Irises
by softydog88
Chapter Three
An Unwelcome Encounter
Shame and eternal shame, nothing but shame! —William Shakespeare, King Henry V
December 2, 1995
Marilyn and Jason had been friends for a couple of months, and she had eaten more Oreos in that time than she had in her entire life up to then, so, now that they had shared something so powerful (and delicious), she was perfectly comfortable in his presence. But this was the first time Marilyn had been to Jason's apartment and she had no idea what to expect. He hadn't told her where he lived, and now that she was here, in front of this beautiful art deco building on the upper West side complete with doormen in elegant red suits, hailing taxis, holding umbrellas over the tenants and holding open their limousine doors, she felt intimidated. Her father was forever complaining about places like this, swarming with fat cats who spent their time in exclusive clubs talking about their stock portfolios between games of squash or reading Barron's at the Princeton Club in huge leather chairsin front of a twenty-foot high fireplace while a butler named Jeeves kept the Scotch flowing. She knew it was hyperbole, or maybe jealousy, considering it came from a man who had worked on Wall Street for many years before losing his job, but there was certainly a grain of truth to it. Jason, however, had always seemed perfectly friendly and down-to-earth. She didn't expect that just because they were here he'd become just another rich kid with parents who were continually bailing him out of one scrape or another or whisking him away to boarding school in Switzerland to avoid an ugly scandal. Talk about cliché, she thought.
She steeled her resolve and followed Jason inside. The lobby was the most ornate place she had ever seen—all marble floors, miniature palm trees and crystal chandeliers. The elevator ride was quick and smooth and they exited on the seventh floor and walked down a long, brightly lit corridor adorned with flowers in Chinese vases every twenty feet. Jason opened the door with his key.
It didn't even squeak, Marilyn thought.
They made their way through the apartment quickly, but it was ample time for her to be impressed by the high ceilings, hardwood floors, art everywhere and the spectacular view of Central Park. And it had a library; a dark room with oak walls, leather chairs, bottles of booze in crystal decanters and bookshelves from floor to ceiling that had no empty spots. It also had strange paintings. Marilyn thought this library must be like one of those clubs from her father's imagination. She stopped in the middle of the room, turned around and looked at a painting mounted over the couch.
"Here," Jason said, and Marilyn heard a click. A light turned on over the painting and she was able to see it in greater detail.
"It's a Kandinsky," he explained. "Do you like it?"
Her glasses had slid halfway down her nose, a common occurrence when she was concentrating. She pushed them back and said "not really. I'm sorry, but it just looks like a bunch of colors all mixed up."
"Exactly. Don't get me wrong, I like art. Love it, in fact, but I prefer paintings about something. I told that to my mom, and she stopped taking me to the MOMA and started taking me to the Met."
"The MOMA?"
"The Museum of Modern Art. It's filled with these kind of paintings. Abstract, which is just a fancy way of saying that it could mean anything. Mom's the art lover, and everything you see around here is her doing. Dad's a sports guy. Once he tried to buy a football painting by an artist named Leroy Neiman and mom almost had a fit. I sometimes wonder why they even like each other, let alone got married and had me."
"What do they do?" Marilyn asked, wondering how they managed to afford a place like this.
"Dad's the director of North American marketing for Nabisco. They make Oreos, among other things, which explains why I have them all the time. Mom's an art professor at Hunter College."
Marilyn suppressed the urge to whistle as though she were impressed; the house was far too elegant for that, even as a joke, though she imagined her dad would be amused. They continued on their way, down a hallway with wallpaper that looked like scenes from ancient Rome.
Tacky, Marilyn thought, and she congratulated herself on her good taste. Jason stopped and said "this is my room."
Marilyn hesitated at the door, her mother's voice ringing in her head with warnings about going into boy's rooms. Jason didn't notice; he just went straight to his computer and turned it on. Marilyn, her fears tempered somewhat, stepped inside and stood next to the desk. The room was nothing like she imagined. She thought that boy's rooms had clothes strewn everywhere, racing car beds with Yankees bedspreads and a hamster in an aquarium (without the water). But Jason's room was neat. Posters of John Coltrane, Miles Davis and Dizzy Gillespie covered the walls, the dresser drawers were closed, the bed was made and the floor was free of anything that belonged in a hamper or a garbage can.
They must have a maid, she thought. Must be nice.
"It's called AOL," Jason explained as the computer came to life, "and you use it to get on the Internet. From there, you can find all sorts of useful information, such as what time Toy Story is playing."
"Can't you just get that out of the paper?"
"The only one we subscribe to is The Wall Street Journal, big surprise, which, even if my dad didn't take it to work with him every day, doesn't have movie listings. And with AOL, we don't have to buy a newspaper."
He made a few mouse clicks and Marilyn watched, disinterested, until Jason's tongue slid out of the side of his mouth as he navigated through a baffling array of hyperlinks. She turned her head, covered her mouth with her hand and snickered.
"OK, it starts at 3:15 at the AMC in Times Square," he declared triumphantly. He wiped his brow and checked his watch. "We'd better get going. There's going to be a long line for sure."
