Crusading Heart
By Ayesha Haqqiqa
“All right, McCoy, the evening wasn’t a total disaster,” Jack thought to himself as he made his way from the Bar Association Dinner. “You had a decent meal, and you didn’t spill a drop of red wine on your dress shirt, which means it won’t cost extra at the cleaner’s.” He wouldn’t let himself dwell on the fact that his date of the evening, Diana Hawthorne, had stood him up. She had been doing that a lot lately, ever since they got back from their trip to Ireland. It was as if that vacation had been pay for what Jack had assumed was mutual passion.
“But if she’s a hooker, I was her client,” he half whispered to himself as he walked out of the ballroom and down the grand staircase. He didn’t need directions to the bar—he knew where it was by instinct.
“Scotch.” He sat at the bar and waited for his order. People were around him, but nobody close. Somehow he found comfort in that. He downed the drink in two gulps and ordered another.
“Go easy on that one, or they’ll have to wheel you out of here on a stretcher.”
Jack turned around. He could still focus fairly well, and he looked into the eyes of a petite woman with blonde hair. “I know you,” he said.
“I should hope so. We shared a cubicle at Hogan Place when we were both starting out. I’m Shelley Kates, remember?” She smiled at Jack and shook her head. “I tried to talk to you after the dinner, but you left the room in a hurry.”
“Oh.” Jack turned away, hoping she would do the same.
“You know, if you’re feeling down, sometimes a talk with someone works a lot better than alcohol,” Shelley went on.
Jack turned and glared at her. “Let me guess. Women’s Christian Temperance Union. Where’s your axe?”
Shelley laughed, which irritated Jack for some reason. He took a huge swallow of liquor and nearly choked. Shelley looked at him with concern and patted him on the back. “Hey, put down your drink and come to my house.”
Jack raised his brows. A proposition? As he recalled, Shelley had been a fun girl back in the seventies. This might turn out not to be another wasted evening.
He followed her to the taxi stand and was still sober enough to hail a cab. She got in first and gave the cabbie an address somewhere in the Village. Jack smiled at her and moved closer, but she moved away. She’s turned shy since she’s gotten older, he thought. He insisted on paying the fare and walking her up to the door of her apartment. She got out her keys and opened the door.
It was a small place, with not much clutter. There was a comfortable looking couch and a small portable television. One wall was lined with books, while another showed prints, mostly French Impressionists.
She smiled at Jack. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” she said. Jack grinned. He peeled off his tux jacket and undid his tie. He had unbuttoned three of his shirt buttons by the time Shelley had put up her coat and come to sit down beside him. He gazed into her eyes and reached over to hold her close.
“I like you Jack, I really do,” Shelley said, scooting away from him a bit. “But you’re drunk now, and terribly unhappy. I could tell that even though I haven’t seen you in years. But you’re still my friend.”
“Friend.” Jack tried to get the concept through his liquor-fogged brain. “You’re nuts, you know.”
“Why?” Shelley asked.
“Because people aren’t friends anymore,” Jack leaned back on the couch and spread his arms across the back. “People don’t have time for friendship. A little give and take on business matters, a little romp in the hay, that’s fine. But friendship?” He laughed. “You invited me here. I hope it wasn’t for a lecture on old-fashioned values.”
“If you want to know if I find you attractive, I do. I always have. But your appeal is more than physical. It’s the way you search for the truth. That tenacity, that fire—it’s very appealing, Jack.”
“Well, if it’s appealing, come over here,” he said, giving her a smoldering glance.
“I’m not after cheap sex, Jack,” she said. “I’m after you.”
“Huh?” Jack moved his arms over his chest. “You don’t make sense. You say you want me. Well, here I am, reasonably sober and just drunk enough to have no inhibitions. What’s stopping you?”
Shelley smiled. “You don’t get it, Jack. I could go to any bar in the city and get picked up for a night of physical pleasure. But that’s not what I’m after. I’m after you—what you are inside.” She reached over and placed her hand over his. “That heart of yours, that noble, crusading heart which you try to shield against the cruelties of unthinking people. But they are armed and dangerous, and stab you when you least expect it. Yet you go on, staunching the wounds as best you can as you try to sort out the puzzle of your life, all the while closing your heart more and more, keeping all the hurts inside, hoping no one will see, no one will know.”
“I don’t need a psychologist,” he said defensively. “I remember you from way back when, but I’m not sure I want to know you now.”
“I thought as much,” Shelley sighed. “It was a risk I had to take. You see, though I’ve been gone from Hogan Place for years, I still have friends who fill me in on all the news. That trip you took to Ireland was the talk of Hogan Place. I see the disgust on your face, and I’m sorry. But you should know that your actions are talked about. As an old friend, I think I’m in a unique position to tell you things. Rumor has it that Diana is getting ready to jump ship and join Travis and Mitchell, so it didn’t surprise me when she didn’t accompany you to the dinner tonight. But when I saw your face when you left the ballroom I was determined to make sure you were all right.” She looked into his eyes and smiled.
Jack looked at her, stunned. “I don’t need pity,” he said quietly.
“I’m not offering any,” she said simply. “I’m offering conversation, coffee if you’d like it, and a chance to just be with someone tonight.” She looked at him again. “Because, despite what you say, I believe in friendship.”
Jack looked at Shelley, and realized she was being sincere. “Coffee would be nice,” he said finally.
She got up to make it, breaking the tension in the room. Jack sighed and closed his eyes. He really hadn’t cared that much what people thought of him and his affairs, but it had come as a distinct shock to find out that probably all of Hogan Place talked about him and what he did. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fists. Life with Diana had been exciting at first, but it had worn down to drudgery after his promotion and the trip overseas. With a shock, he realized he had taken on Diana’s philosophy of quid pro quo, sex as a marketable object, ambition and lust above feelings and kindness.
She woke him from his reverie when she placed a coffee mug in front of him on the table. “I know you take it black,” she said quietly. He looked at her and nodded. Picking up the mug, he took a healthy swig. It was hot and good.
“So you think friendship is alive and well in the twentieth century?” he asked.
“Yes, I know it is,” Shelley said. “It’s our friends that we can really count on. They come to us without compulsion. They share our joys and our heartaches equally. They are there when we need them. They don’t ask for anything in return.”
“That’s good to know.” Jack drank coffee. “I’ve had friends in my life, well, people that called themselves friends. It’s funny, what you said about the heart. I’ve been stabbed by so-called ‘friends’ so many times—so many times.” He took a deep breath. “What do you do when you give someone your love, and you really care for them, you think. But they take away your ideals; try to mold you to their way of thinking until you get lost? You give them what you think they want; your heart on a silver platter, but all that matters to them is what you charged on Master Card. You feel—betrayed somehow.” He bowed his head so she wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes.
She put her hand on his. “A true friend will stick by you in good times and bad, Jack,” she said softly. “A true friend is one who allows you to be yourself. That’s one of the greatest gifts a friend can give.”
“There’s fear behind all this, you know,” he said, clearing his throat. “Fear that no one could, no one would love you for what you are.”
“But Jack, I do,” Shelley said simply. “I always have.”
He looked at her and fell into her arms.