The House that Jack Built

by Malcolm James

  “Why you’re here.” She sighed.

  “Right. Why I’m here. I want to talk to you.”

  “Great. I’m here. You’re here. So talk.”

  Chapter 42

  We talked well into the night. And while the awkwardness of the initial part of our conversation threatened to be the overtone and hinted at the denouement, what we had between us was far too important.

  It wasn’t long before our discussion turned to tender memories of what it used to be like. When it was good. Tears flowed and voices cracked as we recounted everything that had happened to us since then. She finally acquiesced to the Scotch that sat in front of her, and before long, we held each other and lamented over the tragedy that had become our lives.

  At one point – while I cupped her in my arms and felt indescribable joy that I held her warmth yet again – she looked up at me with tear-stained glasses. As I looked down at her, I was swept back to a time when I knew that I could kiss her without being rebuffed. But the look on her face left little doubt, even if her eyes were refracted by glasses.

  Our lips touched. Suddenly, a lifetime of grief became a distant memory. The passion that locked our mouths and bodies together was a painful reminder of what I could have been experiencing for twelve long years. But all was forgiven, and the love that erupted when we fell into bed was a symphony.

  The next day, we got up early and made love again. Then we made love while we showered. Over a makeshift breakfast of whatever I had in my bachelor’s fridge, we laughed and smiled while our fingertips caressed. At one point however, she looked down at her nuked breakfast. My fingertips stroked her palm, but I panicked.

  “What’s wrong?” She wasn’t wearing her glasses, so when she looked at me it was with untainted eyes.

  “Malcolm. I missed you. I thought about you every night. Wondered why this happened. I can’t tell you the number of times that I cried myself to sleep.” Once again, tears welled in my eyes. I could relate.

  “I know. Me too.”

  “No. You don’t know.”

  “I don’t?” She shook her head and took a sip of coffee through a wry set of lips.

  “The reason. The reason why I stayed away for so long.” Her words choked on a well of sorrows. I put my cup down and peered at her. I wasn’t sure what she was trying to say, but I was certain that I wouldn’t like it. I clasped her hands with mine, as if letting them go would make her disappear, once and for all.

  “Elizabeth. Talk to me.” I whispered my words in dulcet tones, for her face was a canvas of pain. I didn’t want to be responsible for anymore strokes of black and red.

  She peered into me through wet eyes.

  “Jack.” She didn’t need to say anymore. I stared with understanding eyes, but inside, I raged, because the implication became perfectly clear.

  “Jack’s small potatoes.”

  “Not to me! All the time that I wondered about you and called you…” her head lowered.

  “What?” My heart thumped and I didn’t need to ask the question, for I already knew the answer.

  “I think you know already.” Now it was time to lower my head. I did know, but didn’t accept it until this conversation. My haphazard tossing around of his name, every time we talked, was what kept her away. He may have scared me, but he terrified her.

  I stroked her hands and yanked on them. So that she’d look up from her breakfast. She looked into my eyes and I locked onto that gaze. Firm in my resolve, I told her what I needed to tell her. My lie was spoken in earnest, but it was a lie of ignorance.

  “Elizabeth. He doesn’t matter. He never did. It’s just you and me. Always and forever.” She nodded but she didn’t believe me. Rather than draw it out, she chose to find another topic to doubt her own resolve.

  “I know. But there’s something else.” I nodded, and the grip that I held on her hands loosened slightly.

  “What is it?”

  “You and me. You’re here. I’m in Detroit.” God! If that was all that she was worried about, then the answer was simple.

  “We can change that.” She stared into me with red eyes. Perhaps she was trying to discern whether or not I meant it. If her stare was being truthful, then she’d know I did.

  “Really?” I smiled. Suddenly, I felt like I held all the cards. Not that I wanted to be in a position of power, but paternal instincts can be overwhelming.

  “Yes. Just say the word.” That seemed to shock her into a new reality. Too much like a proposal! Damn!

