Fire & Water (8 page)

Joining Mary K at the table, I pushed the eggs around on my plate. My appetite had flirted with me and then left as my mind and my body tingled with thoughts of Jake. The salty smell of the sea on his skin. The rich burgundy taste of wine on his lips. The fragrance of strong coffee brewing in the morning and the warm impression of his body left on the rumpled sheets beside me while he fixed us breakfast. Just recalling how he touched me aroused me all over again. Suddenly I could feel Mary K’s eyes on me, drawing me back into our little kitchen.

“You, Murphy, are positively fuck-drunk.” She slapped me on the shoulder. “’Bout time.”

“I met somebody,” I said.

“No shit.”

“Are you going to be around? He’s coming over. I’d like you to meet him.”

“What, leave now?” Mary K replied. “Wouldn’t miss out on meeting the dude that makes you this stupid.”

I spent the next several hours pampering myself and the flat. I showered, shaved my legs, lotioned myself everywhere I could reach, and put clean sheets on my bed. Looking around our flat, I saw what I hadn’t seen for a long time—a neglected place where two very busy interns lived. After being at Jake’s loft, I was nervous bringing him here. The garage sale furniture and bare white walls said nothing about us, or maybe too much. Until I imagined Jake’s eyes on it, I hadn’t really noticed the shabby details of the surroundings. It was a place I crashed in after double shifts. It was clean and orderly, and I was grateful for that.

Frantically, I dug through drawers and cabinets, finding as many candles as I could. I tossed one of my mother’s quilts over the sagging couch. After I’d turned down the lights, lit all of the candles, and tidied the towers of medical books, the place looked presentable. I flicked through the stack of albums. I found my usual favorites trivial and switched the music several more times before I landed on Dinah Washington. Rain thrumming against the windows added a cozy feeling that pleased me.

Ben nuzzled my fingertips. I scratched his ancient jowls. The dog was just about the only genuinely personal touch to be found in the place, and, but for the musky smell emitting from his damp fur, I liked what he added to the ambiance. He let out a soft whimper of appreciation.

When the doorbell rang at six, I couldn’t resist one last look in the dining room mirror. I’d tamed some of the wildness of my hair and wore my new soft chinos with a white linen shirt. My pale skin wore a flush I’d seldom seen in my own reflection.

When I opened the door, Jake beamed at me. By his side on the porch sat a huge shopping bag with stringed handles, bulging with flowers. He held a large box, which he leaned back to balance. His jacket’s shoulders were darkened with rain and his glasses were fogged. “I can’t believe how much I’ve missed you this afternoon,” he said. “I think I’m going through withdrawal.” I stood drinking in the comic sweetness of his face, his smile. “Can I come in?”

“Sure. Here, let me take that,” I said, grasping the bag. He stepped inside, dripping water onto the entryway rug. He set the box down by the door. “Let me get you a towel.” After he’d dried off, he came in and surveyed the room. “Nice place.”

“Yeah, right.”

“No, really,” he said. “I love these great old painted ladies. Great details. Leaded glass diamond windowpanes. Clinker brick fireplace. Most of these have been wrecked with modernizing. It’s rare to see one in original form.” He walked to the mantle and picked up one of my many bird’s eggs.

“Yours?”

I nodded, a little embarrassed at the childhood collection. Now and then I’d find a new one to add to the assortment.

He picked up a second egg, examining it like a jeweler examines a diamond. “Why eggs?”

“Started when I was a kid.” I stepped toward him, pressing my cheek against his shoulder. “Each one has evolved to be the maximum thickness that a chick of its particular species can peck through. In other words, it’s as strong as it can possibly be for protection, but thin enough to allow escape. And each is designed for its habitat. Rounder eggs are from birds in secure nests. More pointed eggs are for species that lay eggs on rocks or hillsides; they roll in a circle so that they won’t get too far from their nests. Evolutionary perfection.”

“And beautiful.”

I’d never asked myself why I loved the eggs before. I looked with new eyes at the collection. “Yeah. Beautiful.”

