Keep Dancing (12 page)

“I’ll do it if you take your top off,” Jack bargained. He stretched out on the mattress and put his hands behind his head.

“Deal.” I shrugged out of my blouse, leaving on my bra. I took the manuscript page with the diagram and placed it on his bare chest. “Let’s see. There are seven chakras: the crown, brow, throat, heart, solar plexus, navel, and root,” I mused, comparing the illustration to the page of text in my hand. “But here he calls it the third eye—no comments, Jack—so that has to be fixed.” I marked the page with my pen.

“People really believe this crap?” Jack asked.

“It’s huge in California. All this stuff starts out there and then spreads east, like a virus. Okay, he says the energy centers are also in the hands and feet, but he’s left that off the chart.” I made a notation on the page resting on Jack’s chest. “The channels can be blocked—”

“I think one of mine is blocked,” Jack said, starting to turn toward me.

“Hold still for a second. There are thirteen srotas or body channels: the rasa vaha srota, rakta vaha srota, mamsa vaha srota…” I looked from the text to Jack’s supine form, trying to make sense of the mumbo-jumbo.

“How do they expect you to keep all this straight?” Jack asked. “One week you’re editing a book about thinner thighs; the next, it’s this bullshit.”

“Meredith said that if I want to get ahead, it’s good to be a generalist,” I replied. “Hold on—the marmas are the pressure points. You make a gentle circular motion to release toxins.” I revolved my finger on his stomach.

“Ooh, that tickles. Hey, I have something that needs to be released.” He pointed to the bulging crotch of his jeans.

I sighed. “This is supposed to relax you. Can you try to focus on your toes now? I need to see if this pressure point aligns with your feet.”

“Sorry, baby. I’m trying, but it all seems to be going to my cock.”

“You’re hopeless,” I said, laughing.

“Actually I’m hope
ful
that you’re done with this for the night.”

“I’m almost finished. Let me just make a few more notes.” I took the chart off his chest and perched next to him.

Jack sat up and rifled through the rest of the manuscript. “This looks interesting.” He showed me a diagram.

“That’s a yoga pose. The downward dog.”

“I even like the name of it; the doggie pose. I can definitely get into that,” he said, taking the pages out of my hand. He stood up and grabbed me, turning me around and hiking up my skirt as I giggled. “My chakras are already feeling better,” he added, pulling my underwear to the side. “Now my mamma-slamma is gonna jamma into your sweet little mamsacunnahasa…”

Half an hour later, a fine sheen of sweat covered my skin. We sat perfectly still in bed, looking into one another’s eyes. My legs were wrapped snugly around Jack’s hips, his thighs supporting mine. My entire body felt like it was singing. We were pressed so close together that every time his muscles tightened, a pulsing started in my core. I gave a sharp intake of breath as another ripple surged through me.

“Did Caroline teach you this?” I gasped.

“Shhh. What does it matter?” Jack whispered. He licked a drop of sweat as it trickled down my cheek.

“Did she?” I insisted.

“Caroline couldn’t spell ‘tantric’. It was a chick from Berkeley. Now shhh.”

He pulled me even closer. I couldn’t have uttered another word.

My eyes popped open at seven-thirty. I tried to ease off the bed without waking Jack, but he reached out and grabbed me by the waist.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, locking his hands so I couldn’t get up.

I rolled over to face him. “I’m late as it is.”

“Don’t go in today. You’ve been working all hours.” I adored his British pronunciation, saying
bean
for
been
. “Why don’t you call in sick?”

“I have so much to do.” I was torn; he looked so handsome with his thick, disheveled hair and sleepy-lidded eyes, dark lashes brushing his cheekbones. I felt like kissing my way from the hollow of his neck to his nipples; running my tongue down his taut abdomen, pausing for a moment to tease him…

“Call in sick. Just once.” He sucked on my earlobe, giving me an involuntary shiver.

“I really should go in,” I breathed, picturing all the stuff piled on my desk.

“Let me call for you. What’s Harvey’s number?”

It’s so tempting to stay. After all, what can they do to me? I’m leaving in a week.

“Give me the number,” he growled. “Or I’ll have to extract it from you.”

I smiled. “Okay.” He reached for the phone and dialed as I recited it.

Jack cleared his throat. “Harvey Lowenthal, please.”

