Keep Dancing Page 3

  I felt like telling her to stuff it, but I merely nodded.

  After supper Tracy cleared away the table, refusing my offer of help. “Save the foil!” Maggie called into the kitchen. We gathered in a capacious room that I would have called a den; there were large windows overlooking a frosty garden, a television, and several sofas and chairs. Jack lay on the floor letting Ollie trounce him at arm-wrestling, while Maggie sat in a chair by the fireplace and removed the Yorkie’s sweater. Tracy passed around tea, which was chokingly strong. As I dumped in more milk, Sharon held up her silver spoon.

  “Do you think they’ll want it back?” she asked Jack.

  “They probably do. More’s the pity,” Jack said.

  I looked inquiringly at Sharon. “Jack and his friend Ned got into a lot of scrapes when they were young,” she said.

  “Julia wouldn’t be interested in all that,” Jack said. “Ah, you’ve beat me again.” His arm whumped to the carpet beneath Ollie’s full weight.

  “I imagine she’d fancy this story.” Sharon smiled. “Jack and Ned were always up to some barmy doings. They once got the notion to make a prank call to our local funeral parlor. They told the director that their uncle had died; he’d choked on a spoon that morning. The man got very worked up when they said they had him on ice in a large bin in the basement.”

  “That wanker,” Jack said. “He’d complained to the cops just because we nicked one jar of his precious formaldehyde.”

  “Why’d you do that?” I asked.

  “Thought it would get us high.” Jack glanced at Oliver, who was soaking in every word. “Don’t get ideas, young man.”

  “But tell her the kicker,” Sharon said.

  “Well, the director said he’d get a driver over right away to fetch the body,” Jack resumed. “He seemed anxious to remove the ‘remains’. So I said, ‘But we can have the spoon back, right?’ ‘You want it back?!’ he asked. I told him, ‘Sure, but it’s part of a set!’” Jack wound up, laughing.

  “You always were up to no good,” Maggie said. “Bringing home insects, lizards, terrapins, and the like. I never knew what I’d find when I went to draw a bath.”

  “Tell her how you’d make the calls about the phone bills,” Sharon prompted.

  “We were just being kids.” Grunting, Jack pretended to press back against Ollie, then collapsed on the carpet.

  Sharon leaned toward me. “When he and Ned were around fourteen—their voices had just changed, so they sounded like grown men—they’d stay up late and look up people’s numbers in the phone book. They’d ring them up in the middle of the night. Jack would get on the line and tell them there was a problem with their phone bill, and they needed to fetch it so they could go over it. The poor sods would be rummaging through their desk drawers, desperately looking for their paperwork at two in the morning.”

  “More like three,” Jack said.

  “Then when they came back on the line, Jack would make them go through each itemized call, one by one. He’d say they hadn’t paid their bill. They’d insist that they had. Then he would tell them that a mild electric shock would be sent through the phone if they didn’t pay what they owed by nine o’clock the next morning. If they really gave him a hard time, he’d put on his ‘supervisor’—Ned—and drag them through it all again.”

  “One guy got so mad, I thought he’d have a stroke,” Jack mused, scratching his chin.

  “That’s awful.” I tried to hide my smile.

  “Remember when you two burnt down Mr. Atwater’s shed?” Maggie looked up from combing the Yorkie’s topknot.

  “That wasn’t Ned. That was Peter.” Jack sat up and crossed his legs. Ollie scooted next to him and crossed his legs in mirror imitation.

  “How did that happen?” I’m getting the real inside scoop, here in England, I told myself.

  “We were just having a smoke. A spark caught one of the hay bales,” Jack said.

  “How old were you then?” I edged my ankles away as Randall came sniffing around.

  “He was twelve. The whole thing went up like a Guy Fawkes bonfire.” Maggie pulled the sweater over the Yorkie’s head, making it squeak. “I had to go and plead before the magistrate. Lucky thing he wasn’t thirteen, or he would’ve been sent away to the delinquents’.”

  Wow, he had a wild childhood, I realized. I guess that makes sense, given what he was up to in his twenties. I tried shoving Randall away, but he reared up on my leg again.

