Forgive Me (25 page)

S
o tell me about Vegas,” Jason says as he walks into my empty house on Hamilton Street.

“What do you want to know?” I’m guessing he wants to know nothing, but is compelled to know everything.

“Did you have fun?” he asks, suspicious of my aloofness.

“Don’t you always have fun when you go to Vegas? The entire city was conceived with amusement in mind.”

“Annie, what is going on?” he asks, and I realize why I never lie. I am terrible at keeping something from him, especially something he is obviously going to find out about anyway.

I push him back into the couch and he doesn’t move at all. I sigh at my concrete wall. “Sit down,” I instruct and he laughs before giving in and sitting. I stand in front of him and take off my boots and pants. His face changes, morphing from happiness to anticipation. I smile weakly, expecting the worst, which he notices and furrows his brow.

“Before I take off my sweatshirt I want you to promise me you won’t freak out,” I plead. Jason rubs his jaw but remains silent. I lift my sweatshirt over my head and watch as his eyes take in my breasts and rest there, and then travel down. I can see the blood rushing to the surface of his skin and see his fist clench. I bite my top lip, wishing the next ten minutes were already over.

“Annie, what did you do? You branded yourself?”

“It’s just a tattoo,” I say, already combating his over-the-top reaction.

“Your initials were permanently affixed to your skin by some guy with a needle in Nevada,” he says, and pulls my naked body to him. A chill runs through me as he wraps his hands around my backside and tilts my hip toward him. He is within inches of the tattoo and reminds me of the closeness of the artist, which I’m sure will be the worst part of this conversation. He runs his thumb across the still sore tattoo.

“It’s still healing. It’s going to take a few more days before it returns to its original glory.”

“Were you naked when he did this?”

“No.” I roll my eyes. “I pulled my pants down on one side. The rest of me was completely clothed. He couldn’t see anything and believe me, in Vegas, I didn’t have anything all that interesting to see.”

Jason continues to study it, a pissed off expression taking over his face.

“It’s a mermaid’s tail,” I say, and he studies it again. “In the shape of my initials. It’s just like you to see me first. Most people only see the mermaid’s tail.”

“Most people?” he screams and the tides turn back to the typhoon that was approaching.

“Julia, Jenn, Margo, Violet, Sydney; most people. Of course I showed my friends. All females. You’re the only guy who’s seen it.”

“Who will ever see it?” he asks, and I can’t think of a person, but I’m assuming this was a rhetorical question. “It’s like you get off on pissing me off,” he says, and I can hear him calming slightly. I exhale.

“On the contrary. A weaker person might actually let the fear of your wrath ruin their fun, but I persevere.” It’s not easy, constantly preparing for the storm that is Jason Leer.

“Do you like it?” I ask, collecting my courage.

“Do I like my girlfriend’s new tattoo that she pulled her pants down low to get?” he says, and I push him back on the couch and climb on top of him. I grab his face in my hands and force his eyes off my hip.

“Yes. Do you like it? Since you’re the only person that’s going to see it from now on, it means a lot that you like it,” I say, and kiss him. I can feel him on the back of my thigh forgetting about the tattoo and pull myself closer to him. I would climb inside of him if I could.

“It’s going to take me some time to get used to it. You’re going to have to stay naked until your roommates come back in three days.”

“That sounds like a deal,” I say, and kiss him. “I want you to be comfortable, so if me being naked for days on end is what it takes for you to be comfortable, I’ll sacrifice for you.”

“Sacrifice, huh?”

“You are a horrible burden, Jason Leer,” I say, and kiss him for being him and for surprising me by barely yelling at all, and because the anticipation of what he is about to do to my body would make a condemned woman smile.

He walks around my room and my eyes remind my body exactly what he does to me. Jason Leer drives me wild. He lingers at the mirror resting on my bureau and examines the Mardi Gras beads hanging on the corner of it. He turns to me, his lips pursed, his mood soured. I should probably leave them in New Jersey when I head to Oklahoma.

I lift the covers on my tiny bed and beckon him to me. Jason walks over and takes up almost every inch of space in it. I roll on top of him and lay my head on his chest and I listen to the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard, Jason Leer’s heart beating.

“Jason,” I say. I’ve been waiting for the perfect time to ask him and it’s not going to get better than right now. “I want to take you to New York tomorrow,” I say, and wait for him to complain.

