January 2007
Jen Lindley turned over in bed and looked into Davis Mozell's face.
"Good morning, Beautiful," he said, kissing her.
"Good morning."
He pulled her into his arms.
"We could always take the day off, you know. It's so cold out, wouldn't you just like to stay in?"
"I wish I could. I really wish I could, but I have to give test today."
"Oh, pish posh. No one really wants to know about feminism in poetry, anyway."
She pinched his cheek roughly. "Oh, yes they do, and I have the class roll to prove it."
"I know, I know. I admit it, I have ulterior motives. Come on, stay in bed with me."
"I can't. You know I have to be great at this teaching gig or it won't pay off my tuition."
She had started on her dissertation, titled ‘Feminism in Modern Writing.' Grams hadn't been able to pay for any schooling beyond a master's degree, and her parents had disowned her long ago, so she was forced to teach a class while going to school.
"Oh, you're such a party pooper," he said, pouting.
"Get up," she said, pulling the covers down. "Let's get ready and eat breakfast together."
They sat at the breakfast table next to each other. Davis read the morning paper and Jen read the latest ‘Entertainment Weekly.'
"Honey?" Davis put down his paper and studied his watch.
"Yeah?" Jen replied.
"I better get going. I'm going to be late." He stood up, kissed her forehead, grabbed his briefcase, and walked into the foyer of her apartment.
Jen looked after him longingly. When she was younger, she always pictured the man she would end up with. She would never have imagined that he would be a college professor – *her* former college professor – and twenty years her senior. But she loved him, she did, and she wouldn't have been able to get through Grams death without him.
She needed to head over to his apartment that afternoon, to pick up more of his clothes. He kept his own apartment for appearances sake, but he hadn't slept there in months. Jen wondered if he even kept up the electricity bills.
Picking a pair of his pants off the floor on her way to the bedroom, she sighed like a tenth-grader. The smell of him still made her weak at the knees.
"It is my hope that sometime in the course of our time together, it will become second nature for you to recognize the feminist overtones in works of literature. Believe me, they are there. If you refer to your syllabus, you'll see that your first essay is due on Friday. Come to me for you topic assignments. Thank you for your patience with the test today; next time, I'll try to number the pages correctly," she paused for the few laughs she heard, then went on. "Okay, that's it for today. See you on Friday." She closed her folded and took it down off the podium. As she was gathering her things off the overhead, she Davis walk up behind her.
He telegraphed a "all-business" look and walked toward her.
"Dr. Lindley," he greeted her.
"Dr. Mozell," she smiled as she replied.
This pretending that they were nothing but colleagues, as silly as it was, excited Jen and reignited a childish part of herself that fed off of danger.
She watched the last straggler get his bags together and exit the room. Davis came behind her, wrapped his arms around her back, and pulled her into him. He kissed her head, then turned her around to face him.
"How long are you staying tonight?" she asked.
"Let's see, I have a meeting with a student in an hour, should be home after that."
"Great. Stay out as long as you want. I have got to get that damn dissertation finished, or it'll start making me feel guilty that people are already calling me Dr. Lindley."
He smiled.
"Oh, I just love the sound of that -- Dr. Lindley," she said dreamily. "Well, I better get going. See you tonight, Baby."
"Bye, Dr. Lindley," he said, as if he were a naughty schoolboy.
She had been stuck on the same sentence for the past fifteen minutes. She couldn't make it fit in the paragraph, but it had to be there.
"Damn," she said silently, as she leaned back in her chair and studied the screen doubtfully. "Damn, damn, damn."
She glanced over the paper in front of her. A hell of a lot of good this outline did, she said silently to herself. Giving up for the moment, she got up from her chair. She walked out on the balcony, did a few stretches, and looked out at the downtown Dallas skyline.
That was another thing. She would never have imagined herself living in Dallas. Much less living in Dallas with a man old enough to be her father, working on her doctorate.
In the end, Davis was why her parents had disowned her once again. Throughout the remainder of high school and college, she'd been on good terms with them. They'd even allowed Jack to live with them during his first month at Columbia. After she'd moved to Dallas, found Davis, and began a happy life here, they'd had enough. They continued to want to control her, and she just couldn't allow that. She hadn't spoken to them since Grams' funeral.
She was getting more and more irritated with her paper and it's lackluster progress. She picked up the phone and dialed a number that she knew by heart. She listened through four rings, and was beginning to check her watch, concerned about the time change.
"Hello, Jack McPhee's office, how may I help you?"
"Hi, Lewis, this is Jen. Is Jack there?"
"Just a moment, please," he replied, chipper but official.
"Let me guess," he said, knowingly. "Today is . . . Wednesday. So," he said, thinking. "You took off the day to finish this one certain chapter you just can't get done for some reason, but this particular sentence just wouldn't work – probably had to do with Grendel's mother in Beowulf and why she was an early feminist or something like that. Anyway, Davis isn't coming home for a few hours and if you sit next to the computer for any longer you're just going to die. I bet you're wearing your U of D t-shirt with the paint stains on the sleeves from the time that you helped me decorate my bedroom with those terrible tight shorts that you think are so cute. Am I right?"
