Nancy Bartholomew - Your Cheatin Heart

"He didn't… You're…?" Jack was at a loss.

"He didn't hit me. I'm fine." I turned away from him and stepped back to the mike. I didn't want to think about it. I wanted to be inside the music. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to be the singer, not the victim.

Jack let me stay inside myself. We rode all the way home in silence. The police had come and taken their report They weren't the same officers that I'd come to expect. They were young, and if they knew anything about me and Jimmy, they didn't say. They didn't seem surprised that someone had shot at me. In this part of town, on High Point Road, gunfire on a Saturday night was nothing new.

Cletus had escorted us to my car and made a big show of checking it out before I could drive off.

"We'll take good care of you, Maggie," he said, resting a big, beefy hand on my shoulder. "Probably somebody got liquored up and didn't watch where they were shooting." I nodded, but I didn't believe that for a second.

"Did the police find anything when they looked around?" I stared across the lot, suddenly seeing bad guys behind every car and shadow.

Cletus shook his head. "No, only thing they found was a couple of thirty-eight casings. That's all."

Jack stayed silent, lost in his thoughts. That was just how I wanted it. He seemed to sense this and left me alone, even after we got back to his place. He wandered over to the woodstove and busied himself stoking it, then adjusting the vents. I walked around the open space, unable to relax. Those shots fired in the parking lot had something to do with Jimmy. I could feel it.

I heard the sound of a wine cork softly popping, then the sound of liquid hitting the back of a glass. I stood in front of the CD player, staring blankly at the equipment.

"Here," he said, appearing by my side with a glass of red wine.

"Thanks, but I don't drink red wine," I said. Red wine didn't do much for me. Too dry.

"Try it," he said.

I took the glass, like a good guest, and brought it to my lips. It wasn't bad. I liked the way it slid down my throat without burning. It reminded me of the berries on my grandma's place, just before we picked them for jam-making.

Jack punched a button on the CD player. Jesse Winchester began singing "Yankee Lady."

"You like this, don't you?" he asked. "I saw it was on here, so I figured you were listening."

I nodded and took another sip of wine. My stomach felt warm when the wine hit. My shoul

ders were beginning to loosen up. I went and stood by the tall window that went from the loft upstairs all the way to the floor downstairs. Outside the moon glowed, almost full. Jesse Winchester sang about leaving Vermont.

Why couldn't I find a man like Jesse Winchester, I wondered. A strong rich voice, singing about loving women. I bet he didn't take potshots at women. I took another couple of sips of wine and let my body sway softly. I bet Jesse wouldn't spend all his time drunk, forgetting he had a family waiting at home for him.

Jack's red wine was probably one of the most delicious liquids ever invented, I thought, finding myself near the bottom of the glass. My face felt flushed, and I realized that I felt a little floaty. Shouldn't be drinking wine on an empty stomach , I thought, but that didn't stop me from holding out my glass when Jack came around with the bottle.

"It's good," I said.

"I like it right much," he said. I was humming along with Jesse. Jack put the bottle down on top of the CD player and turned to face me. Then he reached out for my wine glass, taking it from my hand and setting it down next to the wine bottle.

"Come here," he said softly. "Let's dance."

I didn't move.

"Come on, Maggie. It's the Tennessee waltz."

I stared at him. "I can't," I said finally.

"Sure you can." He laughed. "It's just a dance."

"No," I said, suddenly feeling like a panicked, tearful child. "I can't, Jack."

Jack dropped his arms to his side. "Why not?"

I took a deep breath and let the words fly out in a rush of air. "Because I can't dance."

There, I'd said it. I hated being asked to dance. It was worse than anyone knew, because with all my heart, I wanted to dance, but couldn't. A memory jumped back into my head, the same one that always came. Me and Darlene in dance class, dressed in pink leotards and tutus. Darlene gliding effortlessly across the floor, and me frozen, unable to tell right from left, the last to cross the floor, the baby elephant.

I wasn't going to cry. I bit the inside of my lip and started to reach for my wineglass. Jack grabbed my hand.

"Come here," he said again. This time he moved into me, sliding his arm around my waist. "You can do this."

He didn't know me. He didn't know how I felt.

"Maggie, relax. Close your eyes and breathe. Just let me hold you."

I hesitated, staring at him, trying to figure out what he really wanted. But he looked so genuine, I started to feel foolish for not humoring him. I did it. I let Jack play his New Age games. I'm sure he knew I didn't like it, but he didn't give up.

"Okay, let your head rest on my shoulder." He was swaying softly, taking me with him. Jesse sang softly about Bowling Green. The wine was a tranquilizer, moving me with him. Jack smelled like exotic spices and I inhaled deeply.

"Mag, you're doing it. That's it." I swayed against him. He slowly whirled me around, gently teaching my feet to move. Then the song ended and the next one was faster. I moved to push out of his arms.

"Maggie, stay. You can do this."

"No, I can't."

He handed me my wine glass. "Take another sip," he instructed. I took more than one.

"Hey, girl," he sang along with Jesse, and whisked my glass away. He was moving, his arms holding mine, forcing my body to move along with his. My feet were actually going! I laughed, delighted.

"That's it! See!"

Jesse was singing about letting go and I did. I was someone else. I was a dancer. Jack was humming, smiling, his eyes closed, totally involved in the music. We danced. I don't know for how long, maybe an hour, maybe more. Suddenly I became aware that the music had stopped and we were still moving, slowly.

Jack opened his eyes and smiled. "See? You're a dancer. I knew you were a dancer." He brought his hand up and softly pushed my hair away from my face. His face was inches from mine. My heart started to race and I realized that Harmonica Jack was about to kiss me, and that furthermore, I was going to let him!

His eyes softened and he smiled at me, his face coming closer to mine. I closed my eyes, still not believing that this was really happening. Jack's fingers cupped my chin. Just as I felt the whisper of his lips upon mine, someone beat on the loading bay door, making us both jump.

"What in the hell?" Jack jerked back, alarm replacing tenderness.

"What time is it?" I asked, looking at the clock in the kitchen. It was just after six A.M.

Jack had moved to the door, grabbing a wooden bat that stood beside the refrigerator.

"Do you think we should open it?" I asked, but I meant, Are you nuts? Don't open that door !

The banging started again and Jack hit the garage door button. The door hadn't moved six inches when I called out to Jack.

"Put the bat down. It's the law."

Weathers was wearing black snakeskin boots this time, with silver tips on the toes. Damn his hide!

He was smiling, dressed in black pants and a crisp white cotton shirt.

"Good morning, folks," he said, smiling like this was a social call. "Saw your lights on as I was on my way to work." His eyes glided past Jack, over to the window. The sonofabitch had been watching us!

"Detective Weathers," he said, extending his hand to Jack. "How're you doing?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I need to borrow Ms. Reid for a little while, if I may?"