“I’ll see you tonight.”
As he walked away, Cora rushed to my counter. “What does he do?” she asked.
“I don’t know what he does.”
“Did he ask you out?”
“He did.”
“What did you say?”
“Yes.”
When I got to Gino’s, Jacob was already seated. There was a red votive on the checkered tablecloth. He wore a white button-down oxford, the blue tie I’d picked out, and faded jeans. His face was clean-shaven, and his dark hair was combed back in a pompadour. Seeing me, he got to his feet, an eagerness in his stance. “You look really pretty.”
“Thank you,” I said.
We sat in silence for a minute before I asked, “What is it that you’re doing here in Maryville?”
“That’s a very good question.” He leaned back, packing his cigarettes on the table. “They call it construction, building roads and houses, but it’s destruction. It’s ripping roots out of the ground to make way for greedy consumers, men who like to buy cravats and ascots, no offense to you. It’s destroying all that is good, everything green.” He pulled hard on his cigarette. “As soon as my job ends, I’m getting out of here. It’s going to sound strange, but I think I came here to find you. You ever feel that way about things, like you’re not in control, like someone else is at the steering wheel? As soon as I saw you, I said, ‘I have to meet her.’ ”
My palms were sweating. He had no idea how much that resonated with me. I’d spent my whole life feeling like someone else was at the steering wheel. I lit a cigarette.
“I’m a purist,” he continued.
“Meaning?”
“It means that I won’t buy what the man is selling. I’m tired of making zilch for working my ass off so somebody else can get fat and rich and drive a fancy car.”
“But what will you do for work?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but I know it’ll be big.”
We were interrupted by the waitress, who had brought our food. Jacob had ordered spaghetti Bolognese. He slurped the noodles up while I wound mine around my fork. We split a bottle of Chianti, and he talked a blue streak, how Sheff used to do, about his future plans. He was twenty-seven, a bit of a vagabond, he admitted, but ready to plant roots. “I’m moving back to North Carolina,” he said, “as soon as I finish this job. I need funds.”
I drank the Chianti down.
“I’m going to start my own business, like a salvage business. I’m going to collect what other men throw away, and I’m going to make gold from their garbage.” I finished my wine, and Jacob refilled my glass. “But I’m in town a while longer, and I met this beautiful girl, and she went to dinner with me, so I’m in no hurry to go anywhere.”
“Oh, really.”
“Yes, really. In fact, she seems damn near perfect except for the fact that she sells nooses.”
“I like what I do.”
He reached across the table, putting his hand on mine. “To each his own, but it seems like you’re better than a job like that … If you ask me.”
“I could never figure out what I wanted to do.”
“Life’s short. You better start figuring.”
We clinked our glasses.
It was past nine when we left the restaurant. Jacob walked me to my car. His hair had flopped down over his eyes, and without thinking, I swept it back. He smiled.
It started to drizzle. My back was against the car. I dug into my clutch for my keys. He was staring at me. The rain was picking up. I was nervous that he was going to try and kiss me, so I extended my hand. He laughed. “Can I see you again?”
“Sure.”
“Can I pick you up so it’s an official date?” He seemed to have no pretense. Sheff.
“Okay.”
“Can I get your address and phone number so that I’ll be able to pick you up?”
I was wet. “Okay.”
“You’re very agreeable, Gloria Ricci.”
“I have a pen,” I said. “I’ll write my address and phone number down.” I reached inside my clutch again, the cold rain coming down harder.
“Just tell me. I’ll remember. If I hear something I want to remember, I don’t forget.”
I told him my phone number and address. “I live with my parents.”
“Nice.”
Then, I slipped down into the driver’s seat, adrenaline streaming into my limbs, and Jacob shut my door. He took a step back. It was pouring. The wind had picked up, blowing the rain in sheets. I started the engine and turned on the windshield wipers. He stood there, the rain pelting him, his white shirt sticking to his undershirt. As I drove away, I glanced in the rearview mirror to see him still standing there.
