Flowers for Jill Ch. 05

"What do you want me to do in the meantime?"

Laying down the law, and proving himself to these people moved to the top of his list as he answered, "Mrs. Kirchhoff needs some help, she worked with me for a while now, but she needs someone to introduce her to some of the things we do in Élsi, I need you to be that someone since you seem so knowledgeable and competent."

"It'll be an honor, sir."

For the next few hours, he heard the two women bickering, joking, exchanging information, and criticizing each other's look. The old woman nagged the younger one about her cornrows and nose ring, and the young one hassled her about her tweed suit and Great Aunt Greta hair.

He was more than happy to change into his gym clothes and circumvent some of his frustration and mixed emotions into some exercise, yet angry with his distracted mind that skipped reminding him to bring his own water bottle which obliged him to drink from the gym's fountain.

"Heeey, Mr. D.!"

He turned towards the greeting, recognizing Sam Delaney's voice, "Don't do that." He shook his head, then clarified, "Mr. D., I don't like that."

"Sorry, Mr. Duss-"

"It's just Marc when we're not working," he offered the man his hand attempting a friendly gesture, "It makes me feel like an asshole to have people call me Mister all the time."

"It's cool, man." Sam shook his hand, "I've been seeing you around this gym lately, 'course I didn't know you until a few days back, but it's good to have someone to workout with."

Marc wasn't a big fan of the "workout buddy" concept as he found it merely distracting when he wanted to go to the gym, exercise, and be done with it without squandering time on chitchat, but he nodded congenially, "Yeah." He didn't want to lie or be a jerk, yet found himself doing both a lot in the past few weeks, "I had to switch to this place because it's close to the townhouse I leased; saves time."

"I hear ya, I wasted a lot of time trying to figure out my commute when I first moved to New York."

"Yeah? You just moved here recently?" he then pointed at the bench press, "Can you spot me?" might as well make use of having a partner there.

"Sure, and no...well, reverse that!" Sam chuckled, "I went to school here, so it's been a while."

He slid the weight plates in place, and clipped them with a spring collar on either side, before lying down on the bench and grabbing the bar, "Where did you study?" he asked conversationally and the other man replied, "Columbia." assuming his position at the head of the machine.

"Good choice. So how'd you figure out the transport? You didn't buy a car and try to figure it out that way, did you? I know a lot of green folks who do that." He pushed up his first rep feeling that initial strain in his chest, arms, and shoulders.

"Nah, I'm from Baltimore, so I had some clues. I got help from some friends at school."

Marc grunted his reply without stopping his activity as the other man went on, "I relied heavily on favors back then, I was always asking people to show me around. That girl Jillian, from work, she went to Columbia with me. Such a cool chick, but at times, I felt like she wanted to snap my head off. Still do." He laughed at his own quip, but Marc's movements wavered, and he dropped the bar down quickly, avoiding an accident.

"Hey, slow down, buddy, that's a lot of weight you got there." Sam reached for the bar holding it unnecessarily.

Cool chick? What did that mean? Did he sleep with her in college? Clearing his throat, Marc tried to sound casual as he asked, "You two an item?"

"No, it's not like that, she introduced me to Madeline, my crazy bitch from hell ex wife. Of course, she wasn't a crazy bitch from hell back then, and we had a good couple, three years before she metamorphosed." He laughed again, seeming to really enjoy listening to himself talk.

"Huh," he focused his eyes on a dot that marred one of the ceiling squares, and asked as casually as he could, "She dating someone now? Ms. Zahra, that is."

"Naw, Jillian doesn't date," Marc's brain started forming quick accusing conceptions before Sam explained, "she was in love with this guy in college, and he broke her heart, and she just...I don't know, she focused her whole life on work. When she's not working, she's doing something for work; organizing charities, trying to endorse campaigns and stuff. That autism thing we do every year to help raise money for research? She got in touch with the foundation and convinced Mr. Duss—your father to endorse it. She does a back to school drive almost every year, and I think she volunteered to distribute the backpacks and stuff last year."

Marc finished his workout in silence, mulling over the new information, and feeling more confused by the minute. They switched places, and Sam asked to borrow his workout gloves when he did his presses -another thing that Marc didn't relish in a workout partner.