  She picked up her coffee cup with both hands and sipped. God, she’s beautiful. Finally, she put it down. In the way that you put it down when you’re prepared to say something difficult.

  “I don’t know if I’m ready for major moves.” My heart leapt off a skyscraper. The wind whistled around it as it plunged to a messy demise. But before it had a chance to leave a tiny crater in concrete, her words swept out of nowhere and saved it, temporarily.

  “I want to keep seeing you. Can we try a long distance relationship?” I already knew the answer, even before she asked the question. I’d always known the answer.

  We made love one more time before she had to catch her flight back to Detroit.

  ***

  After she left, I was forced to consider her qualms about Jack.

  It hadn’t come as a shock. I’d known it all along. I just didn’t know how deep that river ran. But it forced me to think about my friendship with him. Elizabeth had practically given me an ultimatum.

  So here’s where you’re going to ask yourself: ‘What? Are you totally fucked in the head?’

  I didn’t know what to do. I mean, I really bemoaned over my options. Perhaps part of it had to do with the resentment that grew inside me over the years. Over Elizabeth. You condition yourself, you prep yourself to believe something that, while it might be a lie, sure as Hell sounds like the truth.

  In a brief moment of passion, she had managed to bring down some of the walls. But there were walls behind those ones. Heavily fortified. And they weren’t about to come down quite as easily. Our conversation about Jack and a long-distance relationship didn’t help. There were too many questions. And not enough answers.

  I didn’t know what to do. The only good news was that since Jack had immersed himself in his new obsession, we didn’t have much correspondence.

  For a time, that helped me to understand where my loyalties lay.

  Chapter 43

  While I had almost nightly conversations with Elizabeth, Jack and his newfound passion almost disappeared from my life. But it wasn’t meant to last.

  Winter blew in early that year. A fierce onslaught, it battered the city and the exterior of my townhouse. But I didn’t notice and I didn’t care. Elizabeth was back in my life. We made plans and dreamed with words. We planned our conjugal visits. I’d slip off to Detroit and she made frequent trips to Montreal. I was almost at a point where my fortress was ready to be disassembled.

  Spring approached and days became longer and warmer. My spirits were lifted again and I felt like I’d been taken off life support. Like I had finally put the demons to rest. They couldn’t harm me, for with her help, I built a shimmering castle of unprecedented proportions around my soul. I walked with confidence again, and I finally believed that nothing could harm me, ever again.

  And that was when, in April, I happened to run into Jack in Manhattan.

  Like my life, I was gaining more control over the company. So I made sure that other people dealt with mundane tasks like interfacing with clients. I slipped into maintenance mode and traveled only when it was absolutely necessary. But occasionally, I got roped into client meetings, and I had no choice but to acquiesce.

  In April, I had to go to New York for a couple of days. My return ticket included a two-day layover in Detroit, and as excited as I was about seeing Elizabeth, I was in Manhattan and decided that I’d be stupid not to enjoy the city while I was there. So I took in a play, experienced some of the nightlife, and revelled in e
xcellent meals.

  On my last night, I sat in a small restaurant called Novita. I had eaten there many times. It was on 22nd between Lexington and Park Avenue and represented stereotypical Manhattan, at least in my mind. Located on the basement floor of a brownstone, it was small and tastefully decorated in Venetian stucco, shaded sconces, mahogany banquettes and Botticelli-esque paintings. Family-owned, an older Italian couple cooked while their daughters and nieces waitressed and hostessed. The whole atmosphere was reminiscent of a scene from the Godfather and I made a point of eating there whenever I was in New York.

  The food was incredible. My mouth waters each time I think of the fresh-made pastas and the chef’s specials. On that particular night, the special was angel hair squid ink pasta in a basil garlic cream sauce with shallots, sea scallops, mussels and scampi. I ordered it and waited while I sipped a glass of crisp Merlot. I revelled in soft operatic tones carried on the voices of Italian angels, and observed the room, smiling all the time.

