Saffron Nights (16 page)

A
fter Jackson told Sanj about everything that had been happening, he leaned back in his chair and gave a low whistle.

“Listen, Jackson. It was a great fantasy to think we could sell this stuff and make a bunch of money. You and I know we both need to keep clean. And here’s the thing, my friend, if we get rid of it, you are really going to piss these people off. This is what they want, right?”

Jackson nodded. “But we can’t give it to them, obviously.”

“Maybe you should let them take it.”

“How could we do that? We don’t even know who they are.” Jackson said, pacing now.

“We think we know, right? Maybe what you do is leave the book out in your room, or Maeve’s room, where someone could obviously get it. Your problem is solved. You can get on with the business of finishing this book.”

“Maeve’s not going to go for that. She loves that it’s Chef’s book. She loved Chef. He left it to her.”

“Well, we should at least talk to her about it.”

“I don’t know. I’m not going up there. She was really angry.”

Sanj laughed. “Man, she scares the shit out of you.”

“Did you see the way she looked at me?”

“Yes, I did,” Sanj laughed again. “She just needs to cool down a bit. It will be fine.”

Jackson wished he was so certain. Maeve was fiery and passionate—maybe a bit too much. He needed to proceed with caution if anything else was going to happen between them. This morning, he was so sure the barrier between them had been lifted. He’d never felt so close to anybody in his life. Everything felt so natural—as if it was just meant to be like that. Them, together.

But after this business this morning, he was not so sure about anything, particularly Maeve. Okay yeah, he was being stupid about the coke. But did she really need to lose her temper with him like that? Jesus, who wouldn’t be at least tempted to sell it and make enough money to set themselves up for life?

Maeve. The ever-honest, ever-working, ever-good Southern girl who thinks she’s a rebel because she fucks around—and goddamn, does she ever. Clearly, she had some interesting contradictions.

In the meantime, Jackson needed to finish those photo edits and labeling this afternoon and sat in the same room they were in together last night. Most of these shots could be trashed, he thought, but some were spectacular. The one he’d taken right at dawn looking out of the valley of durian trees was mesmerizing—there was a slight mist in the air, clinging to everything. Sometimes the camera captures more than the eye.

He really liked some of the ritual and feast shots. All of those beautiful dark skin tones contrasting with the layers of colorful fabric.
Wait. Who was that?
A light-skinned woman, brown eyes, full lips. Her hair was covered with a mauve scarf, but one strand had fallen out in the picture. Blond. It was the woman he’d seen at Chef’s funeral, then again, in Hawaii. He was certain she was an addict and had gone into the bathroom during the funeral for a fix.

She was on the mountain with them? Had he been so distracted by Maeve’s illness that he didn’t notice? Why was she there? Who was this woman?

He zoomed in on her face, tried to read its expression. She wasn’t smiling. Her brows were knitted and she was looking off to the left of her. She seemed kind of worried or sad. One shoulder was kind of lifted, as if she were shrugging. She was holding a book in her other hand.

In the next shot, she was gone.

M
aeve was deep in the second draft of another essay on durian when a knock came at her door and a voice informed her that dinner was served. The afternoon had zoomed by her, as it often did when she was in the flow of her writing.

She had almost forgotten how angry she was at Jackson and Sanj until she sat down at the table with them.

“Well, she emerges,” Sanj said.

“Yeah, well, duty calls. I have work to do,” she said.

“I finished the photo edits this afternoon,” Jackson said.

“Good for you,” she said.

“No need for such ferocity, Maeve,” Sanj said and laughed. “Everything is okay. We are still at square one.”

Meaning they’d done nothing with it.

“Why haven’t you gotten rid of it, then?” she said, scooping more rice on her plate.

“Because we are trying to think through this,” Sanj replied, while Jackson was scarfing his curry.

“Meaning?”

“Someone wants this stuff badly. What happens if they find us and not the stuff?” Jackson responded. “Might be a bad scene.”

She hadn’t thought of that.

“Good curry,” she said after a moment.

“My cook here is fabulous, especially with curries,” Sanj said, then cleared his throat. “What we talked about is perhaps allowing them to find the book. Place it back in the pages—if we can—leave it out somewhere, and let them take it.”

“But Chef left the book to me, and it’s the only thing I have of his,” she said after a moment. “I don’t think I want to let it go. Besides, there’s a lot of information in there that I need for the project.”

Jackson was intent on eating. He was eating like a madman. Wasn’t looking at her at all when she spoke. She had gotten used to that before this trip. That was his usual way. It was as if nobody had ever taught him it was polite to look at people when they spoke—especially at the table. But during the trip, he had seemed to change. But maybe she was deluding herself.

“Jackson!”

“Humph?” He looked up, startled. “Um yeah. I told Sanj you wouldn’t go for it.”

“What are you thinking about over there in your own la-la land?”

He grimaced. “I’m thinking about a woman.”

Maeve dropped her fork. Did he just say that, after spending the night with her?

