Distant Shores

TEN

Jack walked up Broadway, elbowing his way through the crowd. Hed been in New York two weeks, and already he felt like a local.

It had always been one of his favorite cities. As a boy, growing up in the small, depressed logging town of Aberdeen, Washington, watching his parents work themselves into early graves, hed had two dreams--one was to play football in the NFL, the other was to live in a city full of lights-camera-action. Hed always longed to be a big fish in the biggest pond, and now, after fifteen anonymous, wasteland years, he was BACK.

Foxs corporate apartment was right in the thick of it all: Midtown. It was a killer location, with great restaurants on every block. If you had a craving for a Krispy Kreme doughnut at three oclock in the morning, by God, there was a way to get one. He loved everything about this city, but mostly, he loved that in only two weeks hed become someone again.

It was only going to get better. The show, Good Sports, hadnt aired yet, but the industry talk was already hot, and in television, buzz was the Holy Grail. Fox had been running an endless series of Weve-Got-Jumpin-Jack-Flash-and-Warlord-together-again promotions. Their faces were everywhere, on billboards, on busboards, on commercials.

It would gather steam, Jack knew. The celebrity thing always did. It was like the old commercial: she told two friends . . . and he told two friends . . . and the next thing you knew they were saving you a corner table at Le Cirque.

He turned onto Fiftieth Street and headed home. Funny how he already thought of it that way. An impersonal one-bedroom apartment with a kitchen smaller than most bathrooms, and it was home.

A doorman let him into the building. He walked through the narrow, marble-floored lobby to the elevator. On the twenty-fourth floor, he got out.

Inside the apartment, everything was exactly as hed left it. There was a half-empty bottle of beer on the kitchen counter, and the latest Sports Illustrated lay open on the coffee table. In his absence, no one had come along and tidied up after him. He could pick up reading right where hed left off.

He walked past the shadowy minikitchen. In his bedroom, he kicked off his shoes. One hit the wall with a thunk; the other tumbled across the creamy berber carpet and disappeared under the unmade bed.

He sat down on the twisted pile of white sheets and blankets. He hadnt made the bed since hed moved in. That was only one of the changes Elizabeth would make.

Elizabeth.

He flicked on the bedside lamp and saw the apartment through her eyes. It wouldnt be good, her reaction to these tiny rooms. Birdie, who loved color and texture and art, would label this place boring. Shed immediately begin a frenzied search for "the" place to call home. The thought of it exhausted him.

He loved her, but lately, it was easier to be apart. It made him feel like a real shit, that admission, but there was no reason to lie. Not here, sitting on this bed that was big enough for two but had been damned comfortable for one.

Here he was at last, poised on the ledge of everything hed ever wanted. The city, the money, the fame.

But his dream wouldnt match hers. Whatever it was that she longed for--the "turn" she whined about (and he had no idea what that was)--she wouldnt find it in a one-bedroom apartment with a bathroom too small for a towel rack. Her window box would have to be the size of a TV dinner, and shed rather look down on a toxic waste site than a busy street.

Shed want to live in an established suburban neighborhood, maybe in Connecticut or Westchester County, in a traditional house with a yard big enough to hold her precious roses and a living room capable of displaying all her carefully chosen furniture.

But hed done it her way.

Hed spent two years in that godforsaken soggy rain forest, miles away from anyone who mattered. Hed done it because it was her "turn" to have the house of her dreams, but had she really thought theyd live there forever? Hell, the only place in the United States with worse year-round weather was Barrow, Alaska.

When hed lost football and kicked the drug habit, hed tried to settle onto the responsible adult track. Hed lived in respectable houses in good school districts in towns so far from the limelight they were pitch dark by eight oclock at night. No more.

Now it was his turn.

His stomach grumbled loudly, reminding him that he hadnt eaten since breakfast. Without bothering to check the fridge, he grabbed his coat.

Outside, the streets were busy. He ducked into one of his favorite new haunts, a bar-and-grill that boasted a big-screen television and all-you-could-eat buffalo wings on game nights.

He waved at the bartender and settled into a booth in the back. When the waitress came to his table, he ordered a beer and a cheeseburger. Within minutes, she was back with his beer.

He was reaching for a napkin when a woman scooted into the seat opposite him.

"Can I sit with you a second?"

He was so surprised he couldnt do anything but nod.

She looked incredibly out of place in the bar. She was wearing a flesh-colored floor-length strapless gown that tucked in at her tiny waist. A huge white silk flower was pinned between her breasts. She looked like an extra on Sex and the City.

She gave him a tired smile and raised her hand. When the bartender saw her, she yelled out, "Double tequila straight shot with a Budweiser back. Patron tequila, please. " She grinned at him. "Thank Jesus there was a bar nearby. "

She was beautiful, and young. Maybe late twenties.