Unforgettable by Linda Barrett (story reading .TXT) 📖

loved his work. “Forget about your dad. You’re proving him wrong.”

“But now I see he’s got a point. There really is no guarantee every show will be successful.” He gathered her hands into his larger one. “I’ve got to be honest here, Jen.” His eyes darkened; his voice was intense. Not knowing what to expect, she took a breath.

“You’re scaring me, Doug,” she began, her fingers pressing back against his. “You’ve always been honest with me. So why is today different?”

He cleared his throat. “Today is different,” he began slowly, “because for the first time, I’m going to New York with you. I’ve always imagined it and now it’s real.” Leaning forward, he cupped her face with his hands. “Jennifer Delaney, I want you in my life, and I know for that to happen—because of your need for security, your need to feel safe—I must tell you how I make my living.”

“You’ve already told me you were fine. I believed you. Shouldn’t I have?” He’d been open with her, so she’d thought.

“I am fine, Jen, stable. And plan to continue that way. But...you never know for sure. The best-laid plans and all that…. And I know that will make you nervous.”

She didn’t respond, just held her hand up like a cop and thought about his words. “You’re right about me,” she finally said. “I need some control. But you work hard and have common sense. I don’t think you’d let yourself starve.”

Then came his laughter, his warm, deep laughter that always stirred her heart. “Only you could come up with that. I love it! Common sense is what most people think creative types don’t have.”

She chuckled with him. “But I know you better than that, Doug. You’re not a ‘type.’ You’re unique. At least, to me you are.” From laughter to tears. She was on a roller-coaster. “Wh-when you left….it had absolutely nothing to do with money or earning a living or anything like that. And—and as far as I’m concerned, it still doesn’t.”

And suddenly he was on her side of the booth, cradling her in his arms, kissing her all over her cheeks and mouth and mumbling things about love and royalties.

She started to listen and then to laugh again. His earnest explanations of royalties earned on tickets sold, teaching stints, writing ad copy, editing scripts or even tending bar had her amazed.

“So that’s the way it works,” he offered. “A playwright does what he needs to do to feed his habit—writing new plays.”

“And you do it all,” she said. “Well, I know one adjective that could never describe you, Doug.”

He looked at her in inquiry. “Rich?”

But she shook her head. “No! Lazy. You’re not lazy. You’re ambitious. You’re talented. And with a little luck…you’ll have it all.”

She heard him inhale and looked up. “What?”

But he shook his head. “Ready to go?”

##

Their hotel room was half the size of Jen’s living room. The closet, the size of a linen closet at home.

“The Big Apple is looking kind of small to me,” said Jen, scanning the room in a second. “Actually, pretty tiny.”

“It’s mid-town real estate — in demand and scarce. It’s only a place to sleep. We’ll be out and about most of the time.”

She moved closer. “Hey, I’m only teasing. I wouldn’t care if we stayed in a cave as long as you accomplish what you’ve set out to do. And I’m sure you will.” She stroked his cheek, the rim of his ear. “I believe in you.”

His eyes darkened, his lips parted, and she was in his arms. His mouth covered hers as a man starved for nourishment and she gave herself freely, gave herself to this one man she’d never forgotten. Together, they tore off the bedspread and found each other, undressed each other. Explored each other until there was no more time, until their pleasure surged from within.

Afterward, she couldn’t move. “My limbs are like burst balloons,” she whispered. “Weak.”

“Mine, too. It’s like the poet said — a dream deferred. Remember? Langston Hughes?”

“Uh…?”

“When a dream is deferred again and again…it will eventually explode. It’s a perfect analogy for us.”

He rolled on his side and turned her head toward him. “You are the best of me, Jennifer Delaney. I’ve never stopped loving you, and this I promise — no one will ever love you more than I do.”

Her tears flowed, and he covered her mouth gently with his fingers. “You don’t have to say anything. Your heart still hasn’t caught up to that beautiful head of yours.”

She hated herself, she hated that he was right. “You once said you knew me better than I know myself. Maybe that’s why you don’t give up. I did date other guys, Doug, but…” She shook her head. “I never got too involved.”

“You were waiting for me.”

Her Doug had a huge romantic streak. “Nope. Sorry.” She brushed back his usual hank of hair from his forehead, then turned her face into the pillow. “I wasn’t waiting, Doug. In fact, I tried to forget you. Loving and losing is hard even when accepting half the blame, so I sure wasn’t ready to jump back into the fray with someone else.”

“I felt exactly the same way, Jen. But now I’m willing to fight for my happiness. What about you?”

##

She put the question behind her the next day as she made her way to Radio City Music Hall. Doug had told her that morning, “Go have fun. Be a tourist. Take a bite of the apple!”

“Oh, for goodness sake. You sound like a promo for New York. You can do better than that.” She waved and disappeared, promising to meet him back at the hotel by five.

