Trouble in Paradise

Nine

“So now you’re a weather weenie,” Jesse said.

He sat at the counter in Jenn’s kitchen in a newly remodeled third-floor condominium on Beacon Street. Jenn had shown him around. From her bedroom window, you could see the Charles River. He had felt uneasy in her bedroom, but he was more comfortable now, sipping a scotch and soda, while Jenn transferred supper from the take-out boxes to the plates.

“Only the guys have to be weenies,” Jenn said. “The weather girls have to look,” she stuck out her chest and wiggled her hips, “goooood.”

Jesse smiled.

“What about ‘having a film career’?”

Jenn shook her head. “Have to ball too many toads,” she said.

“Like Elliot?” Jesse said.

“Yeah, and the worst part is after you ball them, they’re still toads.”

She had bought chicken salad at the take-out, and cold sesame noodles, and a loaf of sourdough bread. She went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of Chardonnay and handed it to Jesse.

“Opener’s right there beside the wine bucket,” she said.

Jesse finished his scotch, opened the wine, and poured two glasses. He handed one to Jenn as she came around the counter to sit beside him. She touched his glass with hers.

“I don’t know what to drink to,” Jesse said.

“We could drink to each other.”

“Okay,” Jesse said. They drank.

“So,” Jesse said. “Here we are.”

“Yes.”

“But I don’t quite know where here is.”

“Other than three thousand miles from Los Angeles?” She served a spoonful of chicken salad onto his plate.

“It’s got grapes in it,” Jesse said.

“That makes it chicken salad Veronique.”

Jenn served him some sesame noodles and took some for herself. She liked to eat, and she was careful about what she ate. But she put together some very odd combinations, Jesse thought. Sesame noodles and chicken salad? Veronique? She was sitting beside him eating neatly. She seemed calm. He could smell her perfume, and he could brush her arm if he leaned slightly left. He remembered exactly what she looked like with her clothes off. He felt as if he might come apart and scatter on her kitchen floor. He sipped some Chardonnay. He didn’t like wine that much. He particularly didn’t like Chardonnay. But he knew she always had ordered it when they were married, and this had been the most expensive bottle of Chardonnay in the Cove Liquor Store, which was the nearest liquor store to the police station.

“You doing good with your drinking, Jesse?”

“I’m all right, Jenn. I slip occasionally, but never in public.”

“Drinking alone?”

“Yep. But not often.”

“I worry about you drinking alone.”

“Hell, I’ve always liked drinking alone, Jenn. I hate being drunk where people can see me.”

“I know. You’re a very inward person.”

Jenn was eating her noodles with chopsticks. He admired how clever she was with the chopsticks. He always used a fork. She ate some noodles, put down the chopsticks, drank some wine.

“Well,” she said. “The question is where are we.”

Jesse nodded. He wasn’t hungry. He drank some wine.

“I’ve had quite a lot of therapy since we broke up,” she said.

“We didn’t break up,” Jesse said. “You left me for Elliot the producer.”

Jenn nodded carefully.

“I’ve had quite a bit of therapy since I took up with Elliot Krueger and you divorced me,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Jesse said. “I guess I’m quibbling over language.”

“You’re mad,” Jenn said. “And why wouldn’t you be?”

“You did what you had to do.”

“I guess so,” Jenn said. “But all the therapy I’ve had hasn’t solved my problem.”

“Which is?”

“I want to be with you and I don’t.”

“And what’s the shrink say about that?”

“She says I’m ambivalent.”

“For this she gets a hundred dollars an hour?”

“Two hundred. And she’s worth it. She helped me see that I really feel both ways at the same time, that it’s really quite human to feel conflicting things.”

“So what do you do about it?”

“I don’t know yet. But I know I want to stay near you. You were too far away before.”

“And what do we do with your ambivalence? You fuck me on Mondays and Wednesdays, and Elliot Tuesdays and Thursdays?”

“It’s not about fucking, Jesse.”

“The hell it isn’t.”

“Well. It’s not only about fucking.”

Jesse took in some air. He finished his wine. Better not have any more.

“Okay,” he said, “it’s not only about fucking. It’s about you don’t want me and you don’t want to lose me. What the Christ am I supposed to do with that?”

“Talk.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“No,” Jenn said. “Mostly you’re yelling.”

Jesse got off the stool and walked into Jenn’s frilly living room and looked down at Beacon Street.

“Goddamn, this is hard,” he said.

She stood in the doorway behind him. “It’s awful, isn’t it?” she said.

“Yes.”

“Dr. St. Claire says the bond between us is quite impressive.”

Jesse nodded, staring down at the cars outbound toward Kenmore Square.

“I think we need to try,” Jenn said.

“Try what?” Jesse said.

“Jesse,” Jenn said. “We’re divorced. We’re single. We can act like any other single people. We could date.”

“Date who?”

“Anybody we wanted,” Jenn said. “Including each other. Like we’d just met.”

“And?” Jesse said.

“And see what happens.”

“Sex?” Jesse said.

Jenn shrugged. “Let’s see what happens.”

“Not tonight,” Jesse said.

“No,” Jenn said.

Jesse turned from the window and looked at Jenn and smiled.

“You are a piece of work, Jenn,” he said.

“You want to give it a try?”

“Sure,” Jesse said.

“Want to take me to dinner next Wednesday night?”

“Yes.”

They stood on opposite sides of the living room for a time and looked silently at each other. Then Jenn walked across and put her arms around Jesse and rested her head against his chest.

With her voice somewhat muffled, she said, “A day at a time, huh?”

“Sure,” Jesse said.