Babyland (34 page)

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Authors: Holly Chamberlin

BOOK: Babyland
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85
Blow
“A
nna.”
“Hmm?”
“Remember I told you about the San Francisco offer?”
“The what?”
I was at Jack's studio. We were reviewing the success that had been the Gott event.
“The San Francisco offer,” he said. “I told you about it last month.”
I thought for a moment. “Vaguely.” There had been so much going on in my life; some days I didn't trust myself to remember my own name. “You did mention something. Why?”
“Well, it's going through. I'm going through with it.”
I felt my stomach drop, my world bottoming out. I leaned back against the worktable and gripped its edge with both hands.
“Going through with what?” I said past the sudden roar in my head. “What are you talking about?”
Jack attempted a grin. “And you accuse me of not listening. I'm moving to the West Coast in about three weeks. I'm joining up with a small photography group. Look, I can hook you up with a good photographer in Boston so you won't be left high and dry.”
“I know other photographers,” I snapped. “I don't need your connections. Why, Jack? Why are you leaving?”
“It's not so much that I'm leaving Boston as that I'm going to San Francisco. I'm starting over.”
“Midlife crisis?” I spat and immediately regretted my words and their tone.
“If it makes you happy to think so,” he replied coldly.
“It doesn't. I'm sorry. I just don't understand.”
“Do you have to?”
“I'm your friend. I would like to understand.”
Jack sat at his desk and swiveled around to face me.
“Maybe there is nothing to understand,” he said. “Maybe I'm just going. No big motivation. Just time for a change of scenery.”
I said, “I'll believe that the day I get a tattoo of George W. on my forehead. Don't be an ass, Jack.”
For a while the conversation went dead. Jack swiveled back to his computer; I stood and stared at the wall. Why, I thought desperately, hadn't I told him how I feel? Maybe it would have made him stay in Boston. But maybe it wouldn't have. If Jack didn't have feelings for me in return—and it was clear he didn't, since he was planning to move across country in just over two weeks!—what would I have gained by revealing my secret? Nothing except embarrassment.
I looked then at the back of Jack's head, his dark wavy hair, his strong shoulders. I could tell him now, I thought. I could ask him not to go. I could beg him ...
Jack swore under his breath, damning Photoshop, which had just crashed again. And then I thought, Face it, Anna, it's too late. You missed your chance. You can't tell Jack now that you're in love with him. It would be totally unfair. He's made his plans. Don't make a mess of everything.
“What about your work?” I said, suddenly. “Your own work. What about that project you're working on, those nudes I saw?”
“What about them?”
“Don't be obtuse. I thought—”
Jack looked over his shoulder at me. “You thought what?”
I threw my hands in the air and groaned. I think it was the first time I'd ever done that. “I don't know what I thought,” I admitted. “I guess I thought you might be spending more time on your own work and less on the business. But I guess you can't do that when you're starting up with a new group.”
Jack swiveled around to me again and shrugged. “I guess not.”
“What is it then?” I challenged. “Do you have friends in San Francisco?”
“No.”
“Family?”
“No. I've never even been there.”
I put my fingers to my temples as if I had a headache. It was another unfamiliar dramatic gesture. Where were they coming from? “You're relocating to a city you've never even visited! Jack, that's insane!”
Jack waited a beat before replying. “Anna,” he said calmly, “people in San Francisco speak English. California is part of the United States of America. It's not as if I'm moving to some remote Maui village.”
“But what if you hate it? What if you get out there and start the new job and buy an apartment and then, suddenly, you find yourself pining for the Northeast?”
Jack laughed. “First of all, I'm not the pining type. Second, if I hate San Francisco, and I don't think I will, I'll either suck it up or move on.”
I think I might have gone temporarily insane.
“I get it,” I said, with the same conviction as if I'd just discovered, without a doubt, that the Earth was round. “There's an old girlfriend. That's why you're going to San Francisco. You're having an early midlife crisis and you're running off to California to dye your hair blond, buy a red convertible, and win back the only woman you ever loved.”
Jack looked at me with a strange expression on his face. “Nothing,” he said, “could be further from the truth.”