"What happened between her and that guy?" he asked at length, telling himself that this piece of discovery didn't rouse his envy in the least bit.

"I don't know, the guy just...didn't want her. It was sad; she chased the guy all over, and he went out with every girl but her. Almost everyone knew she had feelings for him -including him- but he was kinda mean about it. He once called her, in front of everybody, a woman of color, and that was just wrong, man."

A woman of color? "But Jillian's white! And people still say that? That's racist." She was tan, Italian heritage maybe? Something Mediterranean, but Marc wasn't focused on profiling people that way as he saw everyone as human, but he had a thing for exotic women.

"Well, sorta," the other man explained, "Her father is Lebanese I think, or like, second generation Lebanese, I don't know, but yeah it's dumb."

Aha, Mediterranean! "And she let that get to her? I mean, surely a woman as smart as her wouldn't want some bigot as a boyfriend."

Shaking his head ruefully, Sam said, "I thought the same thing, but she was so fixated on him when he didn't give a shit, and a bunch of other guys wanted a chance with her. Madeline and I talked to her about it senior year, and she said she was over him, and started dating a fireman, but they broke up. Actually, she broke up with him, and he was so upset at the time. I remember him causing a big scene on campus, he showed up and started yelling and shit, but they worked it out and went on and off for a while. I think they still see each other every now and then."

That headache Marc began to associate with Jillian-related complications started to creep up, and press onto his temple again, "So she is dating somebody."

"Well, no," Sam wiped his sweat with a towel that looked like it has seen better days...much, much better days, and started to rip at the gloves' Velcro, "he lives in Kansas City, and they're best friends now. She brought him to a couple of company charity events, but she sometimes invites this gay guy she's friends with, or her other friend Simone or something."

Doing a quick calculation with his head's GPS, Marc concluded that this was the closest gym to Jillian's flat as well, "She works out here, right?"

"Not anymore." Sam handed him the sweaty gloves, and he slipped them on begrudgingly, "Not since Curt -that's the guy from college- started coming here. As a matter of fact, he's the guy over there jumping on the plyo box.

Turning around, Marc spotted a tall, physically conditioned man taking long leaps on a high plyo box. A couple of women stood watching him and commenting with a few guys who cheered him on. Taking a closer look, Marc discerned the cocky grin on the guy's face, along with his not-so attractive facial features.

"That guy?" he cried in disbelief, and Sam chuckled, "I know, he's forever in high school land. He's from a small hick town somewhere in the Midwest, and he played basketball in college or something which, I guess, makes him some sort of god down there."

Marc wasn't normally a superficial guy who judged people by where they lived, but knowing Jillian's past with that man made him less than reasonable, and no better than the intolerant fool who almost slipped off the top of the box when he leapt up, "She should've known better, he looks like an idiot."

"Love is blind, isn't it? 'Sides, people seem to like being around Curt, we crossed path a few times, hung out and shit, and he's one of those charismatic dudes. You know how it is." his companion clapped him on the shoulder, "Hey, you're a big guy, can you show me how to build my shoulders to look like yours?"

During the next twenty or so minutes, Marc craftily milked Sam Delaney for more details on Jillian's life, and tried to put together a more descriptive picture of the woman she was. She was good with people, social and friendly, but kept to herself the majority of the time. Other than the fling with the firefighter, she didn't have any relationships, but Sam said he suspected she went out on the occasional dinner every now and again, nothing to be mentioned especially for a woman as beautiful as she.

"I don't think she wants to be serious about anyone." Delaney had commented before Marc steered the conversation glibly away from her, to avoid raising any suspicions about the nature of his interest in her.

On the inevitable trip to the water fountain, Marc passed the guy -Curt Hallward, Sam said his name was- who was still surrounded by his worshipping entourage, and heard him say "And I was like, man, I'm like seven feet tall, do you really wanna do that to yourself?" drawing a collective laugh out of them.

