"What are you two planning?" Jacques walked into the apartment, wearing a ripped gray t-shirt and jeans with bare feet sticking out from beneath their frayed hems. Hair still damp at the ends from the shower, he dropped a pack of cigarettes on the counter before sniffing the air. "Coffee? I hope it's strong. I didn't sleep well last night."
She smiled at him, immediately wishing it were a weekend and they were alone. He raked his gaze over tight running clothes before locking his eyes with hers.
"God, you two are like newlyweds or bunnies or something." Kevin reached behind her for one of the to-go cups she kept handy and filled it with coffee. "As roommates—"
"You are not our roommate," Jacques interrupted with a wink at her.
"We need to set up rules." Kevin attached the lid to the to-go cup while she typed the requested information into his iPad. "This," he motioned to the discarded clothing in the middle of the room, "makes a roommate very uncomfortable."
"How does this make you feel?" Jacques pulled her to him and kissed her slowly. "You look beautiful this morning."
"Disgusted, that's how it makes me feel." Kevin took the iPad and tucked it beneath his arm. "I need a raise for hazard pay."
Jacques moved his hands from her waist to her breasts while laughing against her ear.
"I'm serious. If I am going to put up with this crap, I need a twenty percent raise." Kevin sighed and walked toward the stairs. "I'm not joking. Twenty percent, Jacques!"
"Five," Jacques countered before whispering in her ear, "I'm sorry I was an ass. I didn't mean it. We're not doomed."
"Fifteen and a paid vacation." Kevin lingered on the bottom step.
"Ten and maybe I'll let you have a vacation."
Kevin met her gaze over Jacques' shoulder and smiled before resuming his walk up the stairs. "It's a deal. I'll put it in writing and sign your name to it later. I've got things to do."
She stepped from the embrace. "I need to go."
"Mmm...I am looking forward to Sunday." He smoothed his hands down her arms while she slipped on her shoes.
"Why Sunday?"
"My show will be over, our visitors will be gone, and you won't need to go to work. We can spend the entire day in bed." He swayed toward her, a devilish gleam in his eyes. "Or we can lock the door and just walk around naked."
She fisted her hands in his hair, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him again. "Are you sure Simone won't have you on a short leash?"
"That's not funny." His smile faded.
"It's true isn't it?"
She sighed and pushed away from him, unwilling to argue when she had no idea when she would see him again. When her phone rang, she picked it up when she saw that it was the hospital and turned her back on him. The day needed to get underway, but she would fantasize about Sunday.
Marc loomed in the doorway of her office, making the morning that much more awkward. He grinned when she approached, his gaze moving over her with too much possessiveness for her liking.
She walked past him and stopped at the sight of roses resting in a crystal vase in the middle of her desk. "What are these?"
"A peace offering."
Her skin crawled. "Too little, too late. I know you set my mom up. You put something in that car."
He strolled behind her and sat in the chair facing her desk while she adjusted the flowers to the side of the desk, sat down, and flicked on her computer without looking him in the eye. When he remained silent, she surrendered by sneaking a peek in his direction.
Unsmiling, he watched her through narrowed eyes. "Where did we go so wrong, Mori?"
"Does the word arson mean anything to you?" she whispered, but the word carried in the silence of her office.
"I did what I needed to do to get Sincore here."
"So you admit it?"
"I don't admit anything...but I always get what I want, you know that."
"Because you're a spoiled brat whose family goes way back in New England history, but that's it." She folded her arms on the top of her desk. "Is all this because I got the promotion and you didn't?"
He shook his head and looked around her office. "I saw the news about Jacques. Does he know you were fucking me while he was fighting for his life on the other side of the world?"
Her gaze darted toward the open door as Alexa walked past and grinned. "Be quiet, we're in the office."
"What do I care? Apparently, I'm such a fuck up that you're suddenly my boss. How'd that happen anyway? You screwing Charlie on the side, too?" He stood abruptly, flattened his palms on the top of her desk, and stared into her eyes. "Fire me, boss lady. I dare you."
"I take dares very seriously, Marc. Don't push it." A muscle clenched and unclenched in her jaw. "As for the crap you stashed in my garage, it's history. You're lucky I don't turn you into the police."
"Prove it." He rubbed a rose petal between his fingertips. "How is Julie this morning? Poor thing has no self-control, does she?"
"I can't believe I thought we were friends," she said from between gritted teeth.
"We were the best of friends. I keep thinking of those plans we had for our own firm and how everyone in our life believes we make the perfect couple." He shrugged. "I was foolish enough to believe it, too. You made a mistake, Mori."
"Yes, I did, Marc. I really did." She watched him go, saw him flash his charming smile at Alexa, and felt dread settle into her chest.
* * *
He squatted in front of a photograph he had taken in Costa Rica. A six year-old boy laughed up at a waterfall, his joy and wonderment contagious.
"I knew I would find you here." Simone.
He sighed before twisting his head to look at her over his shoulder. "You're quite the jet setter these days. What'd you do? Take the redeye?"
"I make things happen." She shrugged and turned her attention to the photographs already hanging in place. "Two days until the exhibit. Are you excited?"