Once again he turned back to his computer.
“Don't ask me to be supportive of this, Jack.”
Without looking away from his work Jack said, “I'm not asking you for anything, Anna.”
I left shortly after. Jack had made it perfectly clear. It didn't matter what I thought. He was going whether I liked it or not.
86
Leap
M
aybe, I thought, I should get an aquarium. The companionship might be nice. Or maybe even that small, nondestructive dog Ross and I had considered adopting. Someone to greet me each morning. Someone to love.
But it wasn't in me then to make the commitment. Face it, Anna, I told myself. The fish will up and die and the dog will up and run away, and you'll be left all alone to mourn. Again. And I was so, so tired of loss.
Loss. I had to come to terms with the fact that Jack was leaving or go insane.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
I burst into the studio. The door swung back against the wall with a metallic crash.
“You used to call before you came by,” Jack said laconically, over his shoulder.
I did used to call, I realized. I used to do a lot of things differently.
“I have an idea,” I said, “and I want you to hear me out before you say no. Okay? Please?”
Jack saved whatever it was he was working on and swiveled around in his chair to face me. “Fine. What's your idea?”
“I'd like to mount a show, something small but important.”
“And?” Jack grinned up at me annoyingly. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Don't be dense,” I snapped. “I want to mount a show of your work. Some older works, some new; I'll leave the content up to you, and I don't know a lot about hanging photographs, but I'll learn or I'll hire someone to hang the show. I want to do this, Jack. A show before you leave Boston. Think of it as a farewell if you want, I don't care. What do you think?”
Jack was unnaturally still. It almost frightened me. I continued to stand before him, although it was tempting to collapse into a chair.
“I leave in two weeks,” he said, finally.
“I know. It won't be easy. I have to get a space first and—”
“I'm not good at being the center of attention.”
I smiled. At least he hadn't said no. Yet. “So be the socially awkward artist and stand in the corner.”
Jack twisted the mechanical pencil he held in his hands. “Anna, look, give me some time to think about this.”
My enthusiasm deflated. The adrenaline just flooded from my body. “You mean, no thanks.”
“I mean, give me some time to think about this.”
“We don't have a lot of time—”
Jack cut me off. “I'm aware. And I know you're aware of the fact that if you push me you'll only damage your cause.”
“I know,” I said. “I'm sorry.” I checked my watch, unnecessarily. I had no other place I needed to be. “Look, I've got to run. Just—just let me know.”
Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I thought as I clumped down the metal stairs to the lobby. Only weeks ago my life was all planned out. Now? I had no idea what was to become of me or of my life.
The phone rang at eleven o'clock that night. It was Jack. I hesitated to take the call. Why not let voice mail record Jack's negative answer for me? And then I lifted the receiver.
“Hi,” I said, flatly.
“Okay.”
Truly, it took a moment for this to register.
“What?” I finally snapped. “You mean yes, you'll let me do this? You'll let me put together a show for you?”
“That's what ‘okay' means. Yes. Go ahead. Just answer this one question for me.”
“Okay.”
“This show is partly for you too, isn't it?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “It is.” I waited for Jack to mock. He didn't.
“So,” he asked, tone brisk, “what's next?”
“You mean, what's first. I've got so much to do!”
“Leave me out of the details, okay? Like should we have beer and wine and should we have a fruit platter or just cheeses. You make the decisions.”
“You won't be sorry, Jack.”
Finally, he laughed. “Yeah. I've heard that before.”
“I mean it.”
There was a beat of silence before Jack said, “I know you do.”
87
In Action
S
ome people are at their best when busy. Some people flourish under pressure. Some people produce their best work when a deadline is barreling toward them. Some people rise to the occasion when their budget for a project is tight—and coming out of their own pocket.
By the following afternoon I'd rented a space in Teele Square, Somerville, from a friend of a friend of a friend; talked to the caterer; put together a preliminary guest list; enlisted Rasheed Kelly as Jack's assistant for the show; considered where and how to advertise; and begun to draft a press release.
