Alexandra Waring (50 page)

Jackson felt around in the pocket of his jacket. He withdrew from her mouth, holding up a key and looking at it. He looked at her. “Plaza? We’re in New York, right?”

“I think so,” she said, smiling.

“The Plaza,” Jackson said, staring into her eyes.

Somewhere around the sixties he kissed her and pushed her down across the seat, both of them laughing because there was no room, no room at all for this kind of thing, and because they were crazy to carry on like this, in a cab, for heaven’s sake, but oh—oh, who the hell cared so long as she could go on feeling his hands, Jackson’s hands, running over her dress, over her breasts, her hips, down over her legs, up under her dress—

But damn the Central Park South lights anyway!—forcing them back into an upright position, or something that resembled one (or resembled the inside of a clothes dryer stopped in motion), and Cassy laughed at his hair and couldn’t imagine what hers—oh, no, she could feel what had happened to her hair. It was down, it was all over the place, and she tried to pull herself together, trying to convince herself that she cared that she would be seen crossing the lobby of the Plaza, looking like this, feeling like this, when clearly there was only one reason she would be there at this hour with Jackson, and then suddenly there they were, at the side entrance to the hotel, and Jackson was hurling money at the driver and then they were out and the doorman smiled at her and they were going around the bronze door and they were crossing the lobby and then they were in the elevator and the doors closed and they were alone and Jackson was on top of her.

Oh, this was great, Jackson didn’t even know where he was going—what floor? This floor? The next floor? But this way? What does the key say?—and as Jackson led her around, Cassy noticed how wonderfully thick the carpeting was and wondered if this was left from the old Plaza management or if this was part of the new, and then they were at a door with an ornate brass handle and Jackson fitted the key in the lock but before he turned it he turned to her. “I’ve never had anything,” he said. “And I got tested last fall. I haven’t been with anyone sense.

Her mouth fell open and her mind came back on. “I—” She was overwhelmed by this. Was this what everyone had been talking about? Safe sex?

“I didn’t mean to shock you,” he said, looking at her.

“Oh, no,” she said, kissing him. “No, it’s just that I’m a little new at this.” She smiled, nervous suddenly. “Um,” she added, realizing that he was waiting, “let’s go inside,” she said, pointing to the door. He opened it and they slipped inside. She stopped him from turning on the light and slid her arms around his waist. The two of them stood there, holding each other, in the dark.

But it was not really dark. The drapes were pulled back from the windows and by the lights of Central Park and the lights of Fifth Avenue stretching north and the lights casting up from Central Park South, Cassy could make out the living room they were in quite well.

“My tubes are tied,” she whispered. “I want you to know that.” She swallowed, looking up at him.

He kissed her. And then he took her hand and brought it down to touch him. It was like a bolt through her, the rush of desire that came, and for a moment she could scarcely touch him for the reaction inside her. “Here,” she said, breaking away from his mouth.

“What?” he whispered, sounding hoarse.

“Here,” she said. “Right here.”

He smiled. “You can bounce to the ceiling on the beds in—” His voice broke off and his eyes closed against the touch of her hand.

“Here,” she whispered, wanting only to act and not to think anymore.

“Oh, here,” he managed to get out, pressing against her hand. Then he jerked back from her, whipping off his jacket with such ferocity that she had to laugh. “Funny, huh?” he said, throwing the jacket and fumbling at his tie. He pulled the bow apart and yanked it out of his collar, tossing that too. “You think this is funny,” he said as she laughed, eyes on her, tearing now at his cuff links and throwing them and then saying, “Oh, hell,” taking hold of his shirt and simply tearing it apart, buttons flying. Then he lunged at her, taking hold of her dress

“Not my Chanel!” she cried, laughing, and he laughed too, but then they were quiet, their breath picking up as he unzipped her dress and helped her out ‘of it. She tossed it over a chair and turned to him in her slip and, as he kissed her, she undid his belt, unhooked his pants, unzipped them and eased them down over his hips. And then, gently, she brought her hands back up to ease his shorts down over his hips as well. And then, with her lower body in a lock of anticipation, she allowed herself the pleasure of sliding her hands down to feel him.

Oh, glory.

She groaned a little, he felt so wonderful.