Sanj laughed. “Of course. But badly played, my friend.”

“Now, wait a minute before either of you jump to conclusions. There’s a woman I’ve been seeing a lot.”

“What?” Maeve said. “What woman?”

“The first time I saw her was at Chef’s funeral. I noticed her because she was, well, exquisite.”

Maeve rolled her eyes.

“And because she looked like an addict to me, and I think she even left during the service for a fix. The woman sitting next to her had this sexy lacy black shawl wrapped around her. ”

“Only you would think a shawl at a funeral is sexy,” Maeve muttered. “But, believe it or not, I noticed the shawl, too. But not the woman. “

“Get this,” Jackson said. “I’m sure I saw her in Hawaii.”

“Really?”

“She was walking down the same street as our man Snake, though they weren’t walking together.”

“And?” Sanj said.

“Well, here’s the really weird thing. She was on Ramsha Mountain at one of the public rituals.”

“What? Impossible,” Sanj said, nearly choking on his wine. “I had to pull strings to get you two permission. I can’t imagine another Westerner was there.”

“I have her picture,” Jackson said after a moment. “I saw her face when I was editing. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed her. She’s very white. And is only in one shot.”

Within moments, Sanj sent the photo file to his family and friends on the mountain and was on the phone speaking in a language Maeve couldn’t understand. Jackson was sitting in the chair, now, next to the fireplace. She was on the couch. He rarely even looked at her. Nor she at him. Maeve felt like they were circling one another, getting ready for the next round, the next step of their relationship. This is exactly why she hadn’t wanted to sleep with him. Yes, it was the best sex she’d ever had, and yes, she thought she’d seen a deeper Jackson, one she might love, but knowing he’d sell drugs was like a harsh cold wind on the fire of their passion. It could ruin everything she had worked so hard to accomplish. Why didn’t he see that? What did she really know about this man?

As she listened to Sanj, she looked out the window to avoid eye contact with Jackson. She hoped they could both pretend nothing had happened between them and pick up the pieces of this project to move on.

J
ackson had messed up. Again.

There she was, sitting on the couch, feet tucked up under her, with a lovely tilt of her right hip, so round and luscious. He dwelled on the way she felt last night as he held her there. Her soft skin. The mounds of her. He would dwell within her forever. But the same fire in her erupting in bed scared the shit out of him when it turned against him. Talk about opening yourself to someone—almost completely—only to have it snapped shut by fear.

Sanj finally hung up the phone. Jackson was grateful—Sanj’s voice was beginning to annoy him because he couldn’t understand a word of what he said.

“I have my people on it,” Sanj said. “When they find out something, they’ll get back with me immediately. In the meantime, you two should check on your flights.”

“I have an idea,” Maeve said, sitting up straighter.

“Is this crazy?” she said, directing it more at Sanj. Oh well. He couldn’t blame her. “Why don’t I just call Snake up, ask to meet him, and give him the drugs?”

Sanj and Jackson looked at her as if she were crazy, their mouths both hanging open.

“I mean, my dad always said you should face a problem head-on. Don’t skirt around it, you know?”

“Absolutely not,” Jackson said. “It’s too dangerous for you. This guy is a criminal. Who knows what he’d do to you?”

“I can handle myself,” she said, looking directly at him.
Well, yes, I know that.
“Besides, you can be there, too. Right? It will all be very much out in the open. We hand him the stuff. We keep the book. Voilà.”

“I don’t know,” Sanj said. “That’s still illegal. If someone finds it on you, you’re screwed.”

“Really screwed if you’re a woman in Morocco, for Christ’s sake. You don’t want to go to prison there, Maeve.”

“I don’t want to go to prison anywhere, Jackson. But if we can’t pitch it, and we can’t go to the authorities, what else do we do?”

The question hung in the air while they all three considered it. Well, Jackson was trying to think, really he was. But images of Maeve, the feeling of Maeve, from last night were tripping him up. The last sunlight of the day was streaming in the window. He rose from his chair and paced in front of the fireplace. If he moved, maybe he could stay on track, not think about her, as she sat there looking over his pictures on his laptop, which he had left on the table.

“Is this her?” Maeve said. “Is this the woman?”

Jackson nodded.

“I’ve seen her, too. I saw her on the plane to Italy,” Maeve said. “How weird.”

He sat down next to her. “Are you certain she was on the same plane with you and Snake?”

“Yes. She sat right across the aisle from me. He wasn’t with her. He was sitting somewhere else, I mean.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean much, these days,” Sanj said. “Was Everidge at Chef’s funeral?”

Maeve shrugged.

“I didn’t notice anybody but the women,” Jackson said and grinned. “There were a lot of beautiful older women there. Some younger ones. But mostly older. I thought it was kind of strange.”

“Leave it to you to notice the women,” Maeve said and rolled her eyes.

“Well, my friend, you are getting in deeper and deeper trouble,” Sanj said and laughed.