  I loved going to places like Novita because it exuded varied examples of humanity in all its forms. Sometimes I sat there and tried to guess what someone did for a living, or what people were talking or arguing about. It was a good way to relax my mind and lose myself, if even for a few minutes. I still had the Playbill from the play I saw – a miserable little piece of filth called A Better Man’s Milieu. But reading it was marginally better than the play, and I wondered why I even kept it. Instead I looked around the room to see if there were any interesting subjects, and that’s when I saw her. Perfect.

  A beautiful blonde with flowing hair that reminded me of Marilyn Monroe at her peak, she sat opposite a man wearing a black Armani suit – sorry, a black Giorgio suit.

  The back of his head was toward me, but I had a great view of her face. She wore a white sequined gown and a small King’s ransom in jewellery, if it was real. She had been crying. Mascara was smeared on her cheeks and even at a distance, I could make out the redness in her eyes. From her body language and facial expression, she was speaking in a frank manner. Even at a distance I could hear the angst in her voice, although I couldn’t make out her words.

  He sat there and sipped wine. An untouched meal sat in front of him and I wondered how anyone could resist Novita’s Veal Parmigian. Hers was untouched too. I lost myself in thought, trying to figure out what happenstance had occurred to put her in such a state. Had she just discovered she was pregnant? Or maybe he had a mistress? No…perhaps he had told her he was going back to his wife. I tried to imagine what the sex was like between the two of them. And so-on, until my food came.

  As the meal was placed before me, she stood up in a huff and hurled a glass of wine in the man’s face. Standing there as if waiting for a response – any response – from him, she glowered and waited. He just looked up at her briefly and began to cut his veal. As if he intended to eat it.

  Wow, I thought, this guy’s good. Especially if he can throw a piece of tail like that back into the sea. Shocked by his apathetic response she began to bawl. Holding her face in her hands she stormed out of the restaurant.

  With admiration, I smiled and raised my glass in his direction. Even though he was drenched in wine, he sat there and cut his meat. I shovelled a mouthful of pasta, shallots and scampi into my mouth and watched intently while I chewed and waited to see what he was going to do next.

  Not long after she left, he signalled to the waitress to bring him some napkins and club soda. As I savored a most delicious meal, he cleaned himself and signed-off on the bill. I wondered what he did for a living. My guess was investment banker, and I thought about asking him when he left.

  I took another mouthful of pasta – wrapped around a large scallop on my fork – and looked up as he was leaving. He walked toward me with a familiar smile and I nearly choked on the scallop.

  “Jack?”

  “Mal! Fancy meeting you in the Big Apple!” His hair was slick. Still wet from the wine, but neatly combed. We shook hands and he sat down at the table, signalling at the waitress to get him a drink.

  “Holy crap,” I said with a mouth full of pasta. I stopped to swallow and washed it down with Merlot. “I had no idea when I saw her throw the drink at you, that it was you she was throwing a drink at!” He laughed.

  “There’s one in every city, my friend. Eventually, they either want to marry you, or throw a drink in your face. Or both. Needless to say,” he gestured comically by tugging on the wet lapels of Giorgio’s finest, “I’ve had to buy a lot of new suits.” I laughed, but the events I had just witnessed reminded of Anastasia. I wondered if he was simply cheating on her, or if my prediction had come true.

  “Speaking of marriage…”

  “Hey.” He held his right palm toward me like a cop directing traffic. “That’s over. And none too soon. Crazy bitch.” I shook my head as I looked at him and put my fork down.

  “You’re kidding. When?” Translated: That’s great! Can I call her?

  “Not long after you left Varadero. She was a spoiled little bitch. I should have known it with all those games she played.” He chuckled as if he had just remembered something. “I guess having your fingers in her pussy wasn’t good enough, so she had to fuck my Skipper.”

  I was taking a drink as he said this and stopped in mid-sip. He knew!

  “What…” He laughed softly.