Glory.

Oh.

This was for her, all for her; and she was gentle with her hands, reverent, and was grateful. Because he was—
Thank you, God, thank you
—so very different from Michael, and now he really was completely and only Jackson, his personality complete, right down to this physical vulnerability, to this wonderfully expressive part of him that was longing for her. For her. All of this was for her. And she couldn’t stop touching him because he was so different and she wanted to know him, immediately, she wanted to know every detail of him imagine,
Jackson
, this was Jackson in her hands, so plentiful, and so hard here, and so sleek there, and so soft here—and there, how soft he was under there—and she wanted all of him, wanted to touch all of him, make him feel how in awe she was, make him feel how splendid he felt to her and how much she wanted him, so much so that she was willing to simply go on like this and maybe give herself over entirely to the effort of giving him pleasure—

Holding her shoulders, his breath had turned ragged. And now, holding his breath, he pulled down the straps of her slip and then pulled the whole thing down over her breasts. “Oh, yeah,” he sighed, taking her breasts in his hands, “oh, yeah. Oh, Cassy, you are
…
You are so beautiful,” he finished, feeling her. And then his body seized up for a moment—his hands going rigid on her breasts—and she stopped her hands and simply held him. “Oh, yes,” he said, voice scarcely audible, his body relaxing just a bit and hands moving over her breasts again. With each breath he made a small sound of exertion in his throat, and his hands grew stronger, massaging her breasts, pulling the rhythm of her breath to his, to that of his hands, of his sounds and sighs, and then, a moment later, to the rhythm of his gyrations in her hands.

One hand left her breast and slid down over her waist, over her hip and under her slip, feeling for her panties, finding them, tugging at them, an inch on this side, an inch on that, and then his hand slipped down inside and in between her legs. “Oh, Cass,” he sighed, touching her, feeling her, “oh, Cass.”

She was very wet and at first couldn’t believe the sound his hand was making with her, wondering at this body of hers that kept fooling her about just how much life was in it, about just how much

“Jackson,” she gasped, on the verge of coming. “Oh, wait, please let’s—can we
…
?” and he understood exactly what she meant because he dropped to his knees, pulling her slip all the way down to the floor and then her panties too, and then pulling her down to the floor. He kicked his shoes off, rolling to his side to kick his pants off too, and Cassy lay there, on the floor, watching him. Wanting him.

Pants off, he scooted up beside her and touched the side of her face. Then he slowly moved over and gently lowered himself down on her. She felt him pressing heavily on the inside of her thigh, and she reached down between them as he lifted himself slightly, found him, and held him for a moment.

God.

She brought her knees up slightly, shifting, guiding him to her. She brought her hand away. For a moment they hung there, on this threshold, looking into each other’s eyes. He let out a breath, then, took another, held it, and, looking her straight in the eye, grasping her shoulders more firmly, he surprised her by one long, slow, continuous push inside her, spreading her to what felt like the limit—the divine limit, oh, God—and she closed her eyes, gasping in both pleasure and surprise, and when she opened them again and saw his face, his expression, she almost came on the spot.

Oh, God, it was just such a good, good fit, the two of them—it was just so teeth-clenching, lower-ache-agony good. And he lurched into his first move and it was never steady after that, and she realized that he was as close as she was already, because he was trying to be smooth in his withdrawal, smooth in his reentry, trying to give her the best of him, all of him, by drawing out very far and then pushing back into her as far as she would take him, which was just about exactly how much he had striving to get in, but there was no doubt about it, they were lurching, muscles straining to perform gracefully but bodies demanding

Oh
—
could there be anything, anything in the world as good as this?
she wondered
.

“
I can’t hold it, I’m sorry,” he said into her ear, holding up against her, breathing frantic.

