by Tory Jane
I see his eyes shutter. “Um, I moved back to town. I joined the architecture and design firm on Broad Street. I’m staying at my parents’ house until I find a place.”
“You live here?” I squeak.
“Um, yeah. I think it’s been almost a month now. I should have contacted you. I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to reach you.”
More like over two months. Fucking liar. This is Charleston. Our parents are neighbors and best friends. In this small town, he could find me in two minutes.
I flash him an innocent, flirty grin. I am going to win an award, or I'm going to hell for lying my ass off.
“Silly Jack. Our parents are best friends. My parents live two blocks away from yours. Haven't you seen them? I know they'd love to see you. They'll be thrilled you've come back to Charleston. I'm sure your parents are out of their minds with excitement.”
He laughs. A genuine laugh. The laugh I still hear in my dreams.
“Yes, you know my mother. The prodigal son has returned for Christmas and he’s finally become respectable. She’s a whirling dervish decorating and planning a huge Christmas feast for the family. Dad smiles and gives me manly slaps on the back every time he sees me.”
I can’t take it anymore. I have to get out of here. I nudge Wallace.
Wallace takes the hint and starts moving forward. “Jack, it’s great to see you. Welcome back to town. Sorry, but we need to be going. I have to get back to the kids soon.”
“Yes,” I chatter, “It was lovely to see you. Please give your parents my best. Stop by the shop anytime. Bella Boutique. On Society Street. Maybe you can pick out something pretty for your mother or your…? It’s quite posh. Oh, I already mentioned that. Ask your mother about it. She’s been in a few times.”
He frowns at that. “Really? She didn’t tell me.”
“I’m sure it slipped her mind, what with her being so excited about you being back and planning for the holidays.”
Wallace tugs on my arm. “Well, we’ll see you around, Jack. Come on, Belle. These bags are getting heavy.”
“Of course, I’m sorry. Bye, Jack.”
As Wallace hustles me down the street, I look back over my shoulder. He is standing there, watching us. He looks as sad as I suddenly feel.
Wallace drags me around the corner into the courtyard of the Charleston Place Hotel. She drops her bags and pulls me into a hug. I’m stiff and cold. She holds me at arm’s length and stares into my eyes, studying me. “Are you okay?”
I’m shaking. When did it get so cold?
“Belle? Are you okay?”
I stutter, “I don’t know. I’m cold. Do you have a Xanax? No? How do you manage without Xanax? Never mind. What about your secret stash of smokes?”
She digs around in her pocketbook and produces a cigarette for each of us. She actually sticks it in my mouth and lights it for me.
I’m in a daze. I smoke and stare into nothing, replaying the scene in my head.
“He looked good, didn't he? How do I look? How was I? I was weird, wasn't I?
“You look beautiful. You did seem to be channeling the perfect Southern belle your mama reared you to be. Not quite the Annabelle I’m used to, but quite charming.”
“Fuck you, I’m charming,” I laugh. Thank god. She made me laugh. The numbness is fading.
Wallace pokes me. “Of course you’re charming. In your own way.”
“Bullshit he didn't know how to contact me. He ‘thinks’ he’s been here ‘almost a month?’ Yeah right, try since the beginning of October. He lied to me. Wallace, why didn't he want to contact me?”
“Deep breath. Don't worry; you called him out on that. That boy has a lot of explaining to do. Did you notice he’s not wearing a wedding ring?”
“No? Whose kid was he with in the grocery store? That child was his. I saw his eyes.
“Wallace? When we walked away? I glanced back over my shoulder, and he was standing there looking sad. What right does he have to be sad? He left me. He disappeared. Now he has the nerve to come back to my city and lie to me? Son of a bitch.”
“There’s the charm I know and love. Come on. Let’s go discuss this over lunch. And have a cocktail.”
“Fuck, yes.”
***
I spend the remainder of the day in the shop. I stay busy and keep up my façade of the cheerful, festive shop owner. I help style customers, which helps keep my mind (mostly) off seeing Jack today. That's a lie. I'm obsessed. I replay every look he gave me, every word that we said.