When I got home, my parents were up. My mother said, “Did you have a good time? Were you out with Cora?” I’d only told them that I was meeting friends for dinner. My father was sitting in his recliner, eating buttered saltines.
“I went on a date.”
My father righted his recliner. My mother said, “What do you mean when you say that you went on a date?” She whispered, “With a woman?”
“His name is Jacob Blount. I met him at work.”
“Who is he?” my mother asked.
My father said, “I was under the impression that you didn’t date.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “He’s funny.”
“What does he do for a living?” my father asked.
“He’s a purist.” I walked toward my bedroom, my parents following.
“What’s a purist?” my father wanted to know. He leaned against the doorjamb, my mother at his side.
I slipped off my shoes. “I met him in the tie department, but he doesn’t like ties. He calls them nooses.”
My father said, “I’ve never heard of a purist.”
“You’ll meet him. He’s picking me up tomorrow night.”
At ten forty-five, the telephone rang. I could hear my father asking, “Do you know what time it is?” and then I heard his slippers in the hall. He pushed open my door. “It’s that man you were telling us about, the purist, on the phone. I told him that some of us traditionalists work for a living, but that I’d check to see if you were awake.”
“I’m awake.” I got out of bed and, passing by my father, kissed his cheek. “I’ll take it in the kitchen.”
I picked up the receiver. “I’ve got it, Dad. You can hang up now.”
Jacob said, “It’s me.”
“Hi, me.”
“I was thinking about you.”
“I was thinking about you.” I twisted the phone cord around my arm.
“Are we still on for tomorrow night?”
“Sure. Do you still remember my address?”
“Sure do.”
“Then, we’re on,” I said.
“I just wanted to hear your voice before I went to sleep.”
It was the damnedest thing. I liked a man.
17
THE NEXT NIGHT, THERE WAS a tuna-noodle casserole on the table. My father was drinking a gin fizz, and my mother was scurrying, emptying ashtrays, and straightening my father’s magazines. She cleared off the countertop, putting her school things in a tote bag. Father said, “What does he do again?”
“Construction, I think, but he wants to be a purist.”
“Right,” my father said. “Gotta love purity.”
“So, he wears a hard hat?” my mother asked.
“I guess.” I sat on the sofa in a pink miniskirt, knocking my knees, waiting for seven o’clock.
My mother said, “And he’s a man, and you like him?”
“I think,” I said.
Mother said, “I told Gwen about him. If you still like him tomorrow, she wants to meet him.”
“We’ll see how it goes.”
The doorbell rang. My parents shadowed me to the door. Jacob wore a button-down pin-striped shirt and blue jeans. No tie. He had his hands in his pockets. It was a warm April, and beyond him, I could s
ee the honeybees flitting from pansy to hyacinth to tulip. I said, “This is Jacob. Jacob, these are my parents.”
My mother said, “I’m Molly. It’s nice to meet you. Please come in.”
My father said, “Good to meet you. Can I interest you in a gin fizz?”
Jacob said, “That sounds refreshing.” He shook my father’s hand. Then, he took hold of mine and squeezed. It felt strange, but nice. We followed my dad to the kitchen.
“Where are you two going tonight?” my mother asked.
“Maybe see a movie,” Jacob said. “I thought I’d check with Gloria.”
“I can check the paper for the times,” my mother said.
“You know, I’ve never had a gin fizz,” Jacob said.
Father began slicing lemons at the counter while Jacob and I sat at the dining room table.
“I just made a casserole. Would you like some?”
“No, thank you.”
My mother said, “So Gloria tells us you’re working construction.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m repaving Route 6 out in Burrus.”
“Do you like it?”
“Not really, but it’s a job.”
“And where are you from?”
Father said, “Don’t be nervous, Jacob. Molly’s not the grand inquisitor. She just acts like it sometimes.”
