Jack Murray shut the door to his Upper Westside Manhattan apartment, brushed off a few stray snowflakes from his thick black hair, then kicked his shoes off and hung his overcoat on the rack in the hallway. Glad to be home, he went through to the sleek designer kitchen, poured himself a red wine and flopped down in the living area, where he turned on a huge flat-screen TV. Wondering why all the lights were on, he scratched his bushy beard, relaxed into the grey leather sofa and took a deep glug of the comforting alcohol.
It had been a stressful day on Wall Street. In fact, every day was stressful since recently starting his new job in the financial district of New York. Working in the money markets was rewarding in one way but so fickle in others. Thinking of the clients he had worked with, he had rarely experienced the sight of money bringing happiness to any of them. The opposite, in fact: he had seen a lot of the wealthy and successful fall. Addiction was a common enemy. Cocaine had no regard for the destruction it wreaked, its victims in thrall to its malevolent power, fellow brokers included, who thought they were Wolves of Wall Street like Leonardo DiCaprio when in fact they were the complete Wankers of Wall Street.
Jack was grateful that his only vices were a fine Bordeaux and at the moment a wannabe actress who went by the name of Riley. He would be the first to admit that the fact her father happened to own this flat in the sought-after Dakota Building had been one of the deciding reasons for them moving in together. New York rentals were expensive, and if Jack were to eventually follow his dream of giving up the nine to five to concentrate on writing a successful Hollywood screenplay, he needed every leg-up he could get. Paying Riley’s father a peppercorn rent was a real bonus.
When he was offered his dream job in New York working for a shrewd cookie by the name of Jenifer Moon, he had been thirty-five, a man in his prime. Ready to face the world and whatever it offered or asked from him. He hadn’t expected to meet somebody quite so quickly. It was a case of life happening to him when he was busy making other plans. Also, he had anticipated a bigger bonus than the one he had actually received, so his chance of taking time out had not yet come to pass. Yes, the money trappings allowed him a great lifestyle – but was he really happy? He would much rather be finishing his new screenplay and getting it off to agents, but the vicious circle of work, sleep, eat and repeat had become robotic, and he a kind of robot. Jack wanted to make a good impression at the new firm so was working flat out, which meant he was so knackered when he got in, usually after a drink with his colleagues, that writing was the last thing on his mind.
‘You’re late.’ A shrill American accent broke his peace.
Slightly startled, Jack raised his eyes and his voice. ‘I thought you were out with Brooke tonight?’
‘I couldn’t be bothered in this weather. Cabs are so slow today and the traffic is terrible. I’m in the bath. Come join me if you want to.’
‘I’m just having a nightcap to wind down.’
‘Oh, come on, spoilsport. Bring it in with you.’
Jack went over to the window and looked out. Huge snowflakes were falling in front of his eyes, landing on Central Park and the sidewalk below. Despite the darkness he could make out a group of young guys shrieking in delight as they chased each other in a snowball fight. What was it about snow that reduced even fully grown men to children? Probably the same reason a barbecue turned them into the next MasterChef.
After the day he had had, he was quite happy to settle down in the warm and shut the noisy world out.
New York never slept, but tonight, the sirens and traffic seemed muted, as if the elements had allowed the city to doze off, just for a second. He flicked on the television to find an effusive weatherman waving around facts and figures about how rare snow like this was at this time of year, and how the city could expect another heavy fall of it from midnight.
‘Jack! Come to me.’ His girlfriend’s sulky tones caused Jack to make a face. Knowing he would pay for it later if he didn’t, he turned off the TV and walked through to the bathroom, glass in hand.
Riley Roberts, ‘real name not stage, honey’ was luxuriating in the huge copper standalone bath, up to her neck in a veil of thick bubbles. At twenty-five, her body was fit and toned. Her blonde crop made her resemble a young Gwyneth Paltrow, but instead of relying on her natural beauty, her lips had been enhanced and her eyelashes lengthened.
‘Oh, you’re empty-handed,’ she said, those plumped lips curling.
‘Sorry – you should have said.’
‘Did you call the orthodontist today?’
Jack felt his anger rising at the familiar mantra. ‘How many times do I have to tell you. My very slightly crooked bottom teeth are staying.’