Charismatic, my ass! Marc thought currishly studying the guy better. They were about the same height, Marc's build was more imposing as a residual result of the years he spent playing hockey in his childhood and later in college before his car accident made him more realistic about what career he wanted to pursue, the other guy was big but still lean, and Marc arrogantly told himself he can take him in a fight. Brown hair, slightly large ears, and an ornery yet lazy mouth deemed him average in Marc's head, and way below that when compared to Jillian. The guy's surprisingly shrill, high laugh didn't help Marc's assessment of him. The women who passed him, however, paid him that extra bit of attention that Marc was very well acquainted with, and the whole workout session turned into a pissing contest that took place in Marc's head only keeping him in the gym long after Sam departed, and definitely longer than he needed.

Impervious to Marc rising dislike of him, Curt approached him pointing at the cable machine he stood in front of, "Hey man, you using that?"

Marc didn't notice him at first as he was shuffling the music on his iPod, and shook his head "No." before glancing up to meet the man's pale blue gaze, "Mind if I grab one of the handles?"

"No, not at all." He continued to stand in place and glare at Curt who finally pointed at where he was standing, "Excuse me." and reached to release the handle's catch after Marc stepped aside.

"I saw you training that guy, are you a trainer?" Curt asked casually, "I'm a manager at NutriExcel, and I can hook you up with some supplements if you want, we sell to a lot to personal trainers and athletes."

"No, I'm not." he answered laconically.

"You're in great shape though, man. It's a good field to get into, good money."

Superciliously, Marc straightened to his full 6-feet 3-inch height and declared, "I'm the CEO of a company my family owns." Then decided to add, "Élsi Dussant; fashion. We own a chain of exclusive high-end boutiques."

Whistling in admiration, Curt said, "Wow, that's a spiffy company, dude, dust that shoulder!"

Marc felt more inwardly hostile towards him, despite the guy's affable attitude. The fact that he had rejected Jillian breaking her heart, and the possibility that she still had feelings for him contradicted everything, teaching Marc, possibly for the first time, what jealousy really felt like.

"Thanks." His forced smile felt more like a grimace, and he ended the short exchange by slipping the buds of his headphones back into his ears, finishing his workout with a series of stretches and compelling his thoughts to veer away from his newly discovered rival.

Or maybe not, he thought on the drive home and throughout his shower and rushed supper that he barely tasted, maybe she truly was over the guy, maybe she just didn't want to get into a relationship to avoid the headache. He was the same way after all; quick, casual encounters with women were a lot more concordant with his lifestyle and taste. Maybe she didn't want complicated entanglements, just like him, in which case, their relationship -no, scratch that; their association, their arrangement could be continued successfully.

He found himself automatically reaching for one of the catalogues, and thumbing through it in search of her pictures, then stopped himself and went to bed. But sleep wasn't forthcoming when his mind raced and raged loudly, emphasizing his migraine, and chafing his peace of mind exasperatedly.

Unthinkingly, he sprung out of bed, threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and zigzagged through traffic getting to her place in record time.

As if expecting him, the doorman just nodded at him after letting him in, and he didn't bother trying to guess what Helga might've told the old man. The elevator didn't arrive down fast enough, nor did the trip up assuage his burning yearning for her.

He rung her doorbell, then knocked on the door. In his haste, forgetting to put together an apology, or come up with a speech to grant him her forgiveness.

"Jillian." He said breathily when she opened the door, and his eyes fell on her upturned face that he missed so much.

"Oh hell, no!" she frowned and made to close the door, but he stuck his foot between it and its frame, "Please, don't. I need to talk to you."

"To insult me by telling me that I'm being ridiculous?" she shot back, "No thank you. I only opened the door because I thought it was an emergency or something. Do you know what time it is?"

He didn't. He knew it was late, but didn't even stop to check or estimate the time, "Jillian, please, let me talk to you, please." What was it about her that put him in that rare form, that outlandish mode that made him act impulsively and imprudently? Headlong, he pushed, cajoling and begging her, "Please."

"I sent my assessments and reports over today, I'm not neglecting my work."

"It's not about that," he shook his head, "Let me in, Jillian."

She lifted her right hand opening it in his face, "Five minutes."

"Whatever you say." He agreed easily, but she wasn't feeling charitable, "Five minutes only, I'm serious; I'll time you."

"Whatever you want, Jill." he nodded again, feeling lighthearted when she acquiesced begrudgingly and stepped aside holding the door open.

