The two of them argued about the word while I thumbed through the pages of the magazine. When the object of my affection came into view, the heart in my chest ceased beating, the breath I was about to exhale stuck in my throat, and every muscle went rigid.
All but my eyes stopped working. They couldn’t seem to devour her fast enough.
Scarlett was spread out on the pages, each picture showcasing her talent and beauty. My eyes stuck on one photograph in particular: her in a pinkish/nude leotard and nothing else. The color made it almost impossible to differentiate skin from clothing; the leotard clung to her like it had been doused in water.
Her entire back was exposed, along with a bit of breast and rib. She sat on a wooden floor, looking away from the camera, apparent longing in the set of her features, even in the placement of her hand, which came to rest over her heart. Her other hand was pressed against her waist, her fingers splayed.
“Over three years, Fausti.” Mitch tapped the picture.
I moved the magazine, forcing his finger from her breast.
“Even the Coast Guard couldn’t cure your addiction to her. Not even jumping into frozen Alaskan waters to save people from death could help your cause. And that’s what your people do, right? Dangerous shit for fun? To get them off? Not you. You returned even more in love—madder than the fucking Hatter, Fausti. You’re strong enough for all that, but you can’t let such a graceful creature go. You need to just let go, man.”
“You first.” I glanced over at Violet and Mick, Peter and Paul—one big happy family.
He followed my line of sight. Jealousy flamed in his eyes before he tamed it down. “I got Penny.”
“You use Penny.”
“And she uses me. What’s your point?”
“If it needs to be explained, then you can’t understand.”
He cursed, pushing away from the table, glaring down at me. He ran a hand through his hair, searching for his cigarette, but he had already smoked it. “I’m tortured,” he said, keeping his voice down. “I deserve to be. I deserve every bit of shit that rains down on me. But your life could be different, buddy. Your self-imposed cage is just that.”
A moment or two passed where the distance between us filled with nothing but the sound of background music, light chatter, and the clinking of dishes and silverware.
He laughed sarcastically, and then leaned in even closer. “See? He even talks like me. No one saysbuddybut me. It was my favorite word as a kid.”
I narrowed my eyes. “How do you know that he’s yours? You never ate your boogers.” I made that stupid remark to lighten the mood. People were starting to stare. Even Violet and Mick. Not that it mattered to me, but this was a small town, and people had ears with sensors in them.
“Just a feeling.” He waved a hand, sitting down again. “You’re derailing my train, Fausti. What’s wrong with one body using another if it’s consensual and mutual?”
The waitress plopped down Mitch’s plate before setting mine down. She had another plate with extra bacon, trying to shove it between the other plates, and her forcefulness sent my coffee over, spilling it on Scarlett’s picture. Mitch jumped up, I snatched the magazine, and she tried to clean.
“It’s okay, Jane,” Mitch said, smiling at her. “It was just an accident.”
“I’m sorry, Brando.” She wiped at the table, hardly cleaning up. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I need extra napkins or a dishtowel.” I used my shirt to mop up the liquid, trying to salvage what I could. Two pages had stuck together, and when separated, Scarlett stared back at me, a frilly dress on her body covered by the leather jacket I had given to her out in the snow.
“I’m afraid I don’t have either. Would you like me to throw that away?” She motioned to the coffee-logged magazine.
Her response caused me to pause. She continued to clean but every so often her eyes flickered to mine. Jane. Jane Jones. I had noticed her around a time or two, before I fell in love with Scarlett, but nothing ever came of it. Her old man was in prison with mine. I’d see her there sometimes visiting. Our conversations were short.
Then she appeared at Scarlett’s father’s cabins in the woods with Penny. Penny and her friends, including Jane, had made Scarlett feel childish for cooking me dinner.
I never forgot when someone was less than kind to Scarlett. Although most of the males in town thought she was gorgeous (the thrill of reaching the unreachable was too much of a temptation for some, too much of a challenge for others), it didn’t escape my attention when others considered her different, meaning: weird, strange, peculiar. From time to time she would lose herself to thought, stare up at the sky, especially if it was filled with stars, and that constituted strange to small-minded people.
Scarlett brought up Jane’s name once, not long before Scarlett left for Paris:Does she make sense to you?
The only thing that made sense about Janet/Jane Jones and me was that we lived in the same city and our fathers were in the same prison.
Mitch thought she was sexy, her voice too, but she had been nothing but a prospect for me at one time. Good looking enough, but not really my type. Personality was the big factor. I called her Janet because I never could remember that her name was actually Jane.
Jane tilted her head to the side, smiled almost shyly, and fluttered her lashes. She leaned in close, putting her mouth to my ear. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” She set a sucker down on the table.
Mitch watched her go. “That’s what you could have, Fausti. Right there. Two weeks with that. Might as well call her ‘ForgetTheRest.’ Sounds a bit French, no?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
