Chapter 15
Up and Over
Sorry for the length of time it takes to update chapters, I'm a mess, etc. etc. I mostly just want everyone to know that the working title for this was Friends and Lovers 2: Lost in New York. I have no idea what I have written. I hope it's coherent. Enjoy!
...
Janet walked up to Mr. Bradford's elaborate residence like she was on a mission from hell, a folded-up piece of paper tucked safely into her jacket's pocket. The fact that it was now past 9pm did nothing to slow down her pace or deter her. Mrs. Hawthorne may not have heard a word Janet had said just moments before but airing out her plans to another person was enough to build up her confidence. She wasn't quite sure what she was getting herself into, but it hadn't taken long for her to realize that it was exactly what she needed to do. Well. One of the things.
She also needed a divorce.
And there was that sticky matter of addressing the kiss...and what that kiss meant...and how what that kiss meant was that she was finally allowing herself to actually admit it - that she was madly, and desperately, and deeply, and pathetically in love with Jack Tripper and that if she put off addressing it any longer she'd just continue to ruin both of their lives even worse than she had in the past year and in the past few weeks in particular.
She hadn't necessarily meant to walk out on Jack like she had (either of the times). It was only that she felt she'd had no other choice. Had she continued to stand there in his arms, in his presence, the feeling of his lips still lingering on her skin, she might've done something stupid. Her stupid brain kept yelling at her: Not now! You're still married! There's still so much to do!
And so she had sputtered and stuttered and that's exactly what she had said to him. And she'd fled.
According to the phonebook, Mr. Bradford lived in an elaborate penthouse on the edge of town, a place accompanied by doormen and nosy neighbors and, not surprisingly, an amazing view of Los Angeles. Try as she might over the past year, Janet never could manage to look like she fit into wealthy spaces. Nonetheless, after convincing the doorman that she was involved in a sensual and passionate affair with the older man in 7B, a tale she wove and braided into an image so raunchy that the bashful man could no longer bear it, she was allowed into the elevator and on her way to carrying out her mission.
She held back no force when she rapped on the door. She was on a mission, after all. A disgruntled and muffled voice groggily answered the knocks. "Alright, alright. Hold your horses!"
Her still knocking hands nearly wacked Mr. Bradford's flinching face when he swiftly opened the door.
"Listen, you! You and I need to have a little chat," Janet spat as she entered the penthouse without first being invited.
"Um...I'm sorry, but who the hell are you exactly?" he responded angrily, taken aback.
"Oh, my apologies," she replied caustically, turning to face him. "Apparently you have a very short-term memory. I'm Janet Daw...I'm Janet. Jack Tripper's old roommate?"
The realization dawned on him now, but it still bore no explanation as to why exactly this woman was standing in his home glaring daggers at him. He shrugged. "Okay. May I help you with something?"
She pulled the crumpled up piece of paper from her pocket and thrust it toward him. It had been lying in a puddle near the door of the bistro when she had gone to see Jack hours before. She had nearly overlooked it, but as Jack had taken a long time to actually answer the door, she'd examined it further. It was a notice proclaiming that the restaurant was closed for renovation until further notice – beginning with the date of the beginning of their trip to Big Bear. She'd barely had any time to actually process what it meant before her and Jack were entrenched in their own conversation, among other things. So, she'd shoved it into her pocket where it would remain until she could deal with it. It was only after she'd left that it dawned on her that this must've been the source of the phone call from Mr. Bradford to Vicky that had left Vicky so guilty that one day back at the cabin.
"Maybe you can explain what this notice I found outside the bistro is all about?" she asked when he processed the item in her hand.
His eyes widened in realization and he produced a nervous chuckle. "Oh that. That, uh...that's. Well, you see, I had just decided to have a little work done on the restaurant. Uh, you know. While Jack and Vicky were away. As a treat for Jack."
"As a treat for Jack," Janet repeated with a patronizing nod. "Interesting. And um, tell me Mr. Bradford, do you often take such an interest in Jack's business? It just seems like an awful waste of time. You know, what with you planning on selling the place and all."
The man produced another nervous chuckle before turning grim. The jig was up. She knew and there was no putting it past her. And what did her opinion on the issue matter anyway?
"So I'm selling the place. I don't see why that's any of your business."
"It's my business because Jack's my..." she paused here, choosing her words carefully. "Jack's my friend. And I don't like it when people mislead or lie to my friends, Mr. Bradford. This is why business has been doing so poorly lately, hasn't it?"
"Oh, give me a break. It's been doing poorly for a long time. I just nudged it along a little, make Jack see how futile it all was. Again, I still don't see why that's any of your business."
