by John Herrick
Jesse now admitted the obvious: A fruitless career served as a mere corner piece of his emotional puzzle. Curled on her side, Jada faced him as she breathed in steady rhythm as Jesse stared down at her.
The sex was good. The sex had always been good. Jada had accumulated a repertoire of experience by the time they met. In sharp contrast, Jesse had had much less practice. Their relationship had struck him as exotic, a far stretch from the type of girl he’d dated back home. He had allowed Jada to experiment within reason and didn’t feel compelled to argue—she paid the bulk of the bills, after all. It was pleasurable, exciting. But to be honest, he felt dark during their intimacy: a subtle shadow, a nicotine stain on the edge of his heart.
So what was wrong?
Jesse paused. And then it hit him.
Affection. He missed the affection.
With Jada, that quality felt absent. And for her, it wasn’t an issue. But Jesse had grown to desire something greater. He craved the opportunity to love. He sought the chance to pour himself upon another in mutual abandonment, where satisfaction remained intact longer than a few hours.
Jesse shut his eyes.
So they enjoyed an endless spiral of sex. That didn’t sound like a raw deal, did it? Maybe the rest was overrated.
And with his past, he didn’t deserve more anyway. His mistakes crawled to the forefront of his memory, silent screams of condemnation. The pressure closed in on him.
He had chosen this fate.
Forget it, Jesse. Tuck the emotions away.
CHAPTER 10
Jesse had never found clowns funny.
Dressed in a firecracker-red wig and green, puff-buttoned jumpsuit, Elmer the Clown, with his plastered smile, posed beside a pair of second graders at the birthday party. No sooner had Jesse snapped the photo when Elmer squirted the kids with his flower lapel, which sent them off with squeals of delight.
As arranged at the camera shop with Glen Merseal, Jesse roamed the public park in pursuit of spontaneous action shots. When Glen mentioned the birthday party, Jesse had pictured ten kids and a game of musical chairs. As it turned out, the party was a joint effort to celebrate the birthdays of two cousins born a week apart. A deluge of kids, what appeared to be a classroom’s worth of them, had infested the place. Jesse hadn’t been around this many children since his own childhood and wasn’t used to today’s chaos. He jumped at the shriek of a girl as a boy chased her around the monkey bars. More than once a kid raced past Jesse on foot and almost knocked the camera out of his hand. What madness—but he enjoyed it.
The families had reserved a pavilion, and the scent of barbecue lured Jesse to where some adults grilled lunch on this Saturday afternoon. Jesse got into position, and the parents waved their cooking utensils at his camera.
Point and click.
A mother leaned over to tie her toddler daughter’s shoe.
Point and click.
A husband and wife sneaked a kiss behind the grill.
Point and click.
A dad embraced his children around the shoulders.
Point and click.
Life communicated a different tune from behind the lens of a camera. With the naked eye, you see concrete reality, actions without motives—the melody of a song. But behind the camera, Jesse discovered that song’s tender bass line—the undercurrent, the heartbeat of a relationship.
Whether the subject was live or inanimate, Jesse found himself enthralled by his advantage as a photographer: He captured life as he wished it could be.
“Are you hungry?” Glen asked as he approached. He clapped a hand on Jesse’s back.
Jesse scanned the array of kids that scrambled around a jungle gym. “Which one’s yours?”
“That’s the birthday girl right there, in the purple T-shirt.” Glen pointed to a scrawny child who scuttled across the monkey bars. Glen removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt. “I never imagined myself as a dad.”
“A wild man in your day, huh?”
With a chuckle, Glen waved his hand at the notion. “I wouldn’t say that. No more than usual, at least. But to provide for a family—I just couldn’t picture it.”
“You must’ve changed your mind, though.”
“It was an exciting time, all the way to the day my oldest kid was born.” Glen paused, then snorted. “Then we brought her home. I woke up the next morning and thought, ‘What do I do with this little person? I don’t have a clue how to be a dad!’”
Jesse nodded.
“And sure enough, I’ve made my share of mistakes along the way,” Glen continued. He winked at his daughter, who sauntered toward him now. “But I wouldn’t trade fatherhood for anything.”
Maybe fatherhood wasn’t such a stretch after all.
Jesse lined up his camera shot and had to smile at the scene before him, in which the girl tugged at her dad’s shirt.
CHAPTER 11
The birthday party was supposed to last until evening. But when relatives tired sooner than expected, the group opted to catch a movie instead. So Jesse’s Saturday night was available after all. Jada had looked forward to an evening of rest, which meant she planned to vegetate in front of the television and indulge in her guilty pleasure: an old Cary Grant film.
But it appeared she’d changed her plans.
When he returned home late that afternoon, he found Jada in the bathroom, where she put the finishing touches on her makeup. Draped in a slinky black dress, she looked gorgeous.
With a look of surprise, she paused with her eyeliner. “You’re home early. I thought they’d keep you till after dinner.”
“They got sick of each other and wrapped up their shindig,” he replied, then tried to recall whether his memory of her free evening was wrong. “You’re headed out?”
She nodded and returned to her eyes.