By seven that evening I was exhausted and happy and eager for Alexandra to arrive with the Thai food. When she did, I told her about Jack's plan to leave town and about the show I'd decided to mount.
Alexandra carefully patted her mouth with a napkin before responding. “Why are you doing this?” she asked. Her eyes betrayed her concern.
I poked at the remains of my dinner and contemplated an answer. Did I really think Jack would be so grateful for my belief in him as an artist that he would fall madly in love with me and decide to stay in Boston?
Yes. No. Mounting the show was a scheme, though not a very complicated one. I just didn't have the nerve to tell Jack how I felt. I just didn't have the nerve to hear what he might have to say in return.
I pretended nonchalance. “I thought you were the one who told me I should tell Jack how I feel.”
“Tell him, not trick him.”
“I'm not tricking him,” I protested.
“But you're not being honest with him. And your motives aren't entirely altruistic. Not that anyone's ever are. Still, Anna, I'm worried you're setting yourself up for heartache.”
“I don't have any illusions,” I said. “Really. I know this is silly. But it's all I can do, Alexandra. It's all I can do.”
She leaned over and gave me a one-armed hug. “I'll help you in any way I can, of course. I'll tell my clients they just can't miss this show. Whatever you need.”
“Thanks,” I said. I fought to hold back tears.
Alexandra left. It was only eight o'clock and there was plenty of work to be done, but suddenly I felt drained of all energy. I crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. I was asleep within minutes.
88
News Flash
“R
asheed is really a sweetie,” I said. “He's so excited about helping out with the show. I told you he's coming by at three, right?”
Jack didn't respond.
“Jack? Did you hear what I said?”
“What?” Jack shoved his thick dark hair back from his forehead. I made a mental note to remind him to get a haircut before the show. “No, sorry.”
I shook my head. “I wonder if there's a way to feed you information intravenously. Maybe a shot directly into the brain. I said that Rasheed is excited to be your assistant for the show. He'll be here at three today.”
“Good. He's a good kid.”
I looked more closely at Jack. He seemed worried or preoccupied or maybe sick. “Do you feel okay?” I asked. “Are you getting a cold? I have some ibuprofen in my bag and—”
Jack cut me off. “Look, Anna,” he said, “there's something I've been wanting to tell you. No, wait, that's a lie. I never wanted to drag you into my life, but now I think that maybe I need to drag you into my life. My personal life.”
My heart began to race. This was a step in the right direction, a step toward closeness. Unless, of course, Jack was about to tell me he was getting married to Rowena or the pixie.
I attempted a carefree smile. “I guess I've dragged myself into your artistic life, haven't I?”
“Is that how you see it?” Jack looked at me musingly. “I'd like to think I welcomed you. Albeit begrudgingly.”
“Let's say it was a little of both. I pushed, you pulled, and here we are, preparing this show. We still have a lot to do, you know.”
“An unnecessary reminder.”
“Sorry. So, what is it you want—I mean, what is it you need to tell me?”
Jack perched on the edge of a worktable. “I'm hoping it will explain some things about me. I don't know if it will.”
I'd never heard Jack being so hesitant, so equivocal. It frightened me.
“Let me be the judge of that,” I said. “What is it, Jack?” Please, I thought, I can handle his getting married. Just don't let him be sick. Don't let him be dying.
“About three months ago,” he said, “I got a call from a friend, a guy I haven't seen in a few years. We keep in touch sporadically. Mostly through e-mail. Anyway, he called from L.A. He was visiting some college friends when he ran into Leslie Curtin.”
Jack looked at me steadily, waiting.
“Oh,” I said, pretending some indifference. “The woman you were once involved with.”
“Yeah. Her. Long story short, my friend found out through some other people in her circle that she has a kid. A boy, eight years old.”
I didn't get it at all. My brain felt all foggy. “Oh,” I said. “So?”
“So, Leslie and I broke up eight years ago.” Jack looked at me as if willing me to put it all together. “The boy could be mine, Anna.”
“He could be yours,” I repeated stupidly. “Or he could not be yours.”
Jack's eyes held mine. “It's likely,” he repeated, “that I'm the boy's father.”
