The Love Experiment

by Paton, Ainslie

  “Only with ideas. You?”

  It was a good answer. “If I’d have known you would want to be with me, I’d have been obsessed with you.” As obsessed as a cat with a squeaky toy.

  “You should call home while I’m in the mood to let you.”

  “Let me?”

  He ran a finger inside her shirt and under her bra strap and snapped it against her skin. Oh, gosh. She could call home later. She took his hand and brought it to her breast. He squeezed, his other hand pressing down on her tailbone so she could feel exactly what mood he was in. They were almost lip-locked again when Martha reappeared on the couch arm.

  “Marah. Merrow. Yip.” She was dragon-less and not happy. “Marah.”

  “About moving in,” Jack said, looking at Martha. “Did I mention I own a cat who’s a boner killer? You can have the whole closet. I only need a hanger or two.”

  “I like the way you’re thinking. I am a dog person, after all.”

  “I taught her to fetch just for you.”

  “No lying in journalism.”

  He shrugged. “How about gross exaggerations?”

  “In my limited experienced that gets more eyeballs.”

  “Go call your mom before I eyeball you into bed.”

  She stole one more kiss and climbed off Jack’s lap, looking around for her purse.

  “Derelie.” Cell in hand, she looked back at Jack. “I’m in love with you.” Never going to get tired of hearing that, whether it was in the pet food aisle, or on the street, or in his arms. “But maybe do some buttons up before you call home.”

  She was in love with Jackson Haley and it made her dizzy enough to forget she was half-dressed. Buttons done, hair brushed and tied back, she called home.

  “Mom.”

  “Hi, honey. How was your week? Are you at your friend’s place again?” She got all silly saying the word friend, rolling her eyes and grinning.

  “His name is Jack.”

  “Can he hear us?”

  “I can,” Jack said from his place beside her on the couch.

  “Well, that’s not fair,” Mom said, before Derelie angled her cell so Jack was in the picture too. “Oh, look. Hello there, Jack, I’m Karen.”

  “Hello, Karen, nice to meet you. Your daughter is a very special person.”

  “Oh, she is, she is. I told her she’d make friends in the city, but she hasn’t mentioned you—”

  “Mom.”

  “Okay, okay. Is that, what is that?”

  “Yip, yip.” It was Martha walking across their laps in front of the screen.

  “Nosy cat, sorry.” Jack said, lifting Martha away. “I’ll take her and leave you so you can talk.” But not about me, he mouthed over his shoulder as he carried Martha into the kitchen.

  “Bye, Jack, nice to meet—has he gone?” Mom watched for her to nod. “He has a cat. He’s very cute with the glasses and the shoulders.” She made a “the fish was this big” gesture, her face was out of the shot for a second, and Derelie got a glimpse of kitchen cupboards. “Where did you meet?”

  “At work, he’s a colleague. You’ve read him. Jackson Haley.”

  “Oh. The one who does the, with the, I see. He’s very accomplished.” Accomplished was the word Mom used when she was impressed but also suspicious. “Is it serious, you and Jack?”

  She nodded. She wasn’t ready to tell Mom she was in love; it was such tender knowledge. She could hear Jack in the kitchen running water, banging about. “It’s serious. He asked me to move in with him.”

  “Oh, honey.” Mom put her hand to her throat. “Do you love him?”

  Another nod. Mom could smell a lie in a raindrop and see one in an eyebrow. “I do. It’s only new, but I do love him.”

  Mom blinked fast; there’d be tears. “Do you think he’s the one?”

  Maybe. Yes, she so wanted Jack to be her one. “Like you and Dad.”

  “Two days, that’s all it took for us.” There was the eye wipe. “We had a weekend together and I just knew.”

  “Dad said it took two months.” This was an old family argument.

  Mom shook her head. “Stupid man, slow waking up to the truth. You email me some more about you and Jack because you’ve been holding out and I want to know everything.”

  “Don’t make me into town gossip, okay?” It was one good reason for not sharing.