In ten minutes, the rhythm of the city crept into her feet. In another ten minutes, the cacophony of erratic sounds became a new musical fusion. Car horns, the patter of feet, bus belches, people’s voices, traffic cop whistles, running motors. She hummed to herself as she walked toward her destination, and hours later, was still humming when she headed back to the hotel. She heard the shower when she let herself in.

“I’m home,” she called out.

“Beautiful words,” came the reply. “Be right there.”

“It was a joke!”

Home? Jen scanned the tiny room, her tote and purse now on the desk, her shoes off and near the bed, a newspaper lying around on a chair and Doug’s belt, wallet and sundries strewn. Messy, but almost comfortable. Did it feel like a home? “Don’t get so dramatic,” she mumbled, stretching out on the bed.

Doug appeared a minute later, wrapped in a towel. He leaned over and kissed her. “So, tell me all.”

She felt herself smile as she thought back. “I am definitely an A-1 tourist! Radio City was amazing. I even paid to be part of a small private tour. Rehearsal halls, dressing rooms, even the lighting booth and projection room. And the Art-Deco — the grand foyer — really deserves an Oh-My-God! And that’s what kept coming out of my mouth the whole time. So much fun.”

“Yep. You’re an A-1 tourist,” he began while pulling on his pants, “who could be spotted a mile away with her eyes looking skyward instead of around her.”

“Oh, stop. I was perfectly safe. And then I saw a show.”

He paused to look at her. “Really?”

“Just lucky. I stumbled onto the half-price ticket booth for same day shows, and suddenly, I was Carol King.”

“Ah-h. Beautiful. Perfect choice for you. You’re sure beautiful to me.”

Ignoring his compliment, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. “I loved it, but ‘perfect’ would have been if you were with me. I had no one to share my pleasure with.”

He kissed her once more. “Sweetheart, I would have seen it again just for you.”

“Again?”

“Sure. I’ve seen many productions. I need to feel what’s out there, not just read about it.”

“And here I thought writers sat in their garrets and imagined stuff.”

He shook his head. “Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer. I expect more from you. You’ll soon see that we need to live in the real world if we want to connect with an audience. An audience is people!”

She waved and disappeared into bathroom. “My turn in here. Oh, I forgot to ask. How was your day?” God, she sounded like a caring wife.

“I’ll tell you later. Just stay in your happy mood.”

Uh-oh. She didn’t like the sound of that.

##

A sage green sleeveless dress, strappy sandals and dangling earrings. Jen checked herself in the bathroom mirror and gave her hair one last brush stroke. Redheads always looked good in green, and auburn hair fell into that category. Ready for the evening, curious to meet Doug’s friends, she was satisfied she’d hold her own.

“Okay, I’m rea—

He was on the phone but looked up when she spoke. His eyes shone and he emitted a low whistle as he talked back into the receiver. “Can’t wait for you to meet her, Steve. And you’ll be my second pair of ears at dinner with these producers.” He disconnected and let his gaze travel from her head to her feet. “I should ask you to stay here until showtime. No one will be able to concentrate on anything but you. I know I won’t!”

She felt heat rise to her face—which had probably turned pink. Something that never happened at work even after receiving a compliment. “I didn’t want to let you down — meeting your high-toned friends and all.”

“No more high-toned than we are, sweetie. Except…

She tilted her head and waited.

…the evening is turning into a business meeting.”

“How did that happen?” She put up her hand. “No, don’t answer. Let’s go back a bit. How was the new lead for The Broken Circle? I thought she was the one question on your mind.”

“A real pro. She did interpret the role a bit differently, but it fit. Staging a play is collaborative, Jen. I had to learn that. I thought the writer was king.”

“You should be. Without you, they have nothing!”

He wrapped his arms around her and held tight. “It’s great having you in my corner, but everyone brings something to the table. Today, the new lead brought her own insights and emotions. And that’s how she’ll make the part hers.”

“Got it. It’s interpretation. Just like me singing a song differently from another singer.”

“Exactly.” He glanced at his watch. “Ready to go?”

“Not so fast. So why is dinner turning into a business meeting?”

He stepped back and started to pace. “Two producers are joining us for the meal and to see The Broken Circle—again. They’re brothers, and they like my work. I-I was really productive during my residency here, and they kept their eyes on some of us.” He pivoted to her and stood still. “They’ve got some strong backers—investors— and might be coming to Boston to see The Sanctuary.”

Sucker-punched. Her brain went into overdrive, and she swallowed hard. “So we’ve been living in make-believe land.” She pulled a tissue from the dispenser and balled it in her hand. “It’s happening again. Boston, New York. It always comes back to choices. Been there, done that.” She pointed to him, then to herself.

“Not true. My home is in Boston with you. Nothing’s changed. As you like to remind me, I can write anywhere.”

But he’d said staging a play was a collaboration. And building his career seemed all about relationships. Actors, producers, directors. Producers were critical—they brought the money people. New York City, she had to concede, was the mecca for this whole gang.

And he’d walked away from it—for her!

Now she needed