For years, he’d imagined Starting Over. In his endless fantasies, he’d gotten a second chance at all of it—fame, youth, adoration. And mostly (be honest, Jack) what he’d dreamed of were other women. Younger women with firm bodies and skimpy dresses who climbed in bed with a man and wanted nothing more than his hard cock. That had been his dream. A faceless, nameless woman who loved his body and never asked him to put down the toilet seat or to buy tampons on his way home from work.
Now he had that. The affair with Sally was front-burner hot. The sex was great—physically satisfying, anyway—and afterward was perfect. She got up, dressed quietly, and left for her own apartment. No scenes about staying over, no pretense about love.
No sharing, no laughter, no warmth.
Warren had been right; Jack had made a bad trade. True warmth for false heat.
The dream—that lights, camera, action life—wasn’t full. It was frighteningly empty.
Now, as he sat in the middle of his so-called exciting life, all alone, he realized at last that he, too, was empty.
“Jack?” Sally tapped his elbow.
He came stumbling out of his thoughts. The audience was clapping. A quick look at Sally told Jack he’d missed his introduction.
He got to his feet and threaded his way through the crowded ballroom of the hotel. The place was filled with white-clothed tables.
He stepped up to the microphone and gave the same speech he’d given at least a dozen times in the past few months. A plea for athletic accountability and good sportsmanship. The local chapter of the Boys and Girls Clubs of America applauded wildly when he was done. Then he spent the next hour posing for photographs, answering questions, and signing autographs.
Sally came up beside him. “Thanks for doing this for me. My brother-in-law owes me one now. Everyone thinks he’s a god for getting you to speak.”
“It’s always nice to help out kids.” Jack couldn’t believe that canned response came out of his mouth, and to Sally, of all people.
A tiny frown pleated her brow. She took his arm and led him out of the ballroom and down to a quiet corner table in the bar. “I’m confused.” She kept her voice lowered, pausing only long enough to order a glass of white wine.
“Why are you confused?” He knew, of course.
“You’ve been avoiding me all week. I didn’t put any pressure on you, did I? I know you’re married. So, what’s wrong? I thought we were on the same page.”
In the dim light, she seemed impossibly young. It made him feel even older. “For the last fifteen years—until you—I was completely faithful to my wife. But I counted and remembered every woman I’d denied myself.”
“You kept score?”
It was an ugly way to phrase it, but true. “I was so proud of every woman I didn’t sleep with. I thought, ‘Good for you, Jacko, you’re strong as steel.’ Every night, I went home and crawled into bed with my wife and I told her I loved her. I meant it, too.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
The decision that had been rolling obliquely toward him was suddenly crystal clear. “I don’t want to be that guy anymore. I don’t want to be sleeping with a woman simply because I can.”
“That’s a shitty thing to say. I know we aren’t head-over-heels in love, but I thought we were friends.”
“Come on, Sally. Friends talk. Get to know each other. They don’t crawl into bed together and wake up alone.”
“You never wanted to wake up with me.” Hurt crept into her eyes. “Whenever I offered to spend the night, you changed the subject.”
“You’re a great woman, Sally.”
“Another quick-change remark, Jack. What you’re trying to say is I’m not Elizabeth. I know that. But I was the one who followed you to New York. She didn’t.”
“I’m still in love with her,” he said gently. “I didn’t know how much until I lost her.”
Sally looked at him. “Are you saying it’s over between us? Just like that, you’ve changed your mind, and who cares how Sally feels about it?”
“You deserve more than I can give you.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then you should.” He saw how hard she was trying to appear calm, but her lips were trembling. She thought she loved him; that had never occurred to him before. How had he been so blind? He reached out, covered her hand with his. Suddenly he felt every one of the years between them. “I’m not The One, Sally. Believe me.” He remembered the first time he kissed Elizabeth, how she’d cried. “When it’s right, you know it.”
“Fuck.” Sally sighed. “You know what the really shitty thing about that confession is? It only makes you more attractive. What about my job?”
“Tom thinks you’d make a great associate producer.”
“Great. I’ve become one of those women who sleep their way up the ladder.” She downed the rest of her wine. “I’m outta here. A girl’s self-esteem can only take so much honesty. Bye, Jack.” She took a few steps, then turned back around. She wasn’t smiling. “I’ll take the promotion, by the way.”
“You earned it.”
“I guess I’ll always wonder about that, won’t I? Good-bye, Jack.”
He watched her walk away, afraid of what he’d feel. In the old days, it would have been regret.
It was relief.