Our firm is just a few blocks away. I enjoy being outside, even for a brief walk, having lost most of my weekend at the office. When I get in, Marie hands me some messages and a couple of letters she’s put on letterhead for me. Marie functions as our legal secretary and receptionist. Both Jason and I can type, so we can share a secretary, and Bradley John is more proficient on the computer than all of us combined.
“Is Jason in?” I ask.
“Just got in.”
It’s mid-afternoon. He just got in? Maybe he had court. It’s not my job to keep tabs on him. But it is my job to make sure he’s pulling his weight on Arangold.
I walk down the hallway to his office and, just before I stick my head in, I hear Jason’s voice. “I’ve got tar on my feet and I can’t see,” he says. “All the birds look down and laugh at me.”
And then I smell smoke-or not smoke, but-
I poke my head in and see Jason shaking a lit match and tossing it into a styrofoam cup. He is startled when he sees me, but then he smiles at me.
“What the hell are you doing?” I say.
He chuckles and spins in his chair.
I’ve got tar on my feet and I can’t see. . All the birds look down and laugh at me.
“Just keeping myself awake,” he says.
“You’re just keeping yourself awake by lighting a match until it burns your fingers? That’s why your fingernails are black?”
“Relax, kid.”
“And what were you saying? Is that-Was that from ‘Let Me In’?”
He wags a finger at me. “Good memory. I heard it on my way in,” he says. “Stuck in my head.”
“That’s not a happy song, Jase.”
He shrugs. “Okay, next time I’ll whistle something more upbeat. Would that please you? How about something from Mary Poppins?”
I raise my eyebrows.
“What?” he says. “Don’t look at me that way. Since when have we limited our R.E.M. repertoire to happy songs?”
I raise a hand. “Okay, fine. Fine. It’s perfectly natural that you’re sitting here in the middle of the day in your office, setting your fingers on fire-”
“I’m not setting them-”
“-and singing a song about suicide.”
“-on fire, first of all. And second of all, you like the song, too. I listened to Monster on the way in to work, that’s all. Jeez.”
Enough. Surrender. I look at my watch. “I have to jump on a conference call with Rory Arangold,” I say. “Did you get my voice mail?”
Jason seems to appreciate the segue, but not so much the new topic. “I did, yeah. I did.”
“And? Are we a go on Arangold?”
“Yeah, sure.” He gives me a wide smile. “I’m on it. I’ll start on it today.”
I eye him with suspicion, not trying to hide it. But he doesn’t seem to care. His eyes drift to the window and he smiles again, even chuckles to himself.
“Are you. . drunk?” I ask.
He waves me off. “Just high on life.”
Yeah, right. The day that Jason Kolarich is high on life is the day that gravity ceases to exist.
“Okay, sport. If you’re sure. Want to get dinner tonight?”
He shakes his head. “Can’t do it, girl. Got plans.”
Jason and I have had our moments, so I’m entitled to a little ambivalence when a woman enters his life. And make no mistake, a woman has entered his life. Whenever he gets vague about his personal life-Got plans, he said-it means it’s somebody he cares about.
“Do tell,” I say.
“That court reporter? Alexa? Nice girl, it turns out.”
I saw her briefly when she stopped in a couple of weeks ago. She was striking, as I recall. And Jason, the bastard, is tall, dark, and handsome, even if he doesn’t realize it. And what court reporter personally delivers a transcript? So I guess it isn’t a grand surprise that there were fireworks.
“That’s nice to hear,” I say. I start to leave, but look back in at him. “Seriously, you’re-you’re okay?”
“Sure. I’m fine. No worries.”
He’s not fine. But I don’t comment further. Anytime I get near the subject, he swats my hand away.
You’re not his mother, I keep reminding myself. I’ve got a client and three lawyers holding on a conference call right now, waiting for me, so that will have to do for the time being.
26
Jason
Tuesday, June 18
My head pops off my pillow before my eyes even open. My heart is racing and I shake away the fading whispers of the dream, insects attacking my skin in swarms. I scratch my forearms and knuckles and palms, but it doesn’t take away the itch. I look at the clock. It’s half past four. I push myself out of bed as Alexa, lying next to me, releases a breath and moans softly. She was out with friends last night and came to my house afterward, about eleven. We had a nice hour of sex before we collapsed on the bed.
In my bathroom, I grab a pill from the box of allergy medicine. I’m getting low and will need to replenish soon.
I close my eyes and they dance beneath my eyelids. I let out a deep sigh as the warmth spreads through me. .
It’s going to be okay. I’ll figure something out. Sleep is what I need.
I crawl back to bed, hoping not to wake Alexa, but she turns over as soon as she hears me. It’s clear that she’s been awake.
“Are you all right?” she asks.
“Sure, sure.”
“That’s the second time you’ve gotten up.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah, it is. You got up at two and again just now, at four-thirty.”
“So you’re keeping tabs on me?”
She puts her hand on my chest. “Don’t say it like that. I’m just wondering if you’re in pain.”
“I’m fine.” I reach over and kiss her. “Go back to sleep.”
She nestles into me and quickly drifts off. We fit together nicely in sleep. I breathe in the fruity scent of her shampoo and run my fingers over her back as she softly moans.
I jerk awake in that same cocoon, like I never slept at all save for the dream, birds feasting on the hair on my arms, grasping tiny hairs in their beaks and yanking them off. I squint at the clock. It’s seven o’clock. I sit up in bed. My shoulders are tight. My hands are shaky and itchy. My stomach is considering a revolution. I get out of bed and walk to the bathroom for another pill.
“Morning.” Alexa walks into the bathroom rubbing her eyes, the back of her hair standing up. She is wearing a gray T-shirt of mine and silk underwear. If I were in the mood, I’d enjoy the view.
“Morning.” I put away the pills and close the cabinet.
She sits on the toilet to pee. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sure.” I splash some water on my face and look into the mirror, but quickly avert my eyes. Not good. Ghoulish and mangy.
We lie around for a while and then go downstairs to the kitchen to scrounge up breakfast. I pretty much never cook anything that doesn’t require a microwave, but I still have lots of cookware and utensils left over from when Talia was in charge of the cooking. What I lack, however, is ingredients for anything interesting like French toast or pancakes-not that I have the appetite for it, either.
“You should go back to the doctor and tell him your knee hurts,” Alexa says as she beats eggs in a pan. I do have eggs, and lots of meat, and really good coffee beans.
“My knee’s fine.”
“Okay. Whatever.” She’s doing something fancy with the eggs. I don’t want to prolong this conversation and can’t think of anything clever to say, so I walk through the great room-I actually hate that term, but that’s what they called it when I bought the place, not a living room or family room but a “great” room-and press my face against the window overlooking the street. People are walking their dogs or starting out runs. An old couple is slowly walking down the street, the man wearing a beret, the woman with her arm in a sling, casting their eyes upward at the sky, getting in their stroll before the temperatures reach sauna level.