“Okay, Annie,” he says, and I can hear him smiling in his voice. “You can take me to New York City on one condition.” I lift my head to see what he’s talking about. “You don’t get your hopes up that I’ll move there,” he says, and I rest my head back on his chest. I was worried he wouldn’t even visit with me. Not in my wildest dreams is Jason Leer moving to New York City.

I spend the rest of the day trying to figure out what to do on our day trip to New York. Every detail I consider. Is the train going to confirm every worry he’s ever had? Is my driving into the city going to scare him more? Should he see Times Square or will the sight of the Naked Cowboy push him over the edge? I know I’m getting only one shot at this apple.

We head out as soon as the morning commute has cleared. I decide to drive in, saving myself the analysis of every detail of my commute from the New Brunswick train station to Penn Station. I suspect Jason is on to me when he mentions wanting to experience my typical day, but I ignore him.

Jason’s shocked to see we park in midtown just forty-five minutes after leaving Hamilton Street. I hand over my keys to the parking garage attendant and collect Jason, who’s already looking up at the buildings on the edge of the sidewalk. I slip my hand into his and we turn right at the next corner.

“I want to take you to my office,” I say, and he raises his eyebrows.

“What? Are you surprised?”

“Yes, but I don’t know why,” he says. He’s patient and relaxed and each time we’re bumped or beeped at I turn to him worried he’s already tired of the city, but he gives nothing away but mild curiosity.

We walk into the lobby of the building that houses Robertson’s Reports, a survey creation and interpretation company, and I explain that we don’t own the entire building, just some of the floors. This is a new concept for Jason, but what isn’t here? We pass through security and Jason starts toward the lower elevator bank. I steer him toward the set marked Floors 35–64. Now he’s completely confused.

“There are so many people that come in and out of the building at the same time, it makes the process more efficient if we designate elevators. Those in that bank,” I point to the set he was about to enter, “won’t go all the way up to my floor.”

“What floor are you on?” he asks, fascinated.

“The fifty-fifth.” This is going well. The city seems absurdly peaceful with him here. The door opens to the lobby and I show Jason the view from the window. It faces the street and the buildings on the other side. We’re so high, it’s a vantage point we probably won’t get the rest of the day. Jason smirks as he takes in the view.

“I see why you are always so shocked by how flat it is in Oklahoma.”

“Crazy, isn’t it? Can you believe this is less than two hours from Salem County?”

“I can’t believe it’s on the same planet.”

We walk into the receptionist area and are met by the shrill voice of Renee following her big boobs in their march toward us.

“All right! The fucking cowboy came to the city,” she says, and looks around to confirm we’re alone. She smiles widely at me and I beam with pride. “You’re twice as smokin’ hot as Charlotte here describes you. I’m Renee,” she says, and holds out her hand as she gives him her best side glance. Jason can’t hold back the laughter as he shakes her hand. You really can’t properly explain Renee to someone; she needs to be experienced to understand.

“Pleased to meet ya,” Jason says, I think playing into the western bit a little.

“Please tell me that you brought another cowboy to ride with you.”

“Renee!” I yell.

“Sorry, sorry. It must be a terrible burden fucking the virgin Charlotte,” she directs at Jason, and he looks at me with sex in his eyes.

“It is,” he says, and I know it’s time to save us.

“Is Bruce here?” I ask as I pull my employee badge out of my bag and open the security door behind her desk.

“He is,” she says, still not taking her eyes off Jason. It must be the hat.

I show Jason around my windowless office and he’s satisfied with his representation. I have three pictures of him around my computer and my calendar print out is littered with Oklahoma State’s academic calendar and rodeo schedule. He sits in my chair and stares at me and I wish he could be here with me every day I work.

“Charlotte,” Bruce comes in and stands too close to me.

“Hi Bruce, I want you to meet my boyfriend, Jason. I’m showing him around the city today.” Bruce looks up and notices Jason at my desk. He doesn’t miss a beat as he warmly offers his hand to Jason who shakes it as if sending a message.

“Well, I’ve got a meeting in ten. Enjoy the rest of spring break. I’ll see you Monday?”

“I’ll be here,” I say, and Jason looks as if he’s biting his tongue. The thought of his tongue makes me want to throw him on the desk and rip his shirt off.

We have lunch at the pub with the best burgers I know of. Jason even admits they’re good. The bar is dark and quiet, and I again revel in having Jason all to myself. I hold his hands when the waitress takes our plates and wonder if he’ll ever tell me what he really thinks of the city. Or maybe I’m hoping he never does.