Ben moseyed over to Jake, gave him a quick sniff, and licked his hand. “How you doing, big guy?” Jake petted Ben’s head, which came up to his hip. “Your description didn’t do you justice, old man. He’s even bigger than you described. I guess that means you’re not prone to exaggeration.”

“No,” Mary K said as she entered the room. “Murphy doesn’t tend toward hyperbole.” Her hair was loose and shiny. Her blue eyes shone like jewelry.

Jake reached his hand out. “You must be Mary K. I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s a pleasure.” Jake flashed Mary K a world-class smile. The two shook hands and Mary K gave Jake a sideways appraisal. “Here,” Jake said, “I brought something for you. Sort of a nice-to-meet-you gift. Kat told me what a big animal lover you are.”

It seemed odd to me for Mary K to hear Jake’s intimate nickname for me. He reached into the shopping bag, set the flowers aside, and pulled out a book of photographs tied with a leather strap. “It’s a collection of photographs of artists with their animals. Georgia O’Keefe with her horses. You know, shots like that. It’s a first edition given to me by the artist. Richard Avedon. He’s a good friend of my friend, Burt. Avedon is a great portrait photographer, and—”

“I know who Richard Avedon is,” Mary K interrupted, her voice brittle.

Confusion filled me. What had changed the tone in the room? I didn’t have a clue who Richard Avedon was and wondered if he was somehow offensive to Mary K.

“Of course,” Jake said. He looked down at the floor. “Anyway, I really enjoyed getting this as a gift, but I’m not one to hold on to things. It deserves a new set of more appreciative eyes.”

Jake held the box out to Mary K. She reached into her pocket and grabbed a cigarette, lighting it before taking the box from him. “Thanks,” she muttered. “That wasn’t necessary. First edition. Sounds a little
valuable
.” She set the package, unopened, on a side chair. Her face wore creases of suspicion.

“Gifts are only valuable if they’re being enjoyed.” Jake reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze. I squirmed involuntarily, realizing that though I’d watched Mary K with dozens of her dates, I’d never been physically demonstrative with a man in front of her. Nigel and I only touched when we were alone.

“There’s a wolf in there,” Jake continued. “One of old Ben’s distant cousins. Ooh, and I almost forgot.” He reached into the bag and extracted a cellophane bag filled with dog bone-shaped cookies. “They’re from this place on Union Street. They make healthy pet snacks.” Jake unwrapped the package and removed a bone, which Ben took delicately into his teeth and began munching.

I wanted to smooth the rough edges of the exchange. “Thanks, Jake. Ben seems to love his treat.”

“He’s a bit of a snack whore,” Mary K replied. “Don’t know that gourmet goodies can be fully appreciated by an animal that drinks from the toilet.”

Jake pulled two bottles from the bag. “Wine and sparkling water,” he announced. “Thought we could share a drink together.”

Mary K eyed the water and sent me a piercing glare that said,
You told him, didn’t you
.
I averted my eyes. So much had gushed out of me since I’d met Jake, I couldn’t believe he’d recalled the details of Mary K’s health and had brought her something. My cheeks stung. Mary K blew a silver stream of smoke toward me and it could not have sliced me more if it had been a dagger.

Jake filled our glasses. The room was static with awkward small talk. I felt like an ambassador introducing leaders of two warring nations. “So, you’re from New York,” Jake said.

“Queens,” Mary K replied with a flat tone.

“I grew up in Manhattan. I guess we were neighbors.”

Mary K took a long drag off of her cigarette. “Queens isn’t Manhattan.”

Jake’s smile faded, but returned a second later. “My father would agree. He’s a dyed-in-the-wool Manhattanite.”

I straightened with pride. “Jake is an artist. He has a sculpture installed in Central Park, and another near the Met. I saw photos.”

Mary K squinted, calculating. “Wait a minute. Are you Jacob
Bloom
?” I started with her recognition. The layers to Jake’s fame were just beginning to unfold for me.

“Guilty as charged,” Jake said. “But friends call me Jake.”

“So your father is Aaron Bloom. Bloom Tower. Bloom Industries. Bloom Symphony Hall.”

