Missing Reels (10 page)

“No.” An arm shot around her waist. The couch rocked and fell back on the blocks with a slam as he pulled her down for a kiss. She was half on top of him and half off the couch, and if he let go she’d fall to the floor, but he didn’t let go, not even when he pulled his mouth away and moved a hand to the side of her face.

“Tea’s ready,” she whispered. His thumb was tracing the corner of her mouth.

“I hate chamomile.” His fingers slid to her collarbone, then slowly down.

“I could get you some water.” He started to sit up and she slipped off and knelt in front of the couch. He shifted to kiss her again and began to unfasten her belt. She put her hands on his chest, uncertain where to start.

“Can’t seem to manage anything tonight.” His hand was moving down her spine. “That seat at the cinema, the stairs, this sofa. Now this dress.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Does it have an opening? Anywhere? How did you put it on in the first place?” She moved his hand to her side. “At last.” He tugged. “Hooks. Topology. This I can manage. No, spoke too soon. There’s a zipper
under
the hooks. Bloody hell.”

“Shouldn’t we go to my room,” she whispered, “instead of staying out here where they can hear us?”

He had his hand inside the dress opening and his mouth on her ear. “I’m not sure. Is the bed up on sawhorses?”

“It’s on the floor.”

“Brilliant.” He grabbed her arms and pulled her up. They kept kissing and she only stumbled once on the way to her room.

R
AIN HISSED DOWN THE WINDOW
. I
T WAS A TWIN MATTRESS, SO SLEEP
had been a series of tight turns and tangled limbs, plus a long kiss at some point in the middle to make up for accidentally pinning her against the wall. And he’d stolen most of the covers. He was on his stomach, one leg thrown between hers and an arm trailing on the floor.

One thing was for sure. She was through with guitar players. A mathematician. Why had she never considered one of those? Trial and error. A sense of method. Process. Not just verse, then pell-mell for the chorus.

She checked the clock. Only 9:30, but she would never get back to sleep. She slid herself from under his leg and he barely stirred. She found her slip and headed for the bathroom. She hadn’t washed her face last night, and she didn’t want him waking up to smudges. There was no sound from Jim’s room or Talmadge’s corner as she crept past.

The bathroom mirror revealed a face that was a little punk rock, but not too bad. She washed everything off, then went to the deep windowsill where she kept her makeup. Concealer, definitely. Liner or mascara he might notice, so no. A little bit of blush. Where was the Chapstick?

She walked back to her room, trying to step lightly on the creaky floors. Still nothing from Talmadge and Jim. When she opened the door she saw that Matthew was awake, on his back with his arms behind his head.

“Good morning,” she said, closing the door behind her.

“Good morning.”

She’d been concentrating so hard on fixing her face she hadn’t come up with a snappy greeting, and now she was standing over him like a dope. Frantically she tried to think of a line from a good movie, but none of her favorites had a scene where the heroine woke up with a naked man in her bed. Damn you, Hays Office.

He pointed toward her shelves.

“That’s quite a collection there.”

“I record it myself or get it second-hand. Getting it all up here was a chore.”

He jerked a thumb behind him at the clothes rack. “That must have been a job, too.”

She decided to sit on the bed near his legs. “I’ve bought some stuff since I moved in.”

“Now I see where all your money goes.” He stretched, sat up and put an arm around her.

She had liked New York right away, but people here were always pressing you for details, always trying to get you to talk. A New Yorker, given a remark about how little you made, would immediately find a way to ask the amount. Not Matthew. When she told him she’d never been to college, he didn’t make her tell him why or ask if she still planned to go. When Harry was asking about Daddy and Yazoo City, Matthew had changed the subject for her. When she acted uncomfortable, he let it drop. Were all the English like that, or just him?

“Bad news.” She stiffened. “Not that bad, actually. But I have to leave.” He scooted to the edge of the bed.

She tried to sound casual, but knew she didn’t. “Are you sure? I don’t have to be at work until one. I was thinking we’d have breakfast.”

“That would have been lovely.” He turned her face toward him. “Really, it would have been. But I can’t make it. Next time.” He kissed her, stood up and pulled on his underwear.