It was terribly important at that moment for me to play devil's advocate.
“But you have no proof,” I insisted. “Right? It's entirely possible you're not the boy's father. I don't mean to imply that Leslie cheated on you,” I added hurriedly.
“Don't freak.” Jack smiled ruefully. “It's entirely possible Leslie did cheat on me. It's also entirely possible that she hooked up with another guy as soon as we broke up. Of course some other guy could be the father. But so could I.”
“What's his name?” I asked, as if that bit of information would tell me something significant. How, how, how did an eight-year-old boy fit into my scheme to make Jack fall in love with me? Why was life always so messy?
“Heath. I don't know, I guess it has some special significance to Leslie. Her father's name was Albert, and she hated him. She hated most of her family. There's no way she'd ever name a kid after a Curtin.”
“Heath is a nice name,” I said.
Jack shrugged. “Yeah. It's all right. Funny, when I was young I used to think that if I ever had a kid I'd name him after my father.”
“What's his name?”
“His name was James. Pretty standard stuff, not like some of the things people call their kids today. But he was a great guy. He deserved the honor of having a kid named after him.”
“But he didn't get it?” I asked, touched by Jack's respect for his father.
“He died when I was eighteen. My sister had a boy years later but she named him after some actor she had a crush on. Leonardo.”
I had to find some levity in the moment. “I think Leonardo is also the name of one of the Ninja Turtles.”
Jack frowned. “The who?”
“It doesn't matter. I'm sorry about your father.”
“Yeah,” he said shortly. “It's been a long time now.”
Clearly, that part of the conversation was closed. “If you are Heath's father,” I said, “why would Leslie keep the truth from you for all these years? And I don't understand how you didn't find out before now that she had a child. What about your mutual friends or your colleagues? Wouldn't someone have known? Wouldn't someone have told you?”
Jack got up from the worktable and began to pace slowly.
“As for why Leslie would keep Heath from me,” he said, “I don't know. I'm surprised she didn't tell me just to make me suffer. And to get some money to help pay for school, at least. Which, of course, I would have given.”
“Of course.”
“And about why no one else found out ...” Jack shook his head. “When Marc called with the news I almost didn't believe it. I wondered where she'd been hiding the boy. But then I thought about it. The few times I've seen Leslie's name or picture in an industry journal there's been no mention of her personal life. And when she left me—let's just say my friends, although few, are loyal. They cut her out of their lives. And then Marc ran into her a few months ago. When he put the facts together he began to wonder. So he gave me a call.”
I thought of Alexandra's past returning in such an unexpected way. Nothing, I thought, is ever really over. Everything we do has unending consequences.
“You must be glad he came to you with his suspicions,” I said.
“Yeah, I am. This is not easy, but no one ever said life would be.”
Maybe, I thought, ignorance isn't always bliss. I remembered the conversation Alexandra and I had about Luke's wife knowing or not knowing about the real state of her marriage.
“Now,” I said, “you have a chance to be part of Heath's life.”
“Yeah.”
“You don't seem very enthusiastic.”
Jack laughed bitterly. “Because I'm not very enthusiastic. This is not a simple situation, Anna.”
“Give me some credit, Jack,” I snapped. “I know it's not a simple situation. But how can you stand not knowing if Heath is your son? My own head feels like it's about to explode.”
Jack shoved a chair in my direction. “Sit down. I shouldn't have told you.”
I remained standing. “It was only an expression. Please, Jack, I'm fine. I'm a lot tougher than I look.”
“I guess so.”
“I know so. You've been underestimating me. It's a bad habit you have, Jack. It's part of your superiority problem. You assume you know all the answers and—”
“Please,” he said firmly. “There's no need to enumerate my flaws and foibles. I feel shitty enough as it is.”
“Oh. Sorry.” And then, “Jack, what happened with Leslie?”
Jack hesitated a moment before answering my impertinent question. “Leslie and I had been together for five years when we both applied for the same grant, only I didn't know Leslie was applying. She pretended to support me while all along she was schmoozing her way into the winner's circle. Some would say sleeping her way into the winner's circle, but I never had any hard and fast proof of that. Anyway, when she got the grant she walked out on me. I mean, just packed up her stuff and was gone. All that was left was a two-line note on the back of a grocery store receipt. And no, I'm not telling you what the note said.”
