Chapter 6

After having a horrible day with McHallan insulting him, he was finally looking forward to something. Jerome walked up to Portia's door. It was about 9 o'clock at night, and he was meeting her for dinner at her flat. Knocking on the door, it opened, to show Portia in a classy black dress, quite plain and surprisingly conservative, with short sleeves, and the hem to her upper ankles, as were most of her dresses. She was quite beautiful. He said, "Good evening. You look gorgeous."

She grinned and blushed, and said, "Come on in." Her flat was all red, the exact opposite of his. The kitchen tiling was black and white checkered, and the carpet was plain white. To the left was a sofa and a television, and to the right was the small kitchen. She took his coat, and they gave each-other a quick kiss. "Dinner's at the table," she said, and showed him to a small vintage table, with 2 candles and 2 plates of steaming pasta. There was champagne too.

Jerome laughed, and sat down. She followed him, and started to eat. He took a bite, and said, "Portia, this is delicious."

"My mum's recipe," she replied, and they continued with their dinner, talking about all kinds of things; how their day went, their families, and how much of a jerk James St. Clair was. Portia said he was making passes on her at the ball at the palace, and how she smacked him across the face, which made both of them erupt into laughter.

About an hour later, they had finished the meal, and Portia cleaned up the table. Jerome sat on the couch, and then she sat with him. She took out some Altoids from a drawer in her coffee table and took one, because there was garlic in the sauce, offering one to him too. Then, she took out a picture from the coffee table, looking at it, smiling.

It was a photo of both of them in the park. "Look, Jerome," she handed it to him.

He took it from her, and viewed it over. It was a picture they had an ice cream seller take, a few days after they had met. Portia was wearing a green dress, and Jerome was in his usual wrinkly trousers and a white shirt with a loose tie. In the background was a pond with ducks, and green grass, the park on the sunny day. They were hugging eachother and grinning happily at the future. He smiled at her, saying, "You got the pictures developed?"

"Yeah. Remember when we went to Madame Tussauds Wax Museum, and took the pictures with all the statues, and the one where I was pretending to kiss the Charles Lindbergh, and the security people came and stopped me? Well, they got in the picture," she laughed with him. "It's funny, you see me looking all confused and embarrassed, and then the security man scolding me!" Portia did an impression of the gruff security guards, in her fake English accent, "Excuse me, kissing the exhibits is not allowed!!"

They laughed and laughed, then Jerome said, "We need to go to Hyde Park again soon."

"Well, how about tomorrow?"

He thought, "OK. We'll ditch practice. Sound good?"

"Sounds great," she paused to laugh, "God, that was the most fun I've ever had," and looked at him, into his eyes. "Do you love me?"

"Why, what do you mean?" he chuckled..

"Well, I mean, how long have we known eachother?" she asked.

"About a month."

"You don't think it's too fast. I mean, it's only one month," she slumped back on the couch and sighed.

"Oh, is this the 'love or lust' discussion?" he asked.

"Yeah. I guess it is," she embarrassedly said.

"Well, of course I love you. Do you believe me?"

Portia smiled and said, "Yeah, that's what I think too. You know, we should make a tally of how many times that's said between us." She paused. "Have you ever been in love before, Jerome?"

He laughed out loud, and replied, "No. Never. Why, have you?"

She shook her head, "Nope."

Jerome was quiet for a moment, and then asked, "Well, have you. . .uh. . .ever had. . ."

"No, no one before you," she instantly said. "Is that what you were going to ask?"

He smiled, "Yes, that's exactly what I was going to ask."

"Well, what about you, huh?"

He shook his head, "No."

"Truly?"

"Truly," he said.

Portia yawned and rested her head on his shoulder. He put one arm around her. "Hey Jerome?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you going to be in the English Channel Cup?"

"Because I want to prove myself, I guess."

She sat up straight, "Prove yourself? Haven't you already?! I mean, you're the best swimmer who ever lived!! You've won every challenge you've come up against!!"

"No, I can always get better," he said.

Portia laughed, "OK."

"Well, why are you entering the race?"

She thought for a moment. "Just for fun."