She did like the sound of “next time.” Maybe she wasn’t as tactful as he was, but she figured she had a right to the question. “Do I get to ask where you’re going?”

“Of course.” He was putting on his pants. “I’m going to mass.”

She ran through all the awkwardness she’d imagined during all the night’s multiple awakenings. Matthew not liking how she looked in the morning. Talmadge flirting and him not knowing how to deal. Matthew taking one sip of Cafe Busted and spitting it back in the cup. Or worst of all, Matthew clutching his brow and moaning that he’d betrayed the best woman who ever studied economics. Not once had she considered the possibility that things would be cut short for Sunday school.

His pants had wound up stuffed between the shelves and the foot of the bed. He yanked on them and said, “With a name like Reilly, aren’t you Catholic yourself?”

“Nope. By the time my Irish ancestors got to Mississippi, they were Methodist.”

“I see.” He was shaking the pants, but the wrinkles weren’t budging. She watched him sit to pull them on, and spoke carefully.

“I admit, maybe I just don’t get it. But I don’t think a man should be talking about church services when he’s zipping up his fly.” He grinned, but he was reaching for his shirt, which had wound up behind the door. “Honest? You’re going to mass?”

“Honest. I missed it last week because of work.”

Her best friend, pretty much her only friend at Yazoo City High School, had been Catholic, and Ceinwen had learned a few things. “Don’t you have to be in a state of grace to receive communion?”

He was impressed. “That’s very good.”

“Yeah, one thing they teach you down South is religion.”

“But only half right. The important thing is sincere contrition.”

She didn’t like the idea of being something to repent about. He bent over for his socks, then stopped and looked at her. His knees dropped to the bed and he put his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll be contrite next time, too.” He kissed her and she felt him slide a finger under the strap of her slip. He pulled the strap down, her hand moved to his waistband and for a second she thought mass was history. But then he pushed the strap back and reached for his socks.

“Will you have time to be sorry for that before you get to church?”

“It’s a long walk to Washington Square. Do you have any paper, or is everything on videotape? Write down your phone number. I promise I’ll call tonight.”

She grabbed a pen and paper off the shelf and wrote it down. “You better keep your promise. Otherwise it goes on the list for next week’s mass. You never know, by next Sunday you might be so full up you can’t repent. You’ll have to find a Baptist service or something.”

He pushed her hair away so he could kiss her neck. “That’s exactly right.”

“It is?”

“No.” He stood up and picked up his jacket. “But I’ll still call.”

They were halfway through the living room when Talmadge popped out from behind his screens. He was wearing his best pajamas, so he’d known Matthew was there. He posed for a minute and sang, “Hello young lovers, you’re”—pause—“under arrest.”

“I’m going to guess you’re Talmadge.” It really was hard to rattle this man.

“Correct,” said Talmadge, proffering a hand. “And you are?”

“Matthew.”

“Good morning, Matthew. Oh, look who’s here. Good morning.” Jim was fully dressed, so he’d heard too. Talmadge swept a hand in his direction. “This is Jim. Oops, should I have let you guess?”

“You’ve ruined the suspense,” said Jim. He shook hands. Talmadge offered coffee, Matthew said he’d have loved some but he had to go. She walked him to the door, he kissed her once more and was gone.

She walked back to the kitchen where Jim was already fixing the coffee.

“Soooo?” trilled Talmadge.

“I like him,” said Ceinwen.

“Oh yes. I got that last night. So did the couch.”

“Where’s he off to?” asked Jim. Talmadge might want the physical details. Jim would not.

“He’s going to mass.”

Over by the cabinets Talmadge froze with a mug in each hand. “Mass? Church?” Ceinwen nodded. Talmadge exhaled. “That is really, really weird.”

“It’s what people do on Sunday,” said Jim. He stopped measuring and muttered, “Damn, I’ve lost count.” He poured the coffee back in the tin and began again.

“No, it isn’t. Normal people do not get out of bed with a girl on Sunday and go straight to mass.”

“There’s nothing wrong with going to mass.”

“Listen, I know you miss being a Catholic and all—”

“I still am a Catholic. Nine, ten. There.” Jim pressed the button on the machine.

“Whatever you say. But this is crazy. I don’t know about this one, Ceinwen.”

