No Need to Ask (6 page)

“What’s happening on Saturday?” Trudy asked in a teasing voice.

“You’re helping me finish up here,” Jillian said, not bothering to keep the delight out of her voice. “And to pay you back, you can take me shopping. Suddenly, I think my life is going to need some new clothes.”

“Finally! Okay, gotta go get Ms. Bitch into these pants.”

Jillian hung up and tucked her phone into her back pocket, her brow furrowed. Maisy had been avoiding her since their talk. Jillian had been so busy with Ethan’s loft and distracted by him, she’d almost forgotten how hurt she’d been by Maisy taking credit for her work.

“Whatever,” Jillian said with a shrug, and got back to work.

****

Jillian pulled into her driveway and rushed into the side door that led into the kitchen of her small but cozy duplex.

She’d moved into it after she and Owen had split, thinking it would just be temporary. The lack of space had forced her to pare down her belongings, but it had turned out to be a cathartic process. The one thing she hadn’t quite managed to rid herself of was her ex-husband.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jillian said, rushing into the kitchen. She stopped short when she saw it was empty and there was no evidence of the promised dinner. “Owen?”

Owen leaned against the doorway that separated it from the living room. “You sound like you were expecting someone else.”

Jillian, momentarily taken aback at the sight of her ex-husband, tried to hide her dismay. “I was. What are you doing here?”

“You never minded me dropping by before,” he said with a cruel twist to his mouth. “Did I ruin your dinner plans?”

“Yes, you did. And guess what, Owen. I do mind.” Jillian couldn’t hide her annoyance, even though she knew it would feed into his sense of being in control of the situation, and, to some degree, of her. “Where’s Ethan?”

“Gone. He seemed like an easy-going kind of guy.” Owen moved toward her, but not so fast as to startle her. “I’m sure he won’t mind sharing. We could even arrange something where both of us could enjoy you at the same time. But, as your husband, I get dibs on where I put it in first.”

“
Ex-husband
. This isn’t a game or a joke, Owen. This is my private life, which I’d like to keep that way,” she said as she reached for her phone. She had no idea what Owen had said to Ethan, but she knew it wouldn’t have been anything a new lover would want to hear from an old one. “You should leave.”

“Don’t be like that, Jilly,” Owen said in a tone that implied Jillian was in the wrong instead of him. “Who is this guy anyway?”

“Why do you care?” Jillian slammed her phone on the counter. “I don’t ask about the women you’re sleeping with.”

“So you
are
fucking him,” Owen sneered. “He wouldn’t come out and admit it.”

“It’s called being a decent person,” she snapped at him. “Not that you would know.”

“I know a lot about you, Jillian,” Owen said, smiling ruefully at her. “Like how you love it when I spank your ass when you’re on top. Has he done that for you? If you want me to give him some pointers, let me know. We’ll grab a beer and talk about how my wife likes to be fucked.”

“Shut up and get out!” Jillian brushed past him to open the kitchen door. Owen grabbed her wrist and pulled her, roughly, to him. “Let go, Owen. This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not laughing,” he said as he lowered his lips toward hers and backed her toward the kitchen counter. “Are you laughing? Who’s laughing?”

“Quit it, Owen.” Jillian turned her face away and felt his mouth on her neck. “I’m going to knee you in the balls.”

Owen laughed and was about to speak when Jillian’s knee, as promised, connected with his crotch. She stepped over him as he writhed on the floor.

“You fucking bitch,” he moaned.

Jillian gasped as his hand shot out to grab her ankle. He tugged on her, trying to upset her balance. She grabbed the counter, aware that if he got her on the floor, she wouldn’t be getting up for a while.

“Let go!” She kicked her leg, but he tightened his grip.

“Hello?” Trudy called from the hallway. “Jillian?”

“In here!” Jillian was shocked at the obvious sound of fear in her voice. Owen released her ankle and she gave him a sharp kick in the ribs before hurrying toward Trudy.

“Are you okay?” Trudy asked. Her voice was heavy with concern. “What’s going on?”

“Owen is here and he tried to—” Jillian jumped as she heard the kitchen door slam closed. She looked at her friend and felt tears come to her eyes. She took a breath to calm herself but instead broke out into sobs.