At 6:00, I close up the shop and start straightening up for the next day. I hear the bell chime over the door as it opens and call out, “I’m sorry, we’re closed.”
“Belle?”
Jack is here. Jack has stopped by, and I'm horny and have been daydreaming about him all day. This is a dangerous combination. Why didn't I lock the door?
“Belle?”
“Coming (I wish).
“Hey there, Jack. Twice in one day. How can I help you? Did you want to look around for a gift for your mother?” I am cool as a cucumber.
He looks like he’s in pain. As sad, and conflicted as he did earlier that day. Standing in the door, he's trying to control his breathing. Has he run up here from Broad Street? Suddenly, he rushes toward me and gathers me up in a hug. His fingers twist in my curls, and he buries his head in my neck. What other option do I have than to hug him back? I cling to him and breathe in his scent.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’ve thought about this all day. Is this okay?”
It is, and it isn't. I've dreamed about this moment for five years. I don't know what to say or do. The new me wants to push him away. Establish boundaries. The old me wants to lock the door and drag him into a dressing room. While I ponder this dilemma, I hold on tight and let him embrace me.
“You’re more beautiful than ever. How is that possible? I never believed anyone could be as beautiful as you. You’ve set the bar even higher. Annabelle, my Bella Belle, I’ve missed you.”
I pull back and stare into his eyes. Instead of letting him have it, which is what my rational brain tells me to do, I get lost in those eyes. A faded denim blue, surrounded by a black ring. His pupils are dilated, his lids at half-mast. He’s the same, but different. I still want him, even if I should hate him.
“Jack? What are you doing?”
“I was on my way to see you when we ran into each other today. Since then, I haven’t been able to think about anything but touching you. I had to feel that you were real. My little pixie.” He leans into me and lightly touches his mouth to mine. Touch memory takes over, and our lips match up perfectly. I know this kiss. I give in to it, and it feels like no time has passed. We stand in the doorway exploring each other's mouths, making out like teenagers and it's sweeter than I remembered. Once upon a time, this was my life. Soft kisses and a constant slow burn that led to phenomenal lovemaking. I have missed intimacy. However, this cannot happen.
We both pull away at the same time.
“I have to go, but I need to see you again. Please? I have so much I need to tell you.”
My fingers on my lips, pressing his kisses into my heart, I stare up at him and nod. There are too many questions to ask. I can only nod and hope that he will come back.
“Please don't disappear again,” I think to myself. “I don't care that you left. Why did you leave? No, I don't care. I want to feel the joy that you've reappeared.”
Once more, he kisses me gently and whispers, “I'll see you soon. I promise.” Then he's gone, and I'm left wondering if it was real or only another dream.
Saturday Brunch
When we returned to Charleston after college, Wallace, Julia and I began our Saturday brunch tradition. Julia was married, a good wife to a bad man. Wallace and Ben were planning their wedding and their futures, responsible and practical. I was a blank slate screaming, “Write on me! Give me an identity.” They never knew who was going to show up for our brunch.
I did wha
t I’ve always done; I played different roles to discover what suited me best. My style, my looks, my political beliefs, social opinions, my very identity changed with every man I dated. I was a chameleon, changing appearance to match whomever stood beside me.
I began as a conservative, demure lady. On the arm of a bland lawyer and fully immersed in Charleston society, I cut and straightened my hair into a sleek bob, wore pearls and stockings, and extolled the virtues of South Carolina Republicans. I dumped the lawyer for a hot libertarian political journalist. I kept copies of The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged on my bedside table, but only read the romantic parts. I listened intently as he decried the tyrannical state of the government. Unable to feign interest enough to engage in debate, he discovered I was a fraud and dumped me.
Tired of politics and intellectual debate, I began a torrid affair with a financial analyst in his thirties, who also happened to be a married, suburban dad of two. I threw myself into the role of mistress. I excelled at secret meetings, sexy lingerie, and hotel assignations. It went on for far too long, but in between sexual trysts, he taught me how to manage my finances and investments.
