He bolted up from his desk when Jaime walked through the door. "Oh Oscar," she said, with a sad smile, "I really need a hug."
He met her halfway through the room, obligingly wrapped her up in his arms, and kissed her forehead. "What's the matter, Babe?"
"The wedding's off."
"What?!" he blurted. His first reaction was shock, his second was delight, the third was to feel guilty, and the fourth was to cover his tracks. "My God, Jaime - I'm so sorry." he said with emphasis. "What happened?"
"It just couldn't go through with it." she said sadly.
"Oh, Babe, I'm sorry.You must be feeling pretty battered." What did this mean for him? Nothing. Nothing. It means nothing.
There's ... someone else." she added cautiously.
His mind reeled. His stomach hit the floor. "Someone else?" he parroted. How is this possible? Who the hell is it now? Oscar wasn't sure he could bear it. Whoever it was, he would have to hunt him down and kill him. Or maybe he'd just kill himself instead. Could he imagine himself making pleasantries with this guy- whoever he was? Pretending he didn't hate him? He detested him already. No. It was clear - he couldn't take it anymore. He was nauseous, and his heart was banging around in his chest like an old jalopy.
"Yes." she said. "The problem is ... I don't think he's ... receptive."
"Not receptive..." he repeated, hardly listening. He would have to keep Jaime as far away from him as possible. Hopefully this new love was in Timbuktu. No more. No more. It was just too painful - too ridiculous. At least that much was truly clear to him. He could hardly bear to hold her close, and yet he couldn't stand to let her go.
She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him with concern. "Oscar - your heart..."
"Too much coffee." he said quickly. This embrace was excruciating - but it would be the last time he'd hold her. Let her go. Say goodbye.
"Jaime, there's not a man on the planet who wouldn't be receptive to you."he said dully, remembering that he should reassure her. He was probably blonde. And handsome, and young, of course, with rippling muscles, amazing stamina, white teeth and boyish charm, carefree and open to adventure.
"Really?" She drew back to look at him, her hazel eyes intense with something he couldn't identify. "Even you?"
"Me?" His scalp contracted in shock. He felt as though he was being flushed out from a hiding place. "I - I don't think I - uh" Jesus - what was he going to say? This didn't strike him as a good moment to be honest. She continued to bore holes in him with her eyes. "Well I'm maybe the sole exception - not that I don't care for you deeply."
Jaime sighed and put her head back against his shoulder. She felt heavy in his arms. "See what I mean? Not receptive."
Oscar frowned. She was in an odd state of mind. "What are you talking about?" he asked, confusion and anxiety evident in his voice.
She buried her face in his neck. "It's you, Oscar."
"What's me?" he spluttered. "Who is this guy? And what do I have to do with this?" Why was she doing this to him?
She pulled out of his arms and stood back, looking at him in disbelief. "My God you're being dense!"She wrapped her hands around either side of his head, shook him a little and stared hard into his eyes. "It's you. You're the someone else, okay? Do you get it now?" She kissed his lips firmly and not particularly tenderly to demonstrate. "See? Get it?"
Time slowed to a crawl for Oscar at that moment, as this extraordinary information reverberated in his head. He was aware that he was blinking a lot, staring at her, otherwise completely frozen. "It's... ... me?" he asked tentatively, when he recovered his ability to speak. She gave him an exaggerated nod, still holding his head, as though it would somehow help penetrate what she clearly thought was a thick skull.
"It's ... me." he reaffirmed, frowning, staring at her through incredulous eyes.
Jaime nodded at him again, her expression moving from irritated to uncertain. Her hands dropped to his shoulders. "I know it's weird after all these years..." she said, sounding apologetic. Oscar had to force himself to listen. There was a kind of rushing noise in his head that made it difficult. "I just figured it out myself."
Why does she look so sad?
"You don't have to say anything." She looked at the floor. He was feeling incredibly slow, like his brain was mired in a swamp...but it was dawning on him that she looked sad because of him. She needed his reassurance. A warmth bloomed in the center of his chest. She looked into his eyes again. "I know it's ridiculous, but I just wanted to..."she stalled as she watched a small smile on his face transform into an enormous grin, "...try..." She smiled hesitantly.
A big deep laugh burst from him. He scooped her into his arms and lifted her right off her feet. She yelped in surprise. He laughed for pure joy, he laughed at his own obtuseness, at her anger at him, at this incredible, inconceivable moment in his life - a moment he had dreamed of for years and had thought was impossible. Surely he was about to wake up. Jaime wrapped herself around him and laughed too.
Their laughter faded when he nuzzled his face close to hers. He closed his eyes. To hold her this way, to openly contemplate her slender body against his - on top of the emotional trauma of the last few minutes - was almost too much for him. He felt dangerously weak kneed. She moved to kiss him, and he found himself pulling away.
"Hey." she frowned.
"I don't want to wake up yet."
"Wake up?"
"I have these...dreams about you... and every time they begin to get ... interesting... I wake up."
"Really?" Jaime's eyes widened. She was clearly intrigued.
"Just before I saw you the last time I was caressing a spot under your collarbone."
"Like this? she asked softly, slipping one hand onto his chest, under his tie, threading her fingers through shirt buttons to the warm skin beneath.
He closed his eyes. "Yeah." he replied, his voice almost nonexistent.
Jaime kissed his cheek gently. "You won't wake up."
"Promise?" he asked, captivated by the closeness of her mouth to his.
"Promise."
Tentatively, his heart racing, he pressed his lips lightly to hers. She made a tiny sound in her throat, a little "hmm" that sent a current of passion through him. He was overwhelmed by the contradictory feelings he had at that moment. He was weak, yet he felt incredibly powerful. He was faint, but more keenly alert and alive than ever. It was a painful ecstasy. Nobody had ever made him feel this way. How could he communicate all this to her?
She would know through this kiss. She would know how much he loved her and wanted her, that he belonged entirely to her.
The intercom buzzed twice before either of them heard it. They both stared at the interloper. Oscar glanced at her apologetically before he leaned down, still holding her tight, to push the button.
"Yes, Callahan?" he said in a neutral tone. Jaime placed a lingering kiss on his neck, just below the ear. He closed his eyes and gulped.
"It's the call you had scheduled with the Vice-President, Mr. Goldman."
"Ohhhh. Right." he sighed, looking at Jaime with another mute apology. "Can you stall him for two minutes?"
"Sure thing Mr. Goldman."
"It's okay." she reassured him as he reluctantly set her back on the ground.
"Tonight? Ah...dinner?" he asked, only wanting her - not dinner - but not daring to presume.
"Seven. My hotel. Room service." she smiled, taking his hands in hers and backing toward the door.
"Seven? That might as well be next week. Six?"
"Six." she affirmed, and moved to the door. He followed, deeply reluctant to let her go. "Hey." he said, stopping her. "I love you."
"I know." she smiled. "Room 207. Oh - and you'd better call Rudy and tell him you won't be running tomorrow. Tell him it's okay. Tell him I'll be keeping an eye on you. "
The door closed behind her. He exhaled and moved toward the telephone. Unless the Vice President was accompanied by a brass band, Oscar doubted he'd hear a word that was said.