Exposed: A Novel (23 page)

We walked down The Avenue and admired the closed shops.

“Hard to believe this was all grass and trees sometime in the past.” Jessie smiled, swaying our hands in the April breeze.

“Yeah,” I said, followed by the sound of slapping tongues as a young couple made out in front of the movie theatre. Jessie didn’t notice them. His eyes were on me. How I longed for that again. For his eyes to be so fixated on me that he didn’t see anyone else.

He led me to a bench in front of a woman’s clothing store and waved his free hand. “Sit, my lady.”

“Ah, thank you fine sir.” I laughed and hid my teeth behind a smile.

He kneeled in front of me, looked down, then back up at me. I folded my hands in my lap. Our eyes locked. My stomach waltzed again with a confused excitement.

He held my hand. “Allyson, will you marry me?”

I bit my bottom lip, laughed inside, and looked at the moon.

There’s no way he’s serious, I thought.

His left hand shook as it loosely held mine. I looked down into his expecting eyes, bright as the moon. Crickets chirped—not in that harmonious, beautiful way—more like blasting horns in the middle of a love song. Disconcerted and just plain odd. But at least something filled the awkward silence.

I didn’t know what to say. Or think. I didn’t know whether I was still falling in love or if he creeped me out. Without moving my head, my eyes shot up toward the moon then traced Orion. I tried to think of an excuse to leave.

A fit of laugher burst from Jessie’s lips. He stood in front of me, clapped his hands, and laughed so hard he ended up on one knee again, stooped over with one hand on his chest and the other on the cement.

I don’t know what my face looked like for those few minutes, but when he finally stopped laughing my eyes were dry from not blinking.

“That was awesome. I really got you.” He fought to breathe.

“Uh, yeah, that’s an understatement.” I looked at his hands. “But your hands were shaking. How’d you do that?”

He held out his hand, stiff as the bench I sat on, then it started to vibrate. “You can thank Tisch School of the Arts at NYU.”

“Well, thanks Tisch.” My ability to get him back wasn’t questioned. But he’d find out soon enough. “You’re an actor, then?”

“If you want to call it that. But not really. I took a few classes for fun, but went to school for marketing.”

“You’re finished college?”

“Yeah.” He paused. “So, did I freak you out or what?”

I put my hands on the bench and leaned forward. “I didn’t know what to think.”

“So, you don’t want to marry me then?”

“After something like that, well, no.”

The unhindered beam on his face told me he knew I was joking.

“Well, you better get home. Maybe I can win you over on our second date.”

Little did I know, it wouldn’t take a second date.

I pulled into the parking lot behind Barnes & Noble and saw rose petals all over the place. I’m not exaggerating. There were so many rose petals all over the gravel that it looked like a pink blizzard swept through the area. Well, at least part of the area, as they only covered about four car spaces and the grass where we first kissed.

I smiled.

I didn’t try to feel the romance and I didn’t shove it away when it came. But it came, fluttering about my stomach like the butterflies from the past.

I still loved him. That gentle smile of his, still the same. Those adventurous eyes, still the same. The love between us, although creased and crumpled, still had value. It still lived.

I love him, I thought. He’s still my Jessie.

Chapter 52
Taylor

Andy kept his promise. He always did.

I filmed a few more movies with him, hoping Zayta would come and whisk me away, but she dropped off the face of Jupiter, as Gianna would say.

I stopped caring about much of anything, except the baby. No matter how depressed I got, I would not get an abortion.

Andy refused to talk about the baby. I went to my second prenatal appointment with his permission, but not his enthusiasm. I even had an ultrasound that told me I was about thirteen weeks pregnant. Already out of the first trimester. And only three weeks left to legally have an abortion. I don’t know why I reminded myself that, but I did.

I returned to Andy’s house after that appointment, realizing I had three weeks to choose an abortion or choose to find out what the sex of the baby was. When I told him I made it passed the first trimester he shoved me into a humiliating photo shoot. Details aren’t necessary, just know that I was humiliated and I knew his purpose behind it. He wanted me to feel ugly and degraded, even more so than I already did, so that I’d get rid of the baby before my stomach started to grow.

I did the photos and started to walk upstairs, but Andy grabbed my arm and pulled me toward him.

“I don’t want you living here anymore,” he said.

My back and arms stiffened. I’d been waiting for those words for a long time, but they didn’t give me the relief I had hoped for. No, they made me anxious. I didn’t know the world outside of Andy. I hadn’t for months and I didn’t want to. Especially without money and a job, not to mention my soon-to-be pregnant stomach.

“I’ll do whatever you need me to do,” I said. “Don’t make me leave.”

“What am I going to do with you?” He stepped back. For the first time since I met him I saw something real in his eyes—something resembling apprehension rolling behind his half-closed eyelids. “I can’t work with a pregnant girl. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Arms crossed over my ribs, I waited for him to keep talking. Something was happening to him. The harshness that generally controlled his tongue wasn’t there. Instead, he spoke with a sullen whisper.

