Forget Me Not (10 page)

Evading any possible obstructions, I sneak out of a side door that opens into a dark ally. The coolness of the night air beckons me and so I start mindlessly walking. I head towards the light that summons me from the street and continue left to avoid having to walk past the glass front. I willingly consent to my feet’s need to move. I don't know where they’re taking me, I don’t care. I just need a minute.

The city air continues to create an inviting chill that nips at my exposed skin as I march down the sidewalk. I welcome the chill, for it wakes me up and clears the stress induced fog that clouds my head. My feet are moving fast on the pavement beneath me, confident in their destination. I wish they’d let me in on the secret.

Suddenly, a voice penetrates the fog and a warm hand pulls me clear.

"Michaela?"

The hand continues to grip my arm and I turn to see a man stood next to me. I’m momentarily dazzled by his striking presence. I stare long and hard at him, unperturbed by his repetitive use of my name. Jesse is dressed in slim, grey pants, a tight black shirt, and a dark grey jacket, open slightly to hint at what I know is an incredible body. He looks completely different, every inch the rich, city mogul. He looks amazing.

"Mickey, are you okay?"

My eyes finally rest on his face, anxiety written all over its beauty. His brow tight and his eyes severe. "Yeah, I'm fine." I blink hard, trying to clear the remaining haze. "What’re you doing here?"

"I'm here to see you. You invited me, remember?" He let's go of my arm but steps closer so that I still feel the connection that pulses between us. "What are you doing walking the streets? Is everything okay?"

I briefly contemplate lying, fabricating some elaborate reason for me to be away from my own opening night, but I can't. "I think I panicked. I just needed some air. Sorry."

He smiles softly. "Why are you apologizing?"

I shrug my shoulders and smile pathetically. The tension is slowly draining from my body, leaving only embarrassment.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone. These streets aren’t as safe as Starling. Do you want to go back?" he asks and I nod in response. He takes my hand and leads the way. "You're freezing, sweets.” Through this realization he let's go of my hand and removes his jacket.

"No, it's fine, we're almost here," I insist when he offers it me.

My eyes glance to his now shield-less body. His shirt is tight to his athletic arms and chest and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Placing the luxurious jacket over his arm he guides us into the glass fronted room. He stands tall and I feed off of his confidence, feeling like a completely different person to the one who left with her head hanging low.

Jesse takes two glasses of champagne from a young waitress and hands one to me.

"Mr. Jenner,” she mumbles as her cheeks blaze with shyness. He nods back in acknowledgement but makes no attempt to communicate further.

"Do you know her?" I ask
as she walks off. He shrugs his broad shoulders in indifference and leads us through the small crowd.

Jesse pads around the room, studying each image with a kind intrigue as I watch him intently. He gives no indication of his thoughts and I feel oddly unsettled. I want him to like them so much. To allow my art to be scrutinized by specialists and potential clients is daunting enough, but to open myself up to the love of my life leaves me twitching with trepidation.

"It's busy here," Jesse says, momentarily glancing at the crowd around us.

"I know, and hot,” I say, fanning myself. “I wasn’t expecting this many people to be here."

He smiles in response but it doesn’t detract his concentration. I follow him around as he moves suavely from one framed piece to another, all the while alternating his hand placement from the small of my back to between my shoulders.

I manage to tear my attention away from Jesse as he studies another framed piece of mine, and realize just how many people are watching us. Some have the decency to look away when caught out, but others continue to pry. I expected some degree of attention at my own exhibition, but it’s not me they’re looking at, it’s Jesse. I want to believe that the sudden attention is down to his good looks alone, but there’s something akin to awe in their expressions.

Jesse seems completely unaware. Perhaps he’s used to this reaction, or perhaps he’s just too preoccupied to care. Either way I’m glad. If it was me being so obviously ogled I’d feel uncomfortable.

"I really like this one." He points at the print in front of us.

"It’s one of my favorites.”

