Distant Shores

Although he was exhausted and starving, he couldnt remember when hed felt so good. He left the office and walked home, strutting like Tony Manero. He could practically hear "Stayin Alive" playing in his head.

"Hey, Billy!" he called out to the doorman as he strode through the lobby and rode the elevator to his floor.

He opened his door and walked into the apartment. He almost yelled, Birdie, Im home, but stopped himself just in time.

The apartment was as quiet as a tomb. No candle scented the air, no music had been turned on, no aromatic dinner pulled him toward the kitchen.

Disappointment poked a hole in his good mood. He hadnt realized how lonely success could be if you had no one to share it with.

He made himself a drink, then put a CD into the stereo--an old Queen album. "We Are the Champions" blared through the tiny black speakers.

Sipping his drink, he went to the window and stared out.

Tonight, the view didnt help. All he saw when he looked down was a crowd of strangers. For the first time in this city of millions, Jack felt alone.

He picked up the phone and dialed Birdies number, then hung up before she answered. He didnt know what to say to her anymore. "I love you" was no longer enough, but what else was there? All he knew was that tonights victory was hollow without her.

He finished his drink and poured another. By now, the apartment was starting to soften; hard wall edges were blurring. Queen moved on to "Another One Bites the Dust. "

He slid down to the floor and sat there, leaned back against his Barcalounger. He flipped open the drink holder hidden in the tufted velour arm. He tried twice to put his glass in the hole, then gave up and downed the rest of the Scotch.

Maybe he should go out, have a few drinks at Kels.

But he didnt feel like moving.

What he felt like was talking to his wife. He wanted to show her the tape, and watch her smile at him afterward. In the old days, she would have teared up; no doubt about it. She would have said, "Oh, baby, that was amazing. I always knew you had it in you. "

He needed that now.

It was funny how profoundly you could need something that for years you hadnt even noticed was missing.

He got to his feet. The apartment swayed for a second, then righted itself.

He was drunker than he thought. "So wha?"

Why should he stay sober anyway? Hed rather be drunk right now; he had a lot of things he wanted to forget. Like the softness of her touch . . . or the way her green eyes sparkled with pride at his accomplishments.

He stumbled into the kitchen, where he made himself another drink. Hed left the jigger somewhere--God knew where--but it didnt matter.

The doorbell rang. His heart lurched. Against all common sense, he thought, Birdie.

He hurried to the door and opened it.

Sally leaned against the doorframe, a bottle of Dom Perignon dangling from one hand. Her hair was loose and flowing around her shoulders. She wore a pretty, scoop-necked dress that tucked in at her tiny waist and ended just above her knees. "I sneaked past the doorman. I hope thats okay. "

"Uh. Sure. "

"I saw the final edit," she said, smiling.

The magic words. "Iss good, isnt it?"

"Youre a genius, Jack. A god. I was practically crying when Alex Rodriguez talked about leaving Seattle. "

Her words were a precious water that irrigated his dry heart.

He stepped back to let her inside. He smacked into the wall and stumbled sideways. "Oops. Sorry. "

She grabbed his arm to steady him. With one foot, she kicked the door shut. "I guess you dont need champagne. "