Ashamed of my betrayal of another woman, I pledged my loyalty to the sisterhood and became an avid feminist. I learned that while I was a legitimate feminist, I couldn’t pretend to be a lesbian. When I became friends with a beautiful, smart, and sexy woman, she tried to seduce me. “You can’t play the role of lesbian and I’m not looking for a friend. If you have no interest in eating my pussy, you need to leave.” I tried, but I could not give her my tongue. Banished as an imposter once again.
By the time I saw Jack again, I was reincarnated as a twenty-five-year-old bohemian, hippie chick who owned a vintage thrift store in West Ashley (that financial analyst really did help with my investments). I wore my wavy hair long and wild, often adding tiny braids and polished beads. Hidden in places for lovers to find, I branded my naturally tan skin with tiny tattoos. I rimmed my aquamarine eyes in black kohl, pierced my nose with a tiny gold ring that shone in the sunlight, and liberally applied patchouli oil.
When I discovered that version of myself, I became a woman with confidence, happy in my own skin. The woman who finally caught Jack Cliff’s eye.
Ten years later, I am a more polished version of that woman. Free spirited bohemian chick became “boho chic.” Now I wear expensive, designer versions of the vintage clothes I wore then. Today I'm in leggings, a flowy, beaded tunic, a scarf, and gorgeous suede leather thigh high boots. I line my arm with jangly bracelets and bangles. I'm still finding myself, but this is the closest I've come to feeling comfortable in my body.
When I dash into the courtyard of our favorite local coffee shop, Kudu, I see that Julia is already waiting at “our” table. I slow and watch her. She is glowing and calm with a look of profound peace. Is that pregnancy glow or did she get hot sex from Peter this morning? Probably a combination of the two. Those two are all fire and passion. I can feel the heat emanating from them when I'm with them. It's almost an electrical shock.
I'm jealous. Especially after Jack's kisses the other night. I forgot what intimacy feels like and I want more. I want to make love, not fuck some random dude.
I’m happy for Julia. She’s a little over two months’ pregnant and I can be around her without anxiety. It helps that she’s in complete denial that she’s pregnant and has no signs of a baby bump. She’s in love, sarcastic, cursing like a sailor and sneaking cigarettes whenever she can. It’s easy to pretend she’s not pregnant. If she can, I can, too.
I sneak up behind her and kiss her cheek. She smiles and presses her hand to my face. “Hey there, Bella Belle. How are you? Looking gorgeous as usual, I’m sure.”
I stiffen. That’s what Jack calls me. He even said it the other night. Does Julia remember?
Julia senses my tension. “What? What did I say? Please don’t be angry.”
She’s still wary of me. I can tell she expects me to turn into a raving bitch at any moment.
I take a deep, calming breath and sit in the chair next to her. “No, I’m sorry. I’m being silly. That’s what Jack used to call me. You took me by surprise, that’s all.”
She furrows her brow and braces herself. “I'm sorry. I completely forgot. I was thinking of the boutique.”
“Julia, it’s okay. I’m not going to lose my shit.” I flash her a reassuring smile.
“Can I ask about him or is he still a forbidden topic? Have you learned anything more since you saw him in the grocery store?”
Wallace swoops in. She's wearing one of her new outfits, skinny black pants, a cool tunic tank, and an open cashmere cardigan. Her hair falls down her back in soft waves. Wait a minute. Is she wearing mascara? And lipstick?
She overheard Julia and announces, “Do you want to tell the story, or do you want me to tell my version?”
“What story? What's going on?” Julia stops and peers at Wallace, doing a classic double take. “Wallace, are you wearing make-up and a fabulous new outfit? You dressed up for brunch? Who is this gorgeous, confident woman standing before me?”
“Ask Belle. She tortured me and forced me to try a new look. Surprise!” She blushes and looks sweet.
“Torture? Ha! She loved it. You should have seen her, Julia. She posed in front of the mirror and put on a fashion show. Who knew that Wallace is a secret fashionista? Great body, great taste. She picked out perfect pieces. I swear, seeing her happy and confident made me giddy; I think I did a jig in the shop.”
“I can’t believe I missed that. I would have loved to witness both the fashion show and Belle do a jig.
“Wallace, you and Belle are two of the most stunning women I’ve ever known. You’re beautiful whatever you’re wearing. Still, I love the new look.”