"Oh, you'd be shocked to know about all the lawyers I've met over the past year."
The man adjusted the waistline of his pants in a burst of nervous energy. "You'd have nothing on me. I own the place. I can do whatever I want with it."
Janet relented. "Sure. You're right. I'd thought about that. So listen, how about this: why don't you just sell the place to me and Jack at a discounted rate and we just forget the entire thing. I won't tell Jack what you did and there won't be any further issue."
His laugh this time was genuine. "A discounted rate? Why should I sell the place to you at a discounted rate?"
Janet bit her lip. She had him exactly where she wanted him and she wanted to savor the moment. "Well it's just...you wouldn't want the family scandal getting out, would you?"
His eyes grew wide again. "F-family scandal?"
"You know, that matter of your daughter? That little thing of her having an affair? With my husband?"
The man sputtered and coughed. Had he heard her correctly? Had Jack been right all along about his little Victoria? He gathered himself and pursed his lips. "I don't believe it."
Janet shrugged nonchalantly. "Fair enough. I can understand why that would be painful for you. But boy, do rumors sure travel fast among the upper crust of Santa Monica. Do you remember the one about Paul Nevins and the maid?"
"How do you know Paul Nevins?"
"Because you and my husband run in the same circles, Mr. Bradford. And based on my relatively minimal experience with these people, I know that a rumor like that can really damage a person's reputation."
"You wouldn't."
She shrugged again. "I guess you wouldn't really know until you found out."
It was at that moment, as if on cue, that the phone rang. Mr. Bradford glared at Janet for a moment before answering.
"Hello?" He paused as the voice on the other line spoke. "Victoria?"
Janet's eyes widened at the unexpected gift, then blended into a crease as she smiled. "Hello Vicky!" she called so that she could hear her over the phone.
"Huh? Oh, it's nobody." A pause. "Uh, Janet? No, I don't know any – " Another pause. "Okay, it's Janet...yes of course, sweetheart...yes I know, but – " He sighed. "Very well." He turned once more to Janet and handed her the phone.
"For me?" Janet replied with a hand on her chest, still laying on the thick but forcefully pleasant sarcasm. The man rolled his eyes and thrust the receiver toward her before she took it in her hands. "Hello?"
"Hi, Janet. Um...I have to say, when I called my father to tell him...uh...when I called my father, the last thing I expected was to hear that you were paying him a visit. At 9 o'clock at night."
"Oh don't worry, Vicky. It's not a social call. It's strictly business."
Vicky knew by now that Janet could deliver a strong gut punch when she wanted to and she accepted the blow.
"Look, the reason I was calling my father so late is because I wanted him to know that I ran into Jack at the airport. I hadn't known he was planning on going out of town and I wanted to see if daddy knew because..."
Janet didn't let her finish the rest of the sentence because she knew why, now. She'd become aware of her father's taking advantage of Jack and, whether she had felt guilty about it or not, Vicky hadn't put a stop to it. But none of that mattered to Janet as she registered what Vicky had said.
"Vicky, what do you mean you ran into Jack at the airport? W-why would Jack be at the airport?"
"That's exactly why I was so shocked to hear your voice at my father's apartment, Janet. Well, aside from the fact that you're at my father's apartment."
"Huh?" Janet wasn't following.
"Janet, he said he was going to New York. He was going to find you. He thinks you're there with Phillip."
"What?" only this time Janet understood what Vicky was saying perfectly clear. It was merely the shock of her words that prevented her from saying anything else.
"He left on a red eye only moments ago. I called as soon as he boarded."
Janet allowed the receiver to fall against her shoulder as she processed the news. She mindlessly handed the phone back to Mr. Bradford without replying and stared ahead without focusing her eyes on anything in particular. It took her a moment for her head to stop spinning and the voice in her ear to sound like it was producing words.
"What?" she turned back to Mr. Bradford.
"I said, what did she say?"
She was still in a dream state. She heard the words but didn't process them. "I have to go."
"She has to go?" he put the phone to his ear. "Vicky?"
Janet ignored him and sped toward the door but paused when she reached the threshold. She turned back toward Mr. Bradford. "The offer still stands," she said, clearing her throat so that he'd look back up from the phone.
He looked up from the phone and stared at her for a moment, remembering what she'd said. After a beat, he offered a reluctant nod.
And with that, she was out the door and on her way to the airport.
...