He shook his head and remained silent for fear of what he would say. He lifted the framed photograph and propped it against the wall. He stepped backward, attempting to envision the entire show and how the picture would fit with the others. Although the theme of his show had been chosen as discovery, he felt it would be more appropriate to call it something like 'lost' or 'trapped' to better suit his current situation.
"We have interviews lined up this afternoon and tomorrow," she said. "I have a publisher and a ghost writer who would like to meet you. We—"
"There is no we in any of this." He shot her a look that had her taking a step back. "I am cooperating only because of Ava, but the damage is done. If I had wanted to talk about that time in my life, I would have." He gestured to the photographs on the wall. "I have a habit of documenting moments."
He walked toward the back room where Kevin and Miranda talked details.
"Stop, Jacques."
He froze at her whisper that carried in the cavernous room, but he did not turn around.
"I know you think I am a monster, and I probably handled this wrong, but—"
"Probably? That is an understatement."
Silence saturated the space. He clenched his fists at his sides and wished he knew the right thing to say.
"Would you prefer it if I coordinated the schedule with Kevin?" she asked.
"Coordinate the schedule?" He turned on his heel and laughed at her politeness. "How civilized of you. Why, yes, I think it would be best if your people spoke to my people so we can get our schedules in sync to perpetuate your version of the truth."
Simone shook her head, her gaze averted to a distant spot on the wall. "You have pretended to love me for three years, what is so different about now?"
"I never pretended to love you. We were together. Period."
"I heard Jessica's mother created a scene on the street last night. She is an addict of some kind, I hear."
"Interesting that you heard that. Do you have spies following me?"
"Spies, how like you to think I would care enough to go
those lengths." Her crooked smile almost made her look approachable. "It's not important how I know things, mon cher. It is important, however, that you understand that we are people who live in a spotlight. I have a suite at the Westin. Send Kevin to Jessica's for your things because you won't be returning there for a very long time."
Short leash, Jessica's words from the morning hit him hard.
"You are manufacturing celebrity to stay relevant. How sad for you." He took one step toward her and stopped. "You are an aging model who hosts a reality show that has ratings, yes, but you know it is temporary. If you had wanted to tell everyone your sad story, you would have done it when we were released."
"You've become very mean over the years, Jacques." She preoccupied herself with straightening one of the hanging photographs.
"Blame the company I have been keeping."
Tired of this conversation, he resumed walking away from her and focusing on his showing. He had taken four of Jessica's canvases and needed to make sure he hung them perfectly so they would be in the spotlight. Out of everyone in this scenario, she and her artwork deserved celebrity.
* * *
Chapter Eighteen
Jessica nodded in agreement with everything the staff psychologist had said and signed the papers for her mother's transfer to a mental health facility in the Berkshires. It looked peaceful and had a great reputation for treating habitual offenders.
She winced at the word 'offenders,' and resented needing to send her mother away, but their situation could no longer continue. Charlie hadn't said a word about the events of the night before, for which she was grateful, but her concern had little to do with work and everything to do with being tired of uncertainty.
"I am sorry I ruined your dinner." Julie looked like hell, her blue eyes dull with a headache and remorse.
She held her mom's hand, her thumbs absently tracing the five year-old scars from the failed suicide attempt. Weariness warred with hopelessness. "We can't keep doing this, Mom."
"I didn't plan it. I wanted to meet your friends." Julie sat opposite her across the table in the hospital cafeteria. "You're so pretty, Jessica. I am so proud of you."
Jessica looked away. She had heard it all before. Julie said all of the right things at the right time. Suicide attempts, repeated lapses into addiction, bad decision making across the board...the list could no longer be ignored.
"It's always been just the two of us, Mom, and you know I love you, right?" she asked, her thumbs moving over the scarred wrist.
"I made mistakes. I haven't been a good mother, but look at you." Julie's smile trembled on her lips. "You are amazing. I must have done something right."
"I'm not amazing." She shook her head, feeling like a traitor for having signed the commitment papers. "You're going to be transferred to a mental—"
"Don't do this to me," Julie whispered.
"—Facility on the western side of the state. It's nice, Mom. Maybe you can—"
"I'll be better, I can do better, don't hide me away."
"I'm getting married." She met Julie's gaze. "I want you to be better by then. I want you to be a grandmother one day to my kids, don't you see? We need to let each other go for awhile."
"He said you would do this." Her mother's eyes hardened and she pulled her hand away.
"Who did?"
"Marc was here at lunch. He said you wanted to lock me away so you could leave with your boyfriend, said he is some kind of famous person who doesn't want to be ashamed by me."
A chill went down her spine at the words. She swallowed hard. "None of that is true, Mom. Not one word of it. Why do you believe him? Marc is not one of the good guys, not like we thought."
"I thought Marc was your boyfriend. So did he. He wanted to marry you, he said, but you stole his promotion and made him look bad. Why did you do that?" Julie leaned forward in her seat, her face twisted with confusion. "I'm proud of you, Jessica. You're a good girl, always have been, but I don't understand why you feel the need to cheat. You're too smart for that."
