Goodnight Blackbird (18 page)

"At least they said I was pretty," Jacqueline said to Michelle, who still hung back in Jacqueline's blind spot, a looming presence that was felt rather than seen. Jacqueline looked around but didn't see Darren. His absence depressed her. Darren would have been able to see her. He would have told her, Let's blow this place, and they would have gone somewhere and just looked at the stars.

She tried to get the attention of Kayla and her husband, but they were too busy staring grimly at the coffin in the water which looked like some morbid decoration at the bottom of a goldfish bowl. Kayla and her husband were saying things like "some women aren't meant to be mothers" and "Michelle's probably turning over in her grave at what she's doing." They both wore matching expressions of moralistic condescension, like newscasters talking about a celebrity's coke-and-sex-fueled fall from grace.

"I don't like this party anymore," Jacqueline said. Once again, the dream could have used some smoother editing—without transition, Jacqueline was back in her bed, but she could still sense Michelle standing next to the bed, hidden in the darkness. Jacqueline felt sleep tugging at her and she didn't have the strength to resist it. She was a hollowed-out shell. It felt as if her mind had vomited up the entire contents of her life in one long and alarming purging stream, cleaning her out and leaving only a husk, a person no more substantial than a paper doll.

"I miss you so much, sweetie," Jacqueline said. "Can you hold my hand? Until I fall asleep again?"

The specter held Jacqueline's hand.

Jacqueline shut her eyes. Some of her sadness was lifting. "Michelle. I was glad I named you that. It's elegant. It really suited you."

"That's not my name," the specter said.

"W
e'll just stay half an hour," Jacqueline said as Darren pulled to the curb in front of Kayla's Cleveland Heights home.

Despite his initial misgivings, Darren had found himself looking forward to the party and seeing into this new window of Jacqueline's life. He felt like Margaret Mead in the field, about to study some previously unknown tribe in the South Seas—
suburbanitus americanus
, in all its glory. It certainly beat his usual social outings, which mainly consisted of sitting in half-deserted sports bars while Khabir enumerated the myriad ways in which his life sucked. For Jacqueline's benefit, Darren wore his midnight blue suit with the silver tie. It would send a signal that she consorted with men of style and sophistication. He didn't want to look like just another douchebag in Dockers.

When they walked through the door, Kayla and her radiologist husband Ted greeted Jacqueline warmly, Darren less so, but he expected this and played it cool. Darren and Jacqueline's anniversary gift—a bottle of sparkling wine from a local vineyard—thawed their reserve somewhat, and eventually Darren found himself having a lengthy, pleasant talk with Ted about the black and white photos (Ted's handiwork) of bleak but striking winterscapes decorating the living room walls. Tiny birds clung to bare, storm-tossed branches under unsympathetic grey skies.

But before this, there was the Allison issue to attend to.

Jacqueline pointed her out to him. Allison's ash-blonde hair, sunken cheeks and harsh greenish eyes gave her the air of an annoyed ex-beauty queen. She stood at the sideboard, nibbling on a cube of cheese. The two women noticed one another immediately and Allison had smiled tightly before turning away—that time-honored way of saying,
I see you, but the next move is yours
.

"I don't see Kevin anywhere," Jacqueline murmured.

Maybe now she could relax. And so could he. He hadn't been looking forward to meeting Kevin. In the annals of awkward moments in his life, that would have most assuredly been among the top five. In his more whimsical imaginings of this night, Darren had pictured Kevin and Allison with their arms all over one another to get under Jacqueline's skin, forcing Jacqueline to respond in kind by sitting in Darren's lap and calling him her little hug-monkey until the whole evening devolved into obvious
Three's Company
-type farce. The reality, though, would have been less amusing—long silences, heated words in the kitchen, an abrupt, uncomfortable departure.

Jacqueline took Darren with her as she made her way over to Allison. "Al, I am so sorry about Mark. I really am."

"Thanks. Good to see you."

Jacqueline had shyly held out her hands in preparation for a hug that never came. But at least Allison was smiling. Darren introduced himself and shook Allison's hand. Her gaze was borderline friendly.

"Look, I'm sorry for unloading on you in that e-mail," Allison said to Jacqueline. Allison was compulsively wolfing down chunks of smoked Gouda in a distracted, angry way. Darren thought of Cronos swallowing his own children. "I shouldn't have done that. I've just been so emotional lately."

"I'm sorry I haven't been much of a friend to you."

"I've just felt so raw," Allison said, as if not hearing her. "Like I'm under siege, you know? I'm almost forty, I've got three kids and now I'm alone. It's a lot to get used to."

"I think I understand how you feel," Jacqueline said.

