by Amy Saia
Our driver whistled low. “Gezzus, kid. I’ll take you there. Geezuz.” He hit the gas, and we flew past all the other cabs, snow hitting the windshield in little melting globs of white.
Shoving the money back into his pocket, Jesse relaxed into the seat with a slow grin. “We’re gonna have ourselves an early Christmas, honey, just you and me. And Marcus is paying.”
Watching cars, I thought how much I hated hearing his name. And I wished Jesse wouldn’t throw it around so much or talk about money, bad money, earned off other people’s misfortune. I didn’t want Marcus’ money, any part of it, no matter how much he owed us.
I wanted Jesse. The Jesse I knew before the eclipse. It was strange to think Marcus was in there somewhere, peeking out at me.
“Don’t say his name anymore,” I said.
He rolled his eyes while throwing an arm across the seat back. “Deal. We won’t mention anyone’s names from now on.”
His brown eyes were like coal: hard and cold.
“Okay,” I said, playing it off.
Jesse’s eyes changed. They were sad. He stared out the window to the traffic and the falling snow. I heard him say, “That’s all in the past, right?”
“Right,” I said.
“I hope so.”
¤ ¤ ¤
We received the same skeptical once-over from the front doorman at the Plaza Hotel. Under an awning which shielded a tall, gothic building of gray stone with little cornices and arched windows, Jesse and I stepped inside the doors and headed for the front desk. His hand squeezed mine, tight enough to be painful, so I knew he was nervous.
The lobby floor was polished to a glassy shine, and there were several chandeliers hanging down over our heads from a very opulent ceiling trimmed in gold. It was all so palatial, and the whole thing seemed to be guarded by the front desk clerk who barely nodded a hello at our approach.
“We need a room,” Jesse blurted out, and I heard the fear in his voice. It was comforting, somehow, to hear him vulnerable like that. The desk clerk asked for a few things, and Jesse pulled out a worn out driver’s license and a wad of money. Ten minutes later, we were heading up to our room.
“I’m afraid to touch anything,” I said, moving inside to a room which was a smaller version of the lobby, only with a bed. The carpet was thick and clean, the bedding was pure white with several pillows in gold trim, and up on the ceiling hung another chandelier. I flicked the light on and off. “This is crazy.”
Jesse jumped on the bed, unsettling a few pillows. I bent over and picked one up off the floor, fluffing it to its original shape. He laid back against the headboard and swung a leg over a raised knee. “I could get used to this.”
I couldn’t, but I didn’t want to spoil his fun. Walking over to a tall set of windows, I stood for a while gazing out over a magnificent view of Central Park covered in snow. It was getting to be twilight, and everything was about to turn violet. An exhaustion took over. I turned to Jesse. “Think we can afford to eat something?” I wasn’t at all hungry, but the baby had to eat regardless.
He scowled. “Sure we can. I didn’t spend all the money, anyway, there’s more out there. Tons more.”
I moved to the edge of the mattress and sat down, wishing I was in my bed at home in Penn Peak. Would I ever see it again? When Jesse finished this urgent meeting with his supposedly famous father, would he be okay with me going back? I needed to sort out my life. See what I had left.
Tentative, I reached over to touch his hand. “Jesse, I have to tell you something. I have a home in Colorado and, I was married to—you know. I’m not the same little girl you remember.”
“Yeah. I figured all that.” He glanced at the window, annoyed. “So what, you were married? It’s over now. It was a mistake.” His hand clenched. “Do you want to be with me, or not?”
“I do.”
“Then forget all that stuff. I’ll take care of you. I’m a man. I’m not just a stupid kid anymore either.”
“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” I said.
“I don’t?” He seemed angry, hurt. He did have something to prove, would always have something to prove—to everyone in the world, including me.
Rising up on an elbow, his lips found mine, and this time it wasn’t soft and gentle. It was angry and hungry and scared. I pulled away. After a slight pause, he said, “Relax. Trust me, okay? ’Cause I got nothing in this world. Only you.”
