Keep Dancing (27 page)

We strolled arm-in-arm past the eclectic East Village shops; Electric Circus, Love Saves the Day, and Screaming Mimi’s, where I’d bought some of my second-hand clothes. Glancing into the window, I almost tripped over a bong dealer who’d spread his wares on a soiled tablecloth on the sidewalk.

“Let’s cut over on Third,” Vicky said. We turned the corner and went past the Hell’s Angels’ headquarters with its row of gleaming hogs parked outside. We’d been told that it was a safer route to take because muggers were afraid of them. In the daytime I liked to walk across Second, which was empty but for one long wall of ever-changing graffiti.

We ran the last few blocks to the Pyramid’s dented metal doors and ducked inside. It was too early for anything to be happening, but there was no cover charge if you got there before eleven. We took a seat, ordered three-dollar drafts, and spoke to Clarence for a few minutes. Despite his appearance—his right nostril was safety-pinned to his upper lip, giving him a permanent snarl—the bartender was a friendly guy who sometimes gave us a drink on the house.

Vicky’s green eyes glowed in the low light of the votive candles. “Are you feeling any better? You look so thin. Have you been eating?”

“It’s like all my senses have shut down. I feel pretty dead inside.” Despite myself, I choked up.

“I know it’s hard, sweetie.” She gazed at me in concern. “This is worse than when you guys broke up last fall; at least back then, you hadn’t been living together. Give it time, though. You’ll meet someone new, and Jack will become a distant memory.”

“It’s hard to picture that. Right now I feel like I’ll never get over him. I just can’t believe he decided one screw-up was reason enough to ditch me.”

“Well, it
was
a pretty big screw-up. Exacerbated by the fact that it happened in front of thousands of his fans.” Vicky took a sip of her draft and crossed her skinny legs on the bar stool. “Why don’t you call him? Maybe you can clear it up if you apologize.”

“I did try calling, the other night. He wasn’t there.” Gloomily I stared into my glass.

“Maybe you should waylay him in his building,” she suggested. “Have it out in the lobby.”

“But it would be so embarrassing if he didn’t want to see me. I’ll just try calling him again.” I aligned my beer on its cardboard coaster.

“At least Dermot won the award,” Vicky said.

“Yeah, if I can ever get this new novel out of him, next year we can nominate it for Most Procrastinated.” I managed a weak smile.

“Now, that’s a good sign. You just made a joke.” Vicky arched her eyebrows. “Keep it up, and soon you’ll be back to washing your hair every night.”

A couple of six-foot ladies came in, and we made room for them to clamber up on top of the bar. The music got louder and they started to dance. Sporting elaborate blonde beehives, faces shaven smooth under heavy foundation, they seemed much more feminine than any of the girls I knew. Vicky and I watched, in awe of the way they shimmied in their stilettos without knocking over the drinks. There seemed to be a haunted look in their eyes—or maybe in my bleak frame of mind, I was just imagining it. Perhaps they were perfectly content, waxing their chests and getting dolled up in their gowns. Maybe they were happier than most people I knew; at least they were free to express themselves.

Stella, one of the regulars, took a break and climbed down from the bar. Vicky and I pooled our dollars to buy her a Mai Tai. I always felt a little intimidated by her; she was exceedingly angular, and wore the most fantastic gear. Tonight she had on an evening gown in an eye-popping shade of puce, paired with dangly rhinestone earrings and six-inch heels. “How’s it going?” I asked.

Stella lowered her eyes, her false lashes brushing against her powdered face. “I’m a little down tonight.” She took a delicate sip of her drink. “I met the sweetest guy a few days ago, but he hasn’t called. You know how that goes.”

“We sure do,” Vicky said. “That color’s great on you.”

“Thanks. I found it at my special little place. The owner always holds things in my size.” Stella finished her drink, her Adam’s apple bobbing. Then she unwound herself from the seat, hiked up her dress, and put one heel on the stool. I held it so it wouldn’t spin, and with an agile bound, she was back on top of the bar. A guy with stiff green spikes gelled ten inches off his head took her place, his studded jacket clanking as he sat.

“Is it eleven yet?” I asked Vicky. I still hadn’t gotten my watch fixed. As if on cue, the Meat Puppets started blasting from the back room.

