Part 59 (1/2)

”But I still live near here,” I told her. ”The world is overrated.”

”I'll believe that when I see it.” She took a sip of her drink, then shouted over the thump of the music, ”Why aren't you home with your wife?”

”She's entertaining a houseful of people I don't like or know,” I said.

”Maybe if you got to know them,” Jackie said, ”you'd like them.”

”I'm too old for them,” I said.

”But not too old for me?”

”Nope.”

”Why not?”

I didn't know how to answer that at first. But I thought about her cutting my hair and I thought about her baby-sitting her second cousin and I looked at her dreadlocks and miniskirt against a background of old men with whisky gla.s.ses and smiles that had known what frowns felt like and cars that knew the lyrics to the songs that I loved and I said, ”Because my wife will never forgive me.”

She had started to sip again but paused, holding her gla.s.s before her, cutting me a look that could have shattered the c.o.c.ktail gla.s.s she was holding. ”You cheated on her?”

”Nope.”

”Then what did you do to her?”

”I got old.” My mind's eye was on Gail dancing at the party. ”I got old first.”

”And that's unforgiveable?”

”She never thought that would happen,” I said, suddenly warming to this conversation, warming to a theory I'd never spoken aloud and only rarely thought in any substantial way. ”No,” I said, and I took a long, deep gulp from the gla.s.s of wine that had been sitting there, untouched, in front of me. ”No, that's not it. It's not that I got old. It's that I like it.”

”You like being old,” Jackie said.

”I love it,” I told her. I wasn't exactly sure that I believed that last comment, but it felt good to say, so I said it again. ”I love it and that's what my wife can't forgive.”

”Wow,” said Jackie.

”Wow, indeed,” I said. ”Let's have another round.”

It was the first second round of many second rounds that I would share with Jackie, who became my best friend of sorts. We went to movies and basketball games. We shared ice cream at the Carvel on Water Street near my father's old fabric shop. We went to the amus.e.m.e.nt park in East Meadow where Jackie won me a teddy bear that looked, she said, like me when I came in for my haircut. One night, as we were driving back from a movie, a song called ”I Think I'm Goin' Outta My Head” came on the radio and the falsetto tones of Little Anthony lifted me up inside. ”I love this song,” Jackie said. She grabbed my hand and yanked me out of the car and as drivers pa.s.sed us, the radio turned to the highest volume, the headlights outlining our two-step, Jackie and I danced along Exceptional Boulevard.

Another evening, another party at our house, this time for our son, James, and his new contract. I invited Jackie.

She showed up in an apple-green dress and strappy high-heeled sandals, her dreadlocks piled high atop her beaming face. We talked for a while, I introduced her to Gail and some of the rappers Gail represented, then she swooped into the party, a whirl of green.

”She could be your daughter,” Gail said.

”What are you talking about?” I said.

Gail just rolled her eyes at me and turned, melting back into the party.

Later I found Jackie on the dance floor and said, ”Take a bow.”

”What?”

”Follow me.”

We went out onto the back patio. The stars were like tiny spotlights poking through the thick black fabric of the sky.

”'Take a bow,'” I told Jackie, ”is an old family saying. Whenever someone was overreacting or overdramatizing or just cutting up, we'd say, ”Okay, take a bow.”

”Like, when a director says 'cut'?”

”Exactly,” I said.

”The sky is beautiful, isn't it?”

”It is,” I said. ”My wife thinks you and I are having an affair.”

”What?” Jackie's laugh was like a loud bark. ”Should she be thinking that?”

”No,” I said. ”She shouldn't. But she wants to, I think. I think it would make me more interesting to her somehow.”

”She's beautiful, your wife.”

”Yes,” I said. ”She is.”

”Have you told her that lately?”

”I haven't told her much of anything lately. We don't really talk to each other much.”

”You need to tell her she's beautiful. Then she won't think you're jumping my bones.”

”Maybe you're right,” I said.

Jackie leaned onto the back of a patio chair. ”I saw y'all on TV the other day.”

”Who?”

”You and your wife and your little boy.”

”He's not little anymore.”

”I know that. Tell your wife that's the Manning I need to be having an affair with.”

I had to laugh at that.

”I was watching this show about celebrities before they were celebrities and they showed an old TV show where you and your wife and your little boy were singing Christmas carols with some white lady.”

I nodded. ”Marlo Thomas,” I said. ”She had a Christmas special years ago. That was James' first public appearance.”

”Y'all looked so happy,” Jackie said. ”Like a perfect little family.”