hadn’t suddenly remembered a near-lifetime of feelings for this person. Rushing back into me like a tidal bore.

  “So what’s on your mind?” I gave her a strange look. What’s on my mind? She had to be kidding. I laughed out my response.

  “What’s on my mind? You’re the one who showed up unannounced, after God knows how long!” I blurted the words in anger, but then calmed myself. They sounded harsh and I didn’t want this to end badly.

  “What’s on your mind? I mean, Elizabeth…” She interrupted me, and I was glad she did. I wasn’t sure what I was about to say, but I suspect it wouldn’t have been as conciliatory or considerate as her response.

  “Malcolm, stop. You’re right. I am the one who came here. Let me try to explain.”

  I squinted as I looked at her. She was sitting in front of the bay window and the beams of sunlight that shot through her made her less perceptible, but angelic at the same time. I nodded in acquiescence, lips pursed and hands clasped.

  “Okay. Please, tell me. Why are you here?” Tenderness found its way into my words and she looked down at her knees. Her hands gripped the armrests of my lounger. I do believe that they turned white from gripping. I don’t know. Maybe it was an optical illusion from the sunlight.

  She sighed. A long, wistful, thoughtful sigh as she stared at her knees. But then she looked up at me. Even from the other side of her glasses, even with the sunlight pounding my optic nerve, I saw sadness and pain in her eyes.

  The tension in my body released, like a pressure valve that burst with pent-up stress and anger. My hands, which had been clasping each other to the point of being painful, suddenly released. I sat back on the couch, as if twelve years’ worth of pressure had been bled-off in a single instant.

  “Malcolm, I miss you.”

  All the angels that once sang for us suddenly unleashed a gentle ballad, and hot tears found their way into the bottoms of my eyes. I looked at her with all the pain that my face could muster.

  “Then why have you put me through this?” The words were choked out over a man’s attempt at stifling sobs. Her head resumed staring at her lap. Shame or grief, my words and my face moved her.

  “I guess I should have expected that response. And I don’t blame you.” She raised her head and looked at me. I do believe, through the sunlight and the glasses which hid her eyes, that they glistened with tears. Suddenly, a realization that hadn’t occurred to me before, hit in a wave of understanding.

  I had never seen her cry, save for the day that Jack broke it off with her. The day she fell into my arms.

  “I’m sorry.” The wind was gone from my sails. Seeing her like this, and realizing so many things about the past…in a single heartbeat. It reduced me to exactly what I’d always been. A sad and lonely man.

  I was ready to listen to her. Instead of needing to berate her. I hoped, in that split-second of clarity, that she was ready to listen to me. I sighed.r />
  “You have to understand, Elizabeth. All this time, everything that’s happened. You come bouncing back into my life and expect me to…” I struggled.

  “…expect me to…what do you expect? Why are you here?” I looked at her with imploringly pained eyes and hoped that she would just end the charade and get to the point. If she was about to kill me, I wished she would kill me swiftly. So I could go on killing myself in tiny increments.

  “I don’t expect anything. I don’t…” she sighed and looked at me. I noticed that she wasn’t crossing her legs. In fact, she looked quite uncomfortable. “…I don’t know why I’m here.”

  I laughed. This time it was less sarcastic. It was even self-effacing, for I was silently asking myself, why am I here? Honestly, I couldn’t believe that she was sitting on my chair. But even more incredulously, I couldn’t believe that I had let her in.

  “That makes two of us, so I guess we have that in common.” I needed a smoke and a drink. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” I stood up and walked into the kitchen, without waiting for her response. I could feel her eyes watching me as I walked away from her.

  I tried not to imagine what she was thinking. But it was difficult. She didn’t reply, but I quickly poured two glasses of Scotch, threw some ice in them, and returned. I plunked one of the glasses in front of her, but she didn’t even look at it.

  I picked up my pack of smokes and offered her one. She shook her head, so I pulled one out and pursed it between my lips as I searched for a pack of matches.

  “When did you start smoking?”

  I looked over her as I lit it. The cigarette still pursed between my lips, “Seems like I’ve smoked forever.” But I realized this wasn’t really an answer and I frowned. “After I left Detroit.” She nodded and continued to look at me. I took a long puff, held it in my lungs and exhaled. God that feels good. I took a sip of Scotch and placed the cigarette in the ashtray.

  “So where were we?” It was as if she was irritated by the distraction of my desire for a smoke and a drink. I didn’t even wait for her to complete the question before I blurted out the answer.