Allison smiled frostily, this time turning her attention to the Swedish meatballs. "Well, no, I don't think you do. You more or less left your marriage willingly. I was kicked out of mine. Not quite the same level on the Richter scale. Sorry for airing all this dirty laundry in front of you, Darren, but you know how us over-the-hill gals are. Baggage baggage baggage."

"I'm sorry you're going through this," Darren said. "I'm divorced myself."

Allison glanced at Jacqueline. "I'm sure Kayla's already told you. A few weeks ago Kayla, Ted and I went out one night. Kevin came along too. No big deal. He's still friends with my brother so we run into each other once in a while. I figured, what the hell, dinner and a movie. Beats being alone all the time."

"Okay," Jacqueline said. Darren heard the coolness in her voice—not the reassuring, oh-think-nothing-of-it tone that Allison had probably been expecting.

Allison's eyes narrowed. "I mean, it's not like I have to ask permission or anything. You two are pretty much single now." She hovered over the pan of steaming meatballs like a vulture. "You ought to try these. My God, I could eat these things all night."

Darren placed his hand on the small of Jacqueline's back in what he hoped was a clear enough signal that they ought to move to a less emotionally charged area of the party. Jacqueline held her ground. The polite blankness of her face was a bad sign.

"I'm just wondering," Jacqueline said, "why all of a sudden you wanted to go out with Kevin of all people. It's not a big deal, I'm just curious."

Allison stopped in mid-chew. "'Go out with Kevin'? You make it sound as if we're dating. We're not, Jacqueline."

"I didn't mean it that way, I meant why choose him to go to the movie with you."

"I just explained that to you. On occasion he keeps in touch. He knows my brother. Kevin's a friend."

Jacqueline smiled. "It's not a big deal, really. I guess maybe I'm feeling a little sensitive too. I thought maybe you were trying to get back at me. Or maybe Kevin was trying to get back at me. It's silly paranoia, I know."

"Maybe it's a hard realization for you to make, but the universe does not revolve around you, Jacqueline."

Darren saw Jacqueline's jaw clench. The thin smile on her lips was only a smile in the most technical sense. "I never said it did. I was just being paranoid."

"He's a friend. That's all. Christ, why does everyone nowadays have to find fault with everything I do? You don't see me judging the company you keep."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"All of a sudden you're best buddies with Cassie Christopher. Which is a shocker because we all used to make fun of what a slut she was."

"I thought you weren't going to judge my friends."

Allison selected some celery to munch as a palate cleanser. "Mmm, nice and crisp. I'm not judging her. I don't care what she does. It's not an issue." She gave Jacqueline a strange, almost cautionary look, as if saying,
I can make it an issue, though
. Darren didn't know who this Cassie person was but the mention of her name seemed to make Jacqueline edgier than she already was.

Kayla interrupted, wanting to introduce Jacqueline and Darren to a woman named Francesca, a fellow teacher in the Ursuline English department.

As Kayla led the way across the living room, Darren whispered, "Get a grip on your horses. It's a party."

"She always does this. Always. If she feels vulnerable or left out, she'll steal from you. Usually it involves men. You should have seen her in high school."

"You're getting a divorce. Kevin doesn't belong to you anymore."

Jacqueline looked at him. "Can you honestly say that if you saw Annika holding hands with another man, you wouldn't feel a little hurt?"

She had him there.

They were presented with Francesca, a heavyset woman wearing a dark floral print dress so kaleidoscopically garish that it looked as if she were wearing an Oriental greenhouse. She had a warm but theatrical manner and like most academics, she didn't so much as talk to you as grant you an audience. When she asked what Darren did for a living and Darren described his enthralling career as a paper-pusher, her smile became patiently condescending, as if she thought that his idea of high culture was probably the NFL post-game show. Her estimation of him seemed to rise, however, when in the course of a discussion about marriage Darren corrected her on one point: it was William Congreve, not Coleridge, who said that courtship was to marriage as a witty prologue was to a very dull play.

"Congreve was a cynic," Darren said. "And given tonight's occasion, I like what Joseph Barth said—that marriage is our last, best chance to grow up."

Francesca grinned. "With three marriages in my rearview mirror, I guess you could say I'm the most grown-up one here." She insisted that Darren sit next to her when the dessert was served.

Dessert turned out to be a large triple chocolate cake that Kayla had baked herself. Ted poured the coffee while everyone gathered at the dining room table and discussed the sorry state of the economy. "It's even affecting us teachers," Kayla said. "Our department's trying to make some of the junior faculty go part-time so the school won't have to pay them benefits."

"Remember Vince Califano from high school?" Allison said. "He works at that Chevy dealership out in Bedford. They're gonna close next month. He doesn't know what he's gonna do."