“Okay,” I said.
Jack shrugged. “So, there it is. Poor Jack Coltrane. Stabbed in the back by the woman he loved and left all alone. After that I lost steam. I lost the passion I'd had for my work. In short, Anna, I crapped out.”
“Don't say crapped out. You chose to retire from the world of art photography.”
“Same thing. And that was no one's responsibility but my own. All Leslie did in the end was leave. I chose how to handle it. Not so young and stupid.”
Not so young and heartbroken, I thought. One woman had destroyed Jack's faith in his work. Another was helping to restore it. One woman had broken his heart. Another woman ... But what did it matter? Jack was still leaving for San Francisco right after the show.
I struggled to bring my mind back to what was most important. Jack's relationship with this boy.
“You have to find out if Heath is your son,” I said. “And if he is, you have to tell him.”
“Why?” Jack challenged. “Why do I have to tell him? If I find out I'm Heath's biological father I'll figure out a way to offer some financial support. I'll set up an account in his name, something Leslie can't touch.”
“So you'd pretend to be a long-lost uncle, a modern-day fairy godfather? Jack,” I said, “you just have to find out, and if Heath is your son you just have to tell him. You owe it to yourself. You owe it to the boy.”
“Do I?” Jack challenged. “Assuming I am his father, how do I know Heath won't be better off without me? Marc told me Leslie's been with some guy for about five years now. As far as I know he hasn't officially adopted Heath, and I don't know if he and Leslie plan on getting married. But this guy, I've heard nothing bad. For all I know Heath loves him like a father. Now why would I want to crash in and screw that up?”
“Oh,” I said. “Is it also about Leslie? Are you afraid of having to deal with her?”
“Afraid?” Jack laughed. “No. Looking forward to it? Again, no. But don't accuse me of wimping out on the boy who could be my son because I despise his mother. I want this to be about Heath, not about me or about Leslie. I just don't know how to do that yet. I don't know how to get close enough to the kid and not destroy any stability he's got in his life.”
“I'm sorry,” I said. “I didn't mean to accuse you of anything cowardly. Really, Jack. And I understand your concerns. You're right. It's a tough situation. You have to tread cautiously.”
“The problem is I've never been very good at treading cautiously.”
How true. “One more thing,” I said. “Did Marc see the boy?”
“Yeah.” A quick, spontaneous smile flashed across Jack's face. “He caught a glimpse. Said he looks like my Mini-Me. Without the gray hair of course.”
“Oh,” I said eloquently. I knew then for sure that Jack was the father. I just knew.
Jack looked at me carefully. “So. I told you.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I'm glad you did.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” I checked my watch. Jack and I had been talking for almost an hour and a half. “Oh, I've got to go,” I told him. “I've got an appointment with the dentist.”
Jack grinned. “Better a guy with a drill than a guy with a closet loaded with skeletons?”
“There are more?” I asked, with some trepidation. Did Jack have a secret identity, an alias? Was Jack a member of a witness protection program? Was he the incognito leader of a crazy neo-Nazi cult?
“Actually, no,” he said, pretending regret. “People are surprised to know how clean a life I've lived.”
Twenty minutes later I was on the Red Line headed for Downtown Crossing and the dentist's office. As the train rattled along, I wondered how this new and startling piece of information would affect my life. I asked myself if my feelings for Jack had altered. No. They hadn't. I loved him, I was in love with him, and short of his revealing he was a mass murderer, those facts were not going to change.
I realized then that Alexandra was right when she said that love was simple. It was just there. It just was.
As if it mattered. I stared blindly at the row of ads across the car: adult education courses, laser surgery offers, domestic abuse hotlines, requests for volunteers for clinical trials. For all I knew, Jack Coltrane saw me as nothing more or less than a friend. Not as a lover. Not as his soul mate. Just a sometimes pushy, always reliable friend.

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