Vicky drained her glass. “Close enough. Let’s try to get Bruce to play something decent before midnight.”

We went to the small dance floor and found an open spot next to a bald woman with striped stockings flashing above combat boots. For a while we moved around to some songs that were so off-the-wall, it made The Slits seem like bubblegum. After that, we pogoed to the Fleshtones, Liquid Liquid, The Piranhas, and Swollen Monkeys. My love of dancing momentarily overcame my sadness, and I lost myself in the pounding rhythm.

Eventually Vicky and I left to refuel at Kiev, the all-night Polish diner on Second Avenue. It was crammed with people in dog collars and chains from CBGB, but we managed to nab a table and split an order of pierogis. Afterwards I took a cab home since it was four a.m., and I was utterly beat.

Several weeks later I was in a different cab, heading uptown. Ted had come into my office that morning with the news that Dermot was finally ready to turn in his first draft.

“He wants you to go to his apartment and pick it up.” Ted took off his glasses and gnawed the earpiece.

“Couldn’t I send a messenger?” I had tons to do, and it seemed odd to have to go to his place.

“He’s too superstitious to trust a messenger with his only copy. I know, he should have gone out and made a xerox, but we have to humor him. He said he’ll leave it downstairs with the doorman. Just keep the cab waiting while you run in, and expense the trip. Thank god he’s ready to let go of it.”

I’d finally had to admit to my boss that I didn’t have any of the book yet. Ted had been asking me daily for updates—so a lot depended on the outcome of this errand.

Zooming up Park Avenue, I looked at the yellow tulips that filled the median strip. April had arrived with warmer weather, but it had done nothing to thaw my frozen heart. I was still bitter over Jack’s not understanding my inability to be two places at once.
He’s just a spoiled rock star—used to getting what he wants, regardless of what anyone else needs
, I reminded myself.

Shaking off my gloomy thoughts, I got out at Dermot’s imposing East 84th Street building. The doorman gave me a blank look when I said I was there to pick up a package. He buzzed upstairs, and after a brief conversation, told me go up to the eighth floor. I started to reach for the house phone to ask Dermot to bring it down, but the doorman had already hung up.
I’ll tell him the cab’s waiting and I have to make it quick,
I thought as I got in the elevator.

Dermot answered my knock, looking rumpled in a wrinkled button-down shirt and khakis. His furnishings were luxurious and formal: Persian carpets, gold-framed paintings, and polished antiques. A huge desk held piles of paper massed around a big black typewriter.

“Come into my humble abode. I’ve been revising nonstop.” Dermot made as if to take my jacket, but I shook my head.

“The taxi’s waiting with the meter on. I’m just here to fetch the manuscript and go back to the office. I have a meeting in half an hour,” I lied.

Dermot frowned. “I thought we could discuss this one last issue with the plot. I’m not sure I’ve resolved it properly.”

Desperately I looked around the room for signs of the manuscript. “I can’t stay. I’ll start reading tonight, and then we can talk. Ted’s very anxious about it.” I hoped the mention of my boss would add urgency to the long-put-off delivery. I
had
to get it now; with all the delays, we were dangerously close to missing our pub date.

“Don’t worry. It’s right here.” Dermot moved aside to indicate a suspiciously thin manila envelope resting on the desk.

“Is that…all of it?”
Please tell me it’s not
, I thought.
Maybe he’s divided it into two packages
.

Dermot crossed his arms. “It’s a little less weighty than my last couple of novels, but I think that’s the way of the world these days. I’ve noticed some very slim books hitting the bestseller list.”

This looked more like a novella to me—but I’d take what I could get. “I’m dying to dive in,” I said, reaching for it.

“Hold on. First, a little reward for all my hard work.” Dermot took my outstretched hand and pulled me toward him. To my shock, he planted a big, wet kiss on my lips. He tried to force his tongue in my mouth as I struggled against him.

“Dermot!” I broke away. “I’m not—I’m your editor!” I fumbled for words that would flatter him. “You’re our most important author. I would never do anything to compromise our working relationship.”

He gazed at me, unperturbed. “It wouldn’t compromise a thing. Erica had no problem with it.”

