Chapter 13
It’s not every day that a man lands on the moon.
Walter and Martha host a party to celebrate the grand occasion, of course.
Half the neighborhood gathers around their television set, eagerly watching as three men do the impossible.
A years-long quest to go where no man has gone before, ending here in Martha’s living room over devilled eggs and Jell-O salad.
Jackie hosts a party, too. She invites Claire, though they both know that there’s not a chance of her being able to go.
Claire can see it ramping up across the road as she and Pete head home to bed at dusk—the music is so loud that it can be heard on the street, and there’s splashing and loud conversation coming from Jackie’s pool.
Knowing that Jackie is in there somewhere makes Claire ache to be a part of it.
Pete’s day-drinking catches up with him quickly enough that, to Claire’s relief, he collapses into bed as soon as they cross the threshold.
Bypassing her vanity, Claire peers out the window into Jackie’s yard.
The pool lights are on, and the back door is open—music is still drifting up between the houses.
The pool is full to bursting, and Claire is sure the house is the same.
Pete is sound asleep, and Claire is still dressed.
It feels as if someone else is controlling Claire’s body as she descends the stairs, slipping back into her shoes and opening the door as silently as she can. An invisible hand is guiding her to cross the lawns, dart up Jackie’s front step, and enter the party.
It’s different from Jackie’s housewarming in almost every way.
Last time, Claire had known most of the partygoers.
Jackie invited the entire neighborhood, including people Claire knew.
Nice, normal couples. Those people of course went to Martha and Walter’s party instead and are now sound asleep in their beds.
Claire knows none of the people milling around Jackie’s house this time, scattered all over the space in various states of interlocking lips and bodies.
The air is thick and smoky with what Claire can now recognize is marijuana as well as tobacco, and Claire can see someone at the coffee table arranging white powder into neat little lines.
Claire can’t explain it away this time. Jackie is hosting a swinger’s party.
Claire can only imagine what Martha might say. She’d screech about decency, about values and morals. None of that is Claire’s concern. The truth is, Jackie hosting a party like this doesn’t bother Claire so much as it simply confounds her.
Jackie is smart. She’s kind and interesting and wonderful. Why would she feel the need to have these people in her house?
Once again, Claire has a hard time finding Jackie in the crowd at her own party. It’s a sea of people with a common purpose, but the hostess is lost in it. Claire drifts through the kitchen and out to the backyard, fixated on finding just one person, when she’s seized by the shoulders.
Whirling around, she’s somewhat disappointed to find that it’s Theo.
“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed be here,” Theo says loudly, tapping Claire on the tip of her nose. It’s significantly less charming than when Jackie did it.
“Does Jackie not want me here?” Claire says. A sudden worry grips her, and she steps back from him.
Theo lets go of Claire’s shoulders, which only serves to highlight how inebriated he is—he wavers on his feet, giggling.
He’s also wearing makeup, dark eyeliner and bright crimson lipstick, which Claire isn’t sure how to navigate.
“No, she definitely does. But I’m told your husband has certain rules that this is in clear violation of. ”
“My husband is sleeping,” Claire says shortly.
Theo’s eyebrows raise. “Oh, little birdie’s breaking out of the cage. I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“Good for you,” Theo says, kissing Claire airily on the cheek and turning her around towards the door. “Jackie is sulking on the ottoman. Go get her.” He taps Claire lightly on the bottom, before disappearing into a crowd of dancing people on the lawn.
Claire finds Jackie just where Theo directed.
She’s at the edge of the party, tucked into a corner of the conversation pit, and she’s sorting through what looks to be a stack of photos.
There’s a drink on the ottoman next to her, and one of those instant-print cameras.
Claire has no idea how she missed her—Jackie is in a ruffled yellow shirt that crops off just under her ribs, showing a startling amount of soft belly above the waist of her pants.
She stands out in the crowd, and yet no-one pays her any mind.
As Claire watches, Jackie sets the photos neatly down next to her drink. She raises the camera to her face, snaps a picture, removes it from the receptacle, and sets it on the stack without glancing at it before holding the camera up again, scanning the room slowly for another shot.
Jackie is so focused on the task that she doesn’t notice Claire approaching. When Claire taps her lightly on the shoulder, Jackie jumps so hard that she almost spills her cocktail on Claire’s shoes.