The image is one of the sand dunes back home. I don't ordinarily shoot landscapes but this was the night of Joanna's birthday where we had a barbeque on the beach. As the sun set, the golden sky became almost indistinguishable from the sand and in the distance you can see a feminine figure. She must have been walking over the dunes, but it appears as if she is dancing through a sea of amber. I like to believe that it is Joanna.

"Is this in Starling?" he asks with genuine interest, and nostalgia.

"Yes, last summer."

"Does it mean anything to you?"

"They all mean something to me."

"This one more than others though?" he asks, finally looking at me, recharging our connection in an instant. The abundance of spotlights overhead reflect in his eyes like a ring of stars. The effect is captivating. I nod dreamily, unable to tear myself away from his celestial stare.

“Maybe. When I took the photo I was aware it could be something great, but there was no work involved. It was an easy shot. It wasn’t until a long time later when I stumbled upon it again that I realized its magic."

Jesse shifts so that his whole body is now facing me. The pull between us is stronger than ever. I sip from my glass in an attempt to calm myself.

“You’re the reason it’s magic. Easy shot or not it wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for you. It's beautiful."

"Thanks. I only wish I’d taken more."

Our connection now resembles an impenetrable force field around us. We are completely alone in this crowded space, oblivious to the buzz of the audience.

We walk through to the second room where the music hitches up a notch and the lighting is slightly dimmed. The images in here are ones taken from gigs, festivals, and even street performances. There’s a film being played through a projector onto a white brick wall. It plays a loop of live music and the bands that I’ve worked with. Most are local to New England but some are from the surrounding areas, some New York. Some of the framed images are of the acts that performed but a large proportion is of the crowd. I try to single individuals out through them, whether it's through the use of lighting or focus, and together they work to highlight so many different aspects and experiences of live music.

Jesse is smiling and biting his lip simultaneously. His wintry blue eyes warm as they scan the room and then fall back to me.

"I feel you in this room." His words are whispered directly into my ear and the closeness is distracting.

"What do you mean?"

"The pieces in here. The music. It's all you, Mickey."

I’m caught in his spell as he reaches across to lightly link a finger with mine. His touch is not enough that we’re fully holding hands and I can only presume that he’s practicing prudence because of the business nature of the people around us.

"This is what I enjoy the most," I explain.

"I can tell." His grip tightens slightly on my hand, but I want more. I step closer feeling the energy between us charge.

"There you are!" Zoe interrupts, her voice bellowing out between us like a foghorn. Our connection is killed and our hands suddenly lonely. Zoe glares at us suspiciously.

"Sorry, Zoe." I shake my head trying to clear my thoughts, "I was just showing…erm, Mr. Jenner my work." I feel ridiculous at having to use such formalities regarding the person I have been most familiar with.

"Mr. Jenner, Zoe. Zoe, Mr. Jenner," I say, alternating pointing between them. "As well as being my saving grace today, Zoe is also my niece."They shake hands politely.

"Jesse," he corrects.

"Oh, Jesse,” she says, elongating the ‘oh’. Zoe's face can't hide her sudden recognition and I remind myself to have stern words with Joanna for opening her big mouth.

"Was there anything you needed, Zoe?" I ask, breaking her suspicious gaze as she eyes the pair of us with her mother’s knowing hazels.

"There are a couple of journalists wanting to speak to you before they leave."

"Oh, okay. Tell them I’ll be with them in one moment, please." Zoe nods and walks back to them as I turn to Jesse. "Will you stay?"

"I don’t want to distract you from your night. Enjoy it and I'll try and be back later, okay?” His hand finds my waist and his head lowers to meet my disappointed gaze. I say nothing. “Michaela?”

“Okay, I just thought you might’ve stuck around longer.”

“I wish I could, but to be honest, Mickey, I’m struggling to keep my hands off of you. It would be most unprofessional for you to let me behave the way I want to right now. It’d be much easier for me to try and come back later, when I don’t have to worry about offending your adoring crowd.” Jesse’s words are spoken so seductively into my ear that they completely contradict his need to appear professional.

