“Can’t you at least turn on the air-conditioning?” she said angrily.
It was seven o’clock. Alex would be there by now. He was never late. She knew that, and that was why she had left the office in good time so that she could be there before him. But now it had been a full twenty-five minutes that she had been stuck in this taxi. She rolled down the window, only to be hit by a blast of air that was as hot as a hair-dryer and which only exacerbated her present discomfort. She rolled it up again and sat back to wait.
She hadn’t seen him since the tennis party. He had left a message on the answerphone at the apartment, saying that he’d had to go to Dallas after all. “Unavoidable” was the word he had used. What was new? It was always unavoidable as far as Alex was concerned. Not that it mattered much. She had been working every hour that God had given her on the Tarvy’s contract, so they probably wouldn’t have seen much of each other at any rate. She shook her head. The bloody contract. Nothing she had produced so far gave her overwhelming confidence that they would secure it. Maybe Russ had been right. Maybe they were trying to bite off more than they could chew.
For no apparent reason, the traffic suddenly began to move again, and the driver turned and grinned, obviously thinking that theirs was now a well-bonded relationship following their brief but mutually misunderstood exchange of words.
“Ye, leddy, we move now!” He nodded contentedly and slowly the car began to roll forward up Park.
By the time they made it to the Ocean Floor, the time was edging towards twenty past seven. Having paid her budding linguist, Jennifer jumped out of the taxi and ran across the sidewalk into the restaurant.
The place was only half-full, with the consequence that she was greeted by three white-aproned waiters, obviously eager for any passing trade that they could muster. At that point, she spied Alex sitting over at a table in the corner of the room, laughing as he talked into his mobile phone. She cut a path through her welcoming committee, leaving them with frowns of resigned disappointment on their faces.
Seeing her approach, Alex quickly pressed the “end” button on the phone and tucked it away in the inside pocket of his jacket.
“Sorry I’m late, darling,” she said, slinging her handbag over the back of the chair. “The traffic was lousy.”
Alex got up and reached over the table and gave her a peck on the cheek.
“You looked happy just then on the phone,” she said, pulling out the chair and sitting down. “Do I take it that all went well in Dallas, then?”
“Not really. That was just a social call to, er”—he faltered for a second—“to John. Now listen.” He picked up the menu and made a show studying it. “I didn’t know when you were going to arrive, so I’ve ordered you mussels and swordfish. I hope that’s all right?”
“Fine.” She reached forward to pick up her napkin, but was outmanouevred by a waiter who quickly plucked it away from her outstretched hand and, flicking it open, placed it on her lap.
“Good eat!” he said, smiling broadly at Jennifer.
Jennifer watched him turn and walk away. “Does no one speak English in this city any more?”
“What?” Alex asked.
“Oh, nothing,” she sighed, shaking her head. She leaned on the table and cupped her chin on the back of her linked hands. “So Dallas wasn’t a success, then?”
“No, not really.” He reached over with the wine bottle and filled her glass. “I mean, I think it’ll work out in the long run, but the company we’re dealing with seems pretty edgy about the new system. It’s just a question of earning their confidence.”
Jennifer nodded slowly, understanding the implications. “Meaning that you’re going to have to hold their hand for the time being.”
Alex let out a long sigh. “Yeah, I’m afraid so. I’m heading straight back there after San Francisco.” He glanced around the restaurant to see if there was any sign of their food, then pushed back the sleeve of his shirt and looked at his watch. “I hope they’re quick. I can’t be too long.” He turned back to Jennifer. “So how’s the new contract going?”
Jennifer leaned back in her chair. “We haven’t got it yet, Alex. I’m just doing the proposal at the moment, but the problem is that it’s completely new ground for me. I’m not really sure if I’ve hit it quite right so far, but…”
She tailed off, realizing that he wasn’t listening. He was looking at his watch again and turning round to see if their food was arriving. At that point, a waiter came backwards through the kitchen doors and headed for their table with two plates held high in his hands.
