23.
Jenn sat across from Jesse in the Gray Gull, at the window overlooking the harbor. He was sipping a scotch and soda. Jenn had a mojito.
“You’re working,” Jesse said.
“Why do you think so?”
“You’re on expenses,” Jesse said, “or you wouldn’t have promised to pay for dinner.”
Jenn smiled.
“I missed you,” she said. “I wanted to talk. You can pay if you’d rather.”
“That’s okay,” Jesse said.
“Secure in your manhood?”
“Something like that,” Jesse said.
“I need a favor.”
“Sure.”
“We have been all over the gang infiltration story,” Jenn said. “And I’m not so sure there is a story.”
Jesse nodded.
“We keep getting information from a group called Paradise Preserved about gang activity here. But we can’t verify much more than a couple of instances of graffiti.”
Jesse nodded.
“Are we being jerked around?” Jenn said.
“You are,” Jesse said.
“What do they want?”
“They want the Crowne estate project to fail,” Jesse said.
“So they are trying to convince people in Paradise that gang invasion is a collateral result?”
“Something like that,” Jesse said.
“I suppose it’s better than being opposed to education of the young,” Jenn said.
“They’ve discovered, I think, that intimidating five-year-old kids doesn’t look good on TV,” Jesse said.
“When we talked about this before, I thought you were being defensive and you thought I was being careerist.”
“Neither of us was entirely wrong,” Jesse said.
Jesse’s first drink had been a very small drink. Jenn still had half of hers. His drinking always bothered her. What would she think if he ordered another one? They were divorced and she was sleeping with other men. How much did he have to lose? He gestured toward the waitress.
“No,” Jenn said. “I am a careerist, I guess. My job means a great deal to me. As yours does to you.”
“I’m good at it,” Jesse said. “If I can keep being good at it, maybe I’ll get to be good at other things.”
“You’re good at a lot of things, Jesse.”
“Marriage doesn’t seem to be one of them,” Jesse said.
Jenn shook her head.
“It takes two,” Jenn said. “Not to tango.”
Jesse smiled.
“I never said you were perfect,” he said.
“The mess we’re in,” Jenn said, “is a collaborative effort. No one person could have created it alone.”
Jesse tried to nurse his second drink.
I’ll take a sip, he thought, and put the glass down. And savor the sip. And talk a little. Like Jenn does. And have another sip. No hurry.
“You’re sure there’s no story, then,” Jenn said.
“Not the one you came out here for,” Jesse said.
Jenn had started to pick up the menu. She stopped, her hand resting on it.
“But there is a story,” she said.
Jesse sipped some scotch and put the glass back down carefully on the table. He let the drink ease down his throat.
“The Crowne estate project might make an interesting feature piece,” Jesse said.
“Yes!” Jenn said. “My God, yes! The conflict between privilege and poverty. Between real-estate values and human values. It could become a…” She moved her hands in circles while she searched for a word. “It could become a replica…a…ah…a microcosm of the same kind of conflict between haves and have-nots worldwide.”
“Wow!” Jesse said.
“It’s great,” Jenn said. “I can sell this, I can sell this.”
“How ’bout the conflict between you and me,” Jesse said.
“I haven’t quit on that,” Jenn said.
“Me either,” Jesse said.
Jenn picked up his hand in both of hers and looked at his face.
“I have always loved you,” she said. “I love you now.”
Jesse smiled.
“But right now you have a story to sell,” he said.
“Yes, I do,” Jenn said. “And don’t dismiss it, Jesse, it might be my way back.”
“To what?” Jesse said.
“To you, for crissake, don’t you see that? To you.”