  “Not till you tell me I can.”

  As close to a promise she’d get. “Is Ernest there?”

  “Here he is.” The screen showed Ernest looking the other way, tongue lolling. Mom tried to get in front of him. “Ernie, it’s Derelie, here’s your girl,” but Ernest kept moving out of her way, panting and wagging. Mom’s face came back on screen. “Oh, honey, he’s just a dog that doesn’t understand technology.”

  He had forgotten her.

  “You go cry on Jack’s lovely big shoulders about that.”

  “Mom.”

  “He needs to see you ugly cry sooner rather than later, you know.”

  Derelie spent the night alternatively in Jack’s arms laughing at Martha pushing one of his shoes around the room with her face buried in it, and sharing increasingly heart-melting kisses.

  He almost saw her ugly cry the next day. At the editorial meeting, Phil tore into her about the Tribune getting the scoop on the country’s biggest divorce scandal. The Courier lost a substantial amount of traffic over the weekend by not being on that story, and that was her fault.

  “Why didn’t we have that story?”

  She’d had no idea it was even in the wind. “I—”

  “What did we lead with?”

  “Movie stars and sick kids.”

  “I know that. I’m asking why we weren’t on the story everyone else had a bead on?”

  Not everyone, just the Trib. “I’m—”

  “Sorry?” Phil barked. “Sorry doesn’t run a newspaper.”

  Sorry didn’t begin to cover what she felt. “I suspect it was given as an exclusive.”

  Phil slapped a hand on the table, and she flinched. “I’m fucking sure it was. Why wasn’t it our exclusive?”

  She couldn’t look at Jack’s face, but he had a grip on his cell that spoke of cracked glass. Now she was sorry she’d finished a sentence, sorry she was caught looking like she didn’t know her job, sorry Phil had gone for her in front of everyone. It wasn’t personal. The same thing happened to others, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting.

  Jack didn’t fare much better. “We need to run the Keepsafe story this week or I’m calling it over,” Phil said.

  Jack put his phone on the table. “It’s not there yet.”

  “Face it, Haley. It’s not the story you wanted it to be. Get it there or move on.” Phil spun his chair to zone in on Derelie again. “Where’s the love experiment?”

  Oh shit. It wasn’t done because they’d both been busy and since Keepsafe wasn’t finalized, Derelie hadn’t gotten in Jack’s face for his part. “It’s—”

  “Fuck,” said Phil, glaring at her and Jack in turn. “Don’t care. I’m over it. Drop it.”

  “Altogether?” she said. It was going to make a cute story. She’d done her part and even had a staff photographer take candid workplace pics of them that weren’t as revealing as the ones Barney had taken. Dropping it altogether was a waste, marketing would be pissed off. But the only story Jack cared about was Keepsafe, so dropping it was for the best.

  “For future reference that’s what drop it means, Honeywell. Dogs get it, shouldn’t be hard for you.”

  Oh. She tucked her head down, to hide how insulted and embarrassed that made her feel.

  Jack stood, but it was Spinoza who said, “Enough, Madden. What’s biting your hairy ass?”

  Phil b
lew out a stream of angry air. “I don’t know if you people get it, but keeping this paper in print is like pushing shit uphill. The runoff is filthy and smells of failure and it doesn’t wash out. Every time we miss a major story or overspend or screw up, it’s another reason for advertisers to desert and our owner to fold the whole thing into an online edition, and you know what that means—less of fucking everything and everyone.”

  “We get it. No reason to be such a bastard,” said Jack.

  Phil stood, turning to Jack. “Are you saying Honeywell shouldn’t be in this room? Can’t take the heat?” She held her breath because shouting at them to stop was a bad idea, and if Jack came out in her defense it would only demonstrate she’d needed it.

  “I’m saying it’s not helpful if you’re going to abuse us.”

  She let the breath go and hoped everyone was too focused on Phil to notice.