“Sorry. I’m a man, and men notice women,” he said and placed his hand on Maeve’s thigh.

“Good for you,” she said, shoving his hand away. “And I notice men, as well. I didn’t see Snake. But then again I wasn’t looking for him. Nor was I sizing up potential lays. After all, I was at a funeral and was distraught.”

Ouch. Did she not think he was upset about Paul? The fact he was noticing women didn’t mean he wasn’t grieving for Paul in his own way. The loss was searing and difficult to think about. But it was even more difficult to see Maeve and Alice grieving that day. If only she knew how uncomfortable he felt with the whole scene. He didn’t know if he was saying or doing the right thing. He was just a photographer from the Bronx. A child of a small-time hood and a drug dealer embarrassed constantly by his parents while he was growing up. His mother’s drunken visits to his school. His father’s arrests in the papers. The constant teasing from the other kids.

And why was he thinking about all this now, sitting on a couch in India next to Maeve? He didn’t really know—and he didn’t really want to find out. Maeve had begun to unthread something in him last night.

“So what should we do?” Sanj said.

“I say we sleep on it,” Maeve said, walking up the stairs already, looking directly at Jackson. “I am exhausted.”

N
aked under her cool sheets, Maeve tossed and turned, trying not to think about Snake, the mysterious blonde, and the cocaine—or the man—in the next room. If she wasn’t so pleasantly sore and deliciously unraveled, she might have thought last night was a dream. Well, even if it was, she had awakened to a nightmare today, which kept getting worse and worse.

She’d love to call Jennifer and have a long chat. Jennifer was always practical and helped to sort through Maeve’s fiery emotions. But she was certain conversations were easily listened to over cell phones—especially in India. They had been warned about a lack of privacy. So she really didn’t feel comfortable e-mailing this information to anybody.

When she closed her eyes, Jackson’s face, scent, skin, body wrapped around hers, taunted her. She half-hoped he would at least try to come into her room tonight. But she knew he would not. He’d gotten the picture—loud and clear—she was certain of it. How could she have been so stupid as to sleep with Jackson? She wanted to place a pillow over her head and hide.

But the thing is, while it was all happening, it felt as if it was supposed to be, as if they were meant for one another. The first time they were together, she was distraught, having just found out about Alice. It filled an emotional need.

But last night? It must have been the drugs. She was no angel, but she’d never done cocaine before and so she had nothing to really compare it to. Clearly, she wasn’t thinking, just feeling—and feeling way too good, way too intense for it to make sense.

The next morning, she awoke slowly as ever and padded to her shower; when she entered her room, a coffeepot with a cup and container of cream had been placed on her table. Damn, she could get used to this lifestyle.

She dressed and drank coffee, then rushed down to breakfast to see Sanj and Jackson eating over their laptops at the table.

“Good morning,” Sanj said.

“G’morning,” she said. “Oh God, those rolls smell heavenly.”

“We heard from the publisher this morning,” Jackson said. “They are getting antsy and want us on the next plane to Morocco.”

“Which is?”

“Tomorrow,” Jackson said. “I told them I had no work left here to do, really, but that you might. I’m not sure. Where are you?”

She bit into the cinnamon pastry and nearly swooned. “I am in heaven.”

Sanj laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, it’s good,” Jackson said. “But about the research and the writing?”

“I’ve gotten most of it done—or at least the first drafts done. I have everything I need. So, as many happy wonderful memories I have here, not, I am SO ready to go.”

Jackson looked at her questioningly, biting his lip.

“Wrong answer,” Sanj said. “We think you have another interview. Jackson will go ahead without you and take our little package with him.”

“Absolutely not,” she said. “I think it’s a better idea for us to make copies of the book and just hand it over to Snake.”

“But we still have to get it through customs and if anybody should be caught with it, it should be me,” Jackson said. “I’m a man. Morocco is not friendly to women, especially Western women with cocaine and an attitude.”

Maeve was floored. Was he prepared to take the heat for her? If either one of them should get arrested it would be more than unpleasant. She couldn’t let him do that for her. Especially since they were no longer sleeping together. It was just a fling and oh so unfortunate that they happened to be colleagues. But still, she was mature enough to handle this in an “okay, we made a mistake, let’s move on” kind of way. Was he?

She’d have to control her hormones. Having him around was like having the richest chocolate she’d ever tasted dangled in front of her face—and not being allowed to eat it. She just had to focus on what an ass he could be. That should do it. Selling drugs, indeed.

“Well, that could be said about most of the world,” Sanj said and smiled. “I was shocked by the status of American women.”

“Look, can we get back to the issue at hand? Now is not the time to discuss global issues for women,” Maeve said. “I’m sure it’s fascinating and all that, but I’ve got work to do. And suddenly it seems we’ve become smugglers.”

“We?”

“If you think I’m staying in India one more minute than what is absolutely necessary, you are out of your mind,” Maeve said. “Now, what is the plan?”