Chapter Four
The Sopranos
Jagger
Jag could have called it.
That “it” being that he got two competing responses to his
text to Dutch and Georgie that he was bringing someone to dinner.
Georgie: Awesome! Can’t wait to meet her!
Dutch: no text. He phoned.
Jagger considered letting it go to voicemail but decided if
there was going to be any awkward with Dutch about Archie, he wanted it out
before Archie was in the mix.
So he picked up.
“Yo,” he greeted.
“C’mon, man, you cannot be that petty.”
Oh shit.
Dutch was not a big brother who was constantly riding your
ass.
But that didn’t mean Dutch hadn’t ridden Jagger’s ass.
Even rare, Jagger fucking hated it.
“Wanna say that again?” Jag invited.
“Listen, Carolyn isn’t my favorite person either, but she’s
trying and we both know it isn’t cool you bring some rando chick in order to—”
Okay, there we go.
That was precisely why he hated it when Dutch started riding
his ass.
Because he usually did it when he didn’t know what he was
talking about.
“She’s not rando,” Jag bit out.
“So you’re seeing some woman who you’ve never mentioned to
anyone and she’s important enough to bring to a family dinner?”
“I met her the day her mother was put into the ground. It
was a day I was visiting Dad’s grave. And that day was my sixteenth birthday.”
That shut Dutch up.
Jag kept talking.
“I haven’t said anything because we haven’t pulled our shit
together. Now, we’re pulling our shit together. She wanted to have dinner
tonight. I told her I had plans, told her about Carolyn and she wanted to be
there. So she’s gonna be there.”
There was stuff he left out and Dutch didn’t miss it.
“You’ve been seeing someone for over ten years and I’ve
never heard of her?”
“It’s a long story,” Jagger replied. “But bottom line for
you is, this isn’t about Carolyn. You want this not to be weird for Georgie.
And you want what Georgie wants. Family sitting down together and breaking
bread and you want it to go well for her. Now, the bottom line for me is, you
and Georgie are going the distance and I’m eventually gonna end up with someone
and Carolyn is gonna see that and she’s gonna have to move on with her own
life. If she’s not ready to do that, then I should not have been invited to
this dinner.”
“I’m still not feeling the fact you’ve known some woman who
clearly means something to you for ten years and I’ve never heard her name.”
“How ’bout you let me have my shit, and I’ll let you in on
it when I’m ready, like you have your shit, and I hang tight and wait for you
to let me in on it, if you’re ever ready to let me in on it.”
“When have I had shit that isn’t yours?” Dutch demanded.
Was he for real?
“Uh…Carlyle. And you and Georgie investigating his dad’s
murder,” Jag returned. “And, say, you and Georgie being hot and heavy at
all and we only found out because we showed at your house as a surprise
and she showed at your house and it was a surprise to us, but it absolutely was
not to you.”
“Fuck,” Dutch muttered.
“Unh-hunh,” Jag returned.
“That was going on days, not a decade, Jag,” Dutch shot
back.
Okay, he was done talking about this.
“Listen, there’s something between me and Archie and there’s
something Archie is dealing with and something I’m dealing with and it’s ours.
Just lay off. And be cool with her when she comes over. Or if you can’t be cool
with her, and me, tell me now and we just won’t come over.”
“What are you dealing with?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Did you not hear me when I was talking about shit that was
mine and I’ll let you in on it when I’m ready?”
Dutch went silent again.
“So, Archie and me good to come over tonight, or not?” Jag
pushed.
It took a second before Dutch spoke again.
“I’m always there for you, man, you know that, don’t you?”
Jag felt that in his throat.
So much, something he was not allowing himself to lock onto,
he locked onto.
He was dealing with some shit.
Some major shit.
And Archie triggered it.
“I know,” he said to Dutch.
But that was all he could say.
For now.
“You’re always welcome, Jag. Look forward to meeting Archie.
And it’ll be cool,” Dutch assured.
“Thanks, brother.”
“See you in a while,” Dutch said.
“Yeah. Later.”
“Later.”
They disconnected and Jagger took in a big breath, because
he didn’t know what was up with him, he didn’t know if he wanted to know what
was up with him.
But he had a feeling whatever it was, it was about to come
out.
Before he left her at her shop, Archie told him that
the way to her place was the door to the side of the store.
So when he showed at six thirty, he went there.
There was a call box with four buttons, and Jag guessed the
one that had a picture of Grace Jones next to it was Archie’s.
In other words, he was grinning when he hit the button.
There was a speaker on top of the call unit, and through it
came Archie’s voice.
