The Book of Jane (6 page)

“Jane,” he says, pulling back and holding me by the shoulders. “It's so good to see you.”

I want to be mad at him, but I simply can't. It was rude of him to book a last-minute dinner, but as he comes around and pulls out my chair for me and is so polite, I hate myself for it, but I melt a little. He's very, very good, this guy. Oh, star quality.

“So,” I start once we're seated, “how's Chloe doing?”

He smiles. “Chloe's so great, you know? She's like this amazing person.”

“That's great. You guys seem really good for each other. And she's filming something? Or she's here in New York too?”

“She just wrapped a new Penny Marshall film and now she's at home in Maryland at her mom's.” I smile. It's so cool when stars make family time a priority.

The waitress comes and takes our drink orders, and Matt begins to tell me about his new idea for a Greek gods theme for the Strike Hunger kickoff event. Across from us, I notice two girls watching us intently. One of the women has lovely auburn hair and the other is a brunette. Hmmm, red hair must be coming back in. Then I study her closer. Have I seen her before? Maybe she's a New York party girl? She turns and catches me staring. I look away, but not before I see her smirk.

Chapter 6

T
yson stumbled
over his words when he suggested we meet in Union Square Park tonight, and he seemed really out of it when I called him to say goodnight before I went to bed last night. Of course, this means that I have to leave work early to get ready for the big night. I have to make sure I look good. This night has to be perfect.

I sneak out around four—I get in early enough that I don't feel too bad—rush home on the subway, and run up the stairs to my door. Tyson and I are meeting at six-thirty. I give Charlie a quick hug for luck. He licks my face in return.

I go into the bathroom and check out my skin. Ugh. Why is that spot still there? I can't believe this is happening tonight of all nights. I dig in my makeup bag for the pressed powder and dab it over a red patch. I could swear it's gotten bigger. Okay. There. That looks better. Then I slick on some sheer lip gloss. Ty always says he likes it when I wear the lip gloss. I check my fresh manicure. It's unchipped. I grab my digital camera from the living room, flooded with light from the skylight above. I smile as I picture my mother opening the e-mail with a photo of my bejeweled hand attached.

I open the fridge, pull out the cooling bottle of champagne, and put it in my bag. Tyson will laugh when he sees how prepared I am for the big “surprise.” But what does he expect? We talked, long ago, about getting married after a couple years, and I really like to keep things on schedule. I unlatch the lock and take one last look around my “single gal” apartment, my heart dancing. I take a deep breath, smile, and walk out the door to meet Ty.

 

“There's
something I've been meaning to talk to you about,” Tyson says, pulling his hand away from mine and turning to face me. I take a deep breath. This is it! I look around slowly, drinking it all in. The trees arch above us, creating a deep green canopy of sweet-smelling blossoms. All around us lovers laze on the neatly manicured lawn, and the dog run across the park fills the evening air with sounds of joy and life. Broadway curves behind us, and cabs whiz down the backbone of the greatest city in the world, providing the perfect urban backdrop for this fantasy moment. The skyscrapers downtown twinkle, and the night is warm, thick, and heavy, full of promise. We lie on the warm grass, nibbling the cheese I bought from the farmer's market at the north end of the park. Union Square has never been more beautiful than tonight.

Ty pushes his white-blond hair back behind his ear. He has been fidgety and nervous all evening. I smile at him, encouraging him. This is the moment I've been waiting my whole life for. A little behind schedule, but I'll take it. We're meant to be. Tyson and Jane Williams. We're so adorable it makes you want to puke.

“Jane, you're an amazing person,” he says, looking into my eyes.

I am? I smile and give myself a little pat on the back. I guess I kind of am. “Thanks,” I say and take his hands in mine.

“And we've been together for a while,” he says, taking a deep breath.

“Two years, six months, thirteen days,” I say, smiling. He looks at me, confused, then looks away.

“And in that time we've gotten to know each other very well.” He watches the skateboarders practicing their tricks on the steps at the bottom of the park.

So he's really going to do it. I guess I pictured it differently all along. He's not on one knee, he doesn't seem to have a ring…but then, it's Ty. What did I expect? This is exactly the way he'd do it. Forget all that embarrassing fuss, right?

“I agree,” I say. “I know you better than my own feet.”

He looks back to me and half-grins. I beam back at him. Jane and Ty are getting hitched, ladies and gentleman. In sickness and in health, here we come.

“Probably better than we know anybody else. And I really care about you,” he says.

“I really care about you too.”

He waits, looking away, absently putting his hands in his pockets. Go on. I hold my breath. “I've been thinking a lot recently about the kind of person I want to spend the rest of my life with.” I smile, nodding and pursing my lips. Just spit it out.