He shifted his weight from one leg to other, never taking his eyes off his navy Puma’s. I unfolded my arms and clasped my hands in front of me. The air waited for one of us to inhale and breathe out words, but I didn’t, and he didn’t.

Tugging on his sleeves and pulling his t-shirt down, Andy continued to rock his weight from one leg to another, and again, and again until I finally decided to say something.

“You okay?”

He leaned against the wall.

“Look,” I said. “If you want me to go, I will.”

“I don’t know what I want anymore.” A whisper so faint I could barely hear it left his lips. He then propelled himself away from the wall with his hands and walked out the door.

“What just happened?” I said to myself as I looked out the window. Andy’s car backed out of the garage, down the driveway, and out of view. No tires burning up the asphalt, no music loud enough to stir the neighbors, nothing but the quiet sound of his car swishing by.

I opened the door and sat on the front step. The leaves, still green but ready to turn colors, sailed on a cool breeze. I tucked my knees to my chest and folded my arms around them.

Andy’s whispers sauntered around my head as I watched the sky turn colors and fade to night.

When the stars showed their faces, Andy drove up the driveway, parked inside the garage, and then came out and met me on the step.

He stood in front of me. “You can stay here. But not for long. You need to figure something out.”

“Like what? What are you going to do?”

“Don’t ask questions. Just listen to me. If you want to make it in this world, figure something out and do it. I’m not going to be here much longer.”

“But where are you going?”

“I’m leaving, okay?”

“But, what am I su—”

“You’re supposed to be a big girl and figure things out for yourself. I’m not your daddy.”

“Well, you’ve sure seemed like it for the passed few months.”

Andy stood in the doorway, looking down at me with tenderness in his droopy eyes. “I’m sorry.”

I raised my eyebrows. My heart rate followed, galloping like the baby’s. I stood and touched Andy’s forearm. Maybe this was my chance to love him like he needed. Maybe he was finally ready to change.

He slid my hand off his arm. “You don’t know me.”

“Let me know you.”

He shook his head and walked inside. I followed, closed the door, and trailed his footsteps to the living room.

“Let me know you, Andy. I want to know you.”

He sat on the couch. I stood in front of him, feeling like Julia Roberts in front of Hugh Grant in
Notting Hill
, wanting to say, “I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.”

Andy leaned forward and held my hands, kissed both of them, and let them go.

A rush of life zigzagged through my body, from my hands to feet, giving me chills and flushing my body with warmth at the same time.

My hands dangled at my sides, lonely, needing his touch, his lips on my skin again.

He pulled my hand, gently, and urged me to sit beside him on the couch. Following my body, I sat down and waited for him to open his heart to me, let me in the room I’ve been dying to enter.

A clock ticked in the background, along with the buzzing of the refrigerator from the kitchen. I looked down and back up to Andy’s troubled eyes. And before the second hand made another tick, he leaned toward me and pressed his lips against mine.

More than my desires to love and change him, I needed him. His kiss, his love, his breath mixed with mine. I needed him to want me, to show me my worth, my value, and my security. Andy was the only one who could give me that.

And with each smooth kiss from his lips, I needed more.

But with one last, lingering kiss, he stood and covered his face. I straightened my posture and reached for his hand. He walked away, his kiss still damp on my lips, his breath still on my tongue.

I waited for him to come back, but he didn’t.

Just before the front door closed the door to his heart, he whimpered. And my own tears returned, full force, like the Atlantic Ocean blocked behind an enormous wall and finally set free.

Chapter 53
Ally

I parked my car near the petals and scanned the area for Jessie or some sort of clue for the next place to go, but I couldn’t see anything. So I got out of the car and walked around, kicking the petals into the air as I walked.

The beauty of grass and gravel laden with what had to be thousands of rose petals is something I will never forget. And the scent. Mmm . . . inhaling the unmistakable sweetness of roses and being surrounded by a blanket of petals. It was ethereal.

My favorite part was the grass. Blades of green poked through the pink petals, and those are my favorite colors together. So soft and bright, feminine and refreshing.

A pink rose with a note, taped to the stones where we first kissed, caught my eye. My next clue.

I peeled the tape back, smelled the rose, and turned in a circle, scanning the parking lot for Jess.

Nowhere in sight, at least not in my sight.

I unfolded the note and read:
My love, just remember in the Fall, beneath the bitter snow, lies the seed that with the sun’s love, in the spring, becomes a rose. Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me, lad. –Your Dense Husband-

I laughed. He stole lyrics from two of my favorite songs that he labeled “cheese,” and I knew exactly what the clue meant.

I scooped a bunch of rose petals into my arms and got into the car, tossing the petals all over, then I drove off toward Loch Raven Reservoir with more memories in my head.

