Chapter Eight
The Present
“Olivia? Will you come?” Caleb’s voice hangs on the other end of the line, waiting for my response. I sigh, looking around my apartment and plucking at my sweater. He wants me to come over for dinner and I feel like that would really be crossing the line. It’s not like I am virgin to crossing lines but I am trying to be a decent person. If I can keep things away from his personal life then I can make-believe that he is instigating the whole shebang.
“Seriously, Caleb, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Your girlfriend would have a breakdown if she found out. Why can’t we meet at a restaurant or something?”
“My cooking is better than any restaurant you’ve ever been to. Besides there’s more chance of her spotting us out at a restaurant than at my place.”
Unless she’s stalking you like the last time….I think bitterly.
“She didn’t have much of a problem finding my apartment,” I say sourly. “Besides, I barely know you. How prudent would it be for me to show up to a stranger’s house for dinner? You could be a ra**st for all I know.”
“Olivia, you’ve already had me over to your place and survived. I’ll open a bottle of wine…it‘ll be fun.”
“I’m not really a fun loving person.”
“It will be dangerous.”
I smile.
“I only drink red wine.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And make sure she doesn’t show up this time.”
Caleb laughs. “Really? I thought it would be nice if she came.”
We make arrangements as to what day and time and I hang up feeling anxious. I stuff my face into a pillow and groan in shame. I am in over my head.
My phone rings again. Thinking it is Caleb with a last minute detail, I snatch up the receiver.
“Hello.”
“Olivia?” It is a different voice.
“Yeeees?”
“Olivia! You sexy beast of a woman! Where have you been all my life?”
“Jim?”
“The one and only, baby. How’s life? Kicking your ass lately?”
“Hard as usual,” I say laughing, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m in town and there is nothing I want more then to spend some quality time with my dream girl.”
“Dream girl! Last time I saw you, you called me a shrew and told me I had no talent.”
“Those are just words, baby girl. Besides, you had just rejected another confession of my love for you. Give a man his verbal abuse, huh? Now, when are you free for the taking?”
Jim. Jim. The same guy I used to make a statement about my sexuality. The one I dropped like a dirty sin the moment I stole Caleb. He remained faithful. I received a call every time his work swept him past my zip code and we would have a whirlwind night of dancing or eating or whatever other guilty pleasure suited us. Then, he would leave and I was fine with that.
“How long are you in my corner?”
“Two days—three at the most. I was thinking we could go down to the Wave, get drunk, grind around on the dance floor...”
“Hmmm…sounds romantic. When can you be here?”
“Fifteen, I have to stop for some smokes.”
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll be ready.”
I hang up and smear some lipstick on my mouth. I am still thinking about Caleb and I have force myself to stop.
Tonight was just going to be Jim and me and a good time. No obsessions. I slip on a pair of black pants and a green off-the-shoulder shirt, and pull my hair into a ponytail.
Jim picks me up outside of my apartment. I hop into his car, a restored 1969 Mustang painted green with yellow racing stripes, and smile at him across the seat.
“You’re like a Percocet on a bad day, Libby,” he says, surprising me and kissing me straight on the mouth. I pull back and shake my head.
“Mmmm, I love it when you compare me to prescription drugs.” I plug in my seat belt and begin messing with the radio. Jim likes Phish and that’s practically a sin in my books, since they’re just Grateful Dead wannabee’s.
Jim winks at me and perches a cigarette between his lips. Usually, I don’t tolerate smoking—it makes me feel gritty and it doesn’t help that my mom died of cancer. But, there is something about the way Jim smokes that makes me want to watch him. I look on in anticipation as the wick of his lighter spits out a tiny tongue of fire. He lowers his cigarette to the flame and inhales. I can almost hear the tip of his camel hiss in delight as it accepts the fire. This is my favorite part—he takes a long drag, his eyelids flutter like a junkie, then he pushes the grey smoke out of his nose and it curls into the sky, like a graceful, ashen, ghost. Beautiful.
I sit back satisfied. Jim is darkly handsome. He is wearing eyeliner and jeans that cling to his body like lizard skin. His hair is shaggy and dyed black, which makes his sharp blue eyes seem almost lavender. I always thought the British accent belonged more on him than on Caleb. I fan away smoke and hum along with the final bars of an oldie my mom used to love.
“Why are you so happy tonight?” he asks, tapping an inch of cigarette ash into an empty can of Red Bull.
“There is something devastatingly wrong with the universe when you are happy enough to hum.”
He scoots his car into traffic almost hitting the bumper of the truck in front of us.
“I dunno. I just am.”
Jim raises an eyebrow.