‘And how many times do I have to tell you that they are so not Hollywood, doll. Imagine if your screenplay is a hit and I’m walking that red carpet with you. I can’t be doing all the smiling at the press on my own, now can I?’ Riley lifted herself up out of the water to show off her small pert breasts. ‘Are you drunk? You look drunk.’
‘I had two glasses, this is my third.’
‘I expect Caitlin was there flirting with you all?’
‘Yes, the Caitlin who is very happily married to Dominic was there, but not flirting.’ Jack sighed. ‘If you’re going to start being ridiculous again, I’m going back in to watch the end of the film I started last night.’
‘Fillum.’ Riley mimicked his English accent. ‘I don’t know why you can’t say movie like normal people. So, who else was there then? Ruby? Calista?’
Jack noticed the half-full bottle of Chardonnay resting in the portable wine cooler on wheels he had got her last Christmas. ‘Why are you asking me for a drink, when you have plenty here already?’ For a moment he felt tempted to empty the icy contents over her head.
‘That’s right, be horrible to me. I’m darn sure you wouldn’t speak in that way to that witch you met in Cornwall last year. “Oh, Star, you’re so beautiful. Oh, Star hi, show me your crystal shop and around this quaint little village. Oh, Star, put a love spell on me.”’
Jack ran a hand through his hair. ‘Wait a minute, where did that come from? Every time you have a bloody drink you—’
‘I’ve just been lying here thinking about it. I’m surprised the bathwater isn’t boiling.’
‘I’m not getting into this. I have changed my numbers and every email address. And now I’ve left Eddison’s, she doesn’t even have a clue where I work. Riley, please stop this.’
His fingers automatically went to the scar on his forehead, a reminder of the drunken row when Riley had discovered a message from Star – saying nothing too incriminating, thank goodness. But his incensed girlfriend had pushed him in her fury, and he had lost his footing, cracked his head on the coffee table and fallen awkwardly enough to break a bone in his forearm.
Jack Murray had never before been a cheater or philanderer. Born to Emma and James, both GPs, he had had a blessed upbringing, and with two younger sisters, he knew how to treat and respect women. He had had two serious relationships before Riley. One straight out of uni with a sweet half-Italian girl called Maria and another in his late twenties with Jacqui, a teacher, who had actually done the dirty on him and been unfaithful, saying that if he hadn’t been married to his job, it never would have happened.
Looking back, he realised he probably wasn’t in love with either of them as on neither occasion had his heart been broken. He and Maria just drifted apart, and with Jacqui, despite agreeing that she was right in what she was saying, he was more annoyed that she had cheated on him than that they were splitting up. He had been in London then, living with her in a rented flat in Old Street; an easy commute to the City and his finance job. As they parted ways, he stayed where he was and she moved in with her new lover to the flat above the dry cleaners at the end of their street. Talk about rubbing his nose in it.
Jack went over to Riley and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. ‘Let’s not fight. Please.’
Riley turned her head away. ‘Just go and watch your movie, Jack. I need more time to think.’
Relieved that his feisty lover seemed to have calmed down slightly, he walked back through to the living area and began flicking through the many channels on offer. His thoughts turned to Star. It was as if the light in his heart had been turned on when he had met that girl. He just had to glance across at her pretty little face behind her market stall and bam, there she was, spouting a quote from Blaise Pascal. The one and only romantic quote he knew from anyone really. And he had Maria, his first lover, to thank for that – although he never confessed to Star how he knew it. While they were both studying Mathematics at Oxford, fellow nerd Maria had given him a book explaining amongst other things Pascal’s invention of the original calculator. In the front of it she had written, The heart has its reasons which reason knows not.
His logical brain couldn’t accept all or maybe any of sweet Star’s ‘power of the universe’ theories, but it had seemed quite strange that this one quote had set off both their initial conversation and huge physical connection. She had told him that she believed there were such things as love angels who led you to the right partners at the right time in your lives. Maybe she was right?