“Mussels?”
Jennifer nodded and the waiter placed the steaming bowl in front of her.
“I get you finger-bowl, madam—and for you, sir, seafood salad.”
“Thank you.” Alex looked up at the waiter. “Could you see if we can get our second course as quickly as possible? I have a plane to catch.”
With a smile and a bow, the waiter turned briskly on his heel and hurried off back to the kitchen.
“That looks good,” Alex said, picking up his knife and fork. He looked across at Jennifer, who sat staring at him, making no move to start her meal. “What’s the matter? Isn’t that what you wanted?”
She shook her head slowly. “Alex, how long have we been married?”
Alex had taken a mouthful of salad as she asked the question, and stopped with his fork in his mouth. “Whop?”
Jennifer didn’t reply, letting the question sink into Alex’s brain. She picked up one of the mussel shells and tilted it back to her mouth.
“What was that supposed to mean?”
“We’ve been married thirteen years now,” she said quietly, “just in case you’ve forgotten, but I could bet you that anyone here who just happened to witness how we’re acting with each other would think that we’ve hardly ever met before. I mean, we’re like total strangers! What have we talked about so far? Your business and mine.” She leaned over the table towards him. “We have a life together, Alex. Thirteen years’ worth of it, for Chrissakes!”
Alex let his knife and fork fall with a clatter to his plate and he raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Come on, Jennifer,” he said in a whisper. “Don’t start making a scene here. People will hear.”
“I am not—making—a—scene!” she hissed at him between clenched teeth. She paused to compose herself. “It’s just that every time we see each other, we seem to drift further and further apart. We don’t seem to have anything in common any more—or do we? What’s gone wrong? We did—no, that’s not right—we do have a really good life together, Alex. You’re my best friend. You’re my lover, though one might not have thought it of late, and you also happen to be my husband and the father of my child. But nowadays, it seems to be all too much like a … a business arrangement.”
Alex cocked his head to the side and continued to eat his meal. “Well, it was you who chose to go back to work. I didn’t make you.”
“Alex, I am not trying to fix blame. I just want for us to be…” Jennifer was interrupted by the waiter, who placed a finger-bowl down in front of her.
“Is our main course on the way?” Alex asked him.
“Yes, sir. On the way.” He turned and left the table, and Jennifer continued. “I just want us to be together more, even if it’s only on weekends.”
“Well, you could always give up your job. You don’t need to work. I’m successful enough.”
“And how does one measure success, Alex?” Jennifer said, louder than she meant. Alex looked round the restaurant to see if anyone was looking in their direction. “Is it the number of zeroes that’s on the paycheck at the end of each month? Or is it how much fun you have with your child, and how much you are involved with his upbringing? Does that count for anything? I mean, right now Jasmine and David seem to be the ones most involved with Benji, especially David, who—”
Alex picked up the napkin from his lap and threw it onto the table, and slapped down his hands hard onto its s
urface.
“Jennifer, are you comparing my contribution to Benji’s upbringing with that of some … unmotivated good-for-nothing who just walked in off the street? Because if so, I resent that! Okay, Jasmine does a lot for Benji, but that’s what’s she’s paid for, but don’t start giving me all that crap about this guy David. Anyway, Jasmine works in order that we can work, so—come on, you tell me—how much time are you spending with Benji, O perfect mother? It cuts both ways. You do realize that, don’t you?”
Jennifer finished off the last of the mussels and dipped her fingers into the bowl and wiped her hands on her napkin, then let out a long, resigned sigh.
“Okay … I know … you’re right, it does cut both ways. The difference is that I have the whole thing going through my brain all the time. Do you?”
Alex didn’t reply, knowing that whatever he said would be taken in the wrong light. The pause was long enough for Jennifer to realize that what she had intended to be a reasoned discussion was now turning into a heated argument. She reached over and put her hand on his.