"Actually, it was a deconstruction of Woolf's ‘A Room of One's Own.' Beowulf isn't even in my paper. So there!" she told him, playing along.
"Ah . . . details, details." He laughed.
"And how are you, Jack McPhee?"
"I'm good. Great, since you called."
"I'm glad to hear your voice."
"Me too."
"So, tell me what's up?" She hadn't talked to him in over two weeks, and she needed an update.
"With me? Oh, you know, the usual. Just deliriously happy. The Winslow project is going through perfectly, and ‘the New Yorker' just finished an article on yours truly, the up-and-coming architect of the year."
"Color me impressed. Do you have a copy of it to send."
"Are you kidding? I bought out the stand on the corner," he said, laughing.
"Wonderful. How's Paul?"
"Perfect. Perfect and lovely and adorable. I constantly feel the urge to look at him and sigh happily."
"That's so great, Jack. So great," she said, and meant it.
"And how's Davis?"
"Let me just put it this way, Jack. He asks me to stay home in bed every morning. And I promise, he doesn't mean to sleep."
"Wow-wee," Jack said, whistling. "So do you? Stay home every morning, that is?"
"Of course not. I have one more class to pay for."
"Tsk-tsk, Jennifer."
"Oh give me a break. My brain has taken up so much space that my sex drive has become tiny."
"Ha. I doubt that."
There was a moment of silence, then they both started to talk at once.
"So when are you coming to see me?" Jack's voice rose above hers.
"When are *you* coming to see me?" Jen replied.
"When you move out of Texas, that's when," he said, joking.
She laughed. "I'm so busy right now. I doubt I'll be able to get up there until October. I miss you."
"I miss you, too. It's no good to be apart this long."
"No good at all."
"Well, I guess I should get going. I have a little lunch date in Paul's office," Jack said.
"Ooh, have fun."
"You too, Babe."
"Thanks," Jen said.
"Love you."
"Love you too, Jack. Talk to you later."
"Bye!"
He hung the phone up on the receiver at the corner of his desk.
He surveyed the room, then looked down at his watch. Noon. Happiness rose up inside him, and he got up out of his chair, heading down the hall to Paul's office.
He knocked impatiently, and opened the door slightly. Paul, on his fifth phone call of the morning, motioned him in.
"Yeah. Yes. Okay. Uh-huh. No, I doubt it. Alright, let me know. Bye." He hung up the phone and walked toward Jack, kissing him on the cheek.
"Hey there."
"Hey."
"Let me tell Molly to order some lunch."
"Yum."
"Okay, just a second."
Jack took at seat at the leather sofa. During college, Jen had always told him that workplace romances are never good. Now they were both involved in them. He laughed silently, missing her again.
Because he was a partner, Paul's office was the biggest on the floor. It made Jack's own above- average-sized office feel like a cardboard box. This didn't bother Jack in the least because he calculated that he spent most of his time in Paul office, anyway.
Paul reentered and took a seat next to Jack. "I'm glad you could come today," he said, patting his leg.
"I'm glad you could fit me in."
They heard a knock on the door, and Paul motioned for Molly to enter. She held a tray of food, which Paul took from her and set on the coffee table in front of them. They both dug into their pasta hungrily, eating in silence for five or six minutes.
"How's the Morgan account?" Jack finally asked.
"I don't know if we're going to be able to put it on Ninth, which is where they wanted it. I'm talking to them about New Jersey. They're not too interested in being outside the city, though. Who knows?"
"There's no more space in the city. Hasn't been since the late sixties," Jack said.
"I know that, you know that, but they don't know that. They don't understand that no matter how many times I tell them," Paul nodded, disapproving. "Anyway, how about the Winslow account?"
"Seems to be going fine, they're breaking ground on it later today. I have to go out there. Do you want to come along?"
"I wish I could, Babe, but I have a meeting here."
"Oh," Jack replied.
"Do you want me to come over later tonight?"
"Sure," Jack said, getting up from the couch.
"Alright, see you then," Paul said. Jack kissed him quickly on his way out the door.
"Roger, this is absolutely not going to work. Do you see on this plan, it clearly shows the angle right here as fifty-seven, and yet when I measure it, it's only fifty-two. This has to be fixed," he told the contractor harshly.
"Mr. McPhee, you know that if we did that, we would have to totally redo this whole corner."
"That is not my problem. If you don't go by the design, then I can't help you. Call me when you have this fixed."
He walked away from the sounds of the construction and back to the street, where a cab was waiting for him.
"Pier twenty-five," he told the driver, rubbing his forehead. He hated going to the sites, they always gave him a headache. He'd been begging Paul to hire a more reliable contracting service, but Paul hadn't done it.
He rode the short distance to the pier. "Thanks," he said, stepping out of the cab and handing the driver a five dollar bill.
