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“What do you think about it?” She leans forward, her eyes bright, like she really needs to know my opinion. At that moment I see the similarity with her son, they both share the charm that can make their audience forget everything else.
“I think it’s fair to call it the modern voice of literature. However, I’d include less work from established authors and more from unknown, fledgling writers. After all, it’s the job of a magazine like the Gilt Review to widen the reader’s scope.”
Gertrude considers me for a moment, still smiling. “That’s an informed opinion,” she observes.
“Rachel always wanted to work at the Review,” Jack offers. “She applied there, but they sent her to us.”
“Is that right?” His mother smiles at me. “Why don’t you apply again?” She gives me an encouraging smile and I’m reminded of Jessica Layner, my boss. “You might be surprised.” She pauses. “You haven’t touched your drink,” she observes.
I steel myself and take a sip. It’s surprisingly delicious. “What’s in this?”
“Fruits and vegetables,” she grins and it’s exactly the same as Jack’s grin. “I’ll bet you thought it’d be awful.”
“I did,” I confess.
“Not everything about me is awful,” she says. “My relationships with the men in my life, maybe.” She looks at Jack. “Stop sulking, dear. Tell us about your work. I’m sure you haven’t outgrown talking about yourself.”
Jack is braving the smoothie, then with a pained expression in his mother’s direction he starts to tell us about his trip to South America and falling ill. Gertrude listens intently as he tries to impress her with his narration and his experiences. She asks questions about his safety, health risks he took, places he stayed. She’s genuinely worried about him, regardless of how unimpressed she is with what he does. He, on the other hand, wants her to appreciate his work, while being very unconcerned about his own personal safety.
The conversation continues in the same vein for the rest of the night. By the time we’re ready to leave, I feel a bit sorry for Jack. He’s silent all the way downstairs. The doorman asks if we need a cab, but Jack shakes his head.
“I think I’m going to walk for a little while,” he tells me.
I shrug. “Alright.”
We start along the sidewalk. “I’m sorry about…” Jack searches for the words, “all that. It’s just hard to be in the same room with her.”
“I thought she had a weird kind of charm,” I say gently. “Of course it’s different when it’s your relative.” I pause. “Are you okay?”
“I’m angry,” he sighs. “All my life I’ve never seen her for more than a month every year, but every single hour I’m with her she makes me feel like my choices are shit.”
“Your choices aren’t shit,” I assure him. “You’re really talented as a writer, and people love your TV shows.”
He stops walking. “You really think I’m talented?”
“Yes, and so does your mom, by the way.”
He snorts. “But no one can compete with Gertrude Weyland, author of the great American novel.” There is a heavy bitterness in his tone.
“What about your dad?”
He stops walking. “I don’t know who he is. She never told me. Probably some poor sucker like Curtis whatshisname who fell for her ‘weird’ charm.” He frowns and looks up and down the street for a cab. “I’d better get you home. Thanks for being here with me tonight.”
“I’m glad I was,” I say with a smile.
Maybe it’s because I feel so sorry for him, but I don’t stop him when he moves towards me. I ready myself for a hug, but I’m shocked when he places his hands on my shoulders and starts to kiss me.
Confusion keeps me frozen, but only for a moment. I push at his chest, freeing myself from the unwanted embrace. “Stop it,” I mutter. “For God’s sake Jack. I thought we’d gone past this.”
“You thought…?” He shakes his head. “Look, I know you think the worst of me right now, because of what happened two years ago, and that night at the Swanson Court when you found out I’d gotten engaged…”
“Jack, I don’t care about that anymore.”
“But I do.” He sighs. “It was different with you. It always was, and I wanted to be the kind of man you deserved, and I tried, for two months. But I knew I was only going to hurt you. You’ve seen my mother. She never kept a man around for more than a few months, and that’s the example I had.”
I shake my head. “Stop it.”
“No.” There is a storm of entreaty in his eyes. “I didn’t want you to love me because I thought you deserved better. I was a fool, and I know you’ve held that against me all this time.”