“Thank you. The next step is a makeover. I'm going to cut my hair. It's time to have a hairstyle. And I want to play at Sephora.”
Julia perked up. “Please take me! You know how much I love beauty products. It's my secret pleasure. And we can look on Pinterest for hairstyles.” Julia reached for her phone. “Look, I’m sure you’ve seen this app?”
“Slow down, Julia. I promise, you both can be involved in the transition, but I’m not ready to spend Saturday brunch looking at haircuts.”
“Oh, sure. You’ll look at Belle’s porn app, but not my lifestyle app? Whatever. Choosing a new hairstyle can be just as fun as sex.” She put her phone down and laughs. “Who am I kidding? We can look at it later. Besides, you said you have a story. We need stories.”
Wallace turns to me. “Are you going to tell it, or am I?”
“If you give me a cigarette and let me order a Mimosa, you can tell it. I know you’re dying to.”
“Done.”
Julia grumbles. “Fuck. I’m jealous. This healthy lifestyle sucks. The doctor says I can have one cup of coffee a day. I’ve already exhausted my quota. Decaf cappuccino? What’s the point?”
The server brings a tray of cappuccinos and Mimosas. I light up and sigh with pleasure. “All right Wallace. Go for it.”
“What? Did you talk to him? Did you find out anything?” Julia automatically reaches for a cigarette. Wallace smacks her hand.
“Oh, hush. I know you sneaked a few when you were pregnant. One isn't going to hurt. I'm not even showing. Besides, our parents smoked when they were pregnant, and we turned out fine.”
We look at her with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, apparently we were all born addicted to nicotine,” I say. “What does the doctor say about smoking?”
“I asked. Of course, I need to quit, but she said that soon I wouldn’t crave smoking anymore. That hasn't happened yet.” She grumbles. “Don’t judge me. Please? Just one? Maybe two?”
“Your doctor is right; you’ll stop craving them soon. You found out you were pregnant early. I can’t judge. With Carter, I didn’t quit until I was almost three months along. When I was ready, it was easy. I’m not condoning it, though. We’re going to ignore you and your bad girl behav
ior.”
“Excellent.” She grabs one and inhales deeply. “Okay, bring it on. Tell me everything. I’ll just sit here quietly. Pretend I’m not even here.”
“You do need to quit, Julia. I’ll tell Peter.”
“Shut up, tattletale. I'll tell Ben that you're still smoking after all these years.”
“Y’all both need to hush. You are the worst closet smokers. You think Peter and Ben don’t know?” I roll my eyes at them.
Julia is unfazed. Wallace looks slightly ashamed. “Point taken. Let’s talk about Jack.
“So, we’re strolling down King Street, heading to Charleston Place for lunch….”
“What? I missed a fashion show, running into Jack and lunch at Charleston Place? You bitches.”
“Do you want to hear the story or not? I thought you were going to sit there quietly?”
Julia leans back and pretends to zip her lips.
“Okay, where was I?”
I can't help it. I jump in. “We saw Jack. We were laughing and walking down King Street and all of a sudden, he was there. Julia, he is beautiful. He has this hip short haircut and those distinctive denim blue eyes. He looks so stylish and cool. He's leaner, not as buff as he was during his surfer days. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, and a tight ass. He must look gorgeous naked. Tall and lean in a gorgeous slim cut black suit with an open-collared white dress shirt. Damn. He looks hot, and he smells delicious and expensive.”
“Belle gave the performance of a lifetime. Girl, you really did miss your calling as an actress.
“Julia, you should have seen her. Sugar wouldn’t have melted in her mouth. All sweetness and light, while getting in a few great digs. I swear she was channeling Scarlett O’Hara. Belle, the perfect Southern belle.
“He has officially moved back. He joined the design and architecture firm on Broad Street. And he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.”
Julia frowns. “Wait. Jack is living here? What about the kid you saw?”
“All he told us was that he’d been back a month, which we know is a lie, and that he’s staying with his parents until he finds a place of his own. The kid? Who knows? That did not come up. It wasn't exactly a deep conversation. Wallace noticed details while I was a babbling fool.