“And, well…” He looks at me, then looks away. I touch his arm softly. “Jane, I think you're going to make a great wife….” I can't contain myself anymore.

“YES!” I yell.

He stares at me, wide-eyed.

“Yes, I'll marry you!” I repeat.

“What?” he mouths weakly.

“Ty, you're perfect. It wasn't an accident that God brought you into my life. You're who I've been waiting for my entire life. I love you so much.” I reach over and pull his face toward mine, forcing him to look at me. It's so like him to be nervous. “Of course I'll marry you,” I say, leaning in to him and closing my eyes. I've known he's the one since the day we met, and I've been praying about this ever since.

“Jane, I…”

My eyes fly open.

Uh-oh.

Why is he looking at me like that?

He pulls his hands out of his pockets and places them on mine.

Oh no. Why isn't there a ring in one of them? “Ty?” I look at him. He doesn't meet my eye.

He places his hands on mine. “I was trying—I wanted to say that, well, I think you're going to make a great wife someday….” He takes a deep breath.

I look at him. He looks like he's about to pass out.

“…for somebody else.”

The words echo in my head. Despite the warm night air, a chill runs down my spine.

“What are you saying?” I ask, mouth gaping in shock.

“You're great. But I just don't think it's going to work out for us,” he says, looking down.

“What?!” I nearly yell, stunned. “You don't want to marry me?” This has to be some kind of cruel joke.

“I wish I could,” he says, pushing the stubborn lock of hair back behind his ear again. It is time for him to get it cut. I make a mental note to mention that later on. How would he ever remember things like that without me? He's always so wrapped up in his writing he forgets about practical things. “But I just don't think we're right for each other.”

“Why not?” I ask. “We're perfect for each other. Everybody says so.”

“No, we're not,” he says. “Jane, you're beautiful, and talented, and successful, and funny. But—” He breaks off. “We just don't stand a chance for long-term happiness.”

I can't even bring myself to say anything. I wait, openmouthed, for him to go on.

“You're so wrapped up in your career, and—”

“This is about my job?” I swallow hard. I will not cry.

“No, it's not just about your job,” he says slowly. “It's about your way of life. It's about—”

“I can quit,” I say. “Who cares about stupid old Matt Sherwin anyway? Someone else can deal with him, and—”

“Jane, you're not listening. It's this whole life,” he says, gesturing around. A bus honks, and I turn around to see a man peeing on a tree behind us. The deep rumble of the subway below us sounds like the earth is grumbling. The thick hot evening air, which only moments before felt full of promise, now just feels oppressive. “I can write anywhere, and now that the book is going so well, I am seriously thinking about settling down, and—”

“With me,” I say, gasping for air. “You're supposed to settle down with me.” This can't be happening. “I can work fewer hours. I'll cut back.”

“It's not just hours, Jane. It's—I want something else entirely. I want a nice quiet life somewhere where I can just write all day, and where it doesn't cost a fortune to rent a tiny apartment just to live in squalor, and where life moves slower, and…Jane, I want a family. I want kids, lots of them, and a wife who wants to take care of them—”

“I'd take care of our children!” I say, enraged. I bite my lip. I will not cry. I will not cry, but my nose begins to sting as I try to fight the tears back. This can't be happening.

“Jane.” He looks into my eyes. “Would you really give this all up?” he asks.

I look around slowly. The soft music from a radio fills the park with a low mellifluous sound. I look down Broadway. I can just barely see the sign for the Strand, my favorite bookstore in the world. And a few blocks below it is my church. Our church. I think about all that it has meant to me, keeping me grounded in the big city. I look uptown. The soft glow of the lights of the skyscrapers fills the streets with a cheerful radiance.

I worked so hard to get to where I am. And the campaign with World Aid is going so well, and I am really starting to feel like I'm doing something that matters. Could I really just quit?

I look up at Ty. He's looking straight ahead, staring at nothing, his deliciously handsome profile still. He's everything I've always wanted. The subway rumbles beneath us again, and this time I smile.

I love this city. New York is my home. I'm living the life I've always wanted, that I worked so hard for. The city is a hard place to live, but we're called to be in the world. I have always felt like this was where God wanted me to be, working and living with people who don't know him. Would I really give this all up?

I look around again just as the first raindrop hits the ground next to us. Slowly, a tear works its way out of my eye.

“No,” I say quietly.

“I know.” A raindrop hits his cheek, and I nod. I stare at him, unable to move. I don't know what to say.

“You'll make some lucky man very happy someday,” he says, squeezing my hand.

I look at him. I know he means it, but what a terrible thing to say at a time like this. I want to sock him in the stomach.

“But wait,” I say, trying to take this in. “What were you talking about with my father the other day?”

Ty looks at me sideways. “When?”

