chapter 6
(Jesse)
The heat is sweltering, even in the morning as I walk to the gallery. I duck inside my favorite café to get some air and have a cup of coffee. I sit in my preferred spot by the window, watching the tourists stroll in and out of the many colorful shops along the avenue. I keep myself buried in my work, not wanting to think of anything else.
I love working at the gallery; it makes me happy, along with my evenings spent at The Blue. By the time I arrive home, I’m too exhausted to think of anything besides sleep. I dedicate the remainder of my free time to painting. Painting plays a big part in ridding myself from the anxiety that overwhelms me knowing that Luke is home.
Thankfully, I’m back in school now. Another welcoming distraction. I have somewhat of a light schedule this semester, leaving time available to work at the gallery, which also counts towards my internship, earning credits while working.
As I sip my coffee, I have thoughts of my mom and other things. What would she think of my life? Would she be proud? Would she be upset that I haven’t visited her grave? I talk to her often. I hope that she understands. Is this what she would want for me? I wish I had just one more chance to talk to her again.
I think about my life now; I feel as if I’m in a good place. I love my jobs, school, apartment and I’ve come to love living in Florida. I realize I probably would never have been here if it wasn’t for Luke.
Once again, I’m hit with a hard dose of reality. Luke has been home since spring, he’s had access to a phone and computer. Not once did he try to contact me. I was sure that if he wanted to reach me, Mikey and Deanna would tell him where he could find me.
Would I have gone to see him if he called? As much as I’d like to think I wouldn’t have gone back, the truth is, I would have been there in a second. Not anymore, I say to myself as I take my last sip of coffee.
The bitterness I feel towards him begins to take over my emotions. I’m annoyed at myself for not getting over it. I crumble the plastic cup and toss it in the trash can on the way out of the café, waving to the girl behind the counter as I leave.
By the time I reach the gallery and take a few deep breaths, I’m already feeling better. Walking through these doors in the morning always makes me feel better. Frank’s been such a good friend to me and we’ve grown close over the last few months. He’s taught me a lot and has given me the opportunity to show off my work. I sometimes forget the age difference between us. We have a lot of the same interests. He’s taken me with him when he is out visiting galleries throughout the state, purchasing new pieces for the gallery. I like seeing him in action. He introduces me to his many clients and contacts in the art world.
Frank is usually all business in his fancy Armani suits, seeming so worldly and grown up compared to me. Sometimes, we’ll have dinner before an art show or have lunch at the sports bar down the street. It’s those times that he lets down his guard and opens up a bit. He told me about his brief marriage of three years. He met her in Paris while he was studying abroad. They had only known each other for a few weeks before marrying. He brought her to the states, but she never could adapt, things fell apart, and she ended up moving back to France.
As I walk through the front entrance of the gallery, Frank is rushing out, nearly knocking me over. “Oh sorry, Jesse. I’m late.”
“Where are you going?” I ask, disappointed he is leaving so quickly.
“Meeting in St. Pete’s at ten thirty,” he replies.
“Ohhh… Traffic. You’re cutting it close,” I say, glancing at my watch.
“That’s why I’m rushing.” He laughs. “Jazz is in the back. Don’t forget, Wellingtons will be in at eleven.”
“I know. See you later,” I call out.
He flashes his handsome smile and gives me a wave as he jumps into his convertible, which is parked in its usual spot outside the gallery. The Wellington’s are big clients of Frank’s. They have a lot of money and have been clients of his for years. He knows what interests them and he found a beautiful piece at an auction last week that they are stopping in to view.
“Good morning, Jesse,” Jazz says as she comes from the office in the back of the gallery.
“Hey, Jazz.” Jasmine does most of the book work in the office. It’s mainly just the three of us in the gallery during the day, so I’ve gotten close with her, too. Jazz is in her late twenties and is really beautiful. She reminds me of a supermodel. She’s dating one of the football players from the Buccaneers. Frank always jokes that he keeps us around so he can get good seats to the Buccaneers’ and Rays’ games. He met Mikey when I first started working here, but knew of Mikey before I had introduced them by reading about him in the paper.
“Did you see Frank before he left? He wanted me to remind you about—”
“The Wellingtons. I know. I saw him as he was rushing out,” I answer.
“He loved your painting you brought in yesterday. He hasn’t stopped talking about it.”
“I know; he told me. What do you think?” I value her opinion, Jazz knows a lot about art. Sometimes I wonder if Frank is maybe just a little partial to my work.
“Honestly… he’s right. I think it’s really great, Jess.”
I trust her to be honest with me. I think Frank is, too, but sometimes I question it. I sense that his feelings may go beyond friendship.
Jazz always jokes with me, “In the three years I’ve worked with Frank, I have never seen him spend as much time at the gallery as he does since you’ve been here.”
I laugh and tell her she is crazy.
“I’m telling you girl, he is definitely interested in more than your artwork,” she says while I deny it and bring up our age difference. Jazz assures me that our age difference is not a big deal. I’ve talked about it with Deanna and Mya as well. They agree that age should not be a factor if I’m developing feelings for him.