"For fun?!" he laughed.

"Yeah, I wanted to try it. And you know, it can't be too hard. I mean, I was caught in a rip tide when I was 6. So after that I was a really strong swimmer. My dad would go out on his boat, 20 footer, just a boring little fishing boat, and I would jump off in the middle of the sea and just swim. I'm not an Olympic Athlete or anything, just a girl who swims for fun and the challenge."

"But you have a trainer?"

"Yeah, this is the English Channel. The weather conditions are supposed to be very extreme," she said.

"Oh, I thought you were an Olympic swimmer or something," he replied.

"Hell no! Why, are you disappointed?"

"No, of course not!!" he exclaimed. "I would never think of you as anything less if you weren't. . ."

She interrupted him by laughing. "I know, I know. You take things so seriously! It's hilarious!!"

Jerome smiled and sat up straight, slouching, looking at the coffee table. Portia put her arms around him and just hugged him for a long time. He did the same, and kissed her on the cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too," she said, and let go of him.

He looked at the clock, and the time was 10:30. "Well, I think I should go," he sighed, and stood up.

"Are you sure? I mean, I made a cake, or you could. . ." she tried to get him to stay, and stood up also.

Jerome grinned and chuckled, "You want me to stay?"

"Yes!!" she blurted out. But she realized her error, and tried to act indifferent. "Well, if you want to, I mean, I'm not forcing you to or anything" she said, acting very calm, cool, and collected, despite that was the very opposite of her, and sat on the kitchen counter.

He smirked, and walked to her. "OK. I'll stay."

Portia smiled, jumped off the counter, and said, "Oh, OK."

At the same exact time, they quickly threw their arms around each-other and deeply kissed. Well, perhaps more than that, because soon, they were in her room.

Portia woke up yawning at 6 o'clock the next morning, very tired from the night before, but feeling strangely happy. Using her toe, she opened the drapes, allowing the morning sun to shine through. She looked over her shoulder, and saw Jerome, still sleeping (and snoring), with one arm limply draped around her waist. He was right up against her, and she could hear him breathing quietly. She smiled and kissed his forehead. Then she carefully picked up his arm, trying not to wake him, and sat up, her legs dangling over the side of the bed, but immediately felt dizzy and queasy. Her head hurt, but she could tough it out. "Probably just sat up too fast," she thought to herself, and stood up, putting on a plain white robe. But when she stood, she felt even more dizzy, so she stumbled over to the bathroom. Opening the medicine cabinet, she found a bottle of the pink syrupy medicine, that helped stomachaches, and swallowed just a little bit. Then, she walked back to the bed, and lied back down, looking up at the ceiling. She rolled over, facing Jerome. He was still sleeping soundly, frowning while in his slumber. Drowsily she yawned, and Jerome mumbled something, then put his arm limply around her. Portia quietly laughed, and rolled over, facing towards the window, her back against his warm body. She could feel him inhaling and exhaling, and his heartbeat too; the steady, continuous beating of his heart that was always the same pace, even when they were. . .

She heard a loud yawn, and rolled over again, looking at him. His eyes were drowsy, half open. He rubbed his nose, scratched his head, and stretched his feet and arms toward the end of the bed, trying to wake up. Then, he opened his vivid blue eyes, and looked at her. He whispered quietly, "Good morning," and propped his head up with his elbow, leaning on the pillow.

She said, "Hi," and lied her head back on the pillow, not 3 inches away from his. "Are you feeling OK?"

"Yes, I feel fine. How about you?"

"Great," she replied.

Jerome smiled and rubbed his eyes. "It's funny, we always ask eachother that."

"What?"

"If we feel all right. I mean, it's strange. It's like what my mother would do. If I sneezed, she'd say, 'Are you all right? Are you feeling well?' And we ask eachother that." He laughed and smiled softly. "It's funny."

"Well, I guess it's called caring for one-another, Morrow."

"Morrow," he repeated out loud. "You sound like McHallan."

"Uh-oh," she said, and imitated his gruff Scottish accent. "Come on, you slug, go faster!!"

