Chapter Text
Riding the subway in silence – as much silence, anyway, as the New York subway system would allow. As they waited to connect with the “G” train, Karen finally spoke.
“What were you and Ivy talking about? I had no idea you were so friendly.” Jimmy had heard that resentful tone before; he stomped down irritation. The whole disastrous outing – she'd behaved damn well. No wonder if she broke a little, now.
“Just telling her I was sorry she had to deal with me on her day off. Ivy's helped me a lot – she's been really great.”
Karen nodded, as if to herself, and said no more.
For dinner, they'd eaten the remaining sandwiches. Soundtrack the rustle of unwrapped paper, chewing. Karen's eyes on her food. She didn't look up as she said, hesitating,
“Jimmy? Could I – please – have a little space? I'm sorry, I'm just –” she stopped, looking at him now, frustrated, lost, helpless. And so sad.
“Yeah, OK. Sure. I understand.” He didn't, not really. But if she needed space, he'd give it to her. He shrugged his jacket on. Kissed her. Karen made the kiss a quick one, but huddled in Jimmy's arms for a second, burying her face in his shoulder. He hugged her tight. “It's OK. It's all OK, Karen.”
And he was on the street, walking. Once more on the subway to Manhattan. Jimmy secretly liked the subways. The snaking tunnels, the rattle of the wheels. They spoke movement, action. He didn't know where he was going; he just wanted to move. Changed trains, left Greenpoint further behind.
Up into the dark air. Walking again. And now he knew. Took out his phone. All the “Gatsby” contacts were programmed in. Pushed “call.”
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After brunch, Tom had strolled with Julia, Michael and Porter a few steps ahead. “Deathlight” needed some tweaking, they agreed. “Dead Lights,” maybe? Both syllables given equal stress; play on “headlights?” Yes, perhaps that. They'd see.
Change partners, walking with Porter. “It is just inconceivable to me that you've never been to New Orleans, cher. You must come and visit. New Orleans is like no other city. You just must come – for the music, at least.”
“I can just see myself in sequins for Mardi Gras,” Tom laughed.
“Do come for Mardi Gras! One of the three essential New Orleans visits.”
The other two? “You must come for Christmas – we light up every bit as much as New York, but it's a very different magic. And in the summer, in the still, damp heat, when there are no tourists. I am quite serious, Tom, I've plenty of space for a guest. I would so love to introduce you to my town.”
Tentatively, with caveats – who knew, at this point, where “Gatsby” would take them? – Tom had agreed.
He was at the piano, finessing the cadence for “Dead Lights,” when his phone rang. Jimmy calling?
“Hey, Tom, I was wondering if I could buy you a drink? Where's a good place?”
Tom didn't really want to go out; why didn't Jimmy just come up?
As Tom made drinks, Jimmy looked around him. Posters, photographs. Oh, God, Kyle among them. Yes, this was Kyle's sort of place. He could almost see him three-dimensions, hear his voice. The lump in his throat wouldn't be swallowed. Nor would the tears stay in, as he stared at his dead friend's smile. Sounds, something being set down, a loud sniff. Tom's arm around him, they wept together, Jimmy's pain for Karen and the day mixing with his grief for Kyle, pouring out.
“Well, that's one way to break the ice.” Tom grinned crookedly. Jerked his head toward chairs, handed Jimmy a glass. “What's up?”
“Did you know?” Tom looked blankly at him. “The exhibit. The musicals. The scores. Did you know?”
Ah. “I wondered. Something about the way you take the songs, it's a different appreciation.”
“You're not telling me I should keep my day job, not do acting?”
“No. You're a good actor. I'm the one who suggested you for Gatsby, remember? I just thought maybe that wasn't what you really love. I was right, wasn't I?”
“Yeah.” But . . . “I haven't written anything since -”
Tom nodded. “You will, I think. In time.”
“It's just, it's hard, you know? Kyle was – he – he could make me see, make me hear what I wanted. He was always smarter than me. And I don't know how to do it without him. You know? When someone really “gets” you that way. And then they're gone.”
Tom did know. He'd almost lost his partnership with Julia, through his own stupidity. Lucky for him he hadn't. Jimmy would find another partner, Tom said. It wouldn't be the same, he couldn't expect it would be. But it would happen.
He went to the piano. “We're re-working “Deathlight” a little. What do you think of this?” Playing the new cadence. Jimmy listened, frowning.
“Yeah, yeah, that's good. That's really good. Maybe a C-sharp, there?” He touched the score to show. “Make it pop, you know?”
A good ear. By the time Jimmy left, late, “Dead Lights” was something Tom could take to Julia.
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Derek stood in the doorway, listening as Ivy sang Miranda's favorite bedtime song - “Moonshine Lullaby.” An unlikely Annie Oakley, his Ivy. But so lovely, her rendition.
Paulette was now live-in. Ivy hadn't wanted that, had resisted until it was impossible to argue Derek was wrong. She just didn't have the time. Time Miranda needed. Even if she was going to start spouting Hatian-French any minute.
Scrambled eggs for supper, toast, bacon, wedges of tomato. Tomorrow the benefit. Elisabeth Castle had survived surgery, a small miracle. Still not conscious, two days after, but that wasn't unexpected, apparently. Still critical, but the tiny hope was the smallest bit bigger.
No mention of the sloe-eyed elephant in the room. High road, Ivy.
“You and Jimmy seemed awfully chummy, what was that about?”
Ivy's mouthful of wine spurted out her nose, burning, bringing tears along with the laughter. She breathed, tried to speak, but out of her mouth came nothing but more laughter, and more.
“What's so funny? What?” Derek's honest perplexity set her off again.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Oh, Derek, I do love you.” Still she couldn't stop.
“I love you, too, darling, I just wish you'd let me in on the joke.” Infectious, her laughter, he was laughing, too, in spite of himself.
“Life's the joke. Just – life.” She reached, he took her hand.
Held fast.