Swim, Butterfly Ch. 25

Swim, Butterfly Chapter 25

Without the Strings

Late in the morning after our evening tryst with Charlene, Jimmy drums up the energy to make love to me, but slowly, unfurling like a flower, every touch unhurried. Wrapped in the billowy white bedsheets, I make love to Jimmy in the clouds, miles above Earth, above everyone, falling far and long should I roll out. Just as long as I stay up here, I'll be fine; just never, ever step out again.

During the time spent with Jimmy, we sleep late, eat, talk, tour. We ascend the spiral of the Guggenheim, where Jimmy introduces me to the sensual bloom of colors in František Kupka's La colorée. Later, we admire the Upper West Side's skyline as we walk along the Jackie Onassis Reservoir, joggers huffing and puffing past us.

I enjoy my visit, but also dutifully call home once in a while to check on the kids. They say that they miss me and ask when I'm coming home. Pete doesn't talk to me. Just as well. We're not ready, and as long as the kids are okay, there's nothing to talk about.

Considering my circumstances and abrupt departure the last time I saw Jimmy, I marvel at how well we get along. Sometimes I catch Jimmy looking at me, not with love in his eyes, but as if he's calculating. Not that it makes me apprehensive, but I wonder what's on his mind. Perhaps it's best to let him bring it up, whatever it is, at his own pace--no reason for me to stir the pot here, too. I'm crashing a bachelor pad, so going with the flow seems the best policy. 


Instead of talking about what's really on his mind, we talk about adventures growing up, books, places we have yet to visit. He's curious about the coast of Maine. I tell him it's rocky and cold; blue, brown, and beautiful. I froze my toes years ago in Acadia's frigid Atlantic waters after visiting relatives in New Hampshire. I ask him if he still has family in Russia. He says a few; he reminds me of his cousin the visiting professor, teaching at a college in New England. I ask Jimmy if he has any regrets. He says no, well, just one, that he didn't meet me sooner. He asks the same question, and I say yes, many, except three--'Rudy, June, and you'. Well, that's not fair to Pete. I certainly don't regret meeting him; I regret how our relationship turned out.

We cook breakfast, although neither of us likes breakfast. We just don't know what else to do first thing in the morning. He rarely cooks meals at home anyway, and I've done it too often. Jack Sprat could eat no fat. We have no common background, and maybe that's why we don't have expectations of each other. I think he's absolutely gorgeous, but I still don't know what he sees in me. Maybe he likes the domestic touch without the strings?

Wilted over the wicker chair during a lull, I sigh and ask, "Jimmy? What the hell am I looking for? What are you looking for? Shouldn't we have found it yet?"

He smiles, "When you've found the question to which there's no answer, then you've passed the test!"

I don't get it, but I like it anyway. I'm afraid that when I know the answer, that's when the hope of a warm wind dies.

***

Late in a morning, Jimmy says he needs groceries. I don't feel like leaving the apartment, still licking my self-inflicted wounds, wondering if the self-inflicted kind ever heal. I'm not even dressed yet, wrapped in a sheet from the bed. He understands I want to stay in, but cocks his head, "You sure you aren't going to jump out the window or anything? I still got something I want to talk to you about." He watches me browse a stack of books.

"Ha, no. That wouldn't solve anything. I'll figure this out. I have no choice, right? Besides, I would never leave Rudy and June."

The cold floor cools the palm of my hand, the finger of my other hand tracing the soft, flaking spines of old paperbacks. I look up at Jim, "You never suggested a book."

"I wasn't sure what I wanted to say to you."

"Oh well, I probably would have read a different meaning into it, anyways."

Jimmy sits down on the floor next to me, cross-legged, tracing figure eights on the floor with his finger. "Different meaning. Yeah. You know, I'm sorry about that lipstick."

"That lipstick from a year ago? The one with your phone number, that started all..."

"No, not because of the phone number. I don't regret that! I don't think you do either. No, it just," he looks at me, his thumb brushes my lip, "it just suggested that you needed some kind of improvement. It was rude. You don't need anything--you're beautiful and perfect as you are."

I take a breath, then shut my mouth. I press the palm of my hand on his warm cheek, prickly with stubble. "Pete's never said anything like that."

"Fool."

I blink back a tear, but I smile as well. Jimmy kisses my hand, then passes his hand around the back of his head, "Time for a shave, before Smooth Jim turns into Prickly Bob."

I snort, "Boy, you got a lotta names." I sit back and look at him. "I wonder what you'd look like with hair."

"Probably look like an old, hairless sugar glider, with dust bunnies stuck to my head."

"Sexy, do you think you'd have a dash of salt-n-pepper, like me?"

He shakes his head. "Nope, I'm notthat old!"

"Oh, fuck you."

