JESSIE AKA CINDY
My shift ends at 3am and I’m beat. Working four nights a week, I make enough to get by and pay something towards the debts. Just enough to keep the creditors off my back. I spend the rest of my time trawling the internet for a proper job, but each one I apply for seems to have a thousand applicants and at least a few requirements that I have no experience in. None of them pay as well as the Kitty Cat Club.
I wave to Adrian as I make my way to the staff exit, and then brace for the chill of the night to hit. I’m dressed practically but it’s always so warm inside the club. I think about my beach again and the warm sun that shines there. I have a framed picture in my room that I picked up in a thrift store. It’s of a woman facing the ocean, arms stretched above her head, her sarong blowing as she holds it aloft. From behind she looks a lot like me and that’s maybe why I keep picturing it, like a borrowed memory.
The street isn’t deserted; a few people from the clubs further up the road stand around chatting or waiting for a cab. I pull my purse higher on my shoulder and walk in the direction of home. There’s a poster peeling away from the bus stop for a circus show that had been in a local theater several months ago. I’d wanted to go. The newspapers had raved about the aerial silk act, but it’s the kind of thing you do on a date, and I hadn’t had one of those since...
My thoughts are interrupted by a voice calling “excuse me,” and I initially think it’s someone asking directions or maybe the time, but then the voice says, “Cindy,” and I realize it’s the man I danced for.
My heart sinks.
I don’t like talking to clients outside of the
club. It’s awkward to be seen in my own
clothes, like I’ve taken off my armor, even though I’m so much more covered
than I am when I’m working.
I stop but don’t move closer. He’s fully opened his car door and is now standing on the curb behind it. I wait for him to continue before I decide what to do next. If he’s going to be creepy I’m getting out of here quickly.
“I just… I felt bad about what happened. I wanted to explain.”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” I say, half turning back towards home. If he’s looking for a long drawn out conversation, then he’s picked the wrong person.
“I was married,” he blurts out and I turn back. “She died.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling awkward, but with more sympathy in my heart than I know what to do with. I know what’s under his skin; that desperate sadness that’s impossible to escape. The feeling that every tomorrow is going to feel as dark as today.
“It’s okay,” he says, shaking his head. He’s rested his hand on the top of the car door as if he needs an anchor point to continue. “It feels like a long time… since I could look at a woman and feel…” He trails off, obviously finding it hard to continue.
“Desire?”
“Yes, desire.”
“And you couldn’t?”
“No, I did… but it felt…”
“Wrong?” I finish for him.
“Disloyal.”
“It won’t always feel that way,” I say.
He shakes his head again, and his expression is so raw it steals the breath from my lungs.
There are times when you know in your heart that you have something important to say that will help someone, but that doesn’t make saying it any easier. It’s as if fate has directed him to me and I have a chance to pay forward the sympathy I received three years ago and maybe share some of the advice that has gotten me through.
“I lost my husband,” I say, looking at a point over his shoulder. “He was killed in a hit and run. When it happened I thought I would never climb out of the hole of grief. I lost myself in it all. The guilt of living when he was dead, the guilt of thinking about anything other than him, the guilt of wanting to feel better and of wanting to forget so I could breathe again without feeling such a terrible weight on my chest and such a terrible empty space where my heart used to be.” I trail off to see his dark gray eyes, framed by beautiful thick dark lashes, fixed on me. “I still miss him every day, but it doesn’t hurt like it used to. I can see a future. I can go a whole week without crying and I can hope things will be better again… and you will too.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, running his hands through his hair as he had done in the private room; a nervous, restless habit that I find endearing.
“Nothing for you to be sorry about. Life gives and it takes away. We wouldn’t appreciate the good without the bad.”
He pauses, stepping back and putting his hands in his jeans pockets.
“I should go.” I look over my shoulder, wishing I could afford to take a taxi.
