CHAPTER NINE
Not so Merry—Sal
The week after the finale was a whirlwind of love, sex, and Jack. After he “punished” me the night after the finale, we stayed in for days talking, eating, sleeping, and of course, fucking. Our relationship is closer than it’s ever been and I know that we are strong right now. We trust each other and have fallen into a comfortable routine of bickering, teasing, flirting and loving each other. Gone is the anger, doubt, and mistrust.
Evan is bringing the kids home today and I’m ecstatic, I’ve missed them so much. Jack left a few hours ago, promising to return later this evening. He still insists that we not exchange phone numbers, which I think is a silly superstition but romantic as well. I work in my office for a few hours, answering emails, fielding phone calls about Jack and me from my publicist, High Note’s publicist team, and marketing team. The cat is out of the bag—we were photographed kissing on set and have had paparazzi following us this week when we’ve ventured out a few times for food.
Since I still don’t have his number—I know I could get it easily, but I’m content playing his game for now—I send him an email.
Jack-You are making my life harder with this no phone thing. Plus, I miss your voice, you big jerk. I’m surprised you are so opposed, imagine the sexting we could be doing . . . not to mention the dick pics you could be sending me.
The kids should be here any minute and I can’t wait. I’m happy you want to meet them and they will be excited to show you their dumpling making skills.
I look forward to showing you some of my skills later. ;)
Love,
Your Sally
A few hours later and the kids are home, and we are elbows deep in flour and pork mixture, making fried and steamed dumplings. I’m surprised that Jack hasn’t arrived yet, also a little bummed he never returned my email. My surprise turns to irritation, anger, and disappointment when he doesn’t show at all. Both kids are in bed, exhausted from their trip and the excitement of being home. At 10:16 pm I sit in front of my laptop and check my email again. Still nothing, so I send another.
Jack-I hope all is okay with you, I’m wondering where you are and am now very pissed that we didn’t exchange numbers. For now, I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, hoping you were held up and are dealing with an emergency. If that’s the case, know I’m worried and need you to get in touch with me.
Love,
Your Sally
It’s now been two days of silence from Jack, and I’m losing my mind. Did I imagine all of it? He pursued me, we have a connection, he told me he loves me. Plus, the sex, it’s better than I’ve ever had and I know it has to be for him. Finally, I give up and call High Note to get his number. I end up getting to talk with Manny, who is an amazing stage director and friend.
“Jack, he’s not so bright. He’s been in love with you for over a year and hasn’t ever gotten your digits?” He laughs and laughs.
“Manny, you know Jack, he’s quirky. Can you give me his number?” I interrupt his hysterics.
“Sure, Miss Sal. Anything for you.” He giggles in between relaying Jack’s number to me and once I have it down, I hang up.
I punch the number into my phone and press call. The call immediately clicks over to voicemail like it’s turned off. Jack’s message makes me smile because it’s so him. “You’ve reached Mr. Jack Hansen’s phone and I’m so glad you’re callin’ me, please leave a short message and I’ll be back with you as soon as I’m done bein’ me.”
After the beep I hesitate, not knowing what to say. “Um, Jack, it’s Sal. I’m really freaked out by the radio silence. Call me at least to let me know everything is okay with you, even if it isn’t with us.”
I end the call and put my head in my hands. Maybe I should be crying? Not my style. I’m pretty angry and a little hurt, but mostly just confused. I know he was headed back to see his dad soon for the holidays but he wasn’t due to leave for a few days.
“Mommy, can we get started?” I’m jolted out of my funk by my eight-year-old, Molly. She is standing next to me holding the bag of cookie cutters I sent her to the basement to find.
“Yes!” I exclaim, trying to muster up all of my holiday spirit to bake Christmas cookie for the next few hours. “Let’s get all the ingredients out and Nana’s recipe.”
This week has flown by but at the same time has been a slow torture of inexplicable silence from Jack. Christmas came and went and I had a great time with Molly and Eli. They flew to Aspen with Evan this morning. This is my first holiday spent alone, Evan left me two days after New Year’s last year. I’m miserable in my solitude and have endless time to go over every minute Jack and I spent together and critique it to death for what I did wrong. He is still 100% not returning any of my messages. I now assume he’s at home in Tennessee with his Dad. I’m just baffled that he hasn’t at least sent me a fucking text.
I haven’t sent him anything after the voicemail I left him a week and a half ago. I have some pride and know when I’m being blown off. My eye goes to the invitation to Carla’s New Year’s Eve party on the fridge. It’s tomorrow and I was looking forward to going when Jack and I were together so I told her I’d be there. Might as well go, can’t wallow forever and I’m so bored.
I spend the next day with Rosie and Gigi, they are my closest friends and also happen to be my hair and makeup stylists respectively. They travel with me on tour, are hired on by High Note, per my contract, and are loyal and honest friends. Not only do they keep me looking good, they also keep me grounded. We get ready for Carla’s party and drink whiskey and ginger ale, chatting about our kids, our relationships and they grill me about Jack. I give them a little detail about his dirty ass but leave out the fact that I haven’t heard from him. I’m still hopeful that Jack has some reasonable explanation for completely ignoring me for two weeks. Maybe I’m naive and too quick to give him the benefit of the doubt. I do know that I don’t want Rosie and Gigi to know how I feel right now because I want this to be a fun night for us all.
“So Jack is a dirty talker, this I can see, but what I really want to know is the size of his twang?” Rosie says emphasizing “twang” with a southern accent.
“Hmm, his twang is super-sized, I do declare,” I say jokingly, but then feel an overwhelming sadness that I may never see that twang again.
“To all the twang we’ve loved before!” Gigi shouts and holds her glass up to us. We clink our glasses, drink and dissolve into hysterical giggles.