His saying it, this declaration of Jackson needing to come, tore it right out of her. Cassy sucked her breath in, said, “Oh, God, Jack,” feeling it way down there, right deeply down in there, right in where he was agonizing up against her. It all came tearing loose out of her there in the next second, rolling outward and then barreling up through her spine, pulling everything up with it, tearing her up with it, spreading, rising, rising, “Oh, God, God, Jack, Jack,” she gasped, arching up against him, feeling it, feeling it, feeling him furiously resume with her, making her come, oh, God, making her come, God, how good—good—good this was, how good it was to come under him, how good it was to feel her muscles convulse around him, knowing that it was him, Jackson, that was inside of her, that it was for him she was coming so hard, and then how good, good it was, easing, letting it ride, lowering herself, easing, lying flat once more, feeling warm everywhere, all over everywhere, easing, heaven, yes, this was heaven, easing, sliding her hands down over his buttocks, easing, feeling him slow, feeling his muscles, easing, feeling the warmth seeping between them to know how it was for him now, easing, the two of them sharing it, the warmth, the wetness, easing, stopping—sighing, a final sigh—stopping, yes.

She lay there, reveling in the feel of him, in his warmth, in the certainty that Someone had to have spent eons perfecting this fit. Oh, but he was a wonderful man. So lovable, so kind, so bright, so very lost and so very, very wonderful.

He raised his head from her shoulder to look at her. He kissed her. And then he licked her mouth. And then he kissed her again. And then he rubbed his cheek against her mouth. And then he kissed her again. And then he said, “I want to be married to you. I do.”

34
After the Party
Part II: Alexandra Has a Long Night

Back arched and straining, Alexandra let out a sharp breath and collapsed on the bed. “I’m sorry,” she sighed, “I just can’t.” She pulled Gordon’s head closer to kiss the side of his face. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” she whispered, lifting her head to kiss his ear, “but it sure isn’t you.” She let her head fall back on the pillow, sighing again. “You’re an angel for going on.”

The candle flickered, spreading an uneven light over her face. “Are you sure?” he asked, looking down at her.

She nodded. “Oh, Gordon,” she said a moment later, running her hands through his hair twice and then framing his face in her hands, “I can hear you from here. It’s wonderfully pleasurable for me, all of it. It’s not the same for you as it is for me. I don’t have to come to. “

He cocked an eyebrow. “But admit it, this is something new.”

She looked at him. And then she nodded.

“I think you’re losing your infamous powers of concentration,” he said, smiling, twisting slightly to withdraw from inside her, and then twisting back to stay on top of her. “And there’s this horrible correlation between your newscast and you not being able to—”

Don’t,” she whispered, pressing her hand to his mouth. “Please don’t. It won’t help if I know you’re keeping score.”

“I’m not,” he said, kissing her hand once and pushing it away with his chin. “It’s the stress, I bet.” He shifted a little to bring his hand up and pull a strand of hair out of the corner of her mouth. He hesitated and then said, “Do you think you could bring yourself? Do you want to try—”

The phone rang.

Alexandra reached over, blindly groping for—and finding—the receiver on the nightstand. She brought it back to her ear. “Hello?” she said, rubbing the stubble of Gordon’s beard with her free hand. And then her body tensed and she moved her hand down to Gordon’s shoulder, frowning. “No, it’s okay,” she said. After a moment she absently kissed his face and pushed his shoulder. He rolled off of her and reached down to pull the covers up over them both. “No, I want you to tell me,” Alexandra said into the phone.

He curled up around a pillow and lay there, on his side, watching her profile against the light. Her face was set, serious, alert. Blink. Blink. Blink. Her lashes.

She sat up, holding the phone with both hands, letting the covers fall to her waist. “Where are you?” she said gently. She swallowed, regripping the phone, listening. “Jessica—Jessica,” she said, “listen to me—please.” Pause. “Tell me where you are.” She threw the covers back and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

He reached over to touch the outline of her spine.

“Okay,” she said, “I’ll be right over.” Pause. “Really. No, I’m coming. Just sit tight until I get there.” Pause. “I’m really coming, Jessica. Yes, I am. Promise me you won’t move, you won’t do anything until I get there.” Pause. “Promise me.” Pause. “Twenty-five minutes, tops. Okay? Yes. Yes, I’ll be there. Sit tight. I’ll be there before you know it.” She hung up the phone and sat there for a moment. “Jessica’s thinking about killing herself,” she then said, jumping up from the bed and heading for the bathroom.

“What?” Gordon said, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Call downstairs for a cab, will you?” she said, leaving the bathroom door open. “She’s at West End.”

Gordon sat up, scooted over and turned on the light.