His fingers found their way to my blouse, and I watched as he unbuttoned each little round fastening and freed them from their eyeholes. He pulled me onto the bed.
I stiffened the moment his hand moved to my hips and belly. In silence, I slid them away, and sent out the message that I wasn’t ready for what he had in mind yet. Someday, yes. But not right then. “Stop, Jesse.”
“Stop what?”
I sat up. “I just can’t.”
“Don’t you love me?”
My palm slid down to my abdomen. I couldn’t tell Jesse yet. It was the last thing that belonged to me. In a few days I’d tell him. I’d be ready then. But something had to remain as it was. Not everything could change, be lost. At last I answered him. “Of course I love you.” It was the truth. I turned to him and smiled. “You know that.”
¤ ¤ ¤
The next day we woke up at dawn so we could get to the Dakota before John and Yoko left for a recording session. Jesse sat cross-legged in bed, jeans only, reading a copy of a Billboard he’d bought from a corner newsstand.
“It says here, ‘Mr. Lennon is working on his latest album, a combined effort called “Milk and Honey” with wife, Yoko Ono. Current recordings are being held at The Hit Factory in N.Y.’” Jesse stared up at me. His hair was still wet from the shower he’d taken. “I want to meet him outside his apartment, Emma. I think he’ll talk to me there. People are always hanging outside recording studios, asking for things like drugs and stuff. I want to get him when he’s relaxed.”
“Sure, we can go.” What else did I have to do? Think? I didn’t want to think. Jesse’s mission helped keep my mind off William. Morning had brought a new problem. A dull pain had begun to edge through the numbness. I felt hollow. Cold. Had any of it happened? Had I really made the deal? Was William gone forever?
I picked at a plate of waffles with bacon and eggs and made myself take a few bites. Something was wrong. I was always hungry and now . . .
“I need a shower,” I said, getting up. Jesse nodded, head stuck in the paper again.
Inside a stall with French tile and elegant little soaps and bottles of shampoo, I scrubbed away at my skin. All the heat and dirt had washed down the drain last night, but I still felt dirty. After a few minutes, I turned off the water and reached for a fluffy white towel, but stopped when I saw a slight pink running down the drain. The towel had pink on it, too.
I dried off and stood before the mirror. I combed my hair.
I reached for the towel again. No more pinkish discharge appeared.
Jesse stood waiting for me outside the bathroom. He acted kind of angry over how long it had taken, but I smiled and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. “Are you nervous?” I asked, moving to the bed to put on the new set of clothes he’d bought for me last night. He’d been gone for over two hours and had come back with an armload of clothes, shoes, magazines, newspapers, and a new electric guitar strung over his back.
He stood back and let out a whistle over the new jeans I slipped on. He’d also bought two black leather jackets: one for me and one for himself. Everything almost fit. The jeans were a little loose, which I was glad about. I used my old belt to make them fit, then rolled up the bottom cuffs a few inches.
“No. I’m not nervous,” he said finally, coming to put his arms around me. “I’m excited.”
“Good.”
&nb
sp; His lips met my neck. “I’d be nervous if you weren’t with me.”
Outside, it was bitter cold, and there were people everywhere. On the sidewalks, the streets, people yelled, blasted their horns. It was as if New York was the artery of civilization, pumping and beating with an urgency to live and earn and be something.
Jesse hailed a cab, this time with a fist full of money held out to entice them into stopping.
“I wish you wouldn’t show off money like that,” I complained to him before getting into the taxi. “We’ll get robbed.”
“I’ll smash the face in of anyone that tries.”
We both settled in, and the driver, an older man with gray hair sprouting out from under a Yankees’ baseball cap, sped around a line of cars. I had nothing to say to Jesse; it was obvious he was high-strung at the moment, nervous about meeting his father. The driver swung us onto 59th, and soon we were cutting straight through Central Park. Joggers in expensive sweat suits ran past homeless people that littered the sidewalks near the road. Street vendors set up their stands with clouds of steam rising.