God, this is a disaster!
“Tell you what. Let me take the manuscript.” I ducked around him and made a grab for it. “We’ll get it into great shape, and then we’ll see. First things first, I always say!” I gave a fake chuckle and edged away. Clutching the envelope, I backed toward the entrance. “I’m so excited! I’ll call you!” I yanked the door open and got the hell out of there.

“So it’s really that bad?” Vicky asked as I sat on my futon that night, surrounded by piles of paper. I shifted the phone to my other ear and shuffled through the pages.

“Just listen to this:
“I know you’ve wanted me from day one,” Penelope proclaimed, her velvety lips parted in a teasing smile. “And I know how to prove it.” She began unbuttoning her blouse, her nipples waving hello through the silken fabric.

“
Waving
hello? Can a nipple do that?” Vicky snorted.

“That’s not the worst of it. You’d think this was written by a horny tenth-grader. I don’t know what’s happened to him; his first novel won all kinds of awards. And the last one was Novel of the Year—unfortunately for me.”

“Are you going to tell Ted it stinks?” she asked.

“No, because then he’d just hand it over to Erica. Who apparently slept with Dermot before Ted dumped him on me.”

“Get out of here! Really?” Even Vicky was surprised—and nothing shocked her.

“According to Dermot.” I stacked the pages next to me. “Anyway, I guess I’m going to have to really dig in and rewrite it.”

“Maybe
you’ll
win the Book Award next year,” she said.

“Highly doubtful.”

A little after midnight, I was just turning off my reading lamp when the phone rang. I figured it was Dot; she’d been calling more often lately, wanting to make sure I was okay.

“Hello,” I said sleepily, settling back on the futon.

“Julia. It’s Jack.”

An electric current zipped through me at the sound of his voice.
What is he calling about?
The selfish bastard!
Then the pathetic thought crept in:
Does he miss me?

Jack cleared his throat. “That detective I hired. He’s found your father.”

Waiting in Vain

For a minute, I just listened to the humming of the wires. “Are you there?” Jack said.

“I’m here.” Suddenly I was freezing. With icy hands, I pulled the covers up to my chest.

“Listen, Julia. Regardless of what’s gone on between us, you’ve got to go. You may never have a chance to see him again.”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business anymore.” My voice wavered.

“That may be true.” Jack’s tone was cool, as if he was talking to an acquaintance. “But I thought I should let you know.”

I wanted to scream,
Why did you dump me over one stupid mistake?
But I controlled myself. “I’ll think about it. Where is he?”

“He’s in Richmond, Virginia. Paul Nash, 5748 Pine Street. He’s been living there for a while.”

I shut my eyes.
All this time, my Dad was only a few states away.
The hurt seemed just as fresh as when he’d first walked out. But maybe Jack was right; maybe it would do me good to confront him.
What is there to lose?
I thought.
Everything else has gone up in smoke.
“Okay, give me his number.”

Jack cleared his throat. “The detective said it’s best if he arranges the meeting. I’ll come along too, just in case it falls apart. It’s my fault this whole thing got started.”

“The only way it could fall apart is if he doesn’t want to see me in the first place. Which is entirely possible.” Tears sprang to my eyes, not only due to thoughts of my father. I couldn’t believe Jack and I were finally talking, but not saying anything about us. As if we were merely two people who had once known each other, but had happened to drift apart.

“Let’s take it one step at a time,” he said. “I’ll have the guy arrange a place to meet him in Richmond.”

What right does he have to get involved in my life, if he doesn’t love me anymore?
“I don’t want you to come. I can do it alone.”

“I’ll stay out of your way. I should be there if you need anything, since I’ve been pushing you to do it.”

So he just sees it as an obligation he has to fulfill. A dead weight to get off his back
. The last reserves of resistance drained out of me.
I guess if he’s so set on going, he can sit in a hotel room somewhere while I’m meeting my father
, I told myself. “All right. But there’s really no reason for you to come.”

“I’ll let you know when it’s arranged. You might keep the next few weekends free.”

I felt like saying,
As if all of my weekends haven’t been free!
Despite Vicky’s offer to fix me up with a blind date, I had no desire to meet anyone new. “I’ll keep them open.”