He approached the ticket booth, bought one ferry ticket, and entered the waiting area. He looked out at the river and across to Manhattan. He couldn't imagine that his life had come to this. It was Jen that he had always imagined would live here. In the past three years, he'd become as much of a New Yorker as her, maybe even more so. Even though he considered Capeside his home, he couldn't imagine living anywhere but the city.
The ferry pulled up to the dock, and Jack stepped across the ramp and took a seat near the window.
"Hey, Jack. Have you seen Helen today?" Jack was in the kitchen, making dinner for him and Paul, when he heard Ryan call to him from the entryway.
"No, I've just been home a few minutes."
"Oh." Ryan came toward the kitchen and leaned over the pot of soup. "Smells good. Who are you cooking for?"
"Paul and me."
"Why doesn't he just move in already?" Ryan teased his landlord. "He spends every night here as it is."
Jack looked at him coyly. "That's precisely the reason he's coming over tonight."
Ryan looked up. "I'm shocked! Jack is finally taking action. I like it. Good luck, man."
"Thanks," Jack replied.
Helen had walked up behind them, and announced herself. "Hey, all. What's up for tonight?"
Ryan turned to face her. "Jack here is about to give our little boarding house another boarder," he said.
"Ooh, you go, Jack," she said, slapping his arm. It was something that Jen would do. Maybe that's why he had liked Helen and Ryan from the beginning, they reminded him of himself and Jen.
"What are you guys doing tonight? Preferably going *out* somewhere," he hinted.
"We get it, we get it Jack. We'll make ourselves scarce."
Helen looked at Ryan. "That reminds me, earlier today, Margaret asked me what we were up to tonight. She was very interested in making plans that included you."
Ryan became immediately excited. "Are you kidding? Margaret? The Margaret from the club that night?"
Helen nodded. "The one and only. Say that you love me."
"I love you!"
"Okay, we're meeting her at that Kosher Chinese place on Fifth and Harding."
"I love Kosher Chinese!"
Jack looked at them. "There you go, Ryan, it's a match made in heaven. You both love Kosher Chinese, you're meant for each other!" he said, sarcastically.
"Hey, we're getting out of the house, aren't we?" Helen reminded him.
"Thank the Lord for small miracles," he said, taking them both by the shoulder and leading them out of the kitchen. "I give you no more that forty minutes to get ready and leave, people! Move it, move it!"
Helen whispered to Ryan as the crept down the hall, "somebody's a little over-excited tonight," she said, and giggled.
Jack stuck his head out into the hall. "I heard that!"
They ducked into their room before the flying spoon hit them on the head.
Later, after a dinner of soup and chicken, Jack and Paul sat on the couch in the center of the living room.
Jack reached out for his hand and held it. "Um, I wanted to ask you something."
"Yes."
"Yes what?" Jack looked up, surprised.
"Yes, I'll move in with you."
Jack shook his head slowly back and forth. "Damn you, Paul Lippman. I had a whole, lovely, convincing speech prepared. You ruined it all."
"Oh?" Paul asked. "Well, by all means, don't let me keep you from giving it."
"Well . . ." Jack started, "I was just going to make the point that it's the practical thing to do. I mean, you spend all your time here anyway. I adore you. We've been dating a while now, and I think we're both committed to the relationship. It just . . . makes sense."
"Yes, it does. You're a very sensible guy."
Jack smiled. "So you're saying yes?"
"I'm saying yes for the fifth time in the past two minutes, Jack. Yes, yes I'll move in with you."
"Great," Jack said, getting up and holding out his hand.
"Where are we going?"
Jack looked at him naughtily. "I was just going to . . . show you around."
Paul stood up immediately, and followed Jack.
The Living Room of My Soul by Beth
Notes
Authors Note: This story is a little bit different from the usual DC fic set in the future. I wouldn't call it a reunion story, because Jack and Jen don't necessarily 'reunite.' They've always kept up with each other, and they talk all the time. But, they're living in different states, they have their own lives. I know, I know . . . very difficult for Beth to do, separate them. Anyway, It's the beginning of the year 2007. Jen is living in Dallas, working on a doctorate in feminist literature. Jack is living in New York City working at an architectural firm.
The organization may be a bit confusing, so here's the basic idea. Each part begins with Jen. It follows Jen for a day or two, then she contacts Jack, and we follow him from there. The first part will be in January, the second part February, third part March, and so on. In other words, a month has elapsed each time a new part begins.
Here's your fair warning: This story DOES contain romance between Jen and her boyfriend as well as Jack and his boyfriend. If you don't think you handle Jack (or Jen, for that matter) having a boyfriend, then this fic isn't for you. I'm not going to skirt any issues. They're adults, they have adult relationships. Enough said. Overall, I would give this story a PG-13 rating.
I sincerely hope you like it. Also, Feedback is so wonderful. I get all giddy and girlish when I get an email from a reader. :) So, please do send me some favorable, not favorable, curious, intrigued, whatever! The email address is jackandjenfanfic@yahoo.com Thanks!