I rolled my eyes; this had to be a disaster.

“Hello. Julia’s not feeling well. Uh-huh. Very hot to the touch.” He moved his free hand down my belly and slid a finger in me. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “She probably does have some type of fever.” He made eyes at me, finger pulsing. “Yes, I’ve been giving her plenty of liquids.” Evil grin. “I’ll be sure to give her lots more hot liquids. She might be in tomorrow; don’t know yet.”

He hung up the phone. “I’ve given you lots of nice liquids this week, haven’t I?” he said, climbing on top of me. “I think he fell for it.”

I wrapped my legs around his waist. “I don’t know,
hot
liquids might have been a tipoff.”

“See, I have a vast amount that I’ve been storing up for you. And I really need to give them to you,” he said, beginning to move over me. “It’ll make us both feel muuuch better. But I don’t know how much it’ll cool you off.”

Later, hair wet from our shower, we went into the kitchen. Jack was humming the Muddy Waters tune bare-chested in his jeans as he made breakfast. I poured some juice and took a bite of my eggs, which were delicious. “It’s weird not to be at work in the middle of the week,” I said. “I’ve never played hookey before.”

“We’ve got to break you of that habit. You know what they say; all work and no play.” Jack sat down and stirred his tea.

“After what we just did, I don’t think you can say I’m ‘no play.’”

“That’s for sure.” Jack put down his spoon and looked at me. “Why don’t we get a dog today?”

“A
dog
?” I repeated.

“You said neither of us has ever taken care of one. I figure we could try.” He crossed his arms and tilted his chin in a challenge.

I thought about it for a minute.
Maybe a pet would take his mind off impregnating me.
“I guess I could take it out early in the mornings when I go for a run. Then when you get up, you could walk it again. Could we find one that’s medium-sized?”

Jack smiled. “I’m sure they’d have whatever size we want.”

On the way home from the SPCA, the large black puppy threw up twice. Rick handed me some paper towels, and I dabbed at the leather seat as Jack murmured soothingly and stroked its head. From the minute its nose poked through the bars of the cage, we’d been hooked. “Reminds me of the time I got busted,” Jack said with a grimace as he carried the dog to the waiting car. “We had to break you out, didn’t we, buddy?” The attendant had said it was a terrier mix, but given the size of its paws, I had a feeling it might be part Lab.

Inside the loft, we sat on the floor as the puppy bounded back and forth between us. Suddenly it squatted and made a big puddle. I cleaned it up as Jack hooked it to the leash. “We’ll have him trained in no time,” he said as the dog lunged into the elevator.

While Jack was out, I called Dot. We caught up for a few minutes, and I told her our latest news.

“A puppy! What for? You’re at work all day,” she exclaimed.

I wasn’t about to get into the baby thing. “Jack had a lot of dogs growing up. And he really misses Oliver, so this will sort of fill in the gap.”

“When are you going back to England? It would be good to spend more time with his mother,” she said.

“He hasn’t said when he’s going back. They’re getting ready for this big tour, and I’m joining him midway through. I only have one week off now, with the new job.”

“I’d try to get more time off, if I were you. You know all those girls will be throwing themselves at him.”

I didn’t need to be reminded of that. “I can’t ask for more. I was lucky Ted would give me a week, so soon after I start. I kind of implied I had a family commitment.”

“I guess it’s better to make your new boss happy. You don’t want to be left hanging if it doesn’t work out with Jack,” she said direly.

There she goes, always looking on the bright side
. “I’m aware of that, Mom.”

“I don’t know that living with him is such a good idea,” she continued. “You know what they say: Why buy the cow when you can get the milk?”

I pictured Jack surrounded by a bunch of mooing heifers. “I know, you’ve told me that before.”
Many times
. “But it was kind of the next step.”

“The next step would be a wedding.”

Another theme she liked to harp on. “We’ll see. And there’s something else: Jack wants me to get in touch with Dad.”

There was silence on the line. “Your father? Why?” Dot finally said.

“He thinks it would be a good idea, since I haven’t seen him in so long. I’m not sure if I’m going to, or not. But if I decide to, do you have an address for him?”

“That’s a
horrible
idea,” she said emphatically. “And I don’t have his address.”

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. “Well, I guess that takes care of that.”