“At my parents' place,” I shake my head back and forth, realizing that I had wanted this so badly that I had imagined it was finally happening, “I saw you and my father talking at my house.”

“Oh,” Tyson says. “The Yankees. I bet him they'd lose to the Sox this year.” Their handshake flashes before my eyes. “Oh Jane. You must have thought…”

I nod a few quick, angry nods.

Tyson puts his face in his hands. “I'm so sorry.” We sit in silence for a moment while I think about all the miscues I've had. He shakes his head.

“Jane, I'm a fool.”

I nod in agreement.

“But hopefully I can make this easier on you. I'm moving to Denver at the end of the month,” he says as he stands up.

Denver?

“The pace is slower there, and I can get a lot more for my money, and I will be close to the mountains for snowboarding in the winter, and I can settle down and write….” Hetrails off.

I just nod, not bothering to wipe away the tears that are now streaming down my face.

“You'll be fine,” he says, nodding. “You'll always be fine. You're strong and smart. You're the kind of girl who always lands on her feet.” I look away. “In a few weeks you won't even remember my name,” he says, smiling weakly.

“Please leave,” I whimper, looking down at the pattern the raindrops are making on the ground.

“I love you,” he says, turning slowly.

He has never said that before.

I watch him as he walks to the subway entrance, then stare after him when he disappears down the steps.

I pull my purse into my lap to have something to clutch to my shivering body and the cold, hard bottle of champagne feels like a concealed weapon. I don't move, even when the rain begins to beat down on me, even when the air darkens into night.

Chapter 7

Y
ou look
like you've seen better days,” a deep voice says from across the elevator. I have been trying to keep my head down so no one could see my face, which is puffy and red from crying, not to mention covered in a hideous rash that is definitely growing. I figured if I could make it to my office without being recognized, I could close my door and hide out until the hemorrhoid cream does its magic. It sounds kind of gross, but I have to admit it really does get rid of eye puffiness. It takes a little while to work, though, so I have kept my eyes focused on the ground all morning. What kind of boor is this who can't recognize that I don't want to chat? I look up to see Coates Glassman smirking at me. And here I had thought my morning couldn't get any worse.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I say curtly, looking down at the floor again. This must be the slowest elevator in the world. Of all the mornings for his little visit to Glassman Co.

The elevator dings, and the doors open. I quickly walk out into the lobby. Coates follows me out and opens the glass doors leading to the row of offices. I mumble a polite thank you and scurry to my office, waving at Natalie.

I fall down into my chair and turn my computer on. Work will take my mind off all this. I have a campaign for Astor National I'm working on, and I have to review some permission requests for photos from the Statue of Liberty archives. I type in my password and hit Enter. Weird. I try it again. My computer isn't letting me log on. What a morning. As I'm picking up the phone to call the computer help desk, I hear a knock at my door.

Natalie opens it and pokes her head in. “Hamilton would like to see you in his office.”

“Right now?” I ask, horrified by the image of my puffy, tear-streaked face confronting my boss.

She nods and turns away. I stand up, take a deep breath, lift my chin up, and walk toward Hamilton's office. I stop in my tracks when I see Coates inside. Hamilton sees me, nods, says a quick good-bye to Coates, and motions at the chair for me. Coates passes me on his way out, looking at the floor, and walks away. I take a seat and stare at my hands.

“Jane, your personal life is just that, of course,” Hamilton says, ruffling a stack of papers on his desk. Oh no. How does he know? I haven't told anyone about Ty. “But when it becomes public, it is no longer none of my business. Especially when it involves one of our clients.” He coughs. “One of our most visible clients.”

I look up at him. What? “I'm not sure I understand what you mean,” I stammer.

“I am referring to this,” he says, pushing a glossy magazine toward me. I recognize it immediately as
Star Power
, the weekly gossip rag that fills newsstands and mailboxes across America, including mine. Its circulation is almost as high as
People
's, mostly because they have dispensed with those pesky words almost entirely in favor of photos of celebrities. I lean in to look and gasp. There is a picture of me! From the pool deck at the Hotel Gansevoort with Matt! But why would they print a bad picture of me in
Star Power
? I look up at Hamilton uncertainly. “You've seen this, Jane?”

“No,” I say, looking back down at the page. There's another one. I look closely. It's Matt Sherwin kissing me on the cheek, though from the angle at which the picture was taken it almost looks as if we're lip-locked. It's from that night at Spice Market. And then I see the worst part. The title.
PLAIN JANE STEALS MATT FROM PREGNANT CHLOE
? And next to it is a picture of me squinting at the sun at the pool, making me look very devious and conniving. I look at Hamilton, then back down at the page. The “article” underneath the photos proclaims that Matt seems to have forgotten about Chloe in light of his new love, an ordinary working girl named Jane Williams who is in fact his publicist at Glassman Co. for the World Aid campaign. It insinuates that we have been seen gallivanting all around town, while his pregnant girlfriend waits for their child. It even suggests that Matt and I stayed in the hotel together. I look up at Hamilton, wide-eyed.