Trudy’s arms instinctively opened to embrace Jillian. “Do you want me to call the police?”

“No, no.” Jillian, holding Trudy’s hand, walked back into the empty kitchen and quickly locked the door. “Can I stay over at your place tonight?”

“Of course you can. We’ll pack you a bag and we’ll go,” Trudy said. “Come on.”

“First, I have to call a locksmith.” Jillian wiped the tears from her eyes, knowing that Owen would be the cause of more before things were sorted out.

****

Jillian sat behind the counter as Ives tutted over their cooling cups of tea. She’d gone to Habitat on her lunch break with no intention of sharing her relationship woes. But when Ives had mentioned that Ethan’s bill had already been settled, it was all it took for her to break into a fresh bout of tears.

“He’ll get in touch,” Ives said, echoing Trudy’s words from the night before. “He was clearly besotted with you.”

While Ives sounded sympathetic, Trudy had been annoyed with Ethan for not returning Jillian’s calls. And when they found out he’d left town, Jillian had to restrain her friend from booking a ticket to New York to give him a kick in the balls to knock some sense into him.

 “Who knows what Owen said to him? And knowing Owen, it couldn’t have been fun to hear,” Jillian said with a watery hiccup.

“Owen is not a gentleman,” Ives sniffed disdainfully. “Ethan will see through the ruse. Give him time.”

“It’s the one thing I don’t have.” Jillian sighed as she stood up. As miserable as she was, Jillian knew sorting through a new shipment would be a welcome distraction. “I promised Ethan I’d be done by tomorrow and whether he’s here to see his loft or not, I’m delivering on that promise.”

****

Jillian arranged the pillows on the
Maisy York
bedroom set, consulting her notes to make sure it was the exact number that had been there during the morning shoot.

After lunch, and a consultation with her life coach, Maisy had decided she didn’t like the pajamas Trudy had put her in and demanded a reshoot with her wearing a clingy slip. She had barricaded herself in her dressing room, refusing to come out until Trudy presented her with the perfect one.

Jillian set a glass of water on the nightstand next to a copy of
One Hundred Years of Solitude
, the novel Maisy York as her character, Maisy York, had been “reading” on the show for much of the season, after pretending to read it in real life.

“Are you Jillian?” An unfamiliar production assistant hovered by the fake window.

“Yeah.” Jillian recognized the stressed-out look and assumed she’d been assigned to Maisy duty. “Do you need something?”

“Ms. York wants me to give you this.” She held out a sleek black box from Net-A-Porter and a sealed envelope though the nonexistent pane of glass. “I can’t come back until you give me an answer.”

“Have a seat.” Jillian gestured toward the cozy arm chair as she settled herself on the foot of the bed. “Just be careful about moving anything.”

“No. Thank you. I have to wait for your answer.”

“Okay, then.” Jillian opened the box, moved aside the tissue and found a cheerfully-colored silk print Marni scarf. “Pretty.”

“There’s a note,” the production assistant said, her eyes glued to Maisy’s closed dressing room door.

“I’d better read it, then, because we both know the scarf wasn’t the point of this,” Jillian sighed. She quickly scanned the note, looked up at the almost distraught girl and then read it again. “Is she fucking serious? She wants me to
help
her design a charity room for an auction? After she screwed me over the last time I
helped
her?”

“That’s not an answer,” the production assistant yelped. “You
have
to say yes. She won’t let me have my car keys back until you say yes.”

Jillian twirled the scarf around her fist. She looked over at the PA who was on verge of tears. “I don’t have to say yes, but I will.”

Seven

Jillian sat in the passenger seat of Trudy’s car, balancing a tray of coffee and various baked goods. Even though it had been only eight days since she’d met Ethan and seven since she’d started his loft, she felt like she’d lived a lifetime. She still hadn’t heard from him, but it was her deadline day and she wanted to finish and leave his key.

“It’s just common sense that laptops get hot and a hot laptop on his lap will curdle his spunk,” Trudy said, continuing a steady stream of comforting chatter. “Everyone knows that. So I got him this wedge-type thing that keeps it off of his lap and away from his balls. You know those? Anyway, big surprise, he refuses to use it.”

