Trudy was lying on her back, staring at the pale blue cracked ceiling of Jules’s bedroom. A bare bulb hung from the centre of a bulging round plaster medallion with a snaky braided edge. Their breathing was still heavy, and they were covered in sweat. The electric drone of cicadas came quivering through the open window, but no breeze. Trudy pulled a corner of the sheet just across her hips and turned her head to the side, away from him. She couldn’t stop thinking about the jump. Every time it was called off she felt better. Every time it was back on she felt sick. Like a terrible countdown being stopped and started. It was killing her. When she started to speak, her throat felt tight like it was closing. Like her body knew she should not say what she was about to say and was trying to stop her. Her voice sounded thick.
“You can’t do it.”
Jules was smiling to himself, almost asleep. “What?”
“You cannot do it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The jump. You can’t do it. There’s no way.”
“You better believe I can do it.” Jules seemed startled, not quite angry. He pushed himself up on his elbow to look at her.
“No.” Trudy could barely push the words out, her throat felt so tight. She was clenching her jaw. “I mean, I don’t want you to do it. Don’t do it.”
“Oh, Trudy. Please. Please don’t do this.” Trudy knew what he was thinking. Now this. The stupid ramp, the stupid car. Another delay. The constant threat of losing his TV deal. And now, this.
Then, out of nowhere, these words came out of Trudy on a wave of salty, bitter tears. And they come out loudly.
“Why?” said Trudy, bunching the sheet in her fists. “Why doesn’t anyone ever LOVE ME ENOUGH?” She was out of the bed, grabbing her clothes from the floor, face reddening. Did she mean this? Was it really her true feeling? That nobody ever loved her enough? How pathetic! How embarrassing. She felt so ashamed, she covered her face with her T-shirt. She skidded away from him as he tried to grab her and pull her back into bed. He was talking to her, but she threw her clothes back onto the floor and put her hands over her ears. It was getting silly: he was chasing her around the room now.
She bolted for the door and ran down the hallway. She could hear Jules pivoting to follow her, tripping over himself, as she took a hard left into the bedroom at the end of the hallway. The room that James and Mark shared when they were there. She pushed the door closed and sat on the bed. She was sweating.
The room was dark, the blinds drawn. In most ways it was like Jules’s room: dark, rough floorboards, and a high ceiling threaded with cracks. But there was an oriental rug, stained. Brass incense burners and candle holders on every surface. Cowboy boots by a mirror draped with belts and rope. Jules opened the door slowly, the hinges creaking, a smile breaking across his face.
“Fuck off.”
Jules laughed. Then he took a running leap and tackled her onto the dark red chenille bedspread. He was tickling her, poking her. He pulled her naked body back against him, put his chin on her shoulder and whispered in her ear.
“Nobody ever loved me enough, either, Trudy. Poor baby.” His hand was between her legs now. She laid her head back against his shoulder. “We’re just two poor, poor little babies.”