Room for Love (25 page)

“You are known as much for your many lives as you are for your talent as an actor. Are there any surprises around the bend that you want to warn me about?” I think I detect a glint in his eye. He definitely raises his eyebrows mischievously.

“Hey,” Luke says, reaching over and turning off my recorder, “let's talk about you now.”

“What about me?” I ask, shivering slightly.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“About six years.”

“Do you love it?”

“I used to say I loved my job so much I'd do it for free, but now sometimes I think I'd like to do other things as well.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I've started writing relationship stories for a women's magazine. It's a lot of fun.”

“I see you being a great writer, Jacquie, someone people will notice,” he says, continuing to look straight into my eyes. I nod, wondering if he thinks my stomach looks fat in this skirt.

“I like you,” he says and touches my cheek. It warms under his fingers. Is this actually happening?

“I like you, too.”

Over his shoulder I see the bedroom with its fluffy duvet. The ass of the woman in the painting is bigger than mine, but next to Celine I'm gargantuan. If Luke and I had sex, he'd probably think I was a cow. What am I thinking? Luke and I are not going to have sex. Or are we?
Oh my God,
I think. And then:
Wait. I have a boyfriend.
Having one still feels new. It's been a long time since I've been with a man who trusts me and counts on me to be faithful, and even longer since I've gotten into a situation like this while I was in a relationship. Usually I only have to contend with myself, a guy (in this case, a rich, famous, astonishingly attractive and charismatic one), and the angel and the devil on my shoulders, who are bickering about how slutty I am and whether that's a good thing. Now there's all that plus a man with whom I might spend the rest of my life. Oh yeah, and one of the most beautiful women in the world, who happens to be married to the man whose thigh is now pressed up against mine. If I sleep with this guy, I'll become another notch in a movie star's bedpost and I'll freak out the whole time about how fat my butt is and whether I'm as good in bed as Celine Devereaux. But I will also have a great story to tell my friends. What's really standing in my way is the fact that I would be cheating on Anthony, and I don't cheat. Never have, never will. I just don't do it.

“You know,” Luke says, running a finger lightly along the length of my jawline. “There was a time in my life when I would have taken your hand and guided you into that room over there without a care in the world.”

My cheeks flush again. Oh my God. “You're married,” I say.

“Well, that's the problem, isn't it?” he says, his thumb and forefinger lingering at the tip of my chin. “There was a time when that wouldn't make much of a difference to me either, but I'm trying to be a better person.”

“I have a boyfriend,” I say, relieved to have said it.

“He's probably a pretty special guy.” I nod. He leans forward, puts his hands on my shoulders, and lightly brushes my lips with his. It sends a jolt through me, and I close my eyes to savor the sensation for a second before pulling away and gently encircling his wrist with my hand and shaking my head: no.

“Let's do it anyway,” he snarls, running the back of his hand down my throat and tantalizingly along the edge of my breast. This guy knows exactly what he's doing: It feels so good, I have to squeeze my thighs together to stop myself from floating away—or into his bedroom. Luke looks into my eyes with hard determination. He is trying to hypnotize me.

“I can't,” I say.

“All right, let's get out of here,” he says, and jumps up from the couch.

“That's a good idea.”

As we wait for the elevator, both of us start laughing, quietly at first and then like hyenas. “I can't believe I just had that conversation with Luke Benton,” I say.

“For a minute there, I was just a man.”

I nod.

In the elevator, he looks over at me. “What are you thinking?”

“Just wondering if I have any regrets,” I say.

“Want to go back?” he asks, his mouth widening into a lecherous grin. I push him with my hip and shake my head in mock disapproval.

“Goodbye, Luke,” I say, now in the lobby, and give him a forceful hug. Everyone at the reservations and concierge desks pretends not to be watching and wondering did we or didn't we?

Alone outside on Sixteenth Street in front of the hotel, I throw back my head and scream. An old lady holds her purse more tightly against herself. I take out my cell and call Courtney.