“But it's not true,” I stammer, trying to think. Why would someone do this?

“Whether or not it's true, it's in newsstands everywhere. As you can imagine, this sort of thing looks very bad for us,” he says, taking a sip of coffee from the ceramic mug on his desk. “The World Aid people are livid. Instead of helping them promote their cause, you have gotten your name and image into the public eye.” He picks up a pen and rolls it around in his hand. “Honestly, I don't think you did this on purpose, Jane, especially because of your…church thing.” He blushes, but I am too shocked to say anything. “But unfortunately, this is out of my hands. The reputation of Glassman and Company has been impacted, and someone has to take the fall.” I look down at his hands. “The board has asked that you be let go.”

My mind, in its slow state, takes a few minutes to grasp what he's saying. “What?” I finally manage. “You're firing me? But it's not true!”

“I'm afraid so,” he says simply, closing the magazine and putting it on top of a pile of papers on his desk. “I don't have much choice.”

“But sir, I—”

“Go ahead and pack up your things. Your password has already been changed, and your company cell phone has been shut off. We'll need to have you out by noon.”

“By noon?”

“Yes, Jane,” he says, nodding. “Go now and pack.”

I am dumbfounded. Speechless. I try to make myself move. Hamilton watches me as I stand up and walk toward the door. Shell-shocked, I walk toward my soon-to-be-ex-office. Fired. For dating Matt Sherwin. What is going on?

I sit down at my desk to think. What just happened? I try to motivate myself to get up and start moving, but I can't. I stare blankly at the wall. This job means everything to me. God? Are you still up there? I was just starting to do something that would make a difference. What possible good could come from this? What will happen to World Aid?

People walk up and down the hall, going on with their jobs, but no one looks in. I take a deep breath and sit up. I look out at the hallway and see that empty boxes have been placed outside my office door. I guess I really do have to move my stuff out. The sooner I get this over with, the better off I'll be. I force myself to rise and walk to the doorway. I reach for a box and am startled to see Coates standing in the doorway. I brace myself. Whatever he's come to say, it can't be good. It's a little too convenient that he made his little visit just before I got the ax to believe he's not involved in this somehow. The board, indeed. I take a deep breath as he opens his mouth.

“I told you it wouldn't last,” he says, smiling.

I wait a moment and give him my most piercing glare. His face lights up like a lantern, and he breaks into a huge grin that only eggs me on. A thousand insults flash through my brain.

But I can't get them out. I just run around and begin packing up my things. I can feel Coates standing behind me, awkwardly. He waits for a moment and then walks away. As I hear him leave, I sigh with relief, knowing I'll never have to see him again.

 

Out
on the street, I walk to the subway station, not knowing what else to do. Maybe I'll go get some coffee. I look around to see if there's a Starbucks around, knowing full well the closest one is never more than a block away when you're in Manhattan.

“It's you!” yells the man behind the counter at a newsstand I pass, shoving a copy of
Star Power
in my face. “You're the girl in the magazine.” I grab it from him angrily and put my head down and walk away.

“Hey!” he yells. “You have to pay for that!”

I turn around, put a few dollars into his hand wordlessly, and head for home.

 

When
I walk through the door, I am so stunned I just retreat to my bedroom, pull down the shades, and cry in complete silence. The love of my life and my job, all gone in a few short hours. I ask God just what exactly his plan is in all of this, but hear nothing back, only the sound of my tears splatting on my pillow.

Hours later, my tears have run dry, and I am not any closer to comprehending how it all happened or what I am supposed to learn. I decide I need to talk to somebody. My first, involuntary thought is to call Ty—how could he leave me at a time like this? Surely he still cares; surely he will be willing to talk to me right now. But even as I dial his number, I know I shouldn't. I'm not surprised when he doesn't pick up. Even if he misses me like I miss him, he is the kind of person to sever all ties and move on without looking back. I think about calling Raquel, but the image of perfect domesticity she represents is too much for me to handle right now.

I scoop up Charlie to snuggle with him for a while, but he just lies there listlessly. He is cocking up one of his eyebrows lazily. No tail wagging. I guess it's true that a dog always knows when his owner is feeling blue.

I have to go somewhere, I decide, and I have to talk to someone. I have to get out of this stifling room. I pull myself up, say a quick prayer for strength, and slip my flip-flops on. I stumble down the stairs to Lee's apartment and knock timidly on the door. Lee isn't home, but his mother takes one look at me, pulls me into her arms, and hugs me. For the first time today, I feel loved.