  “You think I’m going to keep our jobs alive being a nice guy? Fuck off, Haley.” Phil went for the door. “Any of you can’t take the rough with the smooth, do us all a favor like Shona did and take a hike.”

  There was silence when Phil left, until Jack, who’d managed to defend her without calling attention to their relationship and without decking Phil, said, “Cliché count?”

  “Five,” she said when she realized no one else was going to answer. “Can’t take the heat. Pushing shit uphill. Do us all a favor. Rough with the smooth and take a hike.”

  “Six,” Jack said. She’d missed one. What was it?

  Spinoza laughed. “Hairy ass?” There was a general chuckle at that and chairs got pushed back as people moved about.

  “It’s a more accurate description than nice guy,” said Jack.

  And that was enough to sustain her through the rest of the day, a dental appointment, working back and missing yoga, but by the time Jack got home she’d lost the ability to keep it together. He only just got through the door and she was in his arms, gulping in the cinnamon clove scent of him, holding back sobs, holding on to the solidity of him when everything else felt slippery. She could so easily lose this job, lose her way in the city, lose her place in Jack’s life.

  He squeezed her tight. “The day was made of stone, huh.”

  It was made of shards so sharp and lumps so heavy, she was struggling to see a clear path forward. “I screwed up.”

  “Yeah, you did.”

  Oh God, even Jack thought she was a giant, pulsing, in-over-her-head cliché. She shifted to pull away but he locked her against him.

  “And it’ll happen again. It’s the business. You have to be ready for the hit, know how to roll with it and recover quickly.”

  “What if I can’t learn how to do that?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  Because right now it felt like too much and just when she was feeling more at home in the city.

  She didn’t get a chance to respond. Jack backed her to the couch and sat her down, going to one knee in front of her. “You know why I didn’t take Madden’s head off today? It’s not because I’ve learned patience, it’s because you truly didn’t need me to.”

  “But I couldn’t get a sentence out. I was a stammering mess.” And even if she had managed to talk like a normal person, she didn’t have anything to say that Phil wanted to hear. She’d failed to get the story of the day and to have the love experiment ready to run.

  Jack cupped her cheek. “He was talking at you, not to you. It wouldn’t have mattered what you said, he’d already lost his temper. He’s done it to all of us. It’s not personal. Next time he does it and you don’t have the answers he wants, don’t let it fluster you, wait it out.”

  “How many screwups do I get before he wants me out? There were more qualified people than me.”

  “Madden didn’t offer you the job out of charity.” He sat beside her and took her hands in his. “Quit hijacking yourself.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. “What if I’d just wanted a good cry?”

  Jack grunted. “I screwed up. You wanted comfort and I gave you a pep rally. I’m the one out of my depth. We’re going to need a sign, headline type, so I know when you want a lover, not a workmate. Blink three times, ring a bell. Straight out tell me to shut up.”

  “We don’t need a sign.” He’d given her exactly what she needed. He’d treated her like a professional, a colleague, and tears weren’t a useful workplace strategy. “You got it right. I wanted to feel sorry for myself. I needed to hear what you said.”

  “I got it right?” He shook his head. “It was an accident.”

  “No, it wasn’t. You do right by me, Jackson Haley, and I think you’ll know what to do if I just need a good cry.”

  “Too much faith in me. I’m a rank amateur at this being in love thing.”

  Martha came out from the kitchen, merrowed, and went back into the kitchen.

  “I got home just before you. Haven’t fed her.” Home—she’d called Jack’s place home. It was time to give notice on her shoebox, because she wanted to live with a man who had no difficulty telling her he loved her or giving her a pep talk or being concerned he was getting it right. “You’re rolling with the being in love thing. But how are you going to roll with Keepsafe?”

  “Marah,” Martha said from the kitchen. She made it sound so much like hurry they both laughed.

  Jack stood and drew her upright with him. “I’m going to take Bob Bix down. The deeper we dig, the more victims we find. It’s gross mismanagement, but I need to prove it was deliberate fraud and not an administrative mistake that can be corrected. It’s a story either way, but unless I get proof, it’s not the takedown I want it to be. I need more time.”