“Claire!” Jackie exclaims, with far more excitement than expected. She jumps up to clasp Claire by the arms, beaming, and she gets a waft of familiar herbal scent that sends her heart racing. “You’re here!”
Like Theo, Jackie stumbles a little when she tries to sit back down on the ottoman, almost taking Claire with her.
“Are you all right?” Claire says, settling Jackie back on the cushion. It displaces the stack of photos—they scatter to the floor, but Jackie doesn’t seem to notice.
“I am now,” Jackie says, grinning wide. She grabs at the almost-spilled cocktail, draining the glass in one gulp. “I thought you were across the road with Martha?”
“What are you doing all the way over here?” Claire says, rather than answering the question.
Jackie’s light dims a little. She holds up the camera with a wry smile. “I’m observing.”
“Shouldn’t you be mingling? This is your party.”
Jackie’s shoulders sink, like some massive weight has settled there. She waves a photo idly as it develops, fanning herself with it, and it makes her hair flicker around her face.
“I prefer this,” Jackie says, not quite meeting Claire’s eyes. Her speech is a bit slurred. “Theo is the partier. I’m never really…happy, at these things. But other people are. And if I can capture it like this, even if it’s fleeting, maybe I can keep some for myself. Bottle it up.”
By the end of it Jackie is whispering, but Claire hears every word. This level of naked honesty from Jackie, with no addendums or wry subject changes, is rare. To have Jackie explain her method, the reason her photographs are so detached? It’s a gift.
It's also somewhat worrying. Claire sits down, taking the spot recently vacated by the stack of photographs. She’s never seen Jackie this melancholy or this inebriated, even on the day her mother called. It seems to affect her even more than the marijuana did.
“Why have this kind of party?” Claire says quietly. “If you want to observe happiness, there are other ways. Why invite all these people to your house? These…” Claire swallows, averting her eyes from the couple in the corner whose heavy petting is quickly becoming lewd, “these swingers?”
Jackie sighs. She sets her camera down, rubbing tiredly at her face. All the excitement of Claire’s arrival is gone. “You’re starting to sound like your husband.”
The comment hits Claire like an arrow. She flinches, reeling back from Jackie. “No, I’m not,” Claire rushes to clarify. “I’m just…I suppose I’m confused. Do you really do this? Do you…have sex with these married men, too? Is that how you met the man you fell in love with?”
Jackie moves her arm away from Claire’s hand, and snaps another photo. She’s not looking at Claire anymore. It’s like she’s in another world, and now Claire’s presence is making it worse.
“No,” Jackie says simply, from behind the camera.
“I don’t understand,” Claire says.
Jackie says nothing, and in the open space Claire’s mind runs rampant. The logic just doesn’t make sense. Why let all these swingers trash her house and act lecherous all night if Jackie isn’t one of them?
Jackie turns. Her gaze finally meets Claire’s full-on, and whatever is going on behind it makes her chest hurt. “You really don’t understand, do you?”
Claire is lost at sea. Jackie is talking so vaguely, as if there’s something Claire should be picking up, but she has nothing to go on. She’s missing something, and nobody will explain it to her.
“Help me to,” Claire says. “Please?”
Something heavy hits the ground in the distance, from the direction of the kitchen.
Claire is torn between relief and despair when Jackie stands up, setting the camera down.
She kisses Claire on the cheek, on the opposite side that Theo did; it lands so close to Claire’s mouth that her lips seem to tingle.
“Don’t you worry about it,” Jackie says. Her warm breath brushes Claire’s cheek. It smells like whiskey and citrus. “Enjoy the party, okay?”
Jackie is gone before Claire can protest.
Claire grabs at a handful of the spilled photographs as Jackie weaves through the party, not heading to the kitchen but towards the door to the bedrooms. The pictures are all artfully done, even for such a simple medium—there’s one of a man that Claire is sure is naked, jumping into the pool.
There’s one of the conversation pit, blurred with smoke, with couples intertwined on the couch.
There’s one of Theo, posing like a model on Jackie’s coffee table.
When Claire looks up again, Jackie is near the kitchen. She’s been stopped by a beautiful woman in a bathing suit. It’s not a terribly strange sight, given the pool party outside, but something about it sours Claire’s stomach. The woman is leaning close to whisper something in Jackie’s ear.