He offered Marilyn his hand. If he had asked her for a kidney, he would not have been met with a more perplexed reaction. Her mind raced through probable outcomes like a gambler two minutes before post time at Santa Anita. When Jason suggested they go to a movie yesterday she was happy to agree, but she had second thoughts the moment he said "then it's a date!" Those words, benign as they were when he said them, still held uncomfortable connotations for her. And even though they ate lunch together every day and he walked her to the bus stop after school, she was still nervous around him sometimes. She wondered if she should ask him straight out what he expected. Right or wrong, it was sure to be embarrassing, so she stood there, motionless and mute until he withdrew his hand. He kept silent and she internalized a sigh of relief and followed him out the door.
May 11, 2012
"Thanks for seeing 21 Jump Street with me, Castle," Beckett said as they left their seats. "I was sure you were going to hold out for The Avengers, but I wanted to see a comedy. That it was a comedy with cops was just a bonus."
"I wanted our first movie together to be something we both wanted to see," Castle replied, not mentioning that he had already seen The Avengers three times by himself in the week it had been out.
"I've always loved going to the movies. My parents used to take me all the time. The first one I remember seeing was Back to the Future. I was seven, and I didn't understand much of it, but I sure liked it."
"Mine was King Kong. The 1976 version, with Jeff Bridges and Jessica Lange. I was five, and the minute I saw that giant ape, I was hooked." He coughed. "I also saw Jessica Lange topless. Mother tried to cover my eyes, but it was too late. The damage was done; I was traumatized for life."
"Traumatized? Really?"
Castle laughed. "No, not really. Anyway, I think that's where I got my love of sci-fi, which, naturally, led to comic books."
"Which led," Beckett replied, "to paranoid delusions, crazy conspiracy theories, implausible conjectures, emotional immaturity...and a totally endearing personality."
She pushed him against the theater wall and kissed him. It was a sloppy kiss, wet, wild and passionate, and Beckett placed her palms against the wall on either side of him and leaned in.
Complain all you want, Castle thought as people squeezed by them swearing like Marines. My date has a gun, and she's not afraid to use it.
So they stood on a floor caked with soda, candy, popcorn and butter and kissed. And they were still kissing when the crowd for the next showing started filing in.
"That was great!" Marilyn exclaimed after the movie. "It was so funny."
"It sure was," Jason said. "I'm glad I didn't have to see it alone. I hate that."
"Me, too."
They walked down Broadway slowly. "It's a little cold," Marilyn said as she zipped up her jacket.
"Yeah," Jason agreed, "and that makes it perfect weather for ice cream! What do you say?"
Marilyn frowned. "I'd love to, but I only have enough money for the subway."
"It's my treat. There's a place on 38th street that sells the best peppermint fudge I've ever had." She nodded and he smiled and held out his hand and this time Marilyn took it. It felt strange; cold and clammy like a piece of bologna straight out of the fridge, yet whatever ambivalence she had was suddenly swept away because despite that, it felt so good.
The place Jason had in mind was an old-fashioned soda shop named Swedeberg's. It had been around since 1928, just before the Great Depression, and it retained that decade's look and feel. Checkerboard floors, a wall of candies in glass jars and old, green blenders lined up behind the counter—it fit right in with Grand Central Station and the Empire State Building. The menu, written in chalk on a blackboard behind the staff, was filled with seasonal delectables like pumpkin pie and egg nog ice creams and spiced apple cider. The cider seemed especially popular; most of the people sitting at the booths had one in front of them, wisps of steam rising from them like little factories. Marilyn and Jason stepped up to the register and saw a black-and-white photo of a man with a toothy smile enjoying a milkshake. It said FDR, February 17, 1933, and they wondered who he was. They both ordered a scoop of peppermint fudge; Jason chose a sugar cone and Marilyn took hers in a cup.
"Wow," Marilyn said after her first bite, "this is delicious."
"Didn't I tell you? One of these days, when we have more time, we'll come back here and share an egg cream and a banana split. It'll blow your mind."
They took their cones outside and resumed their trek. It was Saturday, but the traffic was still moving slowly. Loud, obnoxious horns were honking every few seconds, testing everyone's patience. Suddenly Marilyn froze. Her cheeks, red from the cold, quickly turned white and she dropped her ice cream. Her gaze was fixed on a man in tattered clothing who was making his way up the street slowly. He was stopping random people and pestering them for money. He was clearly drunk and as people pushed him away, he seemed about to topple over.
"What's wrong?" Jason asked. "Who is that guy?"
Marilyn didn't answer. She pushed Jason against the building to their left. With her back to the street she leaned in quickly and kissed him, cradling his head in her hands to shield her face. She was breathing rapidly and Jason didn't know how to react. He closed his eyes and kissed her back, but this was nothing like he expected. A first kiss should be sloppy yet magical; timid yet passionate. But the only feeling behind this kiss seemed to be fear as Marilyn's lips hardened and began to quiver against Jason's. She heard a raspy, slurred, familiar voice pan from her right to behind her, and finally, to her left. As the voice faded to nothingness she started to sob through the kiss and Jason pushed her away from him.
"Who's that man you were trying to hide from?" he demanded. He brushed the tears from her reddened cheeks and asked again, softer this time.
"My father," she said, and the tears began anew.