  Jack grinned. “You still remember, don’t you, old boy?”

  “Look, he’s dancing!” Ollie cried. “Tell her about shooting the fish!”

  “That’s enough,” Jack said as he pulled Randall off me. “Dredging up all this useless stuff about the past.”

  “I’d like to hear about the fish.” I used the linen napkin to discreetly wipe saliva off my knee.

  “All I did was fire one off a roof,” Jack said.

  “You never cared for Reverend Northrup.” Maggie took a dainty sip of her tea.

  “One Sunday Jack got in trouble for carving B-O-L-L-I-X into a pew,” Sharon chimed in.

  “Northrup was a tosser. He always had it out for me.” Jack scratched Randall’s belly, making his leg twitch. “And his curate, Carter, was a window-licker.”

  “Carter’s done much better since he got back from reformatory,” Maggie commented.

  “Anyway, Jack decided to get Rev. Northrup’s goat,” Sharon continued. “He had this giant slingshot. I was little, but I still remember it. He bought a huge carp from the fishmonger’s and climbed up the rainspout onto the rectory roof.”

  “It wasn’t a carp. It was a pike,” Jack said.

  “A pike then. He loaded the fish into his slingshot and waited until the Reverend was coming out of his office,” Sharon continued.

  “You should have heard him scream,” Jack said to Ollie. “Just like a woman: ‘Cor blimey! I’ve been shot!’” he exclaimed in a high-pitched, old-lady voice. “I scrambled down the other side of the roof like me pants were on fire. Guess that taught him to mind his loaves and fishes.”

  Everyone laughed. I loved the way he sometimes lapsed into his native Cockney, using me for my. “I had no idea you were such a troublemaker,” I said. Suddenly I had to smother a yawn.

  “That was the least of it,” Maggie said drily. “You two had better turn in. What time are you going to knock her up?”

  I stared at her. Jack had mentioned that his Mum would like more grandchildren, but suggesting it so blatantly on my very first visit…

  “No certain time. We’ll probably sleep in,” Jack said. It must mean something different over here, I thought. Really, all this British terminology was very confusing.

  “I’ll knock her up!” Ollie shouted, jumping around. “I always get up bright and early!”

  “That he does,” Sharon said wearily. “Six a.m., like clockwork.”

  “See that you don’t,” Jack said. “Julia and I need our beauty rest.”

  “I thought you were tired, but you had a second wind,” Jack said as we lay back, recovering. He was sprawled beside me on the bed, one leg flung over mine. I ran my finger up his damp chest, still heaving from his exertions.

  “Just like Randall,” I said. “He really is stinky.”

  “Ah, he’s old. I love that dog. He was me best mate.” I could see the little boy in Jack’s faraway expression; I adored that look of his.

  “Your mother’s kind of intimidating,” I ventured. “I don’t get the sense that she approves of me.” I turned to face him and straightened his chain with the lightning bolt. He never took it off; he’d told me his Mum had given it to him for good luck when he first started out with the band.

  Jack put his warm hand on my waist. “She’ll come around; just give her time. She has no choice.” He smiled, creating those sexy lines at the corners of his mouth.

  “Was she hoping you’d marry Caroline?” The ghosts of all the other women he’d been with haunted me at times, particularly
when we were in bed. Jack was so…practiced. Which made him a great lover, but also brought up the obvious: that he’d been with hundreds of other girls before me. And based on his reputation, he’d left them all panting for more.

  “I dunno. Maybe. Mum fancied me marrying into the peerage. As if that would’ve happened.” He shrugged, and with an effort I kicked those other women out of the bed.

  “It must be nice to be home again,” I said. “Although this isn’t the house you grew up in.”

  “Yeah, that was on the other side of the tracks. I bought this for Mum when I earned my first real dosh. She was on the outs with her second husband by then. I was glad the wankstain wouldn’t be living off the fruits of my labor. He gave me hell when I was in my teens.”

  “You seem close to Maggie though.” I traced the line at the side of his mouth, and Jack pretended to snap at my finger.