Crazy-making behavior, one of her former therapists had called it. That's what listening to this kind of nonsense did to her—made her crazy.
"Stop putting this on me." She folded her hands in her lap and leaned back in her chair. "It's not going to work this time, Mom. You took drugs last night. You pick up losers in bars and let them shack up in your house. You can't pay your own bills. You are an addict. Not me. I have always been here to pick up the pieces so do not try to make me feel guilty."
"You're locking me away for dancing on a street. What was I doing that was so horrible? Dancing?" Julie changed from poor victim to snide aggressor in under a minute. "And who is this man you're marrying? Why hasn't he met your mother?"
Jessica nodded to the nurse who waited near the door. She had done all she could do at this point, now she needed to let go.
Marc had been here, that troubled her for reasons she couldn't explain. They had been friends, or so she had thought. If she didn't know him after over a decade, could she really know anyone? The thought bothered her all the way home on the subway.
She glanced at the passengers around her, all very careful to avoid eye contact with anyone else, their attention focused on various electronic gadgets. When her stop came, she exited onto the pavement with the rest of the human cargo and walked in sync with the crowd to the surface.
The inside of her apartment felt different, emptier than it had ever been. She walked to the counter and grinned at the note. It read, 'Until Sunday.'
"Well, at least you left a note," she whispered before crumpling it up and tossing it into the trash.
Solitude had its perks. Naked, she sank into the steaming tub. She shoved wet hands through her hair and wondered what Jacques and Simone were doing. Water chilled. Anxiety drummed in her heart like rolls of thunder.
She wrapped her body into a terrycloth robe and slipped into bear claw slippers before stepping from the bathroom in a cloud of steam.
Scents of pizza wafted down the hall from the kitchen. Frowning, she walked down the hall.
Marc spread plates onto the table. A six-pack of Amstel Light rested on the counter, minus one. When he saw her, he arched his eyebrow and grinned as if him hanging out in her kitchen was normal.
“I used my key. I know it's been an exhausting week and I've been a pain in the ass. Consider this a peace offering.” When she didn’t move from the hallway, he leaned back in his chair. “Come on, Jessie. It’s pizza and beer. There’s no harm in that, is there?”
“You can’t just show up here.” She stepped toward him.
“I’ve been popping up unexpected for years. We’re friends, right?”
“Not anymore, no."
“I’ve been acting weird, I know. I apologize. Haven’t we known each other too long not to give each other some slack when we need it? I've been under a lot of stress, family stuff you don't know about. I let the Sincore project consume me. I'm sorry.”
She grabbed a beer and peeked into under the lid of the pizza carton. “I guess I could eat.”
He saluted her with his beer. Friends too long to not give him a chance to explain, she grinned when he widened his eyes and motioned for her to sit.
“Did you really start those fires?” she asked between bites.
“Do I look like a guy who starts fires?” He smiled his Bachelor of the Year smile.
“I'm not sure what kind of man you are anymore.”
“Truce, remember?”
“I'm being honest.” She leaned her elbows on the table. Even now with his dress shirt rolled to his elbows and unbuttoned at the neck he looked the part of a successful businessman.
She thought of the compromises she had made that had lead her further from the person she'd wanted to be. So many compromises that all of the choices blurred until she no longer remembered what she had wanted to begin with, back in the beginning as a child sketching in notebooks.
“You look all misty-eyed, what are
you thinking about?” He leaned back in his chair, gaze scrutinizing her face.
“I know you want to make peace with me but—"
“So let’s make peace, what's wrong with that?”
“I don't trust you."
“Do not ruin this.” Voice low, he shook his head slowly.
“Ruin what? I’m talking to you as—"
“Here we go. Another night ruined because of your pursuit of happiness. How’s that going by the way? I don’t see any changes. Same robe. Same apartment. Same job. Same friends. Same life. Wait,” he snapped his fingers, "yeah, you got that office with a door and pretty sweet view, didn't you?"
“Marc—"
“And Jacques, that's a change for you. Screwing him while doing whatever it was you were doing in Italy was one thing, but now he's back, isn't he? He has the exciting life, the glamorous friends, but where is he? Not here. You are all alone with your hidden artwork. It's kind of pitiful how you pretend to have it all together at work and then come home to...this.”
“Do you have a point?”
“Jacques is the one pursing the life of his dreams. He is, not you. You're sitting here in the ugliest damn robe I have ever seen eating pizza with the one friend of yours who keeps coming back time and again while your mother—the only family you have—goes off to yet another treatment facility.” He leaned forward. "Playing pretend in Italy must have felt good, but then what did you do? Have you been waiting for him, is that it? Because from what I've heard today, he's had one helluva good time since then."
“Thanks for the pizza, but it's time for you to go. I knew this was a bad idea as soon as I saw you standing in my kitchen.”
“Are you trying to hurt me? Is that your new hobby?” He pushed away from the table and strode toward her stairs. "Miranda says your artwork is going on display this weekend. You're going out of your way to make a fool of yourself so let me see these priceless pieces of genius."
“I need—"
“God help me if I forget what you need. That’s what our entire relationship has been about, your need, your wants, your life.”