“Six,” Alexandra said.

“Why is she calling you?” Gordon said, picking up the phone and punching 6. “Where’s that guy she was with? Why didn’t she call Denny?”

The john flushed; there was the sound of running water in the sink; and then she came out. “I didn’t think it was a good time to ask,” she said, opening a bureau drawer, pulling out some underwear and putting it on.

“Yeah, hi, this is 12-D calling. Can you hail a cab for Ms. Waring, please? She’ll be down in five minutes. Thanks.” He hung up the phone, watching her sling on a brassiere and head for the closet. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No—the guards are there,” she said, yanking a blouse off a hanger. She put it on, turning to look at the clock. “You’ve got to leave in seven hours, Gordie—you better try and get some sleep.”

He shrugged, falling back against the pillows. He turned his head, watching her. “Why do you suppose she called you?”

Alexandra was pulling on a pair of jeans. “I don’t know,” she said, zipping them up. She looked over at him. “Trusts me, I guess.” She walked over to stand in front of the dresser mirror, finishing the buttons on her blouse.

“You know I like Jessica,” Gordon said, “but you also know what I think about her—about this.”

Alexandra didn’t say anything.

“I think she called you because she knows a live one when she sees one.”

Alexandra reached for the brush on her dresser and gave her hair a few vigorous strokes.

Gordon sat up. “She’s calling you because she knows you’ll come. I’ve seen it a thousand times, Lexy. You go running around after her tonight and she’ll be calling you every time she’s drunk and nobody else is around. She’s like half the actresses I’ve ever worked with.”

Alexandra was slipping on some Topsiders now. “Do me a favor, will you?” she said, coming back to the bed.

“What?”

She gave him a quick kiss on the mouth. “Go to sleep,” she said, walking out of the bedroom. —”

Sure you don’t want me to come with you?” he called. —”

I’ll be back,” she said.

As the headlights of the cab swept over the back wall of Darenbrook I, one of the security guards, flashlight in one hand, walkie-talkie in the other, came out of the square through the gate. “Hi, Miss Waring—Chuck said you were coming in,” he said as she climbed out of the cab, slamming the door behind her.

“Have you seen Jessica Wright?” she said, walking quickly past him to the gate, taking her keys out of her purse as she did so. She turned around at the gate. “I said, have—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve seen her,” the guard said. “I’m just trying to think of a delicate way to put it.”

“What happened?” Alexandra said.

The guard shrugged, gesturing with his flashlight to the square. “She was out there, raising all kinds of hell, and we didn’t know who it was—and so I went out there, and there she was, just—well, just out there with this guy—”

“Where is she now?” Alexandra said, charging on through the gate, heading for the door to Darenbrook III.

“In her office, I think,” the security guard said. “Door’s open, Miss Waring.”

Alexandra switched her keys to her other hand and tried the door; it opened and she stepped inside the reception area of Darenbrook III. One safety light was on, making it very dark, very eerie.

“Lucas!” the security guard yelled from behind her.

“Yo!” said a deep voice, coming closer, accompanied by the sound of jangling keys.

“Where’s Miss Wright?”

The guard appeared from around the corner. “Oh,” he said, seeing Alexandra. “Uh, she’s downstairs, on 2.”

“Thank you,” Alexandra said, walking on to the elevator.

“The guy in the newsroom said everything’s okay,” the second guard called after her.

“Maybe I should come with you,” the first guard said.

“Thank you, no,” Alexandra said as the elevator doors opened, “that won’t be necessary.” She took the elevator down to Sub Level 2. Here, too, only the safety lights were on, leaving parts of the hallways very dark. It was very quiet; the air was still; Alexandra walked quickly through the hallways of gloom to the newsroom. She rapped twice on the door and opened it.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Tirge cried, jumping up from his chair behind the night desk. He slapped his hand over his heart, “Oh, thank God. Hi. I thought you were
her
again.”

“Jessica?” she said, still holding the door.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “She’s running around here somewhere.”

“Where?” Alexandra said sharply.

“Down the hall somewhere.” Catching her expression, he added, “Not alone. She’s with one of the Nerd Brigade. He said he’d watch out for her.”