"You already did, free of charge," he kisses me on the cheek, then stands up, "so don't tell me I never gave ya' nothing." He brushes off the backside of his jeans. "I'll be back in thirty. Relax, no cleaning or anything," he smirks, picking up his wallet from the kitchen table and leaving, and leaving me to wonder what else it is he wants to talk about.

***

I lie down on my back. I don't want to get up, but after I hear his footsteps disappear and the cranky elevator open and shut, I feel compelled to sit right by the window. No, not to jump out, as some might hope I would. That chilly breeze wafts across the back of my neck again, and I picture flinging Jimmy's books out the window. Why? Because I've read so few and think I missed something they had to say? Because they live here with Jimmy, and I don't?

I'm losing my mind, picking a fight with books. Or maybe I'm finding it again.

Instead of book-flinging, I gaze out the window at the people nine stories below. I imagine Pete walking down the street, and no particular emotion stirs in me, unless you call deadening an emotion. Then, I picture June and Rudy playing in the tiny park across the street, and feel a pang in my stomach. What was I thinking, marrying and having children because I didn't know what else to do? I created two nice little people I wasn't sure I wanted, but love so much anyway. They deserve better than that. But as much as I love them, I love Jimmy, too. Or at least I'min love with him, and who knows how long that will last? I just want to have my cake and eat it, too.

Speaking of cake, I hear the door unlocking.

"I got some cake," Jimmy reports from the kitchen. He sets the lone grocery bag down on the kitchen table and scuffs his feet along the floor on his way back to me. He runs his hand down the back of my head, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay. Just thinking."

Leaning against the wall by the window, he looks at me silently for a while, head tilted. "I canceled my plans for the night."

"Not a client?"

"No. My fiancée."

I gaze back out the window while a needle threads in and out of my heart. I'd forgotten that detail for a while.

Jimmy sighs, "I know. Why don't we talk about that now, because there's something else I want to bring up." He folds his arms across his chest.

I exhale through tight lips. Finally, I say, "Okay, might as well."

He extends his hand, helps me up, and we sit on the bed. "There's not really a lot to get out," he starts. "Looks like plans are going ahead for late fall, maybe late October or November. After we marry, I won't have to work, but," he takes my hand, "I just have to give up clients, not friends."

Wife, adulteress, girlfriend, now mistress? I've worn many hats this past year--old hat, new hat. I'll have covered every non-paying title a woman could covet or curse.

"Does your fiancée know this? Does she know about me?"

"Yes, but I'm not done..."

"Why even tell her about me?"

"Because you're a part of my life and I'm not to going to sweep you under the carpet. Because these details are part of the negotiations. No, we don't plan to have the most traditional marriage. No more escorting, of course, no reckless affairs, which honesty, Caroline, I've never had anyways. Discretion is still important, and Caroline--"

"Yes?"

"This means I'm more faithful to you than I can be when I'm working."

"But you're single now, escort or not. Soon you'll be married, and I never expected you to be exclusive. I never wanted to change anything about you," I say, focusing on a nick in the floor.

I feel his fingers on my chin, turning my head to face him. "It never bothered you when I'm with other women?" I tilt my head and look into his eyes. Of course it does. He lets my chin go, and I return to staring at the floor. "Hey, after a while, I might not be married anymore, Caroline."

I smile a little, "Maybe, and you know, maybe I won't be, either." I return my gaze to the window.

"It's a crooked ladder to happiness."

"You think so? For whom?" I ask, looking at him.

"For me. For you. I don't know about everyone else."

"And if I end up divorced, but you remain married, what happens to me?"

"You're divorced," he shrugs, "but then..."

"Well, yeah, I know that, but I mean, where would I fit in the plan if I got divorced, and you didn't? I'd just be floating," I frown, my heart beating faster.

"And that's what I'm trying to get to, Caroline, something that's kind of hard to bring up, so listen to me--I've been thinking, something other than getting married, or maybe even possible while I'm married, and if things don't work out with you and Pete, stop tapping your foot, I told you I'm getting to it--couples work, Caroline. For real."

My jaw drops. Couples work? I think I recall it mentioned, but I never took it seriously.

He glides his hand down my thigh, "You heard me. I've brought it up before. There're couples work out there, a niche market, but it's still pretty good money. I know you probably think you're too old, but there's all sorts of stuff out there, you know, something for everyone. You move up here with me, or stay in the apartment. I'm planning to keep it no matter what, if I can. I mean, if things don't work out at home."

I stand up, re-adjust the sheet wrapped around me and return to the window, although my legs feel wobbly. At the windowsill, I suck in as much cool air as I can.

"Jimmy?"

"Yes, love?"

"If I were single again, would you marry me instead?"

"I don't know. Do you have money?" he chuckles.

"No."

"Good, then we'd have nothing to fight over."