The meeting with the Wellingtons goes well. They love the painting and agree to touch base with Frank in a day or so. Jazz and I order salads from the bistro across the street and are sitting in the office having lunch when I realize I have three missed calls from Mikey and one text that reads, ‘pick up phone!’ I dial his number immediately. He knows I’m working and never calls three times in a row.
“Yo! Where’ve ya been?” he asks the second he picks up the phone, not bothering to say hello.
“My phone was off… I’m working, what’s up?” I ask.
“Guess where I’m headin’?” he asks, excitement filling his voice.
“I don’t feel like guessing, just tell me,” I answer dryly.
“You’re no fun,” he jokes.
“No kidding. What’s up?” I ask sarcastically.
“I got a call from the Rays this morning; they want me to play for them tonight. Their catcher is on the DL and they want me to start,” he sounds ecstatic.
I know instantly what this means. This is the chance they’ve been waiting for their whole lives. Twenty-one and he’s being called up to the majors. I let out a joyful scream, scaring Jazz to death.
“Oh my God, I’m so happy! I can’t wait! Are you so excited? When will you be here? I want to come see you play!” I was hitting him with a thousand questions, rambling and not giving him a chance to answer any of them.
He laughs. “Are you kiddin’? I’m out of my mind right now! It’s awesome. I’m at the airport about to board. I don’t even know all of the details of what I need to do. I’m heading right to the stadium from the airport; otherwise, I would try to get you tickets.”
“Don’t even think about that. I’m going to get them right after we hang up. Call or text when you know more!”
“You got it,” he answers eagerly.
I excitedly explain what all the commotion is about. Jazz immediately picks up the phone and texts her boyfriend asking if he can get tickets for the Rays’ game tonight. Minutes later, she receives a text and shows me the screen. “Done. 2,” it reads.
“Oh my God, thanks so much. You’re awesome,” I say, giving Jazz a hug. My next call is to Cheryl, explaining why I will not be able to work tonight. It’s hard focusing for the rest of the day. I can’t believe he is actually playing at Tropicana Field tonight.
I call De the second I know she is out of class. She has just learned the news herself. We scream excitedly on the phone together.
“I am so jealous. I can’t believe you have tickets and I am stuck here!” Deanna hollers, excitedly.
“I know. I wish you were here to go with me!”
Suddenly, she breaks down and begins to cry. “I hate it here, JJ. I want to transfer.”
“De, what’s wrong? You’ve only been back a couple of weeks. Is everything okay between you and Jeffrey?” I ask with concern.
“Yes, it’s fine. I made a mistake by coming back here. Everyone I love is back East. I thought about it last year, but then I met Jeffrey. I thought I would be okay, but days like this, hearing about Mikey. I want to be there. You know I’m happy you two are close, but he used to call me. I heard it from my mom. I’m sorry I’m being a downer right now. I’m just feeling sorry for myself.” She says sniffling into the phone.
“De, please. With all the times you’ve listened to me over the years… if you’re serious about this, it can be done. Transfer into USF,” I say excitedly, determined to have her close to me. “You can live with me and Mya.” I feel so bad for her. I’m always so wrapped up in my own issues that I had no idea that she was feeling so bad.
“I don’t know. I’m just babbling. I would love to be with you and Mikey. Not that I don’t miss my family, but… my mom says Luke is doing better, he’s playing with the Renegades again so he’s not around either.”
I tense up at the mention of Luke. I have no idea what is going on with him, nor did I know that he was playing ball again, especially for the Renegades, the first team he and Mikey were assigned to in the minors. I remember all of the trips I took that summer to see him play. I try to brush the thoughts of him from my mind and focus on Deanna. This is about her… not him.
“I would love for you to be here, my room is plenty big enough and I have the extra bed,” I offer, ignoring her statement about Luke, trying to focus on Deanna’s needs.
“Is Mya going with you to Mikey’s game?” she asks with a twinge of jealously.
“I was thinking of asking Frank.” It’s a statement, but I say it more as a question, wanting her opinion.
“JJ, I think it’s a good idea. He would love it. Have you two—”
“No… no… I’m not even positive he’s interested.”
“Oh, he’s definitely interested. The question is, are you?”
I laugh. “I don’t know… maybe.”
“Good for you. Ask him.”
Before we hang up, I promise to give her a play-by-play of the game. I’m happy to hear that she is her usual upbeat self by the time we end our call.
“Hey, Jazz, do you think I should ask Frank?” I turn to face her, only to find Frank standing behind her.
“Ask Frank what?” he asks, smiling.
Jazz laughs and walks out of the office, giving us some privacy. I’m left there with my foot in my mouth. I have no choice but to ask. I relay the news about Mikey and invite him to go along with me to the game. He’s thrilled that I asked and plans to pick me up by six.
***
We end up having a great time together. Mikey has a great game and the Rays beat Boston. It’s exciting to see him up on the big monitor as they flash his picture and statistics. He makes a couple of great plays behind the plate; two singles, a double and two RBI’s. Pretty impressive for a first game in the MLB. He looks confident, as if he’s been part of the team all along. I faithfully report the play-by-play to Deanna throughout the night. The game isn’t televised in Phoenix.
Mikey’s flying to New York tomorrow. They are playing the Yankees at home. My dad told me they got a group together and are heading up by bus to watch him play at Yankee Stadium. Everyone is looking forward to it.