Jack stared at the address scribbled on a sheet of notebook paper, the only item he had on him besides a few necessities he'd managed to buy at the airport in a rush. He'd had to make a quick call on a pay phone to Mrs. Hawthorne to get it – a phone call that was like pulling teeth ("undress? Why are you asking me about Phillip's undress!") – but that was the least of his difficulties as he stood outside the LaGuardia airport and waited for a cab. The bigger challenge was actually finding the place. He knew it was a penthouse on the upper east side off Park Avenue and 80th Street. Where that was in relation to where he currently stood was beyond him.
It was nearly 4am and still dark. Cabs were fewer than they would have been during the daylight hours. Jack's brain was still functioning at a 1am level and he was exhausted. But that wouldn't stop him from doing what he had to do.
He found himself lightly smacking his face to stay awake, but stopped awkwardly when he noticed a burly looking man with a cigarette in his mouth peering his head out of the driver's seat of a cab.
"If I give you a ride, am I gonna regret it?" the man croaked in a raspy Brooklyn accent.
"N – no sir!" Jack perked up, happy and relieved for the opportunity. The man – the tag in his cab said "Lou Pisano" – nodded for him to get in.
"Where you headed?"
"Uh..." Jack reached back into his pocket for the slip of paper and handed it to him. "Somewhere near Park Avenue and 80th street?" He heard a long sigh in response. "Is something wrong?"
"Yeah, no it's fine. Not out of my way or nothing." Lou peered out the window anxiously, as if looking for someone. Finally an airport guard came clamoring toward the cab.
"Lou, I told you, you can't do that anymore! There are rules. No cabs waiting at the terminal. I told you this twenty times already, Lou! I'm writing down the plate numbers, Lou!"
Lou poked his head out of the window with his hands still on the wheel. "Hey, fuck you Greg!" He made a rude gesture before turning back to Jack. "Buckle up! And welcome to New York!"
And with that Lou slammed his foot on the gas, causing a speechless Jack to fall back flat against the seat. Lou ignored the growing unease of his passenger as he swerved onto the road and veered in and out of traffic. "That Greg. He's always bustin' my balls. Don't pay no attention to him. He knows this is my gig. We go way back."
'Why, then, are we speeding away from Greg at the speed of light,' Jack thought as he fought to keep down the contents of the granola bar and the scotch whiskey he'd downed on the plane (it was the only way) that lurched in his stomach.
"I don't normally like goin' this far out of my way since there aren't as many gigs up that way this time of night, but I'll do it for you, uh..."
"Jack," Jack squeaked as he held on for dear life.
"Jack. Yeah, I like you, Jack. You look like you're on a mission. You remind me of that kid in that movie that just come out who's trying to come back from the future or whatever. Uh uh..." he snapped his fingers trying to remember the name. "Marky McFries or somethin.' You tryin' to get back to the future, Jack? 'Cause Park Avenue, that ain't no future. Buncha rich bastards." He mumbled the last bit under his breath.
Jack found his knuckles turning white as he ground his nails into the seat to stay steady as the car sped on. "Uh...uh, no time traveling," he squeaked. "Just, uh, just trying to find someone important."
He saw Lou's eyebrows rise in the rearview mirror. "Someone important, huh? A lady?"
Jack couldn't answer; the nausea was too much, especially after the drink he'd had on the flight to calm his nerves. Lou took the non-answer as a response.
"What, a guy then? Hey, listen, you don't gotta be discreet with me. Lots of my buddies they gotta problem with that sorta thing, but I ain't go no problem with it. Lou Pisano minds his own business. My philosophy is if you ain't hurtin' nobody, what do I care who you do the dirty with. You know what I mean?"
Jack nodded pathetically, feeling at this moment in time that an explanation wasn't worth the effort. Just let the man talk and just get to where he needed to go. It was around that moment that he finally peered out the window and noticed the view below. They were driving over the Queensborough Bridge now and the Manhattan skyline lit up before them. Lou, who was still talking, didn't seem to notice – he'd clearly made the trek hundreds of times before – but Jack felt something inside himself akin to awe. He'd never seen Manhattan before, and this was one hell of an entrance. It was vast, bigger than he could've even imagined, and it held over one million living, breathing people going about their lives, whether for good or for bad. One million people would soon be waking up in the biggest city in the country and he only cared about one. She was out there somewhere, and he needed to find her.
Lou swerved onto the island and the sudden jerk prompted Jack to roll down the window out of desperation for some fresh air before he wound up dispensing the entire contents of his stomach. The drive should've taken nearly twenty minutes, but between the time of night and Lou's lead foot, they had made it most of the way there in ten. Jack closed his eyes as the cool, albeit a bit exhaust-heavy, air hit his face. He willed himself to think about where it was he that was going, and the person he was going to. He was just about to settle into a pleasant daydream, the sounds of horns a sort of lullaby, when Lou slammed on the breaks and muttered more expletives. Jack caught his own head a mere few inches from the back of the man's seat.