“Very funny, Frank.”
“I’m from a small town in southeast North Carolina. It’s about a two-hour drive from Raleigh, if you’ve ever been there.”
“I’ve never been,” my mother said.
“Me either,” Father said. He was at the counter, adding gin, sugar, and ice to the tumbler. “Nothing better than a good fizz.” He shook the concoction.
Mother said, “What’s the name of the town?”
“It’s really Podunk,” Jacob said, “called Greeley, sometimes spelled with an extra ‘e’ and sometimes spelled without, depending on who you ask or where you are in town.”
My father laughed.
“It’s pretty funny,” Jacob said. “There’s not much there, so I thought I’d work construction and travel around some.”
Father brought our drinks over. “Did you go to college, Jacob? Molly just started taking classes.”
Jacob said, “No, sir, I didn’t go to college, but I’ve thought about that, and I’m only twenty-seven. I might go still. There’s no telling what I’ll do. The world is full of possibility.”
Mother said, “And you’re calling me the grand inquisitor …”
We finished our drinks, and Jacob shook my father’s hand. “Thank you for letting Gloria come out with me. She won’t be home late.”
In the driveway, I climbed into Jacob’s powder-blue Chevy truck. There was a pile of empty cigarette packages between us, empty beer cans at my feet. Father and Mother waved from the front stoop. Then, a bee flew in through my window, and Jacob said, “Goddamn it,” trying to swat it.
“There’s a hive in our backyard.”
“You ought to torch it.” He smashed the bee on the dashboard, the yellow pollen on his palm. The bee dropped down to the beer cans.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
He rubbed his hand against his jeans. “You could’ve been stung.”
I was nervous. The beer cans and dead bee didn’t sit well. “My mother never looked up the movie times.”
“Do you want to see a movie?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I guess.”
“I have another idea. Is that okay?” He looked at me. “It’ll be fun.”
“I guess so.”
“I want to show you where I live, but don’t worry. I don’t have any funny business in mind.”
As we started driving out of town, I said, “Do you really think you might go to college one day?”
“Hell, no. I was just telling your parents what I knew they wanted to hear. There’s nothing any professor can teach me that I don’t already know. No offense to any professors. I just don’t believe in paying a man who thinks he’s smarter than me to tell me things I can learn on my own. What about you? Did you go to college?”
“No.”
“You seem pretty smart.”
“Thanks.”
The sun was setting as we drove by long stretches of barbed wire fencing, barns, and silos. There were cows gathered around watering holes. No houses. No streetlights. The radio station was crackling.
I said, “Where exactly do you live?”
“You’ll see.”
“We told my parents we wouldn’t be out late.”
“But old trucks break down all the time.” He patted my thigh. “I’m just kidding.”
I lit a cigarette. “I’m hungry. Maybe we can get something to eat.” I shifted in the seat, hot-boxing my smoke.
He reached over and opened the glove box. “I got a bottle of Seagram’s 7 and some peanut-butter crackers.”
He had a lean face, sharp cheekbones. He turned the radio dial to a Patsy Cline song, “Walkin’ After Midnight,” and I sipped the whiskey. I felt a surge of adrenaline. For the past five years, I’d been trying not to live, but then I met Jacob, and so many things were familiar. I wanted to let myself go, feel untethered again, give in to whatever lay ahead.
“I love Patsy,” he said.
“She’s pretty good.”
“We’re nearly there.” There was a road sign for Route 12 on our right. “It’s just down here.” He drove along a narrow gravel road, dense oaks on both sides, the low branches dragging the roof and scratching the windows. The sun was setting fast. Jacob pulled up, parking beside a barn. “We’re here,” he said, opening his door, leaving the keys in the ignition. I was opening my door when he came around to open it for me. He took my hand. I was glad I’d worn flats. It was dark, the ground uneven. I heard screech owls in the trees.
