Theo’s eyebrows raise. “Oh, little birdie’s breaking out of the cage. Iknewit.”
“Knew what?”
“Good for you,” Theo says, kissing Claire airily on the cheek and turning her around towards the door. “Jackie is sulking on the ottoman. Go get her.” He taps Claire lightly on the bottom, before disappearing into a crowd of dancing people on the lawn.
Claire finds Jackie just where Theo directed. She’s at the edge of the party, tucked into a corner of the conversation pit, and she’s sorting through what looks to be a stack of photos. There’s a drink on the ottoman next to her, and one of those instant-print cameras. Claire has no idea how she missed her—Jackie is in a ruffled yellow shirt that crops off just under her ribs, showing a startling amount of soft belly above the waist of her pants. She stands out in the crowd, and yet no-one pays her any mind.
As Claire watches, Jackie sets the photos neatly down next to her drink. She raises the camera to her face, snaps a picture, removes it from the receptacle, and sets it on the stack without glancing at it before holding the camera up again, scanning the room slowly for another shot.
Jackie is so focused on the task that she doesn’t notice Claire approaching. When Claire taps her lightly on the shoulder, Jackie jumps so hard that she almost spills her cocktail on Claire’s shoes.
“Claire!” Jackie exclaims, with far more excitement than expected. She jumps up to clasp Claire by the arms, beaming, and she gets a waft of familiar herbal scent that sends her heart racing. “You’re here!”
Like Theo, Jackie stumbles a little when she tries to sit back down on the ottoman, almost taking Claire with her.
“Are you all right?” Claire says, settling Jackie back on the cushion. It displaces the stack of photos—they scatter to the floor, but Jackie doesn’t seem to notice.
“I am now,” Jackie says, grinning wide. She grabs at the almost-spilled cocktail, draining the glass in one gulp. “I thought you were across the road with Martha?”
“What are you doing all the way over here?” Claire says, rather than answering the question.
Jackie’s light dims a little. She holds up the camera with a wry smile. “I’m observing.”
“Shouldn’t you be mingling? This is your party.”
Jackie’s shoulders sink, like some massive weight has settled there. She waves a photo idly as it develops, fanning herself with it, and it makes her hair flicker around her face.
“I prefer this,” Jackie says, not quite meeting Claire’s eyes. Her speech is a bit slurred. “Theo is the partier. I’m never really…happy, at these things. But other people are. And if I can capture it like this, even if it’s fleeting, maybe I can keep some for myself. Bottle it up.”
By the end of it Jackie is whispering, but Claire hears every word. This level of naked honesty from Jackie, with no addendums or wry subject changes, is rare. To have Jackie explain her method, the reason her photographs are so detached? It’s a gift.
It's also somewhat worrying. Claire sits down, taking the spot recently vacated by the stack of photographs. She’s never seen Jackie this melancholy or this inebriated, even on the day her mother called. It seems to affect her even more than the marijuana did.
“Why have this kind of party?” Claire says quietly. “If you want to observe happiness, there are other ways. Why invite all these people to your house? These…” Claire swallows, avertingher eyes from the couple in the corner whose heavy petting is quickly becoming lewd, “theseswingers?”
Jackie sighs. She sets her camera down, rubbing tiredly at her face. All the excitement of Claire’s arrival is gone. “You’re starting to sound like your husband.”
The comment hits Claire like an arrow. She flinches, reeling back from Jackie. “No, I’m not,” Claire rushes to clarify. “I’m just…I suppose I’m confused. Do you really do this? Do you…havesexwith these married men, too? Is that how you met the man you fell in love with?”
Jackie moves her arm away from Claire’s hand, and snaps another photo. She’s not looking at Claire anymore. It’s like she’s in another world, and now Claire’s presence is making it worse.
“No,” Jackie says simply, from behind the camera.
“I don’t understand,” Claire says.
Jackie says nothing, and in the open space Claire’s mind runs rampant. The logic just doesn’t make sense. Why let all these swingers trash her house and act lecherous all night if Jackie isn’t one of them?
Jackie turns. Her gaze finally meets Claire’s full-on, and whatever is going on behind it makes her chest hurt. “You really don’t understand, do you?”
Claire is lost at sea. Jackie is talking so vaguely, as if there’s something Claire should be picking up, but she has nothing to go on. She’s missing something, and nobody will explain it to her.
“Help me to,” Claire says. “Please?”
Something heavy hits the ground in the distance, from the direction of the kitchen. Claire is torn between relief and despair when Jackie stands up, setting the camera down. She kisses Claire on the cheek, on the opposite side that Theo did; it lands so close to Claire’s mouth that her lips seem to tingle.
“Don’t you worry about it,” Jackie says. Her warm breath brushes Claire’s cheek. It smells like whiskey and citrus. “Enjoy the party, okay?”
Jackie is gone before Claire can protest.