  “I was bit of a mama’s boy, in my own way. I was brought up with a kind of benign neglect, I guess you’d call it. She didn’t pay me much attention until I got in trouble. Which was fairly often. Then she’d tear a strip off me. But she was more into Sharon’s business, her being a girl.” Jack looked at me. “You didn’t have that kind of mothering, did you?”

  Jack knew of my fraught history with Dot; her running around with various men, beginning when I was fourteen and my father moved out. My Dad had accused her of having an affair with her boss at the hardware store where she’d worked at the time. Until recently, I had always thought their breakup was her fault. Only this past fall did Dot explain that my father had always been jealous and possessive, and had accused her of having affairs before. But she had sworn to me that she’d been true to him up until the day he vanished; the supposed tryst was simply a figment of his imagination.

  I sighed. “Not exactly. It was more like I was trying to mother her. Making sure she got back home from the bar in one piece; helping her juggle the bills.”

  Jack traced the curve of my hip. “I still think you ought to try to locate your dad.”

  I felt a familiar pang. “I’ll think about it. But he hasn’t gotten in touch with me for ten years. Why would he want to hear from me now?”

  “You never know what’s going on with someone. Maybe things have changed.” He stretched his arms and yawned. “Want to get a little shut-eye? I’m knackered.”

  “Me too. I’m really glad to be here with you.” I snuggled into his chest and fell asleep.

  We didn’t rouse ourselves until late the next morning. Jack pulled back the heavy bedroom curtain and stared at the torrential rain. “It’s pissing,” he said. “Good day for a drive.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  After some tea and toast in the quiet house—Maggie had taken the children to town to give their mom a break, and Sharon was resting upstairs—Jack located a key hanging in the cupboard. He outfitted us in Wellington boots and “macs” from a hall closet. Grabbing a giant umbrella, we set out across the back fields until we came to a small barn. Jack unlocked it and beckoned me in. There in the gloom was a gleaming, elegant car complete with leather steering wheel and hood ornament.

  “That’s my Rolls,” Jack said. “I leave it here for safekeeping.” He opened my side and let me in, then climbed into the driver’s seat. “I’ll take you for a spin around the track.”

  “Why don’t we drive on the road?” I asked, reaching for my seatbelt.

  “You won’t need the belt. We’re just going to stay in the field.”

  “I’d love to go to the village.” I’d been curious to see more of the surrounding area.

  “We can do that later. Actually, I’m not supposed to be driving.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “I got busted over here in the Seventies. More than once. The last time, they took away my license.”

  “You’re kidding. You aren’t allowed to drive?”

  “Not in England. But the farmer that owns this land doesn’t mind. I pay him for the use of the shed.”

  “I see. How long were you in jail?” He’d mentioned this once before, but I hadn’t pursued it.

  “Only a week, but it was pretty nerve-wracking. If Caroline’s dad hadn’t intervened, I could have done real time. Back then they got all worked up about a little stash of dope.”

  Something else to know about Jack, I thought. I’ll have to ask him more about it later. He started the car and we bumped along the muddy track, rain bucketing down, drumming on the roof.

  “Feels good to get behind the wheel again,” Jack said. “Let’s see if the radio still works.”

  He fiddled with the dial, and Bob Marley’s “One Love” came on. Jack smirked. “That’s the ‘Hotel California’ of Jamaica; their version of elevator music.”

  “What would it be in England?”

  “Probably one of ours.” He gunned the engine, and the car spun a little in the mud. “The times I used to have in this baby…Here’s where we’re going.” He pulled into a grove of trees and parked, leaving the motor idling, heater on. Then he took off his mac, opened the door, got out and jumped into the back seat.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Why don’t you join me?”

  Rather than get drenched, I climbed over the gear shift. Jack pulled me onto his lap facing him and gave me a kiss that left my whole body simmering. “Let’s get you out of these wet things.” He undid my raincoat and slid it off, then began unbuttoning my blouse.

  “You don’t want to go back to the house?” I asked as he pulled down my bra strap.

  “Mmm. We haven’t done it in a car yet,” he murmured, licking my nipple, making it pop.

