A hand on her hip, Jane regarded him while the tea steeped. He noticed that when her green eyes caught the grey daylight, little hazel flecks appeared. A pleasing oval shape, they complemented a pixie blonde haircut and a delicate chin. He observed that her forearms, peeking out from beneath a green rain jacket, were muscular and toned. It was hard to tell how tall she was as she stood above him in the truck, but Charlie figured her for about five foot seven. He would check later at the end of their shift when they would work side by side to clean up the truck in preparation for another group of volunteers.
Frowning, Charlie chided himself for checking this girl out so closely. He hadn’t dated anyone seriously since Jessie, and instead just slept with women here and there to warm his bed and temporarily remove the ache of loss. But there was something different about this gal. She was clearly not intimidated in the least by him. He scowled, and she noticed.
“Charlie,” she said. “Lighten up. I wasn’t picking on you. I think it’s good you’re here. That you keep coming back. Everybody feels the same way. But to be honest, nobody really thought you’d stick it out.”
“Geez,” he replied, somewhat chastened. “I’m not the ogre people make me out to be. I have a heart somewhere deep in here.” He tapped his chest to accent the point. Charlie wanted her to know he had a heart. Those green eyes…
Jane pulled out the tea bag, popped on a compostable lid, and handed him the cup. “Careful, it’s hot.”
“I like coming here,” Charlie said, his eyes a little downcast.
Softening, Jane nodded. “I know,” she said. “Otherwise the big old world just feels empty, doesn’t it? We need this. To help others. To make it all worthwhile.”
He was about to turn to go, but then Charlie paused and looked back at the pretty girl manning the truck. An older male volunteer with a shaggy beard approached and slapped Charlie good-naturedly on the shoulder.
“Deacon. Good to see you again, boy.” He ordered coffee - two milk, one sugar - for one of Alfred’s street mates.
Charlie searched Jane’s flecked eyes, curious. She was still watching him. He was slouching a little, his melancholic bearing profound. “To make what worthwhile?” he asked her quietly.
She opened her arms wide. “This,” she said. “Living. Life.”
He bowed, eliciting a small smile from Jane, and then turned to walk away. For certain, it eased things for him, helping down here. Jessie had been gone for a long time now. They didn’t know if she was alive or dead. Like their friends, he figured if she ever came back alive, he’d kill her. It was a shitty thing to do to leave your friends the way she did, suddenly and really without warning, although if one looked closely you could see the signs that she’d had enough. He felt rather certain she was alive, somewhere. After all, she took things that mattered to her – an old childhood shaggy teddy bear with no arms, her dad’s guitar and, likely, the engagement ring from Josh. She also removed funds from her bank accounts before she took off. Likely she was living it up out there somewhere in the big wide world.
Even if Jessie returned, it wasn’t probable Charlie would have a shot at resuming any kind of romantic relationship with her. If she returned to Van, it would only be because Josh was here. No one else likely figured on her radar as highly as he did. But now that Josh was seeing someone else, that dark-haired Michelle girl he’d met through the production company he filmed with last summer, well…would Jessie ever bother coming back? It hurt that Charlie felt in his heart Josh would have to be the lure, and no one else. That’s why the despondency was taking over him these days. Still, Charlie and Jessie had become friends on a level neither anticipated, on a level they had not shared during their almost eight-year partnership. It surprised them both. He missed that friendship, the warm soft light Jessie and her soulful music brought into his life. He missed her smile, the bouncy curls, that way she had of twisting her hair into ringlets when she was anxious about something. Hell, he even missed the old plaid yellow chucks she wore on her feet, the ones with the smiley faces drawn on them. Oh, for just one more hug from that girl.
Bending down again in front of Alfred, Charlie eased open the tab on the cup’s lid and pulled it towards the center, locking it in place. He wondered if Jessie knew this grizzled gentleman and he wished, with a heartfelt wrench in his belly, that he’d asked her more questions, that he’d paid more attention to her. Maybe, then…but it wasn’t worth pondering.
She was gone.