I said, “You’re not going to kill me, are you?”
“Yes, Gloria.” He stopped walking and turned to face me. “I’ve brought you out here to murder you. I hope that’s okay.” His face was deadpan.
“Sure,” I said. “Kill away.”
He smiled. “You’re going to love this.” The barn was weathered. An old rusty tractor was parked to its right. Jacob slid the door open, leading me inside. He flipped a light switch.
“Wow!” I said. A golden retriever bounded toward us.
“This is Oscar.” The dog sidled up to Jacob.
“From the outside, you’d never guess it was so nice in here.” The interior was painted bright yellow. Copper light fixtures hung from the rafters. In the center of the barn, there was a big rustic table, a jar of flowers, a bottle of wine, and two glasses at its center. I saw the dog’s bowls beside the table. In the far corner, there were a few motorcycles and some bicycles. In the back of the barn, there was a ladder leading up to a loft.
Jacob said, “I wanted you to meet Oscar. He’s my best pal.”
I petted the dog. “He’s so sweet.”
Then, a woman in her midthirties slid the door open. She had a long silver braid hanging over one shoulder. “I have pizza for your date.”
Jacob said, “This is Lillian, my landlord. She owns the farm. I’m renting the barn.”
“Hi. Nice to meet you.” I was still petting Oscar.
Jacob took the pizza from Lillian. “Now, Gloria won’t think of me as the guy who hates neckties. She’ll think of me as the guy who lives in a barn and has a cool dog.”
“And a cool landlord,” Lillian said.
“Do you want a slice, Lil?” Jacob asked.
“No, thanks. I’m going to skedaddle.”
“Thanks again.”
“No problem. Have fun.”
As Lillian slid the barn door closed, Jacob poured me a glass of wine. “And you thought I was going to kill you.” He laughed.
“Not really.”
“I know.”
He took my hand and led me to the table. “Can I kiss you?”
“Okay.” I was a nervous wreck, but he’d n
ever guess that I’d never kissed a man. I didn’t think. I hoped.
He leaned in, and I closed my eyes. His lips were soft, and he slid his hand up the back of my neck under my curls how Sheff used to do. I wanted him to keep his hand there. He said, “That was nice.”
“It was.”
Oscar curled at Jacob’s feet. He passed me a slice.
“So, how do you know Lillian?” I asked.
“She went to school with my sister, Meredith. When she heard that I was looking for work up north, she said I could stay here. Make some money.”
“Do you pay rent?”
“Kind of. I help out. Do odd jobs, pitch in when I can. Mostly, I’m saving up to have my own house, my own land.”
“Be the purist,” I added.
“Exactly … You’re like your mother. You ask a lot of questions.”
“I am.”
After we ate, Jacob said, “Do you want to see the loft?”
“What kind of girl do you think I am?”
“No funny business.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Scout’s honor. Unless you throw yourself at me.”
“Sure. Why not?” I was living. I was trying.
He said, “You go up the ladder first. That way, if you fall, I’ll catch you.” He stood just below me as I navigated each rung. When I reached the top, I looked back at him. “Oh, it’s really nice.”
“This view’s not bad either.”
“Stop.” The flooring was tongue-and-groove, and I was able to stand up easily. There was a bright red-and-orange braided rug and a large mattress covered with a quilt. On both ends of the loft, there were windows, and one of them had a fan that whirred, blowing in the cool night air.
Jacob said, “And now I’ve got you right where I want you.” He rubbed his hands together, laughing, before sitting on the mattress, patting the spot beside him.
I sat. Then, he lay back, his hands behind his head. “When I go home to Greeley, I’m going to get my own land, something like this, something where I can be self-sufficient.”
I was perched on my elbows. I didn’t have future plans. I’d almost made a point of not making any.
He rolled onto his side, facing me. “What should we do now?”
“I don’t know.”
“I could kiss you again.”
“That’s one idea.” I’m living. I should live.
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