  “What if someone comes?” I asked, aroused by his circling tongue. I reached down to stroke him, ramrod-hard in his jeans.

  “It’s pissing rain; no one will come. Well, you’ll probably come.” He raised an eyebrow and unzipped himself, shoved down his jeans and lifted me up. I gasped as the full length of him filled me. “I probably will, too.” He held my waist with his strong hands, slowly moving me up and down.

  “God, you feel good,” I whispered, feeling him grow even harder.

  “It’s a turn-on in a car, isn’t it?” Jack’s breath came faster as I used my thighs to move up and down. He cupped my rear and brought his other hand around to stroke me slowly, teasingly. I pushed against his long fingers, wanting more as we picked up the pace. I rode him, feeling each stroke deep inside. His fingers turned my whole being into a molten liquid need. I could hear him gritting his teeth, holding on as I started to pant. I had to stop moving; I needed to feel each motion of his hand, his tingling, lingering touch.

  Jack gently strummed against me, unbearably slowing down. My hips jolted forward, begging for release. Just as I was practically sobbing, he pressed his fingers harder and drove up into me. My cries went on so long and loud, my throat felt sore.

  I was still catching my breath when Jack grasped my hips. He pumped me up and down, faster and faster, plunging farther inside with each powerful thrust. I felt him tighten, making my inner muscles clench. He held me hard to his chest as he gave a wild cry, throbbing inside me. Then he stroked me softly and made me come again in a great, heaving aftershock.

  “Now that’s what they mean by a religious experience,” Jack said as we lay tangled together on the back seat.

  “We’ve steamed the windows up.” I pointed to the foggy panes.

  “I should think so.” Jack shut his eyes. “I could go for a nice little kip right now.”

  “We’d better get moving before we breathe too much carbon monoxide.” I sat up and put on my bra.

  “Just let me lie here a minute. God, you Yanks are always raring to go.”

  “Do you feel more British when you’re over here? I notice you use more slang. Ouch!” I bumped my head on the overhead light as I tried to pull up my jeans.

  “I dunno, I guess so. I’ve lived so many places, it probably all blends in. And New Yo
rk’s a mix of everything. Oh, Ollie wants to come for a visit before we go on tour. I told Sharon he could come for a fortnight, but she’s got to ask the old wanker if it’s okay with him.”

  I quailed at the thought of Oliver running wild in the loft for two weeks. “What will he do while I’m at work and you’re in the studio?” The Floor was going to start rehearsing again as soon as we got back.

  “He can come along and watch me. I always told him he could stay with me when he turned six. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Jack gazed at me through his thick eyelashes.

  “Sure. I mean, he is…kind of a handful. But he’s adorable,” I added quickly.

  “Yeah, he’s full of beans. I can’t wait to have him all to myself in the city. Sharon puts a bit of a damper on his spirits, if you know what I mean.”

  This version of Ollie was dampered?

  The rest of the visit went by in a flash. The last night, Maggie caught me alone in the den. “I hope you’ve been comfortable,” she said. “I know it may not be what you’re used to in New York.”

  “It’s beautiful here,” I said honestly. “I really appreciate your having me. I was so glad to get to meet you.”

  “You’re the first girl Jack’s brought home in a quite a while. Since Caroline. I always thought he’d marry a nice English girl, but I can see he’s quite smitten with you.” Maggie gave me a dry smile.

  This was nice to hear, although she didn’t seem ecstatic about it. “I’m pretty smitten, too.”

  “I don’t believe I ever told Jack this, but I was going to name him ‘Julia’ if he was a girl,” Maggie said thoughtfully.

  I was surprised at the coincidence. “That’s amazing. Do you mind if I tell him?”

  “Why not? It’s the truth.” Maggie surveyed me for a moment. “You know, I’m not getting any younger. I’d really like to have a chance to get to know my grandchildren. Jack’s children.”

  “Oh! We haven’t gotten that far along. I mean, in the planning, or—or anything. We’ve only been together half a year,” I stammered. Has Jack said something about it to her? I wondered.