He accidentally snorted in laughter, and rubbed his chin, feeling a little bit of stubble. "Huh, I need to shave."

Portia smiled and felt his jaw-line, which was just a little bit rough. "No, you're fine."

"Good," he said, and yawned.

She snuggled up closer to him. "It's 5 days away."

"What is?"

"The English Channel Cup, of course," she said. "Are you nervous?"

He closed his eyes and smiled, then whispered. "No, not at all."

Portia didn't reply, just looked at him. He had that same proud smile, that razor-sharp jawline, those long eyelashes that surrounded the light blue eyes, and those lips. It was as if she had noticed this for the first time in her life. "You know what?"

He slowly opened his eyes, "What?"

"You are very handsome."

He didn't really know what to say. "Oh."

"Oh? You are. You know what I love?"

"What?"

"I love how you act so humble but you are actually just bursting with cockiness!"

He sat up and turned sideways, looking right at her. "Really? Is that a fact?"

"Yeah, and I love the way you talk in your sleep."

"I talk in my sleep?"

She nodded, "Yep, you just mumble about stuff, and I love how when you don't realize it when you just put your arms around me when you're asleep."

He was very surprised at hearing this. "I do?"

"Yep, all the time," and she paused. She sat up, with the robe still on. Jerome pulled the sheets over and wrapped them around him to keep warm.

"Portia?" he looked at her.

"Yes?"

"What flaws can you notice of me?"

She rolled her eyes and laughed. "Oh gosh, Jerome, you are perfect! No pun intended, of course."

"No, really, try to find one," he said.

"I can't. You're fine. You are a great kisser. . ."

"No, no, I don't mean like that, but physical flaws."

She looked at him, "About what you could've done better last night?"

He blushed, "Well, no, but. . ."

"Fine," she said. "You're awfully skinny. You have no bottom, it's flat. That's all I can find. Why?"

"Oh I dunno," he shrugged.

Portia snorted in laughter, "You VALIDs!"

He sat up. "What?"

"You VALID people are always trying to find one tiny flaw in all your perfected selves. God, I could pick out a million faults in myself."

"Yeah, that's because you're an INVALID," Jerome said.

"Oh," she exclaimed, "Are you a genoist or something? I see how it is!" and laughed.

"Why of course not," he scoffed.

Just to bother him, she asked, "And how can I be sure of that?"

He smiled softly, and quietly said, "Because I'm in love with an INVALID," and looked right at her. Portia sighed, and smiled at him. Jerome leaned forward, and kissed her. Afterwards, he whispered, "I love you."

"I love you too, Jerome," she said. Then, she got back to the subject. "But I guess there is a good thing about the whole genetic engineering."

"And what would that be?"

Portia smiled, "You wouldn't be here with me if there was no genetic engineering, you wouldn't even be born."

He nodded, "I never even thought of that," and suddenly she kissed him on the cheek. "No stubble?"

"No, you're fine." Suddenly, she pressed the side of her head to his chest.

He asked, "What are you doing?" and laughed.

"I've just noticed," she put her head back on his shoulder, "that your heartbeat is the same all the time."

"Really?"

"Yeah, all the time. It's like a metronome! Jerome, Jerome the metronome," she laughed. "I could play the piano with that heartbeat. If I could play the piano." She stopped, and yawned. "Do you know how to play the piano?"

Jerome laughed out loud, and chuckled, "Kind of."

"Me too, kind of," she replied. "I can play that old song 'Someone to Watch Over Me' pretty well. Just the basic melody, no scales or chords. And I can play half of the song from 'Casablanca'."

"So you can play the piano," he said, smiling.

"Yes, in not very literal terms, yes I can."

He laughed, and yawned. "I'm gonna go back to sleep. It's too early. OK?"

"Yeah, me too," she said. She put her head on the pillow, and looked into his eyes, which were getting droopy from drowsiness.

Jerome kissed her on the forehead and whispered, "I love you, Portia" again, just as he put his arm around her.

She nodded, "I love you, Jerome," her eyes starting to get sleepy also.

In a few minutes, they were both fast asleep, Jerome's arm limply around her waist.