“I’d tell Jack to drop it. I’ll talk to you later; I’m meeting some people at Buck’s.” She hung up before I could say goodbye.

As I cradled the receiver, something caught my eye. I went over to pick up one of the concert tickets that had fallen out of the mirror’s frame. FOUR TO THE FLOOR: LONG BEACH ARENA, Saturday July 18, 1971.
That’s the year
I was fourteen,
I realized. The year my father had left.

I stuck the ticket back into the frame and stared at my image in the mirror, wondering if he’d even recognize me anymore. I had changed a lot from that gawky, skinny girl with glasses. He’d never even seen me since I’d gotten contacts; when my eyes had come out from behind those thick lenses. Back then, I was still my insecure Pikesville self. The new me hadn’t even started to emerge—not that I was the picture of confidence now. But I
had
managed to move to New York on my own, get a job in publishing, and make my way in an incredibly tough city that could chew you up and then spit out the mangled pit. And whether from indifference or other reasons I couldn’t even imagine, my Dad had opted to miss out on all of that.
So why am I thinking of pursuing him?
I asked myself.
Just because Jack wants me to?

My father is 45 now,
I realized. He’d been 21 when he and Dot had me, and he was 35 when he left.
When he moved out, he was only two years older than Jack is now
, I realized with a start.

Just then, Jack walked in the door. I knelt and the puppy trotted over, leaving wet brown footprints in his path. “Did you have fun?” I asked as I petted its damp head.

“He’s a gas.” Jack threw his coat over a chair. “What do you want to name him? I thought maybe Bhang. Or Ozone.” He folded his long legs and sat on the floor next to me.

“I was thinking more along the lines of Othello. Or Icarus.”

“Too fancy. What about Ribsy?” Jack said. “Good boy. Down.” The puppy was standing on its hind legs, paws on his shoulders.

I looked at the wet tracks leading from the door. “What about Muddy?”

Jack lay back and the dog climbed onto his chest. “You wanna be Muddy?” he asked as it started licking his ear. “All right then.” He held the puppy’s head and looked it in the eyes. “Muddy it is.”

Color Me Impressed

“First off, welcome to Julia Nash, who’s joining us as editor.” Ted pushed his glasses up his nose and nodded in my direction.

“Thanks. It’s good to be here,” I said shyly as everyone seated at the long conference table turned toward me. I was used to a much smaller group; here, fifteen people were gathered for the weekly meeting. A few smiled, some looked indifferent, and one or two looked positively unfriendly. I’d heard that the editors at Hawtey were pretty competitive with each other; Meredith and Vicky had both warned me to watch my back. But anything would be better than being a glorified secretary to a grabby boss.

The meeting began as the editors took turns bringing up books they wanted to pursue. Ted commented after each person made his or her pitch. The atmosphere did seem less collegial; more snarky and sharky. One attractive woman in particular seemed to shoot down everyone else’s projects. When it was over, I went back to my window office, complete with a brand-new IBM Selectric typewriter and a big ficus plant. Jack, Vicky, Meredith, and Suzanne, the wife of Floor drummer Mark, had each sent me bouquets, so my room smelled like a florist’s shop. I sat behind my desk and got ready to call a long list of agents to make lunch dates.

“Julia. I’m Erica Graham.” It was the woman who’d put the kibosh on everyone’s projects. She looked to be in her early thirties, had shoulder-length brunette hair, close-set eyes, and an aquiline nose. She struck me as very cool and polished in her fitted suit and heels. “I’d heard Ted had hired someone new, but he was being secretive, for some reason.” She gave me a dismissive glance.

“Nice to meet you.” I watched as she took in my bare bookshelves.

“Did you bring any of your authors over with you?” she asked pointedly.

I started to say that I only had a few of my own, but her haughty expression made me catch myself. “They couldn’t get out of their contracts, so no. I didn’t bring anyone with me. I’m looking forward to starting with a clean slate.”

Erica seemed to consider this. “I suppose there’s something to be said for a clean slate.” She gave a little smirk as she left.

I was waiting at the elevator to go out for a deli salad, having sworn never again to eat lunch from another vending machine. A woman with curly brown hair pressed the button. “They take an eternity in these durn skyscrapers,” she said. “I’m Cathy. I’m two doors down from you, in what’s known as the manuscript graveyard.”