Charlie reached out and grasped Alfred’s shaking hand, and then positioned the wrinkled cold fingers around the steaming fragrant cup. He looked up and met the old man’s toothless grin. There was a light in the man’s eyes that warmed Charlie’s soul. Sincerely, he smiled.
“Enjoy your tea, my friend,” he said, and he meant it. “See you in a few weeks.”
As he stood, he had the tingly feeling he was being watched. Charlie turned away from Alfred, shaking his arms and legs in a vain attempt to disperse some of the water seeping through his foul weather gear. As drops sprayed this way and that, he glanced up to see a middle-aged man with three-day whiskers leaning against a red brick building, watching him. The guy was smoking, exhaling in long exaggerated puffs, the whitish, curling wisps disappearing into the atmosphere as surely as Jessie had more than a year before. Something about the man’s manner intrigued Charlie right off the bat. He had an intelligence about him, a sense of purpose, perhaps, that many of the others who dwelled in the area were missing. He was watching Charlie closely, as if he knew who he was but didn’t wonder why he was there.
“You want some coffee or tea?” Charlie asked him, a little unnerved by the guy’s searing gaze.
The guy shrugged. “Maybe, if you have enough. Tea. Black.” He had plenty of tea upstairs in his apartment, but he wanted an excuse to get closer to Charlie.
As Charlie sauntered back over to the white truck, splashing through puddles and kicking the water to create mini tidal waves as he often did as a child, something about the man bothered him. He realized just after he ordered the black tea that it was the smell of the cigarettes. The scent was oddly familiar. The brand the whiskered guy was smoking was unusual – the smokes carried a distinctive woody smell, yet Charlie couldn’t place it. Oh well, he thought, lots of people smoke around me. Likely he recognized the smell from some American crew on one of his films.
Jane smiled sincerely down at him as she handed him the tea. He tilted his head quizzically at her. “Would you be interested in drying out somewhere warm when we’re done today?” He was lonely. He admitted it. And Jane seemed to have a cleverness that most women in his circle did not possess. Besides, she was not a part of the entertainment biz circus, which Charlie found himself disenfranchising from more and more these days.
She hesitated, frowning. “Charlie Deacon. I appreciate the offer and I do admit it would be intriguing to spend time with you, but…although my friends and family would kill me for saying no to you, I must decline.”
“Ah. You’re married then. Boyfriend.”
She raised her eyebrows.
He answered quickly, “You’re right. In the old days that wouldn’t matter to me. But it’s cool.” He backed away, waving a hand at her, embarrassed. The good ones were always taken.
“It’s not that,” she said. “I had a boyfriend, but he decided driving a truck in the oil patch was more interesting than working at Starbucks in Vancouver. We broke up two months ago. It’s more that – well…you don’t have a stellar reputation, to be honest. And I’m not looking for a bed partner tonight.”
Charlie’s shoulders sank noticeably, and she felt a little bad for being so harsh. But Jane wasn’t the kind of girl to hide behind false sentiment.
“Jesus, Jane,” he retorted sharply. “Have I sunk so low that women are always going to automatically make that assumption?”
She frowned. “You make your bed, you lie in it, Charlie.”
“Uh-huh. Okay. Fine.” But he stood there staring at
her. Loneliness urged him to try again. He took a deep breath. “What I had in mind was coffee. Or a drink, maybe.” He raised his right arm in a Boy Scout salute. “I’ll have you home by ten, I swear. I won’t even try to tuck you in.”
At that, she chuckled, but her heart was pounding. Shit, Charlie Deacon was asking her out. But she really wasn’t one to get caught up in the intrigue of the rich and famous, especially on a wet cold day like this in downtown Vancouver surrounded by people who humbled you each moment of every day. Besides, he was pathetic, standing there with raindrops dripping over his hair and layers of sorrow etching his face.
But in the end curiosity won. She nodded. “Okay,” she said. “A drink. Something strong enough to warm me up after this freezing day. But just one.”