We stop at a newsstand and pick up drinks and newspapers. I get a magazine I never have time to read and we head south. It’s an unusually warm day so we walk to Bryant Park and lay out the sheet I brought. We waste the last sunny hours of the day lying on each other and reading. It’s a strange respite from the city. The two of us floating in the center of the park as the epicenter of the world produces around us. A few times we share what we’re reading, but mostly it’s enough to be touching, his head resting on me as we read.

Jason’s head becomes heavy on my stomach so I sit up and shift it to my lap. I lean back on my hands and admire the architecture surrounding Bryant Park. I’m facing east toward the New York Public Library. Someone told me when it was built it was the largest marble structure ever attempted in the United States. It’s no less impressive today. To my left is the W.R. Grace building, which somehow slopes down as if it’s made from water instead of glass, and to my right stands my favorite building in all of New York City, the American Radiator Building. It’s now home to the Bryant Park Hotel. The black brick and gold accents must harbor some dark and romantic stories. I look down at my dark and romantic story and he’s staring at me, his silent gaze full of love and appreciation.

“What?” I ask, and run my hand through his hair. Jason rolls toward me and sits up to face me. I wish I could capture his gray eyes and keep him here, in the city, forever.

“You’re so happy here,” he says, and lightly kisses my lips.

“I’m happy wherever you are,” I say, dismissing the city even as the American Radiator Building stalks above me belying my words. Jason kisses me again and looks at the hotel, too.

“That’s your favorite?” he asks, nodding to the hotel. I’m now used to him knowing everything, no longer surprised by his ability to read me.

“You’re my favorite,” I say, and kiss him again.

When the sun wanes, we move to the Southwest Porch. I order us beers before joining Jason in the hanging porch swing. We watch the employed return home to their families as the lights of the city turn on, and swing in our tiny corner of Bryant Park.

“It’s not that different from Oklahoma, you know?” he asks, and I practically spit out my beer.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” I say.

“There’s cattle being moved for several different means of profit,” Jason observes. I look at the people walking on the street, stopping at the lights when directed, and moving forward again.

“The burgers are good,” he says, and I beam with pride.

“And the girls are beautiful,” Jason concludes, and kisses me on the lips. The chill runs down me and back up again.

“I feel beautiful,” I say, again warming under his stare.

“You should. No one could love you more, Annie O’Brien.”

“They might call me by my name, though.”

“Annie is your name,” he says, and I roll my eyes before resting my head on his shoulder once again.

I
t’s been four weeks since Jason and I were in New York and a peace has settled between us. No longer is the city something that belongs to me alone; he shared it with me and created some shared understanding that settles us. It’s been a lonely, but tranquil month.

The weather finally breaks for good and we have warm afternoons greeting us as we file out of our skyscrapers. Julia and I meet as often as possible for happy hour and take the train back to New Brunswick together. Today is different, though. Jenn and Margo are flying in and we rented a hotel room. Tonight’s happy hour could last until brunch. Since March, when we all met in Vegas for spring break, Margo and Jenn have been dying to come to the city. And now that they are, it’s better than a birthday.

Julia and I check into the hotel and head to the lobby bar for drinks. We’re almost done with our second martinis when Jenn rolls in, followed by Margo within forty minutes of each other. They run their stuff up to the rooms and we’re off.

We stop in the first bar we see for food and beers to take the edge off and devise a plan. Something touristy to remember the city by is in order. We head to Rockefeller Center and do the Top of the Rock. The sun has already set; the view is magnificent.

“It’s hard to believe this is all resting on an island, and unbelievably we don’t sink,” I say, looking out at the enormous steel structures.

“Oh, I think lots of people sink here, Charlotte. It’s just not in your nature,” Margo says, and I see the city in a different light. It’s seven-thirty and I know there’s someone out there already too drunk, and the person that just got fired is sitting next to them. The betrayed, the abandoned, and the forgotten. The homeless man begging for money to take back to his homeless wife. A mother dying, and a drug addict buying. I look at the twinkling lights of the buildings beneath me and am in awe of life.

Why am I on the top of the world this second and others are not?
Why did my parents die?
How is it possible that I can be happy for even a moment without them? I think of Jason. I didn’t sink because he pulled me up when they left. He held me there until I could stand on my own. He saved me.

I take a picture of the skyline with my phone and text it to him with the caption:
I’m on top of the world and all I can think of is how happy I am because of you.