My breathing is heavy as I attempt to speak. “If you don’t make it back tonight, will I see you again?”

At once his mischievous smile is gone and his face indicates troubled thoughts.“Of course.” He pauses for several seconds, his eyes burning into my own as if trying to validate his words. “I'm very proud of you, and now I’m going to go and order some prints to display my pride at home," he says, before kissing me tenderly on the cheek and turning to leave, swinging his long jacket over his shoulder like a cape.

Chapter 12

It's almost midnight and the last of the guests have left. The waiting staff have gone home, Davis too. Zoe and I are left, delighting in the success of the evening. A good proportion of images have already been sold and there’s a lot of interest and possible business ventures to keep me busy. It really couldn’t have gone better. Well, maybe if Jesse had come back. I never thought he would. I try to be grateful that at least he turned up, but I guess I’ll always be left wanting more.

"Here, drink this." I hand Zoe a glass of champagne from the last of the bottles. "Just don't tell your mom."

She takes the glass and pours a large mouthful down her throat, before her face tightens and her hand flies to her mouth. "That's disgusting! Seriously, that’s the worst champagne ever!"

I laugh. "How would you know if you don't drink?"

She giggles back, guiltily. "Erm..."

I chuckle and excuse Zoe of her embarrassment, grabbing my coat and handing Zoe hers. "Come on, it's late." I collect my bag and check my phone, nothing, so I put my coat on and turn the lights out.

"Did you know he's outside?" Zoe whispers.

"Who?" I whisper back. I don’t know why. There’s nobody around to hear us.

"Mr. Jenner…Jesse."

I lean around her and there he is, leaning his back casually against a street light with his hands tucked firmly into the pockets of his jacket. He looks like a vintage movie star, all slick hair and artful lighting.

"He's delicious," Zoe sighs. She nudges me, a smirk playing out across her face.

"I can't believe your mom told you."

"She didn't, I heard her and Grandma talking on the phone."

"Great." They really have been discussing me at length.

"They didn’t sound too pleased. I don’t know why, I think it's fantastic. You look perfect together," she murmurs, dreamily. I roll my eyes but smile at her optimism, remembering how it felt to be young and romantic. I hope she finds someone to meet her expectations. Life rarely delivers our dreams.

We nervously make our way outside. I lock the door behind us and post them through the letterbox. Davis has an additional set for tomorrow.

Jesse steps towards us and I have to chew the inside of my mouth in order to fight the goofy grin that threatens to escape.

He came back.

"Hi." He looks first at me and then nods gentlemanly at Zoe. She smiles shyly in response and I inwardly laugh that she isn’t immune to Jesse’s attractiveness.

"I was hoping that you’d join me for a celebratory drink," he explains. 

I check my watch, even though I already know the time. "It's a bit late." I look at Zoe to remind myself that I don't want her to feel abandoned.

His disappointment is evident. "Call it a celebratory night cap then, a quick one." His pleading eyes almost floor me. Zoe tenses her face and ever so slightly nods her head, hinting indiscreetly at her approval.

"A quick night cap then,” I agree before turning to ask Zoe, “Are you going to be okay on your own for a little while?"

"I'm sure I'll manage." She kisses me on the cheek and makes her way across the street to the hotel. "We have a mini bar in our room, right?" she calls back, teasingly, but she’s on the other side of the road before I get chance to reply.

Now it’s just me, Jesse and my awkwardness. I’d already resigned myself to the idea that he had forgotten about me and I was beginning to allow myself to be annoyed with him, so for Jesse to have actually shown up, it throws my attitude way off course.

We start walking slowly. To where? I have no idea, but my feet obediently follow his.

“No car?” I ask.

“We’re not going far.”

I nod in response and then desperately think of something to say.

"She looks like Joanna," he says, breaking the ice on my behalf.