  “Don’t worry about it. Sure I knew, but you were drunk, I was drunk. She was a drunk whore. I can’t blame you. She was a tasty piece of ass - I’ll give you that. And I have no regrets about marrying her. She paid off in spades…you should be lucky to experience the things she could do. Your eyeballs would collapse!” I lamented.

  “Frankly, Mal, I’m shocked that you didn’t take her for a dip! She would have rocked your world, and you could use that.”

  I blinked several times.

  “Forget about rocking my world. I just didn’t want to rock the boat between you guys, and you’re right, we were all very drunk…” Jack raised his hand and looked at me compassionately.

  “Hey, I’m telling you. It’s okay. No harm, no foul. I’m just saying it’s a shame you didn’t get a taste. A real taste. Mama mia!” He kissed the tips of his fingers Italian-style and winked at me. I smiled weakly as I thought with regret that I did get a taste, even though it was by proxy of my fingers. I sighed.

  “Jack, she was your wife.”

  I now regretted my stalwartness that night on the yacht. A night with her would have been a night in paradise. Forlorn and defeated, I felt abject and embarrassed to be having this conversation with him. And in my limited knowledge of how things work, I never expected this. I had a chance to screw his wife, and he was rebuking me because I didn’t.

  “Yeah, but if friends can’t share, then what kind of friendship would that be? We shared Elizabeth, didn’t we?” He winked again and ancient irritation seeped into my breast. I didn’t appreciate the implication that we had anything in common, where our relationships with Elizabeth were concerned. I didn’t even like him using her name like that. And I didn’t want him to know that we were back together. I wasn’t prepared to go there.

  “Yeah, well I thought about fucking your wife. For a split-second.”

  “That’s how you and I are different, Mal. I wouldn’t have thought about it. I would have done it.” I thought about this statement and knew it to be true. Jack wasn’t one for hyperbole, I knew him too well. If given the chance to have sex with Elizabeth again, he’d do it with prejudice, great pleasure and absolutely no remorse. I suddenly craved a cigarette and wished that we could get out of there so I could have one.

  “Eventually the split-seconds add up, you know. They add up to a significant amount of time, as a matter of fact. And that was time you wasted worrying about nothing. What did you get for it? Nothing at all. Except maybe an ulcer and a nervous twitch.

  “God forbid, Mal. God forbid that you find your entire life was a bunch of wasted split-seconds, because you chose to stop and think. Troppo di
fettoso.” What a shame. He smiled and that infuriated me.

  “You were late for the party. Too late to take advantage of the chances placed before you. Far too late to live your most sublime whims and desires. Late every time, because every time, you stopped. You stopped to think about it. And it was only after the fact – after the opportunity was long gone – that you realized it. You realized that it was an opportunity, but you missed it.”

  He paused and took a drink. Even before the liquor left his mouth to take the long journey down his throat, he began to speak again.

  “What good is an opportunity when it’s only recognized after it’s been lost? People like me are actually ignoring those split-seconds and doing something about it.

  “That’s the difference between you and me.” He pointed squarely at me when he said this and reclined in his chair, smirking like a man who had just won a one-sided debate. He raised his glass to me, and dumbly I clinked it.

  I knew damn-well that he was referring to Elizabeth and the things I’d done that kept me in Hell. But his words also made me think about Lexi. Split-seconds. Missed opportunities. Gone forever. I already knew it. I didn’t need him to tell me what I’d missed. It just pissed me off that he was so fucking perceptive.

  “So, now that we’re both in Manhattan, what type of trouble do you think we can get into?” I recognized the gleam in his eyes, and my irritation faded quickly. He was right. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I clenched my jaw and pondered, intensely regretting that I didn’t boink Anastasia when I had the chance. I determined myself not to make the same mistake twice.

  “Let’s find out,” I replied glibly and tipped my glass toward him as I drained the last few drops of wine.

  Chapter 44

  You’d think that I would learn from my mistakes.