“Oh my God, Court! You're not gonna believe what just happened! Luke Benton hit on me! He, like, made the moves. I could have slept with him. I didn't, but I could have. He wanted to. Wow, we had this amazing connection. It's very
Celebrity,
don't you think? You know the Woody Allen movie? All alone in the movie star's bedroom and he starts making the moves. Woody did it again when Scarlett Johansson slept with that sleazy director in
Scoop.
But no, it was a real connection, more Diane Lane and that babe Olivier Martinez in
Unfaithful,
you know, wrong but impossible to ignore. I thought it was just me at first, but then it was totally mutual. Oh. My. God!”

“Jacquie!” she says. “This isn't a movie you're talking about. It's your life. And Luke Benton is married.”

“I know that, Courtney. Obviously.”

“Well, then, what are you so excited about? I don't find it interesting or sexy. I find it disgusting.”

“That's all you have to say when this gorgeous movie star just hit on me in his hotel room? Yeah, this gorgeous,
married
movie star no less. Come on, even you have to admit that's pretty friggin' cool.”

“I'm sorry, I really just don't think so. A famous actor with a reputation as an incorrigible womanizer almost cheats on his wife and you almost let him. Why? So you could tell everyone how great he is in bed? So you can say you slept with a movie star? You got him to cheat on his beautiful wife? All I can say is I'm glad you used whatever restraint you were able to muster, or I'd be sick. Jesus Christ, Jacquie, what about Anthony? What about the supposed love of your life?”

“I didn't do anything, Court. Jesus Christ, it was just kind of cool that we had this connection.”

“Well, congratulations,” she says. “You know, you are so fond of saying you're pathologically faithful, oh yes, and honest to a fault. But I'm not so sure. Sometimes I think you'd lie and cheat all the time if you knew you wouldn't get caught.”

“That's a mean thing to say.”

“Well, I'm in a bad mood and that's how it seems to me,” she says.

“I'm hanging up,” I say, and I do.

As I'm creeping along Seventh Avenue, agitated about the conversation, Clancy calls.

“Been meaning to call you,” she says. “I was out with a twenty-four-hour flu.”

“Are you okay?” I say, relieved that she wasn't blowing me off.

“Completely healed. But listen, Jacquie, I am thrilled with your piece. Not changing a word. You've got the
Luscious
voice down. It's smart, funny. I want you to do another for the next issue.”

In the back of my mind, I remember that there's something I was upset about, but the thought is easily evicted from my brain.

“I thought of another idea: how to deal with a boyfriend who's married to his work. I'll give examples from workaholic movies like
His Girl Friday, Wall Street, Kramer vs. Kramer,
stuff like that. I'll have to think of one where the husband's workaholic tendencies drive the neglected wife to cheat. Duh,
Heat
with Pacino, remember that awful scene when he walks in on her with the new guy?”

“Painful.”

“Hey, Clancy, do you think I might be able to write these regularly? I think there's an endless number of stories here.”

“Shouldn't say anything, but I am going to propose it to the editor in chief. So fresh, unlike what I've seen in the other mags. Jacquie, I think we're onto something.”

I'm bursting with excitement and want to call Anthony and tell him, but then I remember that he doesn't even know that I write for this magazine. God, the lies upon lies have become so convoluted, I can't even share this news with him any more than I can tell him I almost slept with Luke Benton. I guess I could just tell him about the workaholic assignment but he probably wouldn't be thrilled about the subject matter, and what if he started buying the magazine? I'd be screwed. Then again, he never reads my articles that he
does
know about. In any case, it's time I told him the whole story, but not while he's out of town. I have to do it in person. I have to be there to make sure he doesn't keep hating me when he starts hating me. Suddenly exhausted, I call Alicia and tell her to invite a friend to the premiere party for a Spanish film we were supposed to attend together. I can't do it.

I'm fast asleep at eleven-thirty when Anthony calls and says he can talk only for a minute because he has to head out again.

“You're obsessed with your job,” I tell him sleepily.

“What?” he asks. He sounds angry.

“You are. You're obsessed with your work.”

“Yeah, maybe I am, and what's wrong with that? I like what I do. I like to do it well. So, what's the big deal?”

“I just wish you had more time for me. I haven't seen you in such a long time and I have to take my sister to my friend's wedding.” I roll over in bed and lean on my elbow, feeling more alert now. “Even when you are in town we only see each other for five minutes before bed. I don't know when the last time was that we've even spoken about something going on in my life. Have you ever read anything I've written? It just bums me out. That's all.”

