Nine Lives(54)

He didn’t go far, just doing a loop of the nearby residential streets. It was an interesting time to take a walk, not fully dark out yet, but with lights on in the houses, and people going about their business, curtains still open. He saw a woman pouring herself a glass of wine in her kitchen, a man on a fancy stationary bike that came with its own television screen, kids watching cartoons, and even saw a young couple in a long embrace in front of a wall-sized television showing the news. Back in his own neighborhood he glanced toward his neighbors’ house, wondering if Margaret and her awful husband—Eric was his name—were in. Without thinking about it, he found himself skirting along his own driveway, immediately next to their house, then standing in the black shadow of a high hedge with a view into the well-lighted solarium at the back of their house.

It was empty, but there was a glass of water on the coffee table in front of the sofa, along with a hardcover book that was splayed open facedown. Jack waited, and Margaret appeared, carrying a glass of red wine, and sitting back down on the sofa. She pushed her long hair back off her forehead, and swung one leg underneath her, leaning back against an armrest. He thought she’d pick up her book again, but she just sat there, holding her wine, not sipping at it, and staring out into the darkness. For a terrible moment he thought she was looking at him, but her eyes were off to the side a little, and besides, it was far too dark outside to see anything.

The awful thing about loneliness, Jack thought, not for the first time, is that it isn’t always cured by other people. That was his experience, anyway. Spending time in the company of other people, even people he loved, made him feel lonelier than he did when he was by himself. He’d felt this way almost his entire life, since his sister had died, really, all those years ago, and since his parents had never recovered from that loss.

He heard the sound of a car, then flinched as headlights briefly illuminated him. Eric was home, turning into the drive, then quickly dousing his lights. Jack wondered if he had been spotted. He didn’t think so, but stood as still as possible in the dark shadow of the hedge, trying to figure out what he would say if he was caught.

Margaret must have heard the car as well, turning her head in that direction. She had a long, elegant neck and something about the way she was posed, head turned, glass of wine in hand, made her seem like a classical painting. She put the wine down, and took a deep breath, and Jack saw everything in her face. Sadness, wariness, and maybe a touch of genuine love. She got up and went to meet her husband, and Jack took the opportunity to walk to his own side door.

Before reentering his house, he heard Eric’s loud voice, as he was met at the door.

“Looks like your boyfriend’s back in town,” he said, and it took Jack a moment to realize he was talking about him.





9





SATURDAY, OCTOBER 15, 4:40 P.M.


The message was from Madison. Two breathless sentences. “Call me right away. You’re not going to believe my news.” And there was a text, as well. CALL ME and some kind of emoji face that Jay didn’t really get, a flushed face with tiny hands in front of it, some kind of celebration thing. For a brief moment, Jay actually thought that he might be sick. Madison had clearly gotten a job, and as far as he knew—and she told him everything—it was either the local commercial (not worthy of the breathless message) or the three-episode arc on that crap FX sitcom that had just gotten renewed for a second season. It had to be the sitcom, and he honestly didn’t know if he could handle talking with Madison right now, acting excited for her, telling her how she deserved it. Jesus. He really was going to be sick.

He’d met Madison at an acting class in the valley two years earlier. He’d taken her out for drinks after the final class, then fucked her at his friend Michael’s bungalow that he’d been taking care of while Michael was in London. Madison shared a one-bedroom with another actress, who was home that night, and there was no way that Jay was going to bring her to his house and let her know where he lived, so they’d ended up at the bungalow.

He thought he’d never see her again, but then he’d run into her six weeks later at a bar in Hollywood, and they’d had a few drinks together. She told him, with an exaggerated sad face, that she’d started dating someone new, a fellow barista at the Starbucks where she worked. He was relieved, having zero intention of another mediocre sexual encounter. But they’d had fun having drinks. She was stupid, which Jay liked because it meant he could explain things to her. And she was a terrible actress, which Jay doubly liked, because it meant there was no way she would get a job before he did.

And now here he was, and he was about to have to congratulate her on landing a goddamn sitcom. It was unbearable. Instead of delaying it, he decided to pull the Band-Aid off and call her right back.

“You got the sitcom?” he said.

“Uh-huh,” she said, casually, and then let out a squeal that caused Jay to move the phone away from his ear.

He let her talk for about two minutes, which was all he could take, then said, “I wasn’t going to tell you right away, because I want you to have your moment, and I’m so excited for you, Mads, but I just talked with my mom and she had some bad news.”

“Oh, no.”

“She has like stage-five lung cancer.”

“Oh, no!”

“Yeah. So I’ve got to deal with this, you know, figure out what do next. So if I’m not able—”