He pushed away the sense of ennui that overcame him then as he realized he just asked out another woman he met on the Downtown Eastside whose name started with J. But he was different now. The last few years had changed Charlie. Maybe he would do it right this time.
Charlie smiled gratefully, nodded, and then turned back to the sidewalk where the forty-something man awaited his tea.
The stranger’s smoke was extinguished. He was reclining casually against the brick watching Charlie. He accepted the tea from a dripping outstretched hand before pulling something out of his pocket, which he thrust into Charlie’s fingers. Startled, thinking it was a gun or a knife, Charlie jumped back. Realizing it was just a paper product, a flyer or something, he acknowledged it, looking up at the man for assurance. The guy nodded towards the object – it was thick, like card stock, and had a colored picture on it.
“For later,” he said.
“Okay,” Charlie said, shoving the thing underneath the rain gear into his back pants pocket. He figured it was a church pamphlet or Jesus Saves ephemera. He’d check it out later. He thrust out his hand and looked deeper into the guy’s eyes. Charlie was still unnerved by him for some reason, although he noticed there was a deep kindness present within. There’s something about these people from the Downtown Eastside, Charlie thought for the thousandth time. They seem to have an understanding that the rest of us are not privy to.
“Charlie,” he said, by way of formal introduction.
The man hesitated for a moment, but he was warming to this actor. He had watched him helping on the streets numerous times over the last many months, and he noticed some kind of bond growing between Charlie and old Albert. Any friend of Albert’s was a friend of his. Maybe his first instincts about the actor were wrong. He oughtta give him a chance.
He thrust out his hand and grasped Charlie’s. A boxer, he surprised Charlie with his strong, sure grip. “Arnie,” he said. His name was Arnold; he only ever allowed one person to call him Arnie, and that was Jessie Wheeler. But any friend of Jessie’s…
Turning and shooting the man a small wave, Charlie figured he would see Arnie again, maybe the next time he was down around the Eastside. He felt the man’s eyes piercing his back as he followed the truck, which had moved about fifty feet down the street.
Charlie’s mind wandered to Jessie again and again as he continued to work with Jane throughout the afternoon. Where was she? Would she ever come home? Charlie wanted to strangle her. It was killing him, the not knowing, and others were suffering as well. Deirdre Keating was a mess – he knew from speaking with Charles that she was taking anxiety meds. She worked all the time, flying to cities across North America, supervising the women’s shelters she and Jessie set up. She was tired but she, like Charlie, maintained her bond with Jessie by working on a project close to the girl’s heart.
Yep, Charlie was sad beyond belief. But he, like Josh, was angry, too. Jessie may have had her reasons for leaving, but there comes a point when people have to stop running from their problems and face them head on. His thoughts turned to Jane, whose down to earth no-nonsense non-idolization nature was refreshing. She was pretty, fit, smart, kind…
He sighed as he realized he was running, too. It was time to stop, to start living again. Life was short. It should be lived with verve and gusto, with purpose. With joy.
Even with an absence of light.
Even without Jessie Wheeler.
***
Chapter Three
It came to him later that evening, where he had smelled Arnie’s smokes before.
Charlie realized Jessie smoked the same brand. The summer before she disappeared she took up the nervous habit to combat anxiety caused by her stalker, who they discovered was very likely that elusive lounge owner from Charleston, Deuce McCall. It jarred Charlie, when he remembered that about her. Perhaps this Arnie guy knew Jessie. Charlie decided he might take a ride by the neighborhood tomorrow, maybe troll around to see if Arnie was hanging out somewhere. After all this time, any connection with Jessie was coveted.
Reclining comfortably on a high black leather stool sipping bourbon at the central bar in his club, Charlie awaited the arrival of Jane, who insisted she drive herself to their first date. His back to the busy bar, he was watching Jessie’s Drifters friends – and now his friends, although they didn’t see each other often – as they hung out twenty feet away at a stand-up bar.