“Jacquie, I can't deal with this right now. I think I'm going to hang up before you really start pissing me off. Me and my crew are out here working our asses off and I really don't need this from you. Jesus Christ, Jacquie! You expect me to dump everything to come home for some wedding of some chick I don't even know? Show a little respect for what I do.”

“Fine,” I say. “I'm sorry.”

“Good. I gotta go.”

When he hangs up, I experience a sensation I've felt before, of grabbing aimlessly, trying to find something to hold on to before I fall. My arms and body feel heavy, as if I could sink right through the mattress. What is it with me that I always love men who are somehow out of reach? Anthony has handed me his love, his company, and his home, but he still isn't really here. He's still off somewhere without me, while I'm lying in bed alone. Yet, I was drawn to him before I knew what our life together would be like, back when he appeared only generous and loving. It's as if I subconsciously seek men who will leave me wanting more.

At some point later, I get up to pee and notice my phone flashing with a message. “Hey, baby, it's me,” the message from Anthony says. “Was that our first fight? I don't think I liked it.” He swallows hard and continues, “Hey, I was thinking maybe you could come down here for a weekend. I can take some time for myself, just as long as I'm here and on call. I think you'd have fun running around with us, too. It's a trip.” He chuckles. “Baby, it's hard for me to be away from you, too, but I'm so tired. I sorta snapped back there. All right, baby, sleep tight. Um, later. Love you.”

I hit 9 to save. It will be a good one to play when I'm feeling blue. It always cheers me up to be reminded that somebody loves me.

I fall asleep thinking about what to bring to Chicago: sneakers and cargo pants for roaming around with the crew, the black, lightly transparent halter dress Anthony loves, and my favorite slinky red Cosabella nightgown, which he hasn't seen yet—it's the perfect opportunity. I picture us rushing through the streets of Chicago on the heels of these wild, cocky teenagers whose jokes make us laugh. I imagine Anthony throwing his arm around me as dusk falls over a dank alley, where Mikey has slunk off to smooch with his skinny, bare-legged girlfriend with bewitching brown eyes. Anthony pulls me close and presses his warm lips to my forehead. “I'm so happy you were able to come down here, baby,” he says. “So happy you're seeing all this for yourself.”

11

Seeking large apartment in East Village or beyond. Overdue yet unexpected breakup has left me homeless. I have lived in the EV all my life, but might consider the right place in Brooklyn, Long Island City, open to suggestions. Ideal would be a large, raw space that can use some work. Could even go in on a building with someone if the right property comes up. Any leads, please call Zach.

I spend a good chunk of my weekend perfecting my Luke Benton piece, which reads like a tongue-in-cheek love letter—or is there such a thing as a lust letter? I'm proud of its humor, honesty, and sexual insinuation that never crosses the line of propriety. I know that Luke and his peeps will love it. I also devote some time to procrastinating. While I'm on Travelocity shopping for tickets to Chicago, Serena calls to let me know she's going out of town for a week, so Saturday I decide to run by to pick up my mail and take advantage of the trip to the city to do a yoga class. My body is crying for it, but once I'm actually in the studio on my Bubble Yum–pink sticky mat, my muscles resist nearly every pose except those that require total relaxation.

While we melt into an easy seated pose at the beginning of class, Gwin gives us the usual dose of her personal philosophy. Today she describes a documentary she saw about a group of Tibetan Buddhist monks who created elaborately decorated man-dalas out of sand only to destroy them afterward. She said that at first it was shocking to witness the destruction of breathtaking works of art that had taken many weeks to create, so contrary to our society, which believes in treasuring every artifact, every child's crayon drawing. But after watching for a while, she became hypnotized, acutely aware of the value of their actions, how in a larger sense they symbolized the Buddhist principle of nonattachment. “Challenge yourself to let go of your thoughts, your judgments, your need for people and things,” she said as we sat cross-legged in the darkened room. “What do we gain from clinging to our possessions and ideas? Is there anything we get through chasing or grasping or hoarding that's worth holding on to? See if during the next hour and a half you can move through these poses without attachment. Break a habit today. Maybe find something different in these familiar movements than you ever have before. You might discover a shift, a sparkle, just by letting go of your usual routine.”