“No Cary Grant after all?”
“Huh?” She began her lipstick, a shade of smoky maroon. After a beat, she replied, “Oh, I’m heading to the Acoustica.”
“Clubbing?”
“Barry gave me a to-do. He wants me to check out the band that’s scheduled to play tonight. Soundtrack potential---a favor to a friend.”
“Sorry, I must have forgotten.”
“No, it was a last-minute task.”
“You’re going alone?”
“Why not? It’s business.”
“Tell you what, I’ll hop in the shower and go with you. It’ll give both of us something to do.”
“Sure … sure, of course you should come. But I doubt the band’s impressive; Barry would have gone himself if he thought they were viable.”
“Well, they must be decent if he told you to check them out anyway.”
“I suppose.”
Jesse glanced at his watch. “Gimme fifteen minutes.”
“Fine.” Jada snapped her lipstick shut.
* * *
The Acoustica pulsated within. A small, retro outfit tucked away in Pasadena, it catered to an artsy crowd with its plush, mock-velvet furniture. The club’s cozy atmosphere was a well-kept secret on its block.
When they walked in that evening just past six, Jesse felt the sound vibrations reverberate against his jaw. The jazz-fusion band, in the midst of its first set, was a quartet. The lead singer tackled bass guitar and vocals, and at present snaked his way around a modern scat-rap mix.
Jada appeared more preoccupied with the décor than with the band. She tossed a quick glance in the singer’s direction before she settled on a stool at the bar. After she ordered vermouth, Jada scanned the room and crossed her legs. From the stool beside her, Jesse followed the twists and turns of the rubbery vocals that emanated from the platform. He placed a hand on his girlfriend’s knee and ordered a Heineken for himself. As he listened, Jesse couldn’t understand Barry Richert’s interest in this particular band; but then again, Barry was the one with the track record.
“Jada?”
His voice elevated over the music, the man sported a broad smile and
dark brown hair that had begun to gray along the edges. Whiffs of Armani cologne permeated the air. He wore casual attire. Expensive casual attire—the kind that goes well with both jeans and khaki pants. The kind that downplays its cost, but whose buttons reveal how much the customer forked over for it.
Jesse turned to the stranger. So did Jada.
“Dale! What are you doing here?” She laid a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “Have you met Jesse?”
Dale’s mouth rounded as if he were about to say more, then extended his hand. “I don’t think so. Dale Lugar.”
Jesse and Dale shook hands.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Jada continued. “It’s such a tiny place.”
“I’ve been known to stop by for a drink. Never been here on a Saturday night; figured I might as well try it out. I’ve never seen you here, though.”
“Barry wanted me to check out the band for a film. The—wait, I just had a brain fart: What’s their name?”
Before Jesse could answer, Dale chimed in. “Final Fuse.” Another grin. Dale looked like a man who carried a perpetual inside joke and hid it behind a cloak of intellectualism. A man who, when caught by surprise, possessed enough self-control to steady his response. Cool under pressure.
“Dale was a medical consultant on a film a few months ago,” Jada said.
That explained his composure. The guy was a doctor.
“Chiropractor?” Jesse quipped, just for the hell of it. Doctors seemed to hate the joke. Jada shot him a look that articulated she didn’t share the humor, either. She had a sixth sense for money and influence, and this guy reeked of it. Jada didn’t make enemies with such people.
Dale chuckled. “No. Plastic surgeon.”
Jada laughed and touched Dale’s arm. Jesse snorted to himself. Typical Jada, who flirted with anyone who might prove exciting.
“Good to see you again,” Dale said to Jada. Then he turned to Jesse and added, “Nice to meet you.” Jesse and Dale shook hands again before Dale sauntered off.
“He’s not really a plastic surgeon,” Jada said. “Last time I saw him, he was in the middle of a divorce. His wife waited till she got her plastic surgery paid for before she told him she intended to file. He was crushed.”
Okay, maybe Jesse misjudged the guy. Different as Jesse and Jada were, Jada had become a part of Jesse’s life, and he couldn’t stand the idea of losing her.
An hour later, Jesse had his fill of the throbbing music and wandered to a patio outside, where a group of smokers congregated. When he eyed Dale, who stood alone, Jesse strolled up to him.
Dale took another drag from his cigarette. “A doctor who smokes,” he admitted.
“My illusions are shattered.” Jesse stared out at the horizon as it faded amid nightfall. “What kind of medicine do you practice?”
“Cardiology. I have an office in Sherman Oaks.”
“A cardiologist who smokes.”
“Yeah, you’d be surprised. My ex-wife loved to mention the inconsistency. She was a yoga nut.”
“Sorry about your divorce. Jada mentioned it.”
“My ex got everything but the Maserati.” He extinguished the cigarette while the final cloud seeped through his lips. “What can I say? Shallow women suit me.”
The smoker group returned inside, which left Jesse and Dale by themselves. Aside from the music, muted through closed glass doors, the evening was calm. Dale flicked a lingering ash from the railing.
“You and Jada have been together how long?”
