The Love Experiment Read online

  He caught her hand in his. “Jack should’ve asked if Derelie wanted that kind of attention. Jack knows better.”

  “Jack had other things on his mind.”

  He kissed the back of her hand. “Still.”

  “Still want to get drunk?”

  A quick headshake. “I’d like to find a back exit and leave quickly without a fuss.”

  There was no back entrance and they didn’t get out of there quickly, and there was a fuss. Too many people who wanted to wish Jack well, to laugh about the video and pledge to stay in touch. He spent a few minutes with Phil and they shook hands. The contents of his box—mostly books, no stapler—went in her gym bag, and eventually they made it out to the sidewalk.

  The city was breathing easier now, less people around, traffic moving freely. Derelie answered a text from Mom, one of dozens clogging her inbox, with a yes, that did happen, and a promise to call later, and then she took Jack’s hand as they walked home and tried to be what he needed when he’d lost the thing that he cared about the most.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jack got drunk on slowly heating rage and a cold six-pack on his own couch, staring at the TV and not seeing it. Derelie hung in there with him, but Martha had a better sense of his mood and cleared out, going to the bedroom and not reappearing.

  Holding back his anger and taking the high road in public had seemed like the smart thing to do, but he was all out of fucks about appearances now. When Derelie quit on him and went to bed, he stayed where he was, hot discomfort in his body, jangled thoughts that wouldn’t line up in any direction but shot off down contradictory side alleys.

  He’d get a new job quickly. He wouldn’t find a role anything like what he’d had. They didn’t exist anymore. The Courier would give him sterling recommendations. Being fired by the Courier would scare anyone else off employing him. Particularly if he was trailing legal trouble. He was going to need more beer, more everything alcoholic and more cigarette papers. Everything would be fine because this was a watershed moment. He’d look back and realize it was a jumping off point for something better, like a shift to television. What was this crap he was watching, some superhero shit? Superheroes didn’t wear capes, they were average people like Henri Costa.

  This was the end of his career, and if he wanted to keep living in the city he’d need to take the first job that came along. He could learn to write more entertaining stories. He’d rather lose a hand than write lifestyle. Most digital newsrooms wouldn’t know what to do with him. He didn’t have enough savings; he should’ve tried for a bigger-paying TV gig years ago. This was just the push he needed. He’d have to give up the apartment in a month, two, three at the most. Much as it would be humiliating, his parents would loan him money. He’d never ask them for money. He’d never give them the satisfaction.

  He should go to bed, but he wasn’t tired. He lit a smoke, ashed in an empty bottle. Derelie believed in him, she loved him. Derelie loved Jackson Haley, investigative reporter, but when he was Jackson Haley on unemployment, she wouldn’t love him half as much and he wouldn’t deserve her love. Her career was taking off and his was over. A has-been. Part of the way things used to be in a world that valued distraction more than truth. He’d drag her down and she was nobody’s footnote.

  She’d leave him.

  She’d be right to leave him.

  He should let her go before what they’d had was poisoned.

  He couldn’t get his thoughts to line up in any rational order, so he drank, smoked and seethed until he was tired enough to sleep, and when he woke there was a pillow under his head and a bright throw rug over his legs and the stench of eggs cooking that made him gag.

  Derelie stood over him with a glass of green evil in her hand. “Hangover cure.”

  He rubbed his eyes. His glasses were somewhere. “What’s in it?”

  “My dad’s patented recipe, best you don’t know.”

  He drank it, as foul tasting as it was smelling, and then stumbled to the bathroom to shower. He couldn’t eat the food she plated; his stomach too unsettled. He gave monosyllabic answers to her cheery questions. The more she cared, the more he got annoyed by her unfailing calm until he was disgusted with himself.

  While Derelie puttered around the kitchen he sat at his desk and returned his father’s call. His mood was dark enough for it.

  There was a windy static sound. Dad was on the golf course. He switched to speaker to try to hear better. “What happened, Jack? You pissed off the wrong person?”

  The whole industry was pissed off. “Victim of disruption.” Which was the truth, but it didn’t help his situation.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Get a new job.”

  “I’d have thought you’d use this opportunity to change direction before you’re too old to catch up. I don’t know if that’s even possible now.”

  “You know, the robots are coming for surgeons too.”

  “Always with a line. Glib and smug, Jack. I’d hoped you’d turn out a better man.”

  “You’ve made that consistently clear.”

  “A child choosing the wrong friends is one thing. A man choosing to squander his life and talents on spurious pursuits is unforgivable.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “What did you want, Dad?”

  “Are you drinking?”

  “Suffering.”

  “Doping?”

  “No.”

  “Still smoking, I imagine.”

  “I’m a lost cause.”

  “Are you suicidal?”

  He almost laughed. If he was, last person he’d tell was his father. “No.”

  There were voices. “It’s my tee time. Whatever you’re going to do, don’t wallow.”