"I know. She wouldn't like to hear it though."

"They don’t get on?"

"It's a long story."

"We have all night."

I contemplate my answer. "Then there must be more important things to discuss," I hint, regretting it immediately. I don't want to start the evening like this. Or end it, considering how late it already is.

"You're persistent." His tone worries me, but when I look up at him, he’s smiling.

"Sorry." I tighten my jacket around myself in order to resist reaching out to him. I don’t want to give in so easy without at least getting some answers first.

"Hey, you have nothing to be sorry for." He stops walking and stands rigidly to the spot, encouraging me to stop too. "It's me who’s making this difficult."

"But…why? Surely as soon as we talk then it's behind us and we can move forward." I catch myself, realizing I’m presuming that he even wants our relationship to progress. "I mean, if you wanted to." 

He steps closer still and then his arms are around me, providing some welcome warmth.

My weak resistance is broken too easily as I slide my hands over his chest.

"Of course I want to move forward. I want nothing more than for us to put our issues behind us. It's just that…well, it’s difficult when I haven't talked about my past with anyone. Starling is a surreally distant memory. I'm over it."

I stiffen at his words. He's over it? I’m a part of Starling too so in some respects that must include me. Am I just a part of his past that he can’t revisit, a distant memory that he hasn't thought about since he left?

"I-I didn't mean it like that," he stutters, no doubt in response to my obvious displeasure. "I just feel like I’d be opening up a wound that’s already healed. Ya’ know?"

"No, I don't know. My wound never healed." Wriggling myself free from his embrace I turn to look away, in desperate need of controlling my mouth. Jesse is taken aback and falls silent. Neither of us acknowledges each other for some time. We just stand several feet apart, bathing uncomfortably in the cold shower of light from the unforgiving streetlamp.

I contemplate leaving him there and hurrying back to the safety of the hotel. Even though it won’t offer the comfort that home could, it would at least keep me from the inevitable distress of furthering this conversation. He isn’t willing to open up to me. If he isn't willing to face up to his past then he can't fully accept me into his future. I urge my feet to move but they refuse profusely in the unwelcome knowledge that I’m not strong enough to willingly be apart from him.

Without words, he takes my hand. I mentally applaud him for having the balls for such an action when I must look like I want to punch him. We walk a couple of blocks before stopping suddenly.

"This is us," he declares.

We’re standing in front of what I presume is a restaurant or bar. The windows are dark and an exotic name that I can’t pronounce swirls wildly over the blackness that obscures the view inside.

He kisses my hand and watches my face with interest as we step through the doors. The room is breathtaking, like nothing I’ve ever seen before and my mouth hangs open in amazement. There are what appear to be trees lining the walls but instead of branches of leaves there are extravagant chandeliers that hang artistically above tiny tables bordering the room. There is a bar that stretches along the entire length of space and a couple of young women wearing black uniforms stand behind it, staring inquisitively at us both.

"Bottle of Cristal when you're ready," he instructs them as we walk past. He takes us to the furthest, darkest corner and gestures for me to sit.

"Did you say Cristal?"

"Yes, we're celebrating," he dismisses, not seeming to think it is a big deal.

"Wine would’ve been more than okay," I insist as he holds out my chair for me to sit.

"I want to show you what good champagne tastes like, and it doesn't taste like that poison you were handing out back there." He smirks. He's teasing. I can deal with this Jesse.

He sits opposite, but we’re so close that our knees are touching beneath the table. A small bronze tray of four tea-light candles sit between us, casting an attractive golden glow onto his already exquisite face. It highlights the sharp line of his jaw and strengthens his masculinity. His sharp blue eyes are softened by the dim light and I catch myself staring, entranced by their magic.

A red-haired girl brings over our bottle, all the while undressing Jesse with her vixen eyes. She pops the cork and goes to pour it into our glasses, but Jesse excuses her and takes the bottle to fill them himself. I delight in the fact that his eyes don’t leave mine and Red walks away with her bushy tail between her legs.