Jesse’s hand met mine across the seat. He had an expression of complete terror.
“Relax,” I said. “It’ll be fine.”
“What if he ignores me? What if he calls me a liar? I can’t handle it, Emma.”
“Yes, you can. We’re here, and you have to do this.”
He threw his head back against the seat and swallowed hard. “I just don’t want him to ignore me.”
Jesse’s profile was elegant with his long roman nose and sensitive little mouth. Full brows raised up to a head of hair, combed back with water and styling gel. “If he ignores you, you’ll still be okay. You’ll make it someday, Jesse. Okay? The world’s going take one look at you and go crazy.”
He turned to me. “Someday, someday. I need it now.”
Touching his face, I leaned in to place a kiss on his lips, and he kissed back, pulling me closer in the seat. “Thank God you’re with me.”
I could sense his worry, his tension. It buzzed in the cab like an electric wire cut in half. I needed it to keep away the thoughts which kept coming back. As long as Jesse was around, I’d never have time to stop, to remember, to think.
We pulled up to the Dakota apartments, a building similar to the Plaza Hotel, only smaller in size. A huge arched entrance was blocked off by an iron gate, but I could see past it to a little courtyard inside the encasing building with a circular fountain turned off for the winter.
Our driver let us off in front, and Jesse handed him the fare with a generous tip.
“Thanks,” Jesse said, in a hurry to get out. I scrambled out the door behind him, and together we glanced up at the massive gothic structure with emerald turrets pointing to the sky.
“This is it, Emma,” he whispered. “He’s in there. I’m gonna see him for the first time in my life. And God help me, he’s gonna see me.”
A jogger bumped into my shoulder as he ran past, and Jesse grabbed my hand to pull me out of the way. “Don’t act like such a tourist. Let’s get some coffee or something, then we can go find a bench to sit on.”
Despite the jacket I wore, I was still cold. The coffee helped. Holding it kept my fingers from freezing off, at least. We sat on a bench across the way, right in front of Central Park, and stared at the apartments. The sun rose high, and the streets filled with more cars and taxis; the sidewalks grew thick with people rushing to get somewhere. No one seemed happy. No one even noticed us. It became obvious how one trick of living in the city was keeping your eyes averted from other people. Someone may want something, take something from you.
Jesse’s leg bobbed up and down. “Where is he?”
I could sense him in there. I didn’t tell Jesse, but there was a life inside the building so vivid and pulsing with love and brightness, it could be felt outside. “Just wait,” I said.
The energy came closer. After almost a whole morning of waiting, I saw someone emerge from the shadows of the arched entryway, with a very petite figure behind him. Jesse shot from the bench and almost risked his life crossing the street to get to John. I followed, carefully of course, dropping my coffee into a nearby trashcan after I’d made my way across.
“John, John!” Jesse shouted, but another guy cut in front of him. He had an odd appearance; thick plastic glasses and a head of greasy, uncombed hair. Jesse pushed to get past, but then a throng of fans—who hadn’t been there mere seconds ago—rushed forward as well. Jesse was forced to the back, but he kept yelling John’s name.
With Yoko already in a waiting car, John signed autographs for anyone near enough to reach. He admonished a few words with a sarcastic tone before making his way to the car. The door shut, and it drove away.
I couldn’t bear to meet Jesse’s eyes. It was enough to sense his devastation.
“I’m sorry, Jesse.”
He ignored me, deciding instead to hit a few choice words at the crazy fan who’d gotten in his way. The guy mumbled an apology, but he seemed unaffected, deaf, standing there clutching his signed album cover with a slow and stupid smile.