Alexandra sighed, relaxing a bit. “Okay,” she said, looking down the hall. She turned back to him. “Well, go back to what you were doing. I’ll check in with you before I leave.” She held on to her keys and tossed her purse on a chair.

She stepped back into the hall, closed the door and listened. Nothing. She started down the hall, checking doors, finding most of them locked, others dark and empty inside. She reached Jessica’s dressing room and knocked. “Jessica?” No answer. She tried the knob; it was locked. She sorted through the keys on her ring and tried a key; it worked; she turned the knob and looked inside. Dark. She turned on the light. Empty, unused. She turned the light off and closed the door, continuing down the hall.

She went into engineering. Lights were on, machinery was humming, a TV monitor was on to CNN. But no one was there.

“Hello?” Alexandra said, walking through.

No answer.

She made her way through, looking around, continuing out through the back. The hallway to the control room was fully lit. As she approached the side door into the control room, through the window she could see a soft, reddish—orange light playing on the back wall inside. She tried the door. Locked. She knocked. Nothing. She listened. There was some sort of noise in there. Music? This time she pounded the door with her fist and then started looking for the key on her ring.

The door swung open suddenly and music came flooding out and Alexandra was standing face to face with a member of the Nerd Brigade, who looked scarcely older than twenty. “I didn’t do anything to her, I swear,” he said.

Alexandra pushed past him.

She stopped just inside the door, taking the scene in, mouth open. There, basking in the red—orange light, lying on her side across three observation chairs, was Jessica, watching the wall of monitors. Alexandra looked at the monitors. “What the
…
?” she said, turning behind her. The door was closed, the Nerd Brigade guy was nowhere to be seen.

Alexandra turned back to the monitors. Dancing across the entire monitor bank—some forty screens—in red-orange light was a young woman in some kind of macrame bikini. Then, dancing onto the screens with her was a young guy who had nothing on except a G-string, from which hung—or bounced—a fox head, whose prominent nose was evidently made so prominent by what was hanging inside of it. The music that was blaring had a woman’s voice singing something about her wanting to bang somebody’s box.

Alexandra took three steps forward. “What the hell is going on?”

Bang, bang, bang
, the chorus of the woman’s song said.

Jessica said something that could not be understood.

The woman and man were now gyrating wildly, and the light from the monitors was doing the same thing all over the control-room walls.

Bang, bang, bang
, the song was saying.

Alexandra walked over and flicked on the overhead lights.

“Arrrgh!” Jessica said, covering her face with her arm.

Across the forty screens, the fox’s head was being pulled down so as to show what had been inside it.

Bang, bang, bang
…

Alexandra went over to the console by the director’s chair, scanned it with her eyes and flicked a switch.

The sound cut out.

Silence.

“Meanie,” Jessica said from under her arm.

Alexandra picked up the white phone on the console and punched a few numbers.

“I was taking the pulse of American culture,” Jessica said, trying to sit up now but not doing a very good job of it.

“I want somebody in here tomorrow to check this control room from top to bottom, do you understand me?” Alexandra said into the phone. She glanced at the monitors; the man and woman were dancing—spooning really—their way across the stage; Alexandra turned around. Jessica was watching the monitors through one eye. “I don’t care what happened,” Alexandra said, “I just want this control room in absolutely perfect order come Monday.” She slammed the phone down and walked around the long desk.

“
‘The Robin Byrd Show,
’
” Jessica said, pulling at her dress, trying to pull herself together in an abstract sort of way. “See?” She was pointing—weaving a little, but pointing—to the forty screens that were now showing an orange-red heart that said as much inside. “It’s a public-accesses—
ack
cess show,” Jessica explained. “I wanna have her on the show. She’s great.”

“I am not amused, Jessica,” Alexandra said, snapping the monitors off one by one, starting at the top and working her way across.

“Shoulda watched the show then,” Jessica mumbled, watching her, closing one eye again. She did not look very well. Her hair was a mess, her makeup had run down one side of her face and one of her earrings was missing. She didn’t have any shoes, either.

Alexandra continued to turn off the monitors.

“You’re such a fucking goody-goody,” Jessica said. When there was no response to that, she added, “You make me sick.”

“And you’re about to make me lose my temper,” Alexandra told her, moving to the bottom row of monitors.