  The connection went dead and Jack tossed his phone on the desk and pressed his knuckles into a throbbing spot over his left eye. He’d have to live through a similar conversation with his mother. It was possible she’d be less sympathetic but at least she’d be pleased the vulgar billboards would come down.

  “That didn’t sound good?” Derelie said tentatively, coming into the room.

  “About as well as I expected.” Careless to let her to hear that.

  She put her hands to his shoulders, a gentle touch, as if she feared rejection. She had good instincts.

  “Fun is not an efficient use of Dad’s time.”

  “My dad would take you to Barrow’s Bar and drink with you till you both felt sick and then take you camping till you could no longer stand how bad you both smelled. It’s his remedy for any trouble.”

  “I like his style.”

  She nuzzled the top of his head. “Can I do anything for you that doesn’t involve making you feel sicker?”

  He gave one of her hands a squeeze. “Go out, go shopping, go do whatever it was you used to do. I’m not fit to be around.”

  It was a relief when she cleared out. He tried to sleep and couldn’t. Spent the rest of the morning at his desk, with Martha at his feet, responding to messages, meeting outrage with pragmatism and being worn down by the need to put on a good show, and smoking, numbing his tongue, not caring that it stank up the apartment, teetering between giddy hope and dizzy despair. The only clarity was knowing he needed to get on top of this while he was being talked about, hit on every potential employer he could think of and make them a proposition they couldn’t refuse, including two new exposés he could deliver.

  That’s how the day passed. Derelie dragged him out to a picnic on Sunday and made it impossible for him to brood.

  “It’s okay,” she said, when he snapped at her for no good reason. “I know you’re not angry with me.”

  “It’s not okay.” There was supposed to be more to that sentence. A supporting clause. He just didn’t have it. All that came out o
f his mouth was smoky cloves. It was as if all the words he knew how to manufacture for a blank page in clear type, or a half a dozen minutes of airtime had dried up.

  All he could do was murmur his apology and accept the grace of her kisses.

  Monday morning, he wandered around the apartment, missing Derelie, not able to settle, confusing Martha, who kept waiting by his desk with a look that said “what’s going on, slacker, get to work.” In the afternoon, he made phone call after phone call, failing to get through to Roscoe to get clarity on whether the Courier would support him in legal action, setting up coffee dates and drinks and filling his week with meetings. It felt like business as usual on Tuesday—he shaved, put on a suit, left home with Derelie and went to work on finding work.

  It wasn’t until Friday that he let his lack of success get to him. Roscoe was dodging his calls and letting his emails go unanswered. At every meeting, he heard outrage, concern and support, but no one was hiring, at least in Chicago. The one job that was available was a corporate position. He’d write press releases and case studies for a construction company’s website, and prepare presentations and annual shareholder statements. The role paid less than what he’d earned at the Courier and it was the kind of work that would rust his brain and drain his will to live. There were better qualified candidates already on the shortlist.

  But it was either that or look for work in other cities.

  He needed to talk to Derelie about it. He’d have to find words.

  He stood in front of the cat food at the market and checked prices for the first time. Derelie had moved on with the cart. Martha might need to go on a diet, less sashimi broth and more three for five dollar fish deals.

  Out on the street, it was chilly and the wind was dirty and hard, tugging at his glasses, getting into Derelie’s hair and yanking pieces of it out of her twist. They were almost home when it happened.

  A man shouted his name, a hand stopped his shoulder, a fist caught him on the jaw, snapping his head back. Jack dropped the groceries to defend himself, taking another punch that knocked his glasses off and blocking a third with his forearm. People scurried around them and Derelie shrieked, “Stop, stop!”

  His assailant came at him again. Heavier, angrier. “You shit, Haley. You shit.”

  “Hit me again, I’ll put you on the ground.” The guy swung and Jack dodged, caught his fist and spun him, forcing his bent arm up his back. “Whatever you think I did to you wasn’t intentional.”

  “Keepsafe. She’ll never leave me now.”

  The guy struggled, but Jack kept him pinned. “What?”

  “My fucking slut of a wife was finally going to leave me, but now I’m getting a payout, she’ll never go. She’ll want half of it, you shit, you fucking shit.”

  Jack let go abruptly and pushed the man. “Stay away from me.” Even when he won justice it was wrong by some people. Thinking the episode done, he made the mistake of looking for Derelie, because the guy went for her.

  “He hurt me, I’ll hurt you!” the man screamed, lunging toward Derelie.

  Jack got there first blocking him, shielding Derelie, getting his hands to the man’s shoulders and shoving him hard enough he stumbled and went down on the sidewalk. He got up quickly and shaped up again, but suddenly aware of the crowd that’d gathered he turned and ran off.

  Derelie’s hands were on Jack’s back, her face pressed into his shoulders. He could feel her shaking. “It’s over. You’re safe.” He moved to take her into his arms. All the wind-whipped color in her face had fled and her eyes were large with shock.

  She put her hands over her face and stifled a sob. Their groceries were all over the sidewalk: eggs broken, fruit bruised, vegetables trampled, but it was Derelie he was worried about. Her safety was compromised because she was with him.