“I’m door number two, brother.”
And then the door buzzed.
He opened it and it was heavy, no window, steel enforced,
which was good, considering it was on Colfax.
He went in and was in the outer vestibule that was cut off
from the inner by a code-lock door.
He saw color-block floors in big squares of white, black,
gray and yellow, and the mailboxes were there, built into the wall. Four
across, tall, but narrow with a large USPS lockbox underneath for the postman
to lock bigger packages.
His phone buzzed with a text that was from Archie.
9768, it said.
The code for the inner vestibule door.
He punched it in, the lock clicked, and he moved beyond the
second secure area, seeing more color-block flooring, an orange tub with some
umbrellas sticking out of it, and under the stairs was caged storage that had a
couple of bikes locked behind it.
The walls were white, as were the stairs. The treads black.
So were the doors.
And there was an all-weather mat that said Hola on
his side, and upside down on top of that (so if he was coming from the other
direction), it read Sayonara.
The area was clean. It was nice. It was stylin’.
It was Archie.
He jogged up the steps and found himself in a hall that led
down the middle of the building.
Her door was to the back of the building, on the left.
He barely knocked before it was opened.
And then he was knocked out.
Archie had on a Chinese embroidered, pink miniskirt and a
creamy blouse that had a high neck and ruffles down the front, no sleeves.
There was a hidden slit coming down from the throat that he knew, with
movement, would hint at the goodness underneath. Rounding this out were her
vibrant green pumps.
Her makeup was dark and smoky around her eyes, just the top
of her hair was pulled back in a spiky mess at the back of her head.
And she smelled like Archie.
He’d changed into a dark blue button down and nicer jeans.
And before he could tell her how gorgeous she was, her fist
was in his shirt, she’d hauled him in, slammed the door, lifted her other hand,
caught him by the back of his head, and pulled his mouth down to hers.
Her lips were soft and cushiony, but he didn’t get to enjoy
them long before her tongue spiked into his mouth and took all of his
attention.
Fucking fuck.
She tasted as dark and smoky as her eyes and he liked that
taste so much, he couldn’t stop himself from rotating her, shoving up against
her at the door, going for her ass with one hand and bunching her hair against
the back of her head in the other to give himself something while he let her
have her way with his mouth.
She broke their kiss by sliding her tongue out and nipping
his lower lip with her teeth, so he lifted his head and stared up close into
her gorgeous eyes.
“Hey,” she said.
The word was kinda breathy, but
mostly it was just cool, confident and Archie.
“Hey,” he replied.
“So I decided I didn’t wanna sit
down with your ex for dinner without knowing what you taste like,” she shared.
“Hope that’s cool.”
“You wanna memorize it?” he
offered. “’Cause, if you do, I’m totally down with
that.”
She grinned at him.
Then she said, “You still got a handful of my ass,
boyfriend.”
He started to slide his hand up at the same time apologize.
She stopped him by saying, “Just making an observation, no
need to react.”
Jag chuckled, but in the middle of it, he suddenly stopped
because what he said next was serious.
“You look gorgeous, Archie.”
Her fingers in his shirt went up to brush along his jaw, and
she whispered, “Thanks.”
“But even if the world deserves to see you in that getup, I gotta admit, I got no motivation to go to dinner now.”
She smiled and shared, “No pressure, but my
fourteen-year-old self, and fifteen, not to mention sixteen, seventeen, you get
the picture, up until just now fantasized a lot about what it’d be like to kiss
you.”
He felt a lot, hearing those words.
But he didn’t know what to say.
“Good those versions of me didn’t know how good it actually
is or I’d be even more pissed you were such a big baby about our falling out,”
she finished.
That made him move his hand from her ass to give her ribs a
rebuking squeeze. “It wasn’t me being a baby.”
“So was.”
“Totally wasn’t.”
“Soooooo was.”
Jag wasn’t doing this.
So he kissed her again.
Yeah, it wasn’t a figment of his imagination.
She tasted that good.
He broke it that time, saying, “Okay, baby, even if I have
zero motivation to go, this is my brother, so we gotta
get going.”
She nodded, pressed up against him in a way that wasn’t
meant to be sexy, just sweet, then she slid away.
He turned and watched her walk to a sofa that was in the
middle of the room.
Then he took in the room.
Her place was mostly open loft space. Wood floors with some
rugs. At the back, a bar with stools delineating the kitchen. Walls behind
which he guessed housed a bath. Open racks that held her clothes. Windows at
the back and side that had alley views, her outdoor space was a fire escape
where she had a bunch of potted plants and flowers.