I felt the fast jerk of my neck as I turned to look at Jake. With all we’d talked about, his father’s notable identity had not been mentioned.

“My father and I don’t exactly—”

Mary K wore a snide look. “I never thought one of the Kowalski clan would be sharing a Perrier with Bloom Industries in her living room, that’s for sure.”

“I’m
not
Bloom Industries,” Jake said, his voice tinged with the first note of anger I’d ever heard from him.

Mary K read my face. “You didn’t know that your new, uh, friend has the single most recognized last name on the Eastern Seaboard? Largest private owner of land in all five boroughs, and God knows where else in the world. Wall Street king. Bloom holds up a little pinky and fifteen waiters piss all over themselves just trying to put a fresh olive in his martini.”

Jake’s jaw clenched. “That would be my father. Not me.”

Of course I recognized Aaron Bloom’s name. Nearly anyone in America would know who Aaron Bloom was. I just hadn’t put Jake’s last name together with the mogul’s as Mary K had.

“That’s right. That would be the Big Bloom, isn’t that what they call him? You’re the Little Bloom, right? Oh, now wait a minute, what did I read in the papers back when I was in high school about the mogul and his only son? I was about sixteen. That would have made you, what, maybe twenty-two or so at the time?” Mary K tapped her forefinger on her cheek. Sarcastic words slithered from her lips. “I guess my mind is just too full of medical facts to recall the details. But wasn’t it some kind of assault? A gun was involved, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right,” Jake said. His jaw twitched. When he looked at me his eyes had paled.

“Yeah, I remember New York’s prince not being charged with anything despite the firing of a weapon. Winged the old man, didn’t you?”

Jake’s shoulders slumped. “There’s a lot more to the story.”

“Ain’t there always?”

Hot anger burned in me. “That was a long time ago,” I said, surprised by my urge to defend Jake. “Jake’s told me that he and his father have a tumultuous relationship.”

Mary K stood up suddenly, ignoring Jake. “Just pay attention, Murphy,” she said, her eyes boring their gaze into mine. “Thanks for the bubbles and the book. Turns out I’ve got a date after all. I’m sure you guys will enjoy the privacy.”

I tried to draw a breath, unsure of what had just happened. Mary K wore a smug grimace. “I won’t be home until tomorrow morning—late,” she said. “The weather is nasty, so I don’t want to bring Ben out into it. Can you keep your eye on the mutt until I’m back? I don’t think he should be alone.”

I wrestled my confusion. “Don’t worry. I’ll watch him,” I said. On cue, Ben lifted his head.

“I already injected him, but this dampness is really pounding his old bones. He may need another morphine shot before bed.”

Before I could respond, Mary K kissed Ben, grabbed her coat, and flew out the door. The candles all flickered with the gust of air that blasted in her wake.

Jake refilled our wine glasses. “Well, that was fun.”

“I don’t know what got into her.”

“I’m kind of used to my family name evoking a certain range of extreme responses.”

“You could’ve told me about that,” I said.

“You knew my name.”

“You know what I mean.” I felt foolish and clueless for not having put the pieces of Jake’s identity together on my own.

“What was I supposed to tell you? That my dad is one of the richest motherfuckers ever? That his name is on the side of half a dozen high-rises and twenty different companies? Should I have explained how, when I found out that my dad had bribed a woman he didn’t deem
suitable for my station
to break up with me, it enraged me so much that I picked up what I thought was an unloaded pistol from his gun cabinet and aimed it at him in front of about three hundred rich people at a cocktail party? When it went off, I nearly fainted. His influence kept me out of jail, on the condition that I go into inpatient psychiatric care. What would all that have meant, Kat, if I told you?”

“I’ll admit, it requires some explanation, but it doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s just information about who you are, is all. I told you about my family. When I asked you about yours all you said was,
We’re not very close
.”

“We’re not.”

“Why the secrecy?”

“I have no secrets, Kat. I’ll tell you anything.” Jake ran his fingers through his hair. “I just like it when I meet somebody who doesn’t think they already know everything there is to know about me because of my last name. You can’t believe everything you read. I’m not my dad. We haven’t had contact in years.”