“I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t mean for this to happen. It’s just that … well … I just want us to be together more—as a family. I know that might sound like a cliché, but the whole thing seems so hopeless right now!”
The waiter came over and placed their main courses in front of them. Alex glanced at his watch. “Christ, it’s eight o’clock. I haven’t got time to eat this. I’ll have to go, or I’m going to miss the plane.”
Jennifer nodded. “Okay,” she said quietly.
“Are you happy to eat by yourself or do you want to leave it?”
“No, I think I’ve had my fill. Anyway, I don’t know how good this place is. Those mussels tasted a bit strange.”
Alex smiled at her and called back the waiter. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to leave. We’ve run out of time.”
“But you order food!”
“I know, but we have no time to eat it!”
“But you have to pay for food.”
“Fine!” Alex snapped at him. “Just get the check!”
The waiter pulled a long face and stomped off, and Alex and Jennifer looked at each other for a moment before bursting out into fits of subdued laughter.
“You see what I mean?” Jennifer said. “It’s catching!”
He bent down and picked up his brief-case, then paused before rising to his feet and looked across at Jennifer. “We’ll work it out, darling. I promise you. But it just might take some time, okay?”
Jennifer nodded. “Okay.”
He pushed back his chair. “Come on then. I’ll get a couple of cabs.”
The traffic was by this time much lighter, and Alex had no trouble in flagging down two empty taxis. He walked over to Jennifer and made to give her a kiss on the cheek, but she tilted her head round so that his lips came into contact with her mouth.
“I love you, Alex,” she whispered.
He smiled at her. “Yeah, I know. Look, I’ll give you a call when I’m back, okay?”
“Sure. Have a good trip.”
He nodded, then turned and walked over to the cab and got in. It sped away from the kerb before he had time to close the door, and Jennifer stood watching until it had crossed over the lights on Park Avenue. Oh, Alex, you could have said it too. Not just “yeah.” She put her hand to her forehead, feeling the first pangs of a headache coming on. It must be the humidity, or maybe just the after-effects of their stupid argument. That’s exactly what it was—sheer stupidity, on both their parts. She screwed her eyes tightly shut to try to relieve the pressure building up in her head, and despite the heat she suddenly began to feel cold, with an involuntary shudder at the realization.
“You comin’, lady?” the taxi driver called out to her.
Jennifer hugged her arms around her body and walked over to the car and jumped in the back.
“Where to?”
“Barrymore Street, please.”
“West Village?”
“Yeah.”
The cab sped off and took the lights on Park Avenue at yellow. By the time he had stopped at Fifth Avenue, Jennifer was shivering uncontrollably and her head felt as if it were undergoing a rhythmic pounding from a sledge-hammer. She tapped on the dividing glass, and the driver flicked it open.
“Yup?”
“Would it be possible to turn down the air-conditioning, please?”
“Hell, lady, it’s roasting outside!”
“I know, but I don’t think I feel too good.”
The driver shrugged his shoulders and reached forward and turned a knob on his dashboard. The lights changed to green and he slewed the car round into Fifth Avenue, throwing Jennifer sideways in the seat. She put her hand to her mouth, feeling bile rise from her stomach and a choking sensation at the back of her throat. She reached forward and banged on the glass.
“Stop, please—now!”
The taxi pulled over to the side of the street and Jennifer pushed the door open before it had time to come to a complete standstill. She leaned out and threw up violently into the gutter, the whole scene witnessed by some passers-by, who instinctively withdrew to the far side of the sidewalk, uttering muted groans of revulsion. She closed the door again and fell back in the seat. The driver turned round slowly and eyed her.
“You been drinking, lady?”
Jennifer shook her head weakly.
“’Cos if you been drinking, I won’t have you in my cab.”
“I haven’t been drinking. I think I’ve eaten something.”
“Well, for Chrissakes, don’t throw up in my cab,” he said, thumping his foot hard down on the accelerator, desperate to get her back home before she had a chance to do just that.