“Says the guy,” said Jim, opening the refrigerator, “who’s so atheist he got kicked out of AA. Did you remember to buy milk?”

“It’s in the door, and I did not get kicked out of AA. You
can’t
get kicked out of AA. I didn’t like it. I said if these people are so big on free will, I’m using mine and I’m not going anymore.”

Jim set the carton on the counter. “Free will? That’s what you got out of AA, free will? Did you listen to a single thing they said?”

“Of course I listened. That’s all you do at those meetings. You sit in these awful chairs under these nasty lights and they talk and you listen and—”

“Because, Talmadge, that is the opposite, the exact
fucking
opposite of what they tell you in AA.”

“Oh, so you know all about it, do you, Mr. Two-Drink Maximum.”

“I guess I know more than you do. You’re supposed to admit you’re powerless.”

“Oh sure. Sure. One night Ceinwen decides we’ve all gotta watch
Days of Wine and Roses
and now you’re an expert on AA. ‘Hey Talmadge! Jack Klugman says you’re powerless!”’

“Great theme song,” said Ceinwen, and sang: “The days of wine and roses, laugh and run away …”

Talmadge started to say something else and Jim put up his hand. “Ceinwen’s trying to change the subject.” He went to pour the coffee; he never waited for the machine to finish. “He seems polite enough.”

“He’s a psychopath. What if he turns out to have a thing for virgins?”

“You’re incredible. He already has a girlfriend, fine and dandy. He goes to take communion, he’s a psycho. Do you realize how backasswards that is?”

“I’m going to talk to Ceinwen later.” They could hear the screens scraping as Talmadge retreated to his corner. Jim handed her a cup.

“So,” she said, “you like him after all?”

“I met him for all of two minutes. Although,” he coughed, “I did hear a bit last night.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll forget all about it after breakfast. Let’s send Talmadge out for bagels and see if it calms him down.” Jim picked up his cup as she followed.

“But you aren’t mad at me.”

“I never was mad at you, honey. I just want you to be careful.”

“That reminds me,” Talmadge called from behind the screens. “You did use condoms, didn’t you? I assume he’s not too Catholic for
that
?”

“Talmadge, can you get us some bagels?”

“When I’m dressed.”

After bagels were consumed, Talmadge and Ceinwen walked to work together in the pouring rain. He had, as predicted, calmed down about mass, but still offered menacing observations about birth control and guilt and madonna-whore hangups, in between trying to find out whether the sex had been any good and whether Matthew was really going to call, since she’d brought up Anna after being told not to.

Talmadge was behind the counter helping her rearrange the hats, and the stereo system kicked into “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.” Ceinwen had never been big on Marilyn Monroe, but she did love that song, and Talmadge had been teaching her some of the moves. Lily had disappeared downstairs to the office, and the rain had kept the store nearly deserted, so while it was risky, they still wound up practicing the big finish together.

“Diiiiamonds …”

“Yes diamonds …”

“I. DON’T. MEAN. RHINESTONES …”

“But diiiiamonds, are a girl’s best …”

Vamp, vamp, vamp …

“… best friend!”

Somebody was applauding. As Ceinwen dropped the pose she heard Talmadge say, “How was mass?”

He’d come from the men’s side this time and had, apparently, been standing behind a tall rack of coats. “Fine, thanks. How are you?” He moved to the side of the rack, one hand on a dripping umbrella and the other in his coat pocket, smiling bigger than she’d known he could. Her hand flew up to her throat, though she knew it was hopeless: she was blushing so much she’d need to cover her entire chest.

“
Grand
,” said Talmadge. He’d been mimicking the accent all day

“You were hiding,” she said.

“I was,” he said. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I’ll just let you two chat. About Marilyn. Or something,” said Talmadge. He darted around the counter and disappeared to the men’s side.

“We were rearranging the hats,” said Ceinwen.

“That’s exactly what it looked like.” He’d come over to the counter, still grinning. “I was going to call later, but then I thought I’d be heroic and rescue you from your boss. Instead here I am, rescuing you from a musical number.”

She was ridiculously happy he was here, but he better not do that again. “How long were you there?”

“Since about Harry Winston. Want to get some dinner once you’re released?”

“Sure.”