The champagne is delicious, and I sip far too frequently.

"Do you own this place?" I ask in realization.

"Yes, it's my latest little venture."

"It's very impressive." My attention is fought for; the lights overhead, the marble floor, the crystal glasses. It really has been beautifully put together. "Did you design it yourself?"

"No, I knew the direction I wanted to take it but I paid someone to create this." I sense he’s trying to sound modest, but I can see his obvious pride.

"I can't believe how well you’ve done, Jesse. You haven't stopped surprising me."

"What did you expect me to be doing?" His wandering hands find mine across the table and I both relax and heat up with his touch.

"I have no idea. I didn't expect you to be a Cristal drinker though." I lower my gaze before anxiously asking, "Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me that this was your life?" I look around us, motioning towards his beautiful wine bar, his wealth, his lifestyle.

He shakes his head, looking almost ashamed.

“I know how well you’ve done,” I continue. “I know all about your fame, your success. What I don’t know is why you haven’t told me yourself.”

Pulling my hand nearer and clutching it just that little bit tighter he lifts his eyes to mine. He opens his mouth and closes it, shaking his head again before being able to explain. “It’s not like I’ve lied to you. And it’s not like I’m living in a penthouse and flying around in my private jet.”

“At the rate you’re going, it won’t be long.” We both tap against the wooden table for luck, chuckling at our united gesture.

“Look, I didn’t plan on keeping anything from you. It’s just that,” he takes a moment, sighing heavily. “When I saw you at the reunion it was as if no time had passed. You were exactly how I thought you’d be. Then I got to thinking if
I
was how you thought
I
would be. I worried that the money and everything that comes with it would stop you from seeing that it’s still me. It’s still me, sweets. I needed you to see that first.” 

“Were you worried that I would be attracted to your money?”

“No, of course not. I know that’s not who you are.”

“I wouldn’t have been blinded by it all, Jesse.”

“I know that now.”

“I understand though, I guess.” I shrug. “I just wish you’d told me sooner so I could tell you how proud I am of you.” I say, running my fingers over our entwined hands.

“You’re proud of me?” he asks, smiling broadly.

“Unbelievably proud.”

Tucking his imaginary hair behind his ear he unknowingly shows the shyness that he works so tirelessly to hide.

“How did you do it, Jesse?” I ask, admiringly.

He shakes his head, as if in disbelief at his forthcoming words.

"It was easy."

"Easy?" I repeat, a little shocked.

"Yeah, when I left Starling I’d no idea what I was going to do. I was worried I’d end up on the streets, or worse, but the first bar I walked into asking for work hired me.”

He stops when I exhale loudly, overwhelmed with relief that he didn’t have to resort to living on the streets like I’d imagined for so long.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Nothing, carry on.”

He proceeds, but not before squinting his curious eyes at me. “Well, I started by clearing the tables and washing glasses for a couple of years and then when I was old enough, or looked old enough, I helped behind the bar." His voice is so soft I have to strain to hear him, but I can't interrupt him again. This is the most information he has divulged about himself since we were reacquainted.

"Vera owned the bar. She was amazing, so funny. She reminded me of my mom before…Dale, except she was pretty old. She took me under her wing and showed me the ropes, letting me live in the room above the bar for nothing. She was my angel." He sighs deep within his chest and my heart aches for him. "After a while she became ill. She didn’t tell me until it was too late, and weeks later she passed away. She left me everything," he says, nodding his head and looking back at me as if that concludes the story.

"Just like that? Didn't she have any family?"

"Just a son, but he was in prison and they weren't close. She left me her home, her money, everything." He fills our empty glasses, and studies my response. "She knew I had nothing, and I practically ran the place anyway. I guess she wanted to leave it with someone who’d look after it, and she knew I would. I loved that place. It was the closest thing to home, a family, that I’d ever known. Apart from you."