“You don’t want your future baby coming from curdled spunk,” Jillian said as she stared straight ahead. She was more nervous than melancholy. Despite everything that had happened between her and Ethan (and Ethan and Owen), Jillian wanted Ethan to fall in love with what she’d done to his loft.

“So are you going to tell me about this Maisy thing or do I have to pretend I already didn’t squeeze the details out of that production assistant?” Trudy stopped at a yellow light, rather than run it, a block away from Ethan’s loft.

“I made Maisy sign a design contract—a real one—and got a check for everything she owed me for doing her house. Her PR agency has me on speed dial so I can approve any releases that go out on the project. And I get extra tickets so I expect you and Valerie to take the night off and come with me.” Jillian smiled, remembering how good it had felt to come to Maisy’s dressing room with a clear advantage over the star. “Should I have asked for more?”

“It’s a start,” Trudy nodded. “Once you get your website up, she can tape a glowing testimonial about your decorating genius.”

“Good idea.” Jillian felt her stomach tighten as Trudy pulled up to the underground parking garage and punched in the code. “This won’t take long.”

“I’ve got all day,” Trudy said. “Don’t worry about anything.”

“What’s there to worry about?” Jillian attempted to smile, knowing how morose she sounded. “Anything I could have worried about happening already has.”

****

His loft was perfect without looking contrived and fussed over, from the vintage Wellsville dishes stacked in the glass front cupboards to the freshly-laundered Frette sheets on the bed. Still, as Jillian stepped back to look at the bedroom, she couldn’t help frowning.

“What’s wrong?” Trudy asked, her coat already on and ready to go. “This place looks awesome. I’d live here in a second. Which is my way of saying, come over to my house and redo it again. You busy tomorrow?”

“That’s what I’m giving you for your birthday.” Jillian circled the bed and came to a stop by one of the nightstands. “I can’t deal with these lamps.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Trudy sat on the edge of the bed, checking her phone. “They’re great.”

“They are, but they’re just not perfect.”

Jillian picked one up, knowing she’d have to wipe her fingerprints off the tear-shaped, clear glass base. The simple, dark grey drum shade complemented the color scheme, but, even as good as it looked, the lamps were nothing special. She’d picked them up hoping she’d find something else, but, as with her own search for the perfect bedside lamp, it hadn’t happened.

With a sigh, she set the lamp back down and polished it with the hem of her t-shirt. “I guess they’ll have to do. Okay, I guess we’re done.”

“Um, I think there’s one more box you haven’t looked in,” Trudy said from behind her.

“Where? I went through all the closets.” Jillian looked toward the small stack of neatly broken down and stacked boxes, ready for the recycling bin, positive that everything had been unpacked and put where it belonged. “Did I miss one?”

Jillian turned around to face Trudy but instead it was Ethan who met her eyes. He stood a few feet from her, holding a new medium-sized moving box, looking as vulnerable as she’d ever seen anyone look in her life.

“I missed you,” Ethan said. “And even though I don’t deserve it, I hope you missed me to and can forgive me for being the world’s biggest jerk.”  “What are you doing here? I mean, I know what you’re doing here… I thought you had left.”

“I did and I’m sorry about the way I did. I needed, or thought I needed, to give you some space.” Ethan took a few steps toward her, still holding the box. “It took a good friend of both of ours threatening to kick me in the balls to get me to listen to what my gut and my heart told me from the second I saw you.”

It all fell into place for her at that moment. Ethan was the friend Trudy had tried to set her up with, he hadn’t shown up at Habitat just by chance, and, despite what her ex-husband may have said to him, he was back. Instead of feeling duped, Jillian was filled her to the brim with gratitude at having meddlesome friend like Trudy in her life.

“What’s that?” Jillian moved to the side of the bed, stopping to smooth out the duvet cover to give suddenly trembling hands something to do.

“That I love you,” he said in a soft voice. “And I love you even more because you pretended to work at Habitat, because you did this for me and because you are… you.”

“What am I supposed to say to that?” Jillian looked down at her hands.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he answered. “I’m sorry that I left, that I didn’t call and that I let your jerk ex-husband’s bullshitting get between us. I know what you had with him is in the past. I never should have doubted what I hope you still might feel for me. And if you never want to see or talk to me, I understand, but I want you to know that there will never be a need to ask me how I feel about you. That I love you.”