  He looked less certain than he sounded, and Phil had kept telling Jack he was out of time. “Anything I can do to help?”

  He took his glasses off and tossed them on his desk. He was done with talking about work. He caught her face between both hands. They’d never formally done the four-minute staring part of the experiment. They’d done deep eye contact naked and entwined, both of them finding a heady pulse beat in each other’s eyes. They’d done it sated and replete, telling stories that deserved the closest audience, but they’d never done it like this. Tired, hungry, after a day of stone, both of them disappointed at work, still trying to figure out what the rules for being in love were, with a demanding cat, merrowing and marhahing in the next room.

  Jack looked into her spooky pale eyes and without words told her he admired her, wanted her, desired her, cared for her, loved her. He told her he was surprised and hopeful and concerned and tentative. That he didn’t want to break this new and lovely thing they were and was worried he wouldn’t know how to protect it. That he’d been lonely before they’d met, but never understood it, that he was grateful for the experiment that’d brought them together and helped him to see he could make a new home with her.

  She looked into Jack’s brilliant blue eyes and told him without words he was the smartest, sexiest person she’d ever met, that no matter where she looked she wouldn’t find anyone she wanted to be with more, to share her life with more. She told him she was less afraid with him by her side, that she was more comfortable in her own skin, that she craved his hands and his lips and his body because it fitted to hers, excited hers. That she was a girl fresh off the farm and he had the stink of the city in his blood, but that when they were together they were sunshine and birdsong, all the things she needed to be happy.

  She looked into Jack’s brilliant blue eyes and saw that it didn’t matter if she screwed up at work, or ugly cried or argued with him, or was too bloated to want sex, or had bad hair or put on weight, or got irritated at women who propositioned him in markets. He was the one for her. She looked into Jack’s eyes and her own filled with tears, because the feelings inside her had to find a way out or she’d explode.

 
He brushed a thumb across her cheek. “I’m not sure about these. Do they come from today or did I make you cry?”

  She’d made herself cry, but in a good way. “Happy tears.” They spilled plentifully now, a stream of emotion.

  He angled his head and repeated the words “happy tears” as if that was a foreign concept. “You’re sure?” He brushed another away.

  “I’m the one crying them.”

  “I’ve got two suggestions. I kiss those tears out of you or I sing the wiener song until all you feel is blinding rage.”

  She chose the kisses. She’d always choose the kisses.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jack was all talk. He’d told Derelie he didn’t want to put a fist into Madden’s face when the guy went for her in the morning editorial meetings, but that was a fat, slimy toad of a lie. He wanted to knock Madden’s teeth in. He’d told Derelie she didn’t need to be defended and that was a shiny truth. She’d learn to manage their boss, but it didn’t mean Jack enjoyed witnessing Madden’s daily power trip.

  Amongst the next day’s proposed lead stories was the teacher’s union strike and a cancer breakthrough. There was a piece on a shootout on the South Side, plus a story about a human head found in a bag in a Chinatown parking lot. Jack’s own story was on fraudulent bank accounts and how seniors were being ripped off by marketing schemes that skirted the law.

  “What’s lifestyle got?” Madden said to Derelie. He’d left her till last as usual, when everyone was keen to get out of the meeting and on with the day.

  “Feature on the new penguin exhibit at the Lincoln Zoo and the annual firefighter’s charity calendar shoot,” she said.

  “That’s the best you’ve got for the day? Oiled up, half-naked firefighters and fucking penguins.”

  “You don’t like firefighters or penguins?” said Spinoza. He made a “what gives?” gesture when Madden gave him a death glare. Spin had faced Madden’s ire earlier about a Cubs story Madden thought was soft on the team’s management.

  “The new penguin exhibit cost millions and we’re the first to cover it,” Derelie said. “We’re exclusive on the firefighters too. We’ll have video of the shoot, plus a reader zoo pass giveaway.”