“About ten years. We were friends back then, and it evolved.” As he pondered his own reply, Jesse grew perplexed. “Come to think of it, I don’t remember our first actual date.”
“And you’re a …”
“An actor.”
“Anything I might’ve seen?”
Jesse hated that question. The answer forced him to face the reality of a typical week. “I work as an extra right now. Projects here and there, but not a big role yet. Jada never mentioned it?”
“I wouldn’t take it personally. She never mentioned a relationship, that’s all.”
“I guess she wouldn’t talk about it at work.”
Dale stepped back and tilted his head to scan Jesse’s face. “You’re not from around here,” he observed. “Born and raised, I mean.”
Jesse sniffed. In the awkward silence, he could tell Dale was ready to head inside.
This guy is a doctor, right? Maybe he can make sense of my symptoms.
“Are you familiar with other areas of medicine besides cardiology?”
“A working knowledge. Why do you ask?”
Jesse squirmed inside; he didn’t want to go into detail. On the other hand, he did want peace of mind in the matter, a sense that all was okay.
“Look,” Jesse said, “this isn’t a big deal. But Jada doesn’t know anything about it, and you might be aware of how … reactionary she can be.”
Dale chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.” Jesse slid his hand into his pocket, which must have come across to Dale as a nervous gesture. Dale’s expression straightened. “Have you experienced symptoms?”
“Oh … it’s nothing major, just … you know, common things.”
“Like what?”
Why did I tell this to a stranger? Now Jesse felt ridiculous to have brought up the issue. “I get exhausted for no reason at all …” He paused.
“Is that all? It could be stress. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“No, there’s more,” Jesse said. “Nosebleeds—they come for no reason. And it’s hard to get them to stop.”
“It can take ten minutes sometimes.”
“Five, ten minutes. Often it’s more like a half hour, even longer.”
“And Jada’s never noticed this?”
“Given our mixed schedules, we’re not around each other much. A couple of evenings a week, tops. She’s seen one nosebleed happen.”
Dale nodded. “What else?”
“If I nick myself, like my finger, it can take that long for the bleeding to stop. Bruises in a couple of odd places, but I could’ve bumped against something. Once, my heart started to race, but it returned to normal after around twenty seconds—that was scary, but again, it only happened once. That could be stress too, right?”
“It could depend on the activity you were engaged in at the moment.”
“I don’t remember.”
“How long have these symptoms occurred?”
“A few months. I never had a problem with them before.”
Dale turned away. He stroked his chin and paced, back and forth, across the patio. When he returned to Jesse, he shook his head. “The out-of-the-blue appearance of your symptoms intrigues me; it may or may not be a coincidence. Have you seen a doctor about this? Just to rule out any possibilities?”
Jesse snorted, crossed his arms. “No, I haven’t.” Impatient with himself for his concerns—and because he’d drawn someone else into the matter—Jesse shrugged it off. “It’s nothing. Those symptoms happen to everyone at one point or another. I’m sure it’s stress from trying to pay the bills and jumpstart a career. I’ve never been an addict, but I’ve fooled around with pot here and there,” he said. “I’m tired and have finally managed to get myself fucked up, that’s all.”
Dale’s eyes penetrated Jesse’s, a concentrated look that seemed to search for nonverbal clues. Jesse recognized the gesture—his father owned one himself.
“Look,” Jesse continued, “never mind. I’m heading back inside. Don’t mention this to Jada, all right?”
“Your call.”
“Thanks for your help.”
Jesse opened the glass doors and returned inside, where the music had started to sound like confusion.
CHAPTER 12
Jada couldn’t sit still. The whole drive home, her foot tapped. She seemed stressed out, although the reason eluded Jesse.
When they walked through the front door, Jada tossed her purse and keys on the counter and made a beeline fo
r the bathroom, where she opened the medicine cabinet. Curious, Jesse followed her in and caught her as she reached for the painkillers. Several years ago, Jada had her wisdom teeth removed and got a prescription for the ache. As it turned out, a bottle of ibuprofen had suited her fine. But rather than discard the unused painkillers, she saved them for special occasions—one pill to help her mellow out when she grew nervous, which was rare. The bottle remained half full.
Jesse knew better than to mention the pills. Maybe she had found that evening’s jazz fusion as annoying as he had.
“Well, that was fun,” she said, her voice rigid as a copper pipe.
Jesse turned his head and pretended not to notice as she returned the bottle to the cabinet. “I take it you enjoyed yourself?”
One pat to his butt, and she flipped off the light. “Sure.”
Jada sauntered over to the sofa, where she fell into it, kicked off her shoes, and curled her legs underneath her. It looked like the painkiller buzz had started take effect already.
“So what did you and Dale talk about?” she asked.
“Huh?”
She smoothed the cushion beside her. Jesse took the hint and sat down.
“Tonight,” she replied. When Jesse failed to give an immediate answer, she leaned closer. She peered into his eyes; Jesse found a gentle tease in hers. She said, “I saw you on the patio together. Did you have fun? You were out there long enough.”
“Just shooting the breeze.”
“Did you pick up some cardiology tips from him?”
“I learned he has a Maserati.”