“It’s late; can I give you a ride home?” When I turn I must look wary because he puts his hands up. “I know it’s not recommended to get into a stranger’s car but… maybe if you text someone my license plate number or something? I can show you my driving license and you can text that too. It’s late and god knows who’s lurking around. I’d feel better if I could take you somewhere… wherever you need to go.”
It’s probably stupid for me to take up his offer but I have a long walk home. I pull out my phone and take a picture of his car with him in the frame and send it to my sister along with the message, ‘will tell you what this is about tomorrow’ underneath, then walk around to the passenger side, opening the door to the expensive black car he’s driving. He slides in too, and we close the doors at the same time, suddenly sitting close in the cocooned interior. It smells of expensive cologne and new car.
“I haven’t told you my name yet.” He holds onto the steering wheel, pushing his hands from the sides to the top. “It’s Ryan. Ryan Gosling.” He smirks, the first smile I’ve seen on his lips and it suits him, especially when his eyes crinkle at the sides. I think he must be about 35, which is quite a bit older than me. “I know… it’s not exactly ideal when someone you share a name with suddenly becomes famous.”
I smile, thinking it could have been worse. “I live across town near the stadium. Is that going to be okay? I guess I should have asked before I got in.”
“It’s fine. Almost on my way home.” Ryan starts the car and pulls out of the parking space, the car making a smooth whooshing noise, then he fiddles with the stereo until he finds a radio station he likes playing mellow sounding Jazz. “What’s your address so I can put it in the sat nav?”
When he’s tapped it all in I rest back in the seat and close my eyes, the bone deep tiredness I’m feeling finally crashing over me. I must have fallen asleep — stupid of me — but when I come around we are turning down my street.
“It’s just here,” I say, waving to a spot he can pull into, not quite outside my front door but close enough. When Ryan stops the car he turns to me, looking like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. I wait, understanding from experience that sometimes people just need time and space to build up to verbalizing the things that they want to say.
“You don’t have to answer if this is too personal… I just… I wanted to know what it was like… the first time you were with someone new.”
I lower my gaze to my knees and fiddle with the straps on my purse. Honesty is something I feel really strongly about but I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t tempted to tell him what he wanted to hear. That it was fine, good even. That he would be that man again, the one who could let go and lose himself in pleasure without remembering what used to be, but that wouldn’t be fair or right, so I tell him the truth.
“It’s been three years and I haven’t been able to go there. It feels like such a huge step, like it would close the door to that part of my life. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to, it’s just… no one has understood enough for me feel like I could.”
Ryan is quiet, looking out of the window. “Cindy,” he whispers.
It no longer feels right that he doesn’t know my real name because he knows so much of my hurt. “Cindy’s my work name,” I tell him. “My real name’s Jessie.”
“Jessie,” Ryan says, rolling the sound off his tongue.
The air in the car feels alive with something. Something that scares me. My own foolish desire for physical contact with a man. Maybe his desire to get back on the horse… pop his widower’s cherry so to speak.
I put my hand on the door. This night isn’t about that. It’s about me getting into my run-down room and sleeping before I make a rash decision I’m not going to be able to follow through on.
“I’m gonna go,” I say. “Thanks for the ride.”
As I’m leaning to get out he puts his hand on my arm. It’s gentle but I can feel how big and strong his grip could be if he wanted to use it that way and I get a shiver of fear and awareness running down my spine.
I wait for him to say something, turning to look into his dark eyes that seem haunted. “Are you working again tomorrow?” he asks.
I nod. So that’s what he wants. Another chance to see what I’ve got going on.
“I’ll see you then.” He lets me go.
I’m out of the car quickly and jog towards my place, needing to get inside so I can calm my pounding heart.
Ryan Gosling. The actor has always managed to make me shiver.
Since Jackson died, I haven’t felt anything for any man, and I see enough of them. I have no idea what I’m feeling for Ryan, but something tells me that tomorrow might bring a little more clarity.