Kayla's eyes widened. "My God. I haven't thought of him in years." She looked at her other guests. "He was my first real boyfriend, even though we only went out three times. Can't even remember why we broke up, but I do remember him breaking it off with me in the Pizza Hut on Mayfield Road. I've never been able to set foot in a Pizza Hut since."

Ted smiled. "We've got the Papa John's coupons to prove it."

Jacqueline poured half-and-half in her coffee. "I thought he ended it with you because he started going out with Allison."

Allison stirred her coffee, the spoon ting-ting-tinging rapidly against the porcelain cup.

Darren lightly squeezed Jacqueline's leg under the table. Once again she did not take the hint. "For a few weeks afterward," Jacqueline said, looking at Allison, "you and Vince were inseparable. Didn't he take you to that big party at Evan Becker's house, the one where the cops came?"

Kayla laughed. "You know, I'd forgotten all that. Yeah, I remember confronting Allison in the hallway one day after calculus."

"We were just friends," Allison said. She steadily returned Jacqueline's gaze. "Since you seem to have such a photographic memory, you'll recall that he started dating Mindy Mandelbaum around that time. Not me. He took her to Homecoming."

"I never went to Homecoming or prom," Darren said. "But girls were fighting over me for the privilege. 'You take him,' one would say, and the other would say, 'I don't want him, you take him.'"

Ted laughed.

"The economy hasn't been bad for everyone," Allison said, taking a dainty bite of cake. "Remember Cassie Christopher, Kayla? Her escort service seems to be doing well, if you believe the gossip I've been hearing."

"Escort service?" Francesca said. "My, my. In Cleveland, of all places."

"Oh yeah," Allison said. "I have to hand it to her. She finally got practical and decided to sell what she gave away for free in school. People have seen her downtown at the more upscale bars and hotel lobbies every time there's some businessmen's convention." She kept stirring and stirring her coffee, the ting-ting-tinging spoon sounding like the world's smallest alarm bell. "I find the whole thing kind of fascinating, so I've been doing a little digging here and there. Yeah, Cassie's been doing well for herself. Tell them, Jacqueline."

Jacqueline was silent.

"Don't be shy," Allison said. "You're among friends. I mean, you work with her, right?"

Kayla blinked, then looked down at her plate. Ted looked confused. Darren was likewise confused, but the ashen expression on Jacqueline's face cleared up some of the bewilderment. Jacqueline's cheek twitched and her linen napkin was clenched in one white-knuckled fist.

"Tell me," Allison said, "does a man have to pay extra to come in your mouth?"

Jacqueline dropped the napkin on her plate and fled the table. The back door opened and closed. Her quick, sharp footfalls were echoing down the sidewalk before Darren even made it to the door.

She was halfway to the end of the block by the time Darren got outside. He hesitated a moment, wondering if he should follow in the car. He saw her cross the street and slip into Denison Park, where the tennis court lights were on.

He went after her on foot in the cool night, passing by a procession of real estate signs along the street. It seemed as if every third house was up for sale. A few signs said BANK OWNED and PRICE REDUCED. The cancer of the housing crisis had spread deep into the bones of tidy middle-class neighborhoods populated not by the working poor but by teachers, dentists, plumbers, radiologists. People were waking up from the American Dream with a hangover.

Darren found Jacqueline sitting at a picnic table next to the fenced-in pool, which had been drained for the season.

He sat down next to her. Her cheeks glittered with wet trails. Her clenched, quivering jaw told him she was trying to keep from breaking down in front of him. "How could she treat me like that," she said, "in front of everyone?"

Darren put a hand on her back and her face crumpled. She slumped into him and wept into his chest, holding onto him with a ferocity that was both touching and unnerving.
You're a safe harbor
, Kat had said. But the dirty little secret was that he wasn't that good at it, not by a longshot. The shipwrights in his humble port were middling carpenters at best and wholly unprepared for the vessels that drifted in out of the mist, on fire, masts snapped, decks smashed by cannonfire. He had no idea what to say to Jacqueline now.

After a few moments she straightened up and put a hand to her flushed forehead.

"It's true, what she said?" Darren asked.

She didn't reply.

He looked off at the empty pool. The leaves on the trees overhanging the pool were turning red and pale yellow, and the air had that depressing October crispness to it. Summer was gone.

"When I was a kid," Darren said, "I used to come here sometimes in the summers. My parents lived about six blocks away, on the other side of Noble Road. I never went swimming here, though. Never much liked swimming."

"I did. I think I still have my high school's record for the hundred-meter freestyle."

"Nice."

"My mother didn't like the idea of me being on the team. She said it was for 'manly' girls and lesbians."