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eighteen f

A Future with Jack

J ack was waiting at my apartment when I returned home. Judging from the stack of empty pizza boxes and garbage can full of beer bottles, I knew he’d been staying at my place.

“C’mere, Ava. Tell me all about it.” He took my hand and led me to the couch.

I’d been ready to chew him out, but for the first time in a week, somebody was there to comfort me.

“I’m a failure,” I began. “I’ve failed as a mother, a human being, and even as a wife.”

“You’ve been shot down your entire life. Tom’s a bully. How d’you expect to fight a guy like that?”

I shrugged my shoulders and leaned into him.

“And speaking of wife,” Jack said. “I’ve been thinking we should take things to the next level. So would you marry me?”

I’d never seriously considered a future with Jack, a twentieth century Daniel Boone. He was the guy who loved to lay back in the sunshine and dangle a fishing pole. He was my friend and my lover, not my husband .

“Ava, I don’t expect an answer tonight or even tomorrow. Think about it. We’d be good together.”

“I’m sorry. My head’s still in Charlotte,” I said, hoping not to disappoint him.

Jack left early the next morning for yet another new job. I lay in bed thinking of the pros and cons of a second marriage. I knew he’d never abuse me, but could he, a good-natured hippie, provide a stable home? Would Jack continue to drift from job to job, selling pot on the side? How would I feel about him conducting his small-time drug enterprise in our shared home?

Jack’s mother was a high-powered real estate agent. More than once she’d offered me a sales position in her office. Might she become my boss and the mother I never had? Would Jack’s sister become my sister?

If I stayed single, nothing would change. I’d continue to dance until my body gave out. Life would be an endless struggle until I died.

That evening I accepted Jack’s proposal. I’d never seen him so happy.

“We’ll have a super life together!” he said.

We set a date for the following June and booked the banquet room at the Clinton House, a historic inn in Hunterdon County, New Jersey. Jack’s mother, Helen, helped organize and plan the day.

“Never thought my son would get married. You’re a special gal, Ava,” Helen said.

I blushed. “Thank you, Mrs. Novak.”

Helen never asked questions about my parents or my children, and I never offered answers. I assumed Jack fabricated a complicated lie that included death or dismemberment.

Jack moved into my apartment for the few months leading up to our wedding. Most nights I’d come home to find him passed out on the couch in front of a full ashtray, empty pizza box, and empty beer bottles. I told myself it was a small price to pay for his emotional support and kind disposition. My only rule: he had to keep his drug deals at the communal farmhouse. As far as I knew, he honored my wishes.

I was thirty years old, not as invincible as I was in my early twenties. Dancing was great exercise and kept me fit, but it was taking a toll on my mind and body. More and more, I’d soak my feet in ice water when I came home. My legs hurt from my knees to my toes.

Tina noticed a change in me.

“Never expected you to last this long in the business. You’re draggin’, hon,” she said.

“I’m beat,” I told her.

“I’ve got just the thing for you.”

Tina pulled a small plastic bag of white powder from her purse, followed by a single-edged razor blade, mirror, and twenty-dollar bill.

“Is that cocaine?” I asked.

“You bet your ass it’s coke.”

Tina laid out a small pile of powder on the mirror, then used the razor blade to chop and divide it into four lines. She rolled the bill and before I knew it, two lines went up her nose.

“Your turn,” she said.

What the hell. I need all the help I can get.

Two lines went up my nose in rapid succession.

“Whoa!” The powder slid down the back of my throat.

A few grains of cocaine dotted the mirror. Tina showed me how to moisten my finger, pick up the grains, and rub them on my gums.

“Now, go out and dance your butt off.” Tina gave my behind a tap and shooed me out of the dressing room.

I hadn’t had this much energy in ages. I ignored the other dancers and shined on stage. When one drunk yelled, “Show your tits,” I kept on dancing and playing to the crowd.

I was exploiting myself, but for the moment I didn’t care. Alcohol and pot mellowed me, but cocaine gave me power and focus. For years I’d allowed other dancers to intimidate me.

That ends tonight.

w

Most of the guests at our June wedding were Jack’s family, friends, and drug customers. Tina was my maid of honor, and Jack’s sister, Betty, was my bridesmaid. More than anything, I wanted my children there but knew better than to ask Tom.

I was pregnant and miserable at my first wedding, so I was determined to make my second wedding the best. Mrs. Novak took me to an upscale bridal shop and helped me choose a blush-pink silk dress, gathered at the waist, with sheer sleeves that fell off the shoulders. Rather than a veil, I selected a lightweight crown of pink flowers to match the embroidered flowers on my dress. Did she suggest pink to tell the world her son wasn’t marrying a virgin, or was she, like me, attracted to the nontraditional style?

My thoughts drifted to my mother and my first wedding . . . how she “punished” me with an appetizers-only reception and how she destroyed any future for us as a family. Mrs. Novak gave me hope this time would be different.

Jack wore a gray tuxedo with a pink cummerbund to complement my dress. He trimmed his hair and beard. I stood proudly at his side as we recited our vows. The congregation cheered as we made our way down the aisle.

We hired Moonglow, a cover band led by Jack’s close friend, Jimmy, and rocked the night away. To this day when I hear the Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, and Doobie Brothers, I’m brought back to that day.

I often hear women say they wished they could have enjoyed their wedding but were too nervous. Not me. I couldn’t have been happier.

We spent our wedding night at the Ramada Inn in Clinton. Our room would have been lackluster were it not for the flowers we brought from the reception. Jack and I joked we had created our own personalized bridal suite.

Jack had offered me two choices for a honeymoon. “We can either spend two weeks in Miami or take a six-week cross-country camping trip.”

Miami sounded super but I preferred the idea of a six-week trip. We’d have more time to spend together, and it would give my body a rest from dancing.

I hadn’t renewed the lease on my apartment. Mrs. Novak offered to store what remained of my stuff in her garage.

“No rush in finding a new place to live,” Mrs. Novak said. “Why don’t you two stay with me after your honeymoon? You can have the studio above the garage until you get settled.”

“That would be wonderful!” I said. “Right, Jack?”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Jack squirm. Living with his mother would cramp his style and likely hurt his pot-dealing enterprise.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Mom.”

“Ava, think again about working in my real estate office. The money’s good. It’ll get you away from dancing and into a respectable career,” Mrs. Novak said.

Finally , I thought. Life’s going to work out.