way he used to grin before he lost his wife.
She wondered who Amelia Earhart was while he tended to the vegetables.
Jeanette drank until her wineglass was empty, then held out the glass for some more. Tom topped it off.
“I’ve met these women,” he said, “and they’re amazing, they’re helping me. I don’t even know them.”
“That’s weird. Why?”
“Jane was Alexandra’s best friend years ago when they were kids, and her sister, Elle, is an artist and she’s going to do an exhibition. She’s painting the faces of missing people. She’s already painted Alexandra and it’s really beautiful. And Leslie, she’s set up an incredible website, and they’ve got Jack Lukeman on board and now this lead in London—”
“Jack Lukeman the singer? What is he? A part-time private eye?” She was being sarcastic, and although Tom noticed, he didn’t care.
“No, he’s going to sing at the exhibition. Jane says it will increase media interest.”
“Well, it sounds like you’ve got a lot of new friends, so why did you call me?”
“I missed you.”
He wasn’t lying. He had become very fond of Jeanette during the four years they had worked together, and if he was really honest with himself he missed the attention she gave him. He missed feeling like a man, a sexual being, and even though he promised himself that he would never allow what had happened before to happen again, it was nice to be around someone who was attracted to him. Tom missed many things about his wife, and one of the things he missed most was being wanted.
“I missed you too,” she said, and in her head she was singing, “Here comes the bride, all dressed in white ….”
Later, after they’d indulged in passionate sex, the kind of sex that Jeanette had always suspected Tom was capable of, they lay there in silence and darkness just breathing.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“It’s blissfully quiet in here,” he said, pointing to his head.
She smiled at him and leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re welcome,” she said.
She went into the bathroom to take a shower, and he reminisced about the last time he had lain in bed and listened to the shower running; his wife had been singing “I Can’t Stand the Rain” and attempting a very bad impression of Tina Turner. Tom closed his eyes, just as he had done when he was having sex, and for the second time that night he pretended the woman who had been in his bed and was now in his shower was his wife, and for the first time in thirty weeks and one day, Tom slept peacefully.
6
“Little Man”
Take the world off your shoulders,
little man, little man, little man.
Jack L, Universe
February 2008
Elle had been lying in bed for twenty days. Ten days after New Year’s Eve she had taken a taxi to a hotel in Kildare. When she arrived, someone took her bag out of the car as she paid the fare. She signed her name on the form the receptionist handed her, took her key, and followed the man with her bag up to the third floor and into her room. She tipped him, and he left. She undressed, put a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door, and got into bed with the curtains drawn, and the only time she had gotten out of bed in those twenty days was to pee, apart from the times the maids came in. They knocked every second or third day, and she’d get out of her bed and sit on the toilet while they cleaned the room, and when they were finished she’d get back into bed while they cleaned the bathroom. Some days she ate something small, and some days she didn’t eat at all. The television remained off, and days and nights blended into one. Some days she was numb and without any kind of coherent thought; other days her mind raced so much that her head hurt and she felt the need to put pressure on her ears. Her phone remained off. There were days she cried rivers; other days she simply breathed in and out, in and out, in and out, each breath becoming more and more laborious until every cell
She wondered who Amelia Earhart was while he tended to the vegetables.
Jeanette drank until her wineglass was empty, then held out the glass for some more. Tom topped it off.
“I’ve met these women,” he said, “and they’re amazing, they’re helping me. I don’t even know them.”
“That’s weird. Why?”
“Jane was Alexandra’s best friend years ago when they were kids, and her sister, Elle, is an artist and she’s going to do an exhibition. She’s painting the faces of missing people. She’s already painted Alexandra and it’s really beautiful. And Leslie, she’s set up an incredible website, and they’ve got Jack Lukeman on board and now this lead in London—”
“Jack Lukeman the singer? What is he? A part-time private eye?” She was being sarcastic, and although Tom noticed, he didn’t care.
“No, he’s going to sing at the exhibition. Jane says it will increase media interest.”
“Well, it sounds like you’ve got a lot of new friends, so why did you call me?”
“I missed you.”
He wasn’t lying. He had become very fond of Jeanette during the four years they had worked together, and if he was really honest with himself he missed the attention she gave him. He missed feeling like a man, a sexual being, and even though he promised himself that he would never allow what had happened before to happen again, it was nice to be around someone who was attracted to him. Tom missed many things about his wife, and one of the things he missed most was being wanted.
“I missed you too,” she said, and in her head she was singing, “Here comes the bride, all dressed in white ….”
Later, after they’d indulged in passionate sex, the kind of sex that Jeanette had always suspected Tom was capable of, they lay there in silence and darkness just breathing.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“It’s blissfully quiet in here,” he said, pointing to his head.
She smiled at him and leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re welcome,” she said.
She went into the bathroom to take a shower, and he reminisced about the last time he had lain in bed and listened to the shower running; his wife had been singing “I Can’t Stand the Rain” and attempting a very bad impression of Tina Turner. Tom closed his eyes, just as he had done when he was having sex, and for the second time that night he pretended the woman who had been in his bed and was now in his shower was his wife, and for the first time in thirty weeks and one day, Tom slept peacefully.
6
“Little Man”
Take the world off your shoulders,
little man, little man, little man.
Jack L, Universe
February 2008
Elle had been lying in bed for twenty days. Ten days after New Year’s Eve she had taken a taxi to a hotel in Kildare. When she arrived, someone took her bag out of the car as she paid the fare. She signed her name on the form the receptionist handed her, took her key, and followed the man with her bag up to the third floor and into her room. She tipped him, and he left. She undressed, put a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door, and got into bed with the curtains drawn, and the only time she had gotten out of bed in those twenty days was to pee, apart from the times the maids came in. They knocked every second or third day, and she’d get out of her bed and sit on the toilet while they cleaned the room, and when they were finished she’d get back into bed while they cleaned the bathroom. Some days she ate something small, and some days she didn’t eat at all. The television remained off, and days and nights blended into one. Some days she was numb and without any kind of coherent thought; other days her mind raced so much that her head hurt and she felt the need to put pressure on her ears. Her phone remained off. There were days she cried rivers; other days she simply breathed in and out, in and out, in and out, each breath becoming more and more laborious until every cell
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