He’ll probably write back some ridiculous statement about safety and asking all kinds of questions about our plans for the night. Julia recruits a man to take our picture with the skyline behind us, a shot I’m sure will not turn out but I’ll cherish it anyway, and we bid farewell to the view.

“Well, that concludes our tour today, girls. Now it’s depravity time,” Julia says as we take the stairs to the subway and take the M train to Broadway–Lafayette, leaving the workday far behind. We go to the Swift Bar in NOHO on Renee’s recommendation. She said, “It’s like a finger up the ass. The first time you’re a little hesitant and then you just keep going back.” Julia wasn’t exactly sold on the recommendation, but I explained Renee’s relationship with the English language and she agreed to try it. Renee promised to meet us there later.

The Swift Bar welcomes us with two hanging baskets confirming spring has indeed sprung. We walk into a beautiful, quaint room with wood paneling and a long bar. There are chalk boards advertising the endless selection of great beers, and warmth emitting from all the patrons. It’s decidedly not midtown. We walk to the back where there are long wooden tables and booths made from church pews and a pulpit.
Now this is the type of church I can attend.

We settle on a table, and Jenn and I order the $12 oysters and Guinness special. Julia and Margo cozy up to beers the waiter recommended based on their favorite flavors while the cool night air is trapped behind the walls leaving us to perfection. We toast to Manhattan, and I add “to good friends that last a lifetime,” and then we drink.

We drink our way through three rounds.

A table of beautifully dressed late–twenties sits down next to us and as we bask in our pew, we overhear them pine over the lost real estate market. While New York is apparently still an expensive place to live, there are some deals currently on the market they haven’t seen the likes of since they’ve been in the business. The more they drink, the greater their angst, the more enticing the sales pitch.

“We really should buy something,” I say, and Julia laughs as if it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

“Like a Statue of Liberty snow globe?” she asks.

“No. An apartment. Someplace we can come and hang out in. Or maybe stay over instead of trudging home on the train.” I lean back in my chair and take in the bar. No one here is rushing to take a train home. Staying in the city, living here, is a gift. Even if I’d only be taking advantage of it once in a while. “Where are you going to go come May?”

“I haven’t figured it out yet. I can stay in New Brunswick, but that’s still temporary. I was considering Hoboken. The rents are cheaper than the city, and the commute is better than New Brunswick.”

“We should buy something and when I come to visit I’ll have a place to call home, too. We don’t have to keep it forever. Just until the market recovers. Then we can sell it for a profit. Use the money as a down payment on a colonial somewhere near the carpool line.”

“God. This is depressing,” Jenn says. “Not the New York part, but do we have to discuss kids? I’m far too young; just a child myself,” she says demurely.

“Are you growing a money tree in Oklahoma that you haven’t told me about?” Julia asks, and the mention of Oklahoma sobers me and dampens my thoughts of real estate purchases.

“I have a huge settlement from my parents’ accident.” My voice loses its excitement. “But it’s probably a crazy idea.”

“How huge?” Julia asks, still not believing me.

“Sean and I each got 7.5 million plus our inheritance,” I say, and they put down their glasses and blink their eyes at me.

“Seven-point-five million dollars?” Margo asks.

“Yeah. Apparently it’s expensive to have your employee high on drugs and killing people in a work truck.”

“Well, that changes things,” Julia says, and looks at the candles surrounding us.

“It changes everything,” I say, and order another Guinness.

Renee tumbles into the Swift Bar around one, astounded we’re still here. Our plan was to find a new place, but this one seemed to have everything a girl could want. The food was inviting, the drinks were kind, the atmosphere was delicious, and the boys were strong. Or whatever; by now I’m starting to feel it, all of it.

“What are you ’hos doing here?” she asks, and I’m confused since she recommended the bar. “This is NOHO. You all should be checking out SOMEHOES, or maybe FOURHOES.” Renee is cracking herself up. I give her a hug and head to the bathroom.

When I come back Renee’s explaining to the others, “Now all we have to do is convince this brainwashed bitch to pull off the cuffs and the blindfold and take advantage of the job.”

“Talking about me?” I joke, assuming they are not.

“Yes, you ’hobag,” she starts. “As the receptionist I happen to be entitled to some early information about a job posting that I think you would be perfect for. In fact, it’s basically the exact same thing you’re doing now.” I look at her, confused.

“Apparently, you’re doing such an awesome-ass job Bruce has decided he needs someone to make his dick look this big for all of eternity.”

“What?” I ask, trying to decipher her rant.

