Soulmates by Suzanne Jenkins Page B

being a pussy about your father.” Sandra moved past her, her height intimidating, and Jane stomped up the stairs after her.
    Sandra knocked on his bedroom door. “Jay, it’s me. Come out here so we can talk.” She could hear shuffling around in the room along with an occasional sob. Breathing on the other side of the door revealed that he heard her. “Come on. I traveled for two hours to see you; you can’t send me away now.” The door creaked open and a haggard old man peered out at her.
    “This is a catastrophe,” he whispered. “I can’t go through with it. No one here can stand her and I barely can myself. What was I thinking?” Appalled, Sandra turned to pace, glad she wasn’t in the wedding party after all, at the beach with Pam and her friends .
    When she’d first recognized the slight that her supposedly best friend didn’t ask her to stand up in the wedding, the hurt was intense, her pride taking a beating.
    “I don’t get it,” she cried to Jason. “I have her grandson, we’ve been together through hell and back and she doesn’t ask me to be in the wedding. I noticed Jeannie’s a bridesmaid; she’s only known her for a year.”
    “Do you want me to say something to her?” Jason asked. “I could find a way to bring it up so she wouldn’t suspect we’d talked about it.”
    “Ha! Get a grip. Pam’s like a homing pigeon now. She’d zero on what’s going on right away.” Forcing herself to acknowledge the part she played in the demise of Pam and Jason was another regret she had.
    Last fall, she’d fallen into a platonic affair of sorts with Jason. It started innocently enough, the flirtation leading to a short time of physicality, but they never had intercourse. It reminded Sandra of something two young children would do. Almost fetish-like, they nurtured an odd type of sexuality that would have infuriated Pam; it was so like something she’d imagine Jack doing. Pam and Jack had their own indulgences; Pam confessing he liked watching her do summersaults.
    Jason’s needs were simpler; he asked Sandra to dress in his late wife Emily’s clothing. He would ask her to dress up for particular occasions; a kilt with a cashmere sweater Emily had since high school, or go-go boots from the seventies. At Jason’s direction, she’d march around the yacht named Emily’s Paycheck, pretending to model. He loved sweeping moves. “Bend to the side and let your hair swish around!” or “Squat and throw your head forward, like an African dancer,” he’d direct. One thing that drove him crazy; taking knee high boots off, as slowly as possible. She stifled laughing hysterics when doing it, the absurdity of their relationship glaring at those times. Directing her poses, he’d take videos of her with his phone. They’d watch together, careful to delete them afterward. It was the time she missed Pam most; not able to share the craziness with her. Nothing particularly provocative about it, he got off watching her and she needed the attention he poured while on she was doing it.
    While on the boat; free to do whatever they wanted without the threat of his children disturbing them, Sandra secretly thought the dress up productions were a waste of time. They should be having wild sex, partying for all it was worth. But the boat was one of the perks of being in a relationship with him, and if he didn’t want to have sex, or unable to, she’d live with it.
    Not having sex wasn’t a problem for long; Pete, the neighborhood dock boy was single and he was looking for love. Sunday afternoons, after leaving Jason on his boat, but before heading back to Brooklyn, she’d make a side tour to Pete’s dank apartment. Later, memories of it would make her skin crawl. Out on the dock, his pristine white attire and witty humor were captivating. The apartment, on the other hand, was disgusting. Filthy and roach infested, she got in and out without lingering.
    Pete let her know he was interested soon after the first