"What the hell was that!" Jack squeaked.
"God damned, no good –" Lou turned back to look at Jack. "They got the roads all blocked off! For what!"
Jack peered through the windshield up front. They were a number of police officers and wooden blockades obstructing the road, and behind those a large tuft of steam was blowing upward. One of the cops motioned for Lou to roll down his window so Lou put on his best face. "What seems to be the problem, Mr. Officer sir?"
"Water main break. Whole road's closed off. You'll have to turn around."
"Turn around? What?" He turned back to note the traffic that was piling up behind him. "How the he –" he caught himself. "I mean...how would one, uh, go about turning around in heavy traffic Mr. Officer, uh, sir?"
"Not my problem. You two have a swell night."
And the man sauntered off.
"No good son of a bitch!" Lou called when the man was far away enough not to hear. He turned back toward Jack. "Well, you got two options, buddy – "
Jack didn't have time to sit around and weigh his options. He cut Lou off. "No need. I'm getting out and walking."
"That's option number two, good choice."
Jack got out and grabbed his things before paying Lou and thanking him. He didn't know exactly where he was going, but at the moment he felt as though if he didn't move, if one more moment passed without him talking to Janet, he risked losing her – again. Lou stopped him as he turned away.
"Hey Marky McFries." Jack did a double-take at the reference and looked back at Lou. "Good luck with your, uh, 'friend,' huh?" And he winked at Jack before edging up as close as he could to the car in front of him without hitting it.
Jack nodded awkwardly at the implication in the word 'friend' and turned back. He weaved through the standstill traffic before hitting the sidewalk. It may have been the early hours of the morning, but people still roamed the walkways in the sleepless city. He threw his bags over his shoulder and stopped, turning in every direction. Which way was north? East? If New York was supposed to be a simple grid system, couldn't there be some arrows indicating which direction he was walking to help a guy out?
"Excuse me, uh –" Jack attempted to stop someone walking toward him to ask for directions, but they either didn't hear him or didn't care. A second attempt offered a similar, drunker response. A third. Jack sighed and made a definitive choice to walk in a direction. As luck would have it, it appeared to be the correct one (somehow in his nauseous haze, he'd noted that they'd passed 65th street back in the cab and he now saw 72nd up ahead).
Finding the exact address was another story, but he was growing my confident now and his walk soon grew into something short of a gallop. This was it! He was getting there! He glanced down at the slip of paper with the address on it once more for some confirmation, but in doing so he no longer watched where he was going. By the time looked back up his legs were already off the ground, and he was flying toward a big, heaping, steaming pile of trash bags that were barely visible on the dark street.
He groaned his Jack Tripper groan and pulled an apple core out from behind his collar after mechanically pushing himself into a sitting position. As he tossed it aside, he heard a shrill snicker coming from the door of a nearby pub.
"Oh my god, Charlie, did you see that?" a woman in leopard print pants and teased auburn hair said as she stifled another chuckle.
"Saw what?" a very wall-street-looking man glanced back at her, a massive cellphone tucked under his ear.
"That poor guy!"
"What guy! Not you, Jonathan," Charlie said into the phone.
"Whatsa matter, fella? You drunk or somethin'?" the woman asked as she reached out a hand to help Jack up.
Jack brushed the rest of himself off, mostly muck and grime from the ground, and groaned. "No. Not drunk. Just very, very lost."
"Oh, Charlie can help you if you need directions. He's lived on the east side his whole life. I'm Cynthia, by the way. That's Charlie. He's my, um...we spend, uh, time together on the weekends. Yeah that's it!"
Charlie responded with a nod before yelling back into his phone. "Yeah I know what time it is, Jonathan, but you said you'd have the numbers for me and I haven't seen the numbers." A pause. "No, I'm not drunk!" A pause. "I don't always call you to ask for the numbers when I'm drunk!"
"Charlie? Charlie, can you help this poor man? He's lost." Cynthia turned back toward Jack. "What's your name again, poor man?"
"I'm Jack."
"Where ya tryin' to go, Jack?"
Jack grunted and pulled out the slip of paper, wavering a bit in the process. It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain his coherence as the adrenaline wore off and the fatigue set in. He might as well have been drunk.
Cynthia glanced at the address. "Oh my god! What a coincidence! That's where Charlie lives! Hey, I can help you with that. I'm there all the time, wink wink!" She nudged Jack, who nearly toppled over. "Got a pen, hun?"