"We could fight overlack of money." My hand releases the sill, my finger tracing a wavy line down the wall.

"Well, no. Like I said, we could work together."

"I'm still not sure I believe it."

"Work together, not fight together. You don't know how to fight anyways, Caroline." He gets up and approaches me, standing close behind me, "Imagine, just dim the lights, every night different," his hand slips inside the sheet, warming my midriff, glancing over my breast. He kisses my neck. I tingle below, breathing hard, when he murmurs in my ear, "I'm hungry. Let's eat."

"Oh Jesus, Jimmy, really? Now?"

"Yep," he turns away, then spreads a spare sheet on the living room floor. "Sit down, m'lady."

I sigh, lowering myself to the floor, watching him move back and forth in the kitchen, water on and off, flatware and plates clacking and clanging. He carries back two plates of cheese, bread, fruit, and yes, cake, to the sheet. Then he makes two cups of tea and finally sits down.

"Give me your foot."

I screw up my brow. "My foot?" He nods. I offer my right foot, my head still woozy from our weird conversation. He takes my foot in his lap, gently massaging it.

"Eat," he says.

"You'll have to wash your hands before you eat, or I could feed you."

"Mm, no. I'm not into that," he replies, his thumb pressing gently into my arch.

"Loss of control?"

He looks at me, smirking, "I'm always in control."

"Eh, already read that one."

"I thought so."

I shut up for a while, watching Jimmy knead the arch of one foot, then the other, mulling over what he said. The massage feels good, but between eating and offers, hard to enjoy. He looks at me often, without a word. I've ended one phase of my life. Jimmy's possibly starting a new one of his own, with or without me. Will we be eternally stuck on opposite sides of a revolving door? Good ole yin and yang?

"So, whaddya think?" Jimmy asks, watching me bite into a sour strawberry, which I put back on the plate.

"Jimmy, I'm going to need a lot of time to think about that one."

"A lot of time?" Jimmy smiles and shrugs, "October. I can give you until October 1st to let me know. Wedding bells getting louder." He rubs my foot another moment, then gives it a finishing pat. I tuck my foot back under my leg.

"October," I sigh.

Pushing my plate aside, I crawl over to him, my knees pulling loose the sheet wrapped around me as I climb up on Jimmy's lap. The coarse fold of his jeans grinds into me as I kiss the point of his collarbone, then build a ladder of kisses up the side of his neck, across his cheekbones, down to his lips. I don't want to give this up. I don't want him to go.

But, like a harpy's cry, my phone rings. "Shit!" I slump back.

Jimmy lets go of me and leans back on his arms, "Go answer. I'll wait."

I scramble off of him and nearly trip on the sheet. I get to my pocketbook by the bed and catch the phone near its last ring--Pete. My hand shakes, but I push the Accept button, anyway. I take a deep breath and nearly shout, "Yeah?"

A pause. "Mommy?"

I put my hand over the phone for a moment and take a breath. My eyes start to sting,"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Mom, where are you? When you coming home?" June's little voice hits right in the gut. I sink to the cold floor.

"I'm, um...,"

Jimmy brings the sheet over and wraps it around my shoulders. He slips his shoes back on and quietly leaves the apartment.

"I'm, uh, visiting friends, sweetie. I'll be home soon. What's up?"

"When are you coming home?"

"Tomorrow, honey, tomorrow."Shit.

"Daddy's really quiet today. I think he's sick, but he won't go to the doctor," June says.

"Oh yeah?" My voice cracks. "Is that good or bad?"

"I don't know because he won't tell me what's wrong, and he's being too quiet."

"Well, we'll find a special doctor for him when I get home." I cough to clear my throat.

"You wanna talk to him, Mom?"

Stab. "Uh, no. Let him rest. I'll be home tomorrow afternoon."

"Okay, I love you, Mommy."

A deep, involuntary inhale prevents me from responding immediately. I struggle to say, "I love you, too, sweetheart. I'll see you tomorrow."

Hypocrite, you really mean it, Caroline?

Oh, fuck you, Voice. Beating myself up over this just adds another layer of fuckery. The phone lies like a dead weight in my limp hand. I look at the screen that's reverted to the background picture, two orange and green birdies that June drew last year. I slip the phone back into my pocketbook, stand up, and re-wrap the sheet around me. Back to the window. I think about the ancient Greek statues of women in togas. I suppose similar dramas occurred way back then. Same shit, different date.

After a couple of minutes, I hear the door open. "Everything okay?" Jimmy asks. I turn to look at him. He sits down at the kitchen table.

I smile a little and nod. "Yeah, it was Junie. She misses me, that's all." I stare at my pocketbook.

"Hey, if you need to go..."

I shake my head. "No, not yet. I'm okay."

"Are they?"