By the time they reached the traffic lights on Forty-third Street, Jennifer had had him pull over two more times, each session more violent than the one before. Her head now felt as if it was going to burst and she had to bend forward to try to relieve the unbearable ache in her stomach. Christ, she felt ill—it must have been the … she felt a sudden rush of pressure building up in her bowels—oh, no, please, God no, not that as well!
In her crouched position, she bent forward and knocked on the glass, and with a shake of his head, the driver immediately pulled over to the sidewalk again.
“No, no, don’t stop. I just want to know where we are.”
“Just coming up to Forty-second, lady.”
“Well, could you turn left here, please.”
“Left? But I thought you wanted to go down to the West Village.”
“No, please, turn left. I want to go out to Leesport.”
The driver spun round in his seat. “Leesport? You mean Leesport on Long Island? I can’t go all the way out there. This is my busiest time!”
“Please. You have to. That’s where my home is. I’m ill. Please. I’ll pay you double the fare, I promise. Just take me there.”
She slumped back in the seat, and for a moment the driver stayed where he was, staring at the ashen face of his passenger in the rear-view mirror. Then he pressed down his foot and sped away from the kerb, taking a left onto Forty-second Street towards the Midtown Tunnel.
* * *
Jasmine placed the cup of coffee on the table in front of David and sat down opposite him. He stared at the steaming cup, then slowly looked up at her.
“You see why I couldn’t tell you when Benji was around,” she said quietly.
David let out a long sigh. “Yeah, I certainly can. Just as well that he’s staying with Sean tonight.”
“Exactly. Mind you, I reckon it’ll do him a lotta good staying with Sean again. You kinda pulled off something of a mini-miracle turnin’ that one around, didn’t you?” She took a sip of her coffee. “So what should I do about this goddamn mess?”
David shook his head. “I don’t know, Jasmine. I really don’t. I mean, I don’t honestly think that we, or should I say you, can become embroiled in something that’s not really your affair.”
&n
bsp; “Well, it is my affair, because I don’t want to see Benji hurt.”
“Yes, I understand that, but … well, Jennifer and Alex are adults. They have to sort it out for themselves. I mean, have you any idea whether Jennifer suspects anything?”
“No. As far as I know, she thinks everything’s pretty much hunky-dory. Not that I ever talk about that kinda thing with her.”
“Well, that’s it, Jasmine. You’ve hit the nail on the head. You don’t talk to her about that kind of thing, because it’s really not your job. No, that doesn’t sound right.” He paused. “Look, you are probably the most loyal friend that she has, but this is her own very personal relationship.” He pushed his chair away from the table. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree here. It’s just that regardless of how well I knew a person, I wouldn’t have ever wanted them to give me advice on something that concerned only myself and…” He tailed off, suddenly realizing what he was saying and, feeling his face instantly flush, he cast a quick glance at Jasmine.
“And what, David?” Jasmine asked quietly, her coffee-cup half-way to her mouth.
David looked at her stony-faced, struggling desperately to try to think of a way of diverting their dialogue away from the trap that she had inadvertently sprung on him. At that precise moment, the front doorbell rang three times in quick succession, and both turned simultaneously to look at the clock on the wall.
Jasmine frowned. “Who on earth would be callin’ at a quarter to ten?” She got up from her chair and hurried off through the house. David stayed where he was, watching until she had left the room, then let out a long sigh of relief. Jesus, he’d nearly blown it that time. That was the past unconsciously weaving its way into present circumstances, and he had been caught completely unawares.
“DAVID! COME QUICKLY!”
The urgency in her tone made him jump up violently from the chair, making it fall with a clatter to the ground. He ran quickly to the hall to find Jasmine and a red-faced overweight man gently placing Jennifer down on the bottom stair and leaning her limp figure against the banister. She was ashen-faced, her pale shirt spattered with a yellow liquid that made it stick to her skin, and a nauseating smell permeated the whole area.
An Ocean Apart Page 31