  “It’s over, baby. He’s gone.” He wrapped his arms around her and felt her shuddering sigh before her hands were everywhere.

  “He hit you.” She took his chin and moved his head. She smoothed a hand over his jaw. “A stranger on the street hit you.”

  He caught her hands. “I’m fine, but the bastard smashed my glasses and trashed our groceries.”

  “Over Keepsafe, because his wife wasn’t going to leave him. That’s unbelievable. Oh, Jack.” She was shaking, but not from fear—she was furious.

  That night in bed, Derelie clung to him as if she was broken, as if the violence had undone her affair with the city in a way that was permanently damaging. He should’ve done a better job of comforting her, but he didn’t trust the promises he could make would be what she’d need to hear. He no longer had anything to offer her. He had no control over how people reacted to his public profile. No job, no money, no place in a city that’d taken everything he had to give and thrown it in his face. He couldn’t even prevent her from being attacked for being at his side.

  A week later his precarious future began a death spiral. He interviewed poorly for the corporate job. Not enthusiastic enough about the role, the recruiter said. He also had a letter from Keepsafe’s lawyers notifying him of their intention to sue, and still no response from Roscoe.

  Derelie compounded his problems by announcing she was letting her apartment go.

  She said it casually, as if it was nothing, while she dangled a shoelace for Martha to play with. “I’m almost all here anyway.”

  “You can’t.”

  She took her eyes off Martha and got claws in her hand. “Ouch, Martha, no fair.”

  “We can’t both be homeless.”

  She swabbed her hand with a tissue. “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t keep this place.”

  “I’ll share the rent, that’s no problem.”

  It would help, but it wasn’t the point. “Derelie, I can’t hold on to this place without an income.”

  She came to sit beside him on the couch. “Okay, so we find something cheaper a little farther out that works for both of us.”

  Farther out was New York, Los Angeles, Philly, Dallas, Frisco, Washington, Atlanta, anywhere he might find another reporting job. “I’m going to have to look for work in other cities.”

  “Other cities. Oh.” She took that in. Her hand would be stinging, three torn blood lines decorating it. “I’ve never lived anywhere outside of the state. It would be a new adventure.”

  “You’d leave the Courier to follow me?”

  She blinked; it was the tiniest moment of hesitation, but it was everything.

  He stood, needing a little distance from her, because now that they were here, it was time to stop deluding himself, time to recognize the fight for what it was and up the violence. “Don’t give up your place.”

  “We work this out together, Jack. You and me, we’re together.”

  They were together because of an experiment and all the conditions for success had changed. If they stayed together they’d be a new experiment. One where they had no jobs, no home, no financial security. One where Derelie’s life was compromised because Jack’s had been beaten to a pulp in a street fight and there was no guarantee he’d recover. She would see it and she would leave him, but not until her faith in him ground her down to nothing.

  There was only one humane way to do this. Quickly.

  “We can’t be together anymore.”

  “It makes sense that you get settled first. We could both squeeze into my shoebox for a while.”

  “Honeywell, we’re done.”

  She reacted to the way he used her name, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing, Haley?”

  “I’m calling this over.”

  “What do you mean by over?”

  “It’s a two dollar word.”

  “No, no, no, no.” She stood and flung her hand out, the surprise of that sending Martha jogging into the bedroom. “You don’t get to push me
away because you’ve had a setback.”

  “It’s not a setback.” It was a natural disaster. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take to find another job. I don’t know where I’ll need to move to. Keepsafe is suing me for reputation damage. If the Courier doesn’t support me, they will have me in court for years, no employer is going to want to touch me, and I’ll be bankrupt with legal fees. Meanwhile, you get attacked in the street for the crime of being with me.”

  “But we’ll work it out.”

  “There’s no we.”

  “But—”

  “You’re not in Orderly now.” Derelie flinched, but it didn’t stop him. “Life isn’t neat and things don’t just work out because you want them to.” Thousands of Keepsafe victims almost didn’t get justice.

  “And all that adds up to you not loving me anymore.”

  It was because he loved her. “Your career is only just taking off. You need to stay at the Courier and cement it. You don’t need me.”

  “You think I value my career ahead of you?”

  “You should.”

  “Because you value yours ahead of me.”

  This was his moment to hesitate. He saw it, like he could see a punch coming through an opponent’s change of weight. A woman choosing to squander her life and talents by tying herself to deadweight was unforgivable. And he couldn’t let Derelie make that mistake.

  “Yes.” It was a lie because the chances of rebuilding his career were slim, and because he loved this woman with tears glittering in her pale, otherworldly eyes, with a generous heart he was willfully breaking.

  She backed up, shaking her head.

  “You’ve always known that about me. You knew it before you ever asked me a question, before you wanted me to kiss you. My job is who I am. I live to chase a story. My first love is a great headline. My identity is in my dinkus.”

  “No, Jack, no. That’s an excuse. That’s you pushing me away because you’re having a hard time right now. Because you’ve never had people to stand by you.”