“Dammit!” Jesse grabbed my hand and led me across the street to a nearby cafe. We walked inside and sat down at a little table. “I almost had him, Emma. If that asshole hadn’t—”
Embarrassed, I gave a look of apology to the waitress who had come over to take our order. Jesse said he wanted another coffee and a sub. I checked out the sandwiches on the menu, but nothing sounded good to me. In fact, I felt a bit nauseous. I told myself it was the stress.
“Just a water,” I said, ignoring Jesse’s scowl.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. Just tired.”
His face softened for a moment. “Sorry you have to do this. I’m so sorry, Emma. I want to try again, though. He’ll be back later.”
Try again. Fine. It would help to keep me from thinking. Images had begun to cut into my brain—of William, and our last night together, of his eyes before I faded back into the future with Jesse. Of the dream I’d had of him by the long bay windows and little sailboats going by. Was it really only a dream? Would I ever see William again? The idea of never seeing those eyes again was like a death, like my heart had lost a whole chamber and would never work again in full capacity. He’d said he needed me. Why did everyone have to need me so much?
Peering at Jesse’s nervous face, I told myself I did make the right decision. Life was always begging something of us, wasn’t it? All the time I’d been with William I’d thought of Jesse, and now when Jesse was here, I thought of William. My life would always be a paradox of choice, apparently. Hard, terrible choices I’d always regret.
Jesse’s order came, and he offered me a few bites. “C’mon, Emma. Eat something!”
I decided he was right and took a few nibbles on a wedge of the sub before he devoured the rest. We left the cafe with a renewed sense of purpose; it wasn’t as cold as before with the sun released from the shadows of buildings now. We took a little walk through the park, stopping by a lake reflecting the sky in glassy blue with little clouds.
Back at the apartments, Jesse asked a guard through the gate when John would be coming back. I heard a gruff voice say, “Not ’til late, kid. Real late.”
At dinnertime, we headed to another cafe further on down the road, then a record store, and then a bookstore. We visited nearly every shop in the vicinity before coming back to the Dakota Apartments late in the evening. Jesse paced. When he saw the crazy fan was still there, he mumbled a few threats to keep out of the way next time.
“You got your autograph, what the hell are you hanging around for? I got important business with Mr. Lennon. Stay out of my way or I’m gonna get really mad, if you catch the drift.”
I leaned up against the wall, wishing my new leather jacket was more
effective at keeping out the chill. The sunlight had faded, and even the buildings with their lights turning on, and Central Park with all its beautiful canopy of trees, couldn’t keep me entertained. I felt strange, not tired or sick. There was a dread inside of me I couldn’t explain. It seemed to be coming from the male fan, but his face was so blissfully devoid of emotion I couldn’t imagine him to be the sole cause of my apprehension. And it couldn’t be Jesse. What I felt from him was extreme anger and stress, but nothing else. I watched the fan again and saw him clutch at his pocket. My stomach twisted.
Jesse kept pacing, and I stood there. What could I do? Something bad was about to happen, I knew it. And then I felt the energy, the beautiful electric energy coming closer. Soon a car approached, the same one from earlier, and I saw John emerge from the back seat. He waited for Yoko to crawl out before starting a confident stride toward the security gate.
Jesse shot forward. “Mr. Lennon, I got something to tell you. Please, you gotta listen.”
John ignored him, still walking forward as if no one had spoken.
“Please, I’ve been waiting my whole life!”
From the shadows I saw the fan reach into his pocket. My breath caught. I knew then he intended to kill John. Douse that beautiful light. Steal it. Erase it from the earth for all eternity. He was crazy, sick in the head. Selfish.
Without thinking, I reached into my purse. The revolver was still inside. Oh God, how did it work again? It felt like a century had passed since I sat up on the bluffs shooting at my handmade target of Marcus’ head. But my fingers knew what to do. They found their placement and raised the gun up to eye level. When the fan raised his gun to John’s back, I pulled the trigger. A loud explosion cracked through the air, causing Yoko to scream as John fell to his knees.