He observed as Stephen, who arrived alone, was enthusiastically welcomed. Steve was another casualty of Jessie Wheeler. He was standing across from Josh, the ultimate casualty, whose arm was draped casually around his new woman of the past three or four months. The boys seemed to have regained some kind of footing in their friendship after the Jessie fiasco. They were shaking hands warmly, and appeared genuinely happy to see each other. Steve was working down in the States somewhere shooting a feature film. After Drifters’ season three production had wrapped the previous June, the cast dispersed to work on other projects. Steve’s arrival back home was recent. Charlie ruminated that this little gathering was likely a reunion, of sorts.
From behind a beer at the corner bar, Maggie pointed Charlie out to Steve, who turned and raised a hand in salute. As Charlie waved back he saw a mask wash across his gregarious blonde friend’s face. Always, they would all be each other’s physical reminders of what they lost.
Josh followed Steve’s glance and looked over at Charlie too, but his expression was unreadable. The solemn actor had done a good job hiding these last fourteen months. Charlie rarely saw him out in public – after all, the world was led to believe Josh was responsible for Jessie’s disappearance. They believed he beat her, badly, and put her in the hospital. Some felt he might have killed her. Others wondered whether she ran away to hide from him. The public blamed him for their loss of Jessie. They censured him for the forfeiture of songs unknown, music Jessie would have written that was now lost in some obscure abyss. They mourned the girl, and they mourned the music.
As Charlie watched Josh looked away, removed his arm from the shoulders of his new woman, grabbed a glass and sipped on some fizzy ginger ale. He was hanging tough. They all were. They were healing. They were moving on. It seemed Jessie was never coming home.
A languid blues piece swept around them, urging the club’s inhabitants into mellow moods. Later a local musician would take the stage in the corner where in the past Jessie often test-drove her new tunes. But for now Charlie was piping into his club an easy-listening satellite radio station, which further decelerated his mood. Occasionally one of Jessie’s songs would saturate the space like salt in warm water and, with the reverence she deserved, the volume in the place would plunge dramatically. Even afterwards, long after the last chords faded, it would be some time before the jolly sort in the club could encourage their friends to smile and just let her go.
Just before Charlie’s somber state made him a complete and utter victim to an irretrievable past, pixie-blonde Jane whisked in. Completely non-plussed by the celebrity environment and the fact she was a guest of the club’s owner, she swept the room with one quick glance and smiled at him as she approached. Charlie already loved Jane’s self-assurance, her confidence. He had the comfortable, intuitive feeling sh
e would be around for a while. He stood and helped her shrug off her dripping jacket, which one of his staff quickly retrieved and stored behind the bar.
“Drink?” he asked, surprised at a sudden attack of nerves.
“That would be lovely,” she replied, smiling happily as she perched comfortably on the leather stool next to him. She rested both elbows on the bar and leaned on her hands. “What do you recommend?”
He raised his glass. “Bourbon. But usually the ladies like a daiquiri or maybe a martini. It’s all good.” He winced as he realized he’d said “the ladies”. Oops. But she didn’t seem to notice. If she did, Jane was gracious enough not to throw a sharp remark back in his face.
“Rye and ginger,” she stated without hesitation.
As he moved to sit down Charlie felt the piece of paper Arnie gave him wrinkle in his back pocket. It had shifted when he got up to greet Jane. It was starting to dig into his back, as it stuck out about two inches above his pocket. He pulled it out and tossed it on the bar, picture side down, where it landed in a tiny puddle of watery condensation. Chatting with Jane about their shared, wet day, Charlie absently noticed the card stock starting to unfold in front of them. He glanced down once or twice, but it wasn’t until Jane had her drink and took a few sips that something caught his eye and his throat closed over.
Stopping mid-sentence, his hand shot out. Mystified, he lifted the card stock, which he quickly realized was a postcard. He stared at a cursive J in the bottom right corner of the message. Holy shit. What the fuck?
Jessie.
Shocked, he turned and fixed his wide eyes on Jane. Wrinkling her brow, she reached over and gently pulled the postcard out of his grasp as Charlie closed his eyes, fingers curling into fists on the bar.
No Greater Love Page 3