Jack felt a stirring at the memory of their lovemaking that day. It had felt so natural and right to want to make love to her. Like a primal instinct. The fact that he was cheating hadn’t even crossed his mind. It was the best sex he had ever had in his life, adventurous and fun. It had also caused feelings to go through him that he had never thought possible. He had liked Star too. Her soft, gentle nature. Her honesty. She had touched on her slightly wobbly heritage, the opposite of his stable one, and it had made him like her even more. Made him want to protect her. However, later that evening when he had gone back to his Airbnb to find Kara still up, and he had chatted to her on the balcony, the overriding feeling then was guilt. There was he, in a live-in relationship with Riley, two years down the line, and whilst he was making love to another woman, Riley had been frantically trying to get hold of him. Her parents had had a car accident whilst staying at their holiday home in Barbados, and were in intensive care on the holiday island.
He had flown home immediately to do everything he could to help. Held Riley when she needed it. Realised that there was a soft centre underneath all her bravado. Realised that he did love her too.
Things went back to normal, and all was well until the day she found the message from Star. Riley had been lying next to him on the sofa, fiddling with his phone to find some music to play through the apartment’s expensive speaker system when it had popped up. Just a simple A little hello to the big apple. Hope the silver screen is still calling, then the emoji of a star with an x for a kiss.
He had explained to his girlfriend that Star was a friend of Kara’s who was running the Airbnb and that she had offered to show him around Hartmouth because Kara was busy. The kiss was what had thrown Riley though, and like a dog with a bone, her extreme jealousy had taken over. She had found Star’s shop online and was beside herself that there was no phone number listed on the website. The night of their big fight, she was trying to get Jack’s phone off him to call Star directly and ask her what the hell was going on. Later, mortified by his accident and knowing that she was responsible for his injuries, when with a guilty tongue he assured her again, ten times over, that he and Star had not had sex and that he would delete and block the woman from every form of communication, Riley promised that she would never bring it up again.
He thought often of Star, her sweet spirit, her tender touch, the bolt of lightning that had gone through him when he first set eyes on her … but his life was here. Here in New York. He wondered what would happen if he were to pitch up in Hartmouth and see her again – but who was to say that she would want anything to do with him anyway, after he had cut her out of his life and failed to keep in touch. There were finance companies dotted around Cornwall, of course, but if he moved back to England they wouldn’t give him a salary anywhere near what he was earning now. And then he thought of how it would be, living by the sea and writing his screenplay in a life with less stress. Maybe he could manage down there. He had to admit that staying at Kara Moon’s B&B looking over the water had given him such complete peace. And to be in the same country as his parents and sisters again would be so lovely.
It was their turn to be at Riley’s parents’ this Christmas. The couple were fully recovered from their injuries, aside from her mother having a slight limp from her badly broken leg and her dad now having a deep gangster-type scar across his neck, which would no doubt be treated by the best plastic surgeon in California where they lived, once the time was right. So, Jack wouldn’t get to see his folks again until at least Easter now. The wave of homesickness that swept over him was halted by the sound of Riley walking purposefully up the hallway.
Quickly putting the TV on to a channel, he stared at the screen. It was showing an old black and white Hollywood movie. The glamorous actress in a feather boa with cigarette holder in hand was crying as she entered a hotel. A young porter rushed to her side to take her bags and, with a slow voice like Forrest Gump, said, ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what’s troubling you, ma’am?’
‘It’s not a what, it’s a he,’ the actress said in her brittle voice.
‘Well, like I say, lady, if you do not love too much, you do not love enough. He musta bin a lucky fella.’
‘That is just the sweetest thing.’ The officious character took a drag from her cigarette holder. ‘Did you make that up, boy?’
‘Jeez no, I’m not that clever person who says things like that. My old boss, he was the one with brains. He told me about a man called Blaise Pascal, he evidently had all the right things to say to the ladies. I don’t even know who he was, ma’am.’
Jack’s mouth fell open and then stayed open as Riley appeared in the doorway wearing a complete white underwear set, stockings included; smudged red lipstick and teetering on her highest Louboutin heels. Sexily strolling across the room, she put her expensive shoe up on the sofa and, making sure her crotch was right next to her boyfriend’s face, growled, ‘Let’s just fuck, Jack.’
Saying nothing, Jack pulled her gently down on top of him and with the words of Blaise Pascal and thoughts of Star Bligh and her love angels running through his mind, he made love to his young fragrant girlfriend on a cold snowy November night in New York City.