One week from the day I met Jessie, on a Saturday, we drove around country roads listening to CDs we made titled “Soundtrack of My Life.”

We drove around Harford County and back, down Harford Road’s twist and turns, and made our way to Loch Raven while unfolding my life in music. We heard everything from The Rolling Stones to the Backstreet Boys before it was Jessie’s turn and oh boy was I in for the ride of my life, or should I say his life.

We drove over a bridge that took us over Loch Raven Reservoir. To the left the blue sky faded to pastel pinks and purples. God’s signature on our first date. The water ripples reflected God’s masterpiece, only adding to the beauty around us. I could smell wood burning, a fall scent that somehow fit the April moment.

D’yer Mak’er
by Led Zeppelin shook the speakers in the car as Jessie added to the car’s racing heartbeat by pounding on the steering wheel. In between his efforts to beat out John Bonham in an air drum contest, he explained the history of Loch Raven Dam. Boring information that I could’ve cared less about, like how it was originally constructed in 1912, to a height of 188 feet. Ten years later, they (whoever they were, I’m not sure) built it to the current height of 240 feet. I pretended to care, but truth is I was more enthralled with the man drumming on the steering wheel and singing his heart out than how the Dam was built.

I’m sure any girl would say the same.

“Now this is music,” Jessie said when the next song started. “B.B. King knows his stuff.”

“His stuff?”

“Just listen to that. Man. . . .”

Now, air guitar. I swear I thought we were about to drive into a tree. I wanted to watch Jessie, hair falling in his face, fingers sliding up and down an invisible guitar. But how could I when he was using his knee to drive with ten thousand trees on the side of the road waiting for a nice hug from his Del Sol?

“Um,” I interrupted.

Jessie turned, his knee still steering our lives toward the nearest tree.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell him to put his hands on the wheel. Too soon to be so, I don’t know, annoying. “So, tell me more about the Dam.” A wonderful divergence for a man who loves to talk about random things no one else knows.

Jessie turned the volume down. B.B. King said
goodbye
as The Beatles said
hello, hello, you say goodbye and I say hello
.

“Well,” he whispered, half-smiling. “On October 26, 1958 two men claim they saw an egg-shaped UFO a hundred feet or so above the bridge.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Dead serious. Although I don’t know how serious they were.”

“Why do you know this stuff?”

“Magic eight-ball.”

Phew, finally his hands fell to the wheel.

Jessie parked his car and looked at me.

I recognized the song playing and looked down, trying to think of where I heard it before. “Is this—”

“Yes, it’s the
Forrest Gump
theme song, but after Milli Vanilli and backstreet’s back alright, you have no room to talk.”

I shook my head, wondering if I’d lose a few pounds from all the laughing. Not that I needed to. At that age, I was thin enough to fit into my coat closet, which was very, very small. And yes, I tried.

“You’re beautiful.” Jessie interrupted my thoughts.

I blushed. “So, when do you go back to New York?”

“Oh, I just moved back home last week. Finally.”

“Are you staying here?”

“I promise.”

I smiled. “Is that a threat?”

“No. I promise. And I don’t break promises.”

Something about his sincerity pacified me. Or maybe it was the way his serious eyes loved me from across the car.

The sunset faded behind the trees. We talked. We laughed. We kissed. And I wondered why God chose me. For years I thought I was doomed to singleness, and now this man with gentleness and adventure looked me in the eyes and said, “This song is the last on the c.d. It’s for this moment, right now. The beginning of my life.”

Soft piano notes broke through the silence, distending and leveling out. At first I didn’t recognize the man’s voice, or the woman’s. Then the chorus swelled and I almost laughed, picturing Kevin Bacon in my mind, but Jessie wasn’t laughing. He loved me. I don’t know how. People thought we were crazy. Puppy love that would never last, but it wasn’t puppy love. It wasn’t infatuation. Somehow we knew.

I don’t know, maybe it was infatuation, but I knew. He knew. And that’s all that matters.

He stared at me. I stared back. The chorus to
Almost Paradise
played again.

I could see forever in his eyes.

Oh, the cheesiness. But I really, really could.

I drove over the bridge where two men supposedly saw UFO’s, picturing Jessie’s smirk as he told me that, picturing his grin now as he imagined me touring the state with his face in my mind.

Again, I spotted grass covered by rose petals, this time surrounding a tree. When I got closer, I slowed my car and parked. The tree had our initials painted on it and a note below the heart that enclosed them.

I didn’t waste any time. Forgetting about porn stars, I lunged head first into my marriage and allowed myself to be loved and to love. Fun. For the first time in too long, I allowed myself to have fun.

The note said:

My teddy bear, remember when I held you that day in September? The air was kind of like it is now, really crisp. You were upset about the meal you burned when we were having our first guests over since we got married. The smoke alarm. The tears. My arms around you. Let me hold you again. –Your Pathetic Husband-