“He’s going to post your job and I want you to apply for it.” I take a deep breath, finally understanding. I signal the waiter we need another round.

I can’t take a job in New York City.

I’m moving to Oklahoma.

I wake up on the very edge of the bed with Julia pressed up against me. She has ninety percent of the bed and she’s at least six inches shorter than me. Life is not about proportions. I grab my phone from my bag and see the tiny number four in the envelope icon and I dread pressing the screen. I don’t think I called last night. I usually call when I get home, but not last night. I scrunch up my face to brace myself and open one eye to read the messages.

The last one punches me in the face and I swallow the fist down to my stomach. Oh God, what did we say? There is a very real possibility we were belligerent. And what am I going to say now to get me out of this? I set the phone on the table and go to the bathroom. When I come back I slide in on Julia’s side and now have more than half the bed to fall back asleep. I’ll save dealing with Jason for when I’m rested, or at least not so hung over I want to jump out a window.

We head to brunch and I try to piece together our night.

“What did we say to him?” Margo’s eyes widen and she blows air out of her puffed out cheeks and I can tell she’s hiding something. “I know you remember something, Margo. Tell me, now.”

“I don’t know if I dreamt this or actually remember it, but I think Renee might have made up a song she was singing loudly as you were trying to talk to him.”

“Oh God. No.”

“Oklahoma, has no boner,” Jenn sings as she holds her glass of ice water to her forehead and continues to squint through her sunglasses.

“So New York should be home to the stoner,” Margo continues and I hide my head in my hands.

“Fuck the cowboy, fuck the horse,” Julia picks up. “’Cause Charlotte only comes in the back of a Porsche. Maybe? Or something like that.”

“I want to die.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. He’s probably on his way here to kill you,” Jenn concludes.

“What about the job, though? What did he hear about that?” I ask, now frantic.

“I don’t know.”

“Me either.”

“You’re fucked,” Julia closes the conversation as our eggs are delivered.

Jason doesn’t take my calls, which I would find juvenile, but songwriting while drunk is not exactly the picture of maturity. I chastise Renee when I get to work on Monday and she seems completely unaffected.

“If he can’t take a little fucking humor after thirteen rounds, he’s not the cowboy for my girl,” she says, and I realize I’m getting nowhere. I hide in my office and try to sort it all out in my mind. I asked Julia if she wants to buy an apartment. Renee told me Bruce is about to post my job. Both of which I may have shared with my slightly insecure boyfriend in Oklahoma while drunk, and singing.

I bring up my calendar on my computer and see Thursday’s rodeo is at Oklahoma Panhandle State University in Guymon.
Where the hell is that?
I type it into Google maps and discover it is in fact, in the panhandle of Oklahoma.
Brilliant, Charlotte.
It’s almost five hours from Stillwater. Shockingly, there are no direct flights to Guymon from Newark.

I text Harlan.

I take a deep breath and exhale.

I’m going to have to fly into Tulsa and ride with Jason to Guymon. Which means I am going to have to take off Thursday and Friday of this week. Which means I now have to talk to Bruce and ask for the first two days off I’ve ever asked for.

I hear Bruce walk into his office and listen to his messages on speaker phone. I wait until he has deleted them all and walk in.

“Charlotte, just who I wanted to talk to. Come in.” I take a seat in the chair in front of his desk and my stomach knots. “Before we get to that, what can I do for you?”

“For me?”

“You did just come in here for something, didn’t you?” he asks, looking through his top drawer for something.

“I need to take off Thursday and Friday,” I say, and the words sound absurd coming from my mouth. I don’t take days off. Especially not days used to go make up with my boyfriend who is pissed at me.

“Wow. I didn’t see that coming. Is everything okay?”

“Yes. It’s my boyfriend’s last rodeo of the season, and this weekend I realized I don’t want to miss it.” I say, and it’s very close to the truth.

“Okay. Take it off,” Bruce says as if it’s absolutely no big deal. Which I guess it’s not since Robertson’s doesn’t actually pay me any money.

“Thanks.” I start to get up.

“Whoa, wait one minute,” he says, and hands me a packet of papers stapled together.

“What’s this?”

“Something to read on the plane. It’s a job I’m about to post that I think you’re perfect for. I want you to interview for it,” he says, and I want to drop the papers like burning cinders.

“Bruce,” I start searching for the words to come out of my mouth. “My future plans are not exactly definite, especially when it comes to location.” Bruce raises his hand, halting me.