"I, uh. No?"
She waved him off and turned to Charlie. "Charlie?" He kept talking. "Charlie?!" Nothing. "CHARLIE?!"
"WHAT?!"
"Can this nice man borrow your fountain pen, Charlie?" she asked sweetly as she pulled her voice back down an octave.
Without looking up from the phone, Charlie reached into his front pocket and waved the pen at her. She retrieved it and took Jack's slip of paper. "So if you want to get to Park and 80th from here it's really very simple. You just go up and over and up. Like that. See?" she said, making little marks on the paper.
It made enough sense, so Jack nodded.
"Say," she asked as she handed him back the paper. "What are you trying to find that's got you so frazzled anyway, huh? Not that it's any of my business," she shrugged.
"Uh...Janet," he said barely above a whisper, as if she knew who that was.
"Janet, huh? Yeah, I think I know her. Good choice," she winked.
Jack paused for a moment and glanced down at the slip of paper, trying to register symbols and arrows. He blinked widely a few times to lubricate his drying eyes.
"Well? What are you waiting for! Up and over!" Cynthia waved him off. He nodded and began walking in the direction she pointed.
"Up and over," he repeated as he took off. "Uh, thank you!" he called over his shoulder. "Up and over. Up and over," it became a sort of mantra, a dual-purpose tool that both kept him awake and kept pace with the ever-increasing beats of his heart. The people and the city around him soon dissolved into blurs and he only had eyes for the view ahead, making his way through a few passersby, darting smartly around another pile of trash. When he finally reached the "over" part of the "up and over," he confidently strode around a streetlamp and noted the decreasing volume as he entered a more residential area. He knew he had to be getting close.
Cynthia was right. It was simple. When you, ya know, put it all in writing like that...it didn't seem so hard. It was just a simple grid system after all, right? A compass might have helped but barring that, all he really had to do was follow the signs. Put one foot in front of the other.
Up and over.
He meant the directions to the apartment, of course. But then he couldn't help thinking how it also seemed to apply to every aspect of his life – to his relationship with Janet. The signs had all been there all along. He'd just been too afraid to follow them. And now look where not following them had gotten him. He looked up as he turned the last turn and sighed. Was it this one?...or this one? No, it had to be that one over there. He groaned, looking for an address somewhere on the building, and toppled into a bench when he couldn't spot it. After a brief moment, he heard a soft voice.
"You lost, young man?"
She noted his sad and tired eyes scanning the windows of the penthouse in front of him before turning and falling on her.
A middle-aged woman with a slight Jamaican accent stared back at him and somehow he knew immediately that he could trust her. He forced a tired grin. "I don't know. I...I don't think so. I think I know where I'm supposed to be I...I just don't know if I'm there yet."
She glanced at the slip of paper he gripped tightly in both of his hands, squinting and turning her head to make out the words in the twilight. "Well, let me have a look," she said reaching for it. He handed it to her gently.
"Ah yes. Lucky you, I am going that way too. I nanny for the Livingstons. They live one floor above the one you have written down. This is it here, you know. Right under your nose."
"Really? This is it? I made it?" Jack asked incredulously.
She chuckled at his expression. "Yeah, and not a moment too soon, it seems. You look like hell. Come."
They stopped at the door, a sleepy doorman nodding at the woman, but stopping when he saw Jack. "Don't worry, Sam. He's with me."
He followed her inside, grateful for yet another stranger's kindness, but feeling somehow particularly grateful to this one. It was like some angel finally welcoming him home. "Thank you, by the way," Jack finally spoke when they got to the elevator. "You don't even know me. I could be anyone."
She waved him off. "I can sense you are good people. I can see it in your eyes. You are looking for someone important."
"Is it that obvious?"
"Hey, I was young once. I know that look."
Jack offered a lopsided grin, but it faded as they entered the elevator. They were silent for a moment.
"You're worried about something."
Jack shrugged. "Just...worried I'll ruin everything. Worried that maybe I already have. Maybe I already had my chance and I blew it."
The woman smiled. "Well. Maybe you have," she paused for a moment. Obviously she didn't know this man's story. "But maybe you haven't, eh?"
The elevator stopped and the doors slowly opened. Jack paused for a moment and looked back at the woman.
"Go on, now."
He stepped out slowly, then turned back. "What's your name?"
"I'm Janet. And you?"
Jack was surprised by the large grin that grew on his face as he heard the name. Some wild coincidence that somehow meant both nothing and everything. "Nice to meet you, Janet. I'm Jack."
She nodded with a smile in response and the doors closed. He turned around to face the lone door ahead of him.