"Speak your piece and go." Her face was bare of makeup, her hair a halo of waves and curls around her shoulders. She wore a tiny, slightly see-through pair of black and white striped short shorts, and a pink tank top, and had a thin book rolled in her left hand with her index finger marking the page she stopped at. She looked clean, unpretentious, earthy, and infinitely female...she was all he wanted.

The realization rattled him, and taking a deep breath, he started from nowhere, "That whole thing between us, it wasn't planned, I found myself going forth without thinking, and I went too far."

"You don't say." She scoffed, but he pressed on, "I wasn't expecting myself to behave that way. I saw you and I...I'm not myself around you," he wiped his hand over his face, "it's the exact opposite, actually; I'm too much myself around you, I lose all control and just let go without analyzing..." he shook his head drifting off again. A man without of plan of action laid all his cards on the table, revealing too much, but he didn't have much to hide standing there in her living room and spewing out his guts like he's never done before, "I have no filter around you, no self control, and not much prudence; I just go for it...for you. The whole thing started out as a fantasy, one that was born right there when I met you, unplanned, I swear. I couldn't stop myself, I wanted you so badly, and I still do. I don't think I'll ever stop wanting you." He rolled his fingers inwardly, fisting his shaking hands, "I'm sorry that my indiscretion hurt your feelings, Jillian, but I'm not sorry it happened. I'm not sorry for what we did together. I'm sorry for the way it happened, though. But still, if I were able to go back and tell the truth and not be able to have you, I would probably repeat my mistake just for the sake of being with you like that. I don't regret having sex with you, but I do regret having shocked and hurt you like that."

He was breathing hard by the time he finished talking, and he realized that he was studying her face, watching out for her answer whatever it was, and bracing himself for it.

"That doesn't make sense," her voice was low, but steady, "I wouldn't have agreed to do...that with you had I known who you were back then; so that cancels out the validity of your apology. You were selfish and insensible, while I felt lonely and needed a stranger to help fix..." she stopped herself, and shook her head taking a step back, "You knew exactly what you were doing, and knew the consequences, but that didn't stop you. You stepped over me to live your egocentric fantasy."

He took a step towards her, countering her retreat, "It was a fantasy at first, an adventure, I'll admit that. I never really got to chase or woo any woman, women normally threw themselves at me, but you were different from the start-"

"You liked the chase, the game-" she interrupted furiously, but he had a confession to complete, "That first time, yes, but things became different after that and I lost the ability to stop myself."

"What a raft of shit!" she mumbled slapping the book nervously on the side of her thigh.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Jillian." He tilted his head until he met her gaze, "You deserve better than a callous asshole," he thought fleetingly of Curt Hallward and how he hurt her, and pressed on with his case, "and I'm here to make things right. To apologize, and seek your forgiveness."

"I'm not the forgiving type." She broke the link between their eyes, but he thrived on, "Make an exception for me, Jillian, I won't disappoint you."

She turned around throwing the book on a sofa, and pressed her fingers into her eye sockets, "I don't have the time or the energy for this."

Startled by the book being suddenly flung away, his eyes scanned it quickly revealing it to be a selection of poems by T. S. Eliot, "I won't disappoint you." He reassured hopefully for, just like him, she was up late, seeking solace from a book just like he sought release from looking at her pictures, enquiring about her life, and thinking about her.

"You're asking too much of me," she turned around glancing at a wall clock, "Your five minutes are over, Mr. Dussant."

The way she said his name made him cringe in dejection, "Can I get another five?" he reached for her, but she walked off.

"It won't change anything, I heard what you had to say, and I haven't changed my mind."

"I won't talk about it; we'll just sit together." She rolled her eyes at him, but he pressed on, "we can speak about other things."

"It's too late for chitchat, Dussant."

He gave her an adulating smile, "It is late, but you're up and so am I, we might as well keep each other company. We'll just sit together in silence, if that's what you want. Get a cup of decaf maybe." He didn't like decaffeinated coffee, but he was trying to be agreeable and cajoling. It was hard not to exhale in relief when she said, "Decaf is vile hot water, I don't drag that garbage into my house."