Chapter 6

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For the curious, or perhaps just for the record, here is the poem Jess quotes, by Charles Bukowski, called The Retreat:

this time has finished me.

I feel like the German troops
whipped by snow and the communists
walking bent
with newspapers stuffed into
worn boots.

my plight is just as terrible.
maybe more so.

victory was so close
victory was there.

as she stood before my mirror
younger and more beautiful than
any woman I had ever known
combing yards and yards of red hair
as I watched her.

and when she came to bed
she was more beautiful than ever
and the love was very very good.

eleven months.

now she's gone
gone as they go.

this time has finished me.

it's a long road back
and back to where?

the guy ahead of me
falls.

I step over him.

did she get him too?

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Rory sat in the diner, chewing on a pencil and watching Jess clean up. Her book sat
ignored in front of her, the coffee he'd just refilled getting cold beside her.

He leaned against the broom and looked back at her. "Aren't you afraid someone'll see you in here?"

"Nah." Rory put down her pencil and sipped the coffee, making a face. "Hmm. Remind
me that pencil paint and coffee don't really go together."

Jess smirked at her. "Some Ivy Leaguer you are! That's classic student fare there, m'am.
Forget burgers and fries. It's all about ramen noodles, coffee, and pencil shavings."

"Well, I've got the coffee down. Which means if anyone sees me in here they'll just think
I'm craving."

"Yeah, Luke's diner is a great place to get your stimulants." He winked at her.

"Oh yes. Very stimulating indeed." She smiled and her eyes were warm and knowing.

"I'm almost done here. You wanna go for a walk? It's late enough not to be really public
and I can finish the clean-up in a little while."

Rory nodded, finishing the mug and gathering her things. Jess wiped the table and set the
mug in the bus-pan, and they headed out the door, walking toward the bridge.

Jess whistled softly as they walked. When he moved to take her backpack from her, Rory reached
out and laced her fingers with his, surprising him. He smiled faintly, glancing briefly at her
but trying not to let on how much the simple gesture moved him, how much the warmth of her fingers
burned into his heart.

"You stopped whistling," she commented.

He looked at her then, laughing a little. "Got distracted." He raised their entwined hands
to show her what distracted him, and she blushed.

"Sorry." She smiled and watched their walking feet.

Jess smiled too, looking ahead. "I'm not."

They came to the bridge and Rory slowed as they reached their usual spot in the middle,
but Jess kept walking, pulling her slightly behind him as he rounded the corner and
walked across a slight knoll toward a secluded bench near a cluster of bushes. He sat on
the bench, pulling Rory down beside him. She squirmed a bit trying to get comfortable,
then boldly swung her body around so her feet were up on the bench and her head was
resting on his thigh.

Jess reached out and played with her hair. "Comfy now?" She could hear the smirk in his
voice.

"Very." His arm was stretched across the back of the bench and she pulled it down,
catching his fingers in hers and resting their entwined hands at her waist.

They sat there in silence, just touching. She heard him inhale and moved slightly closer to
him. "What are you thinking?"

He sighed again at the murmured question. "I was thinking about whether Austen really
would have liked Bukowski."

Rory chuckled a bit and furrowed her brow. "That's kind of random."

"Not really." Jess twined his fingers in her hair, pulling it up so she could see him twist it
through his fingers. "…as she stood before my mirror, younger and more beautiful than
any woman I had ever known, combing yards and yards of red hair as I watched her."
Rory smiled, not recognizing the quote but warm with the compliment. "And when she
came to bed she was more beautiful than ever." He found her eyes and she caught her
breath at the intensity in his expression. "And the love was very very good."

Rory closed her eyes and breathed deeply, moved and aroused by the intensity of emotion
in the huskily quoted words. She turned, burying her face in his side and sliding her arms
between the slats of the bench to wrap them around him.

"Jess…"

He pulled her up slightly so she was cradled in his arms, and she pressed her mouth
against his throat, caressing the hardness of his collarbone. Rory dragged her lips
against his neck and caught the lobe of his ear in her teeth, tugging lightly. She sat up,
straddling his legs and pulling back slightly so she could see him. His eyes were closed, his head slightly tilted back and his lips parted. Rory felt her heart constrict at the expression on
his face. He looked vulnerable, hopeful. She laced her fingers into his hair, cradling his head
in her hands and pressing gentle kisses at his temples, across his forehead, under his chin,
finally catching his lips with her own.

Jess fought back tears at Rory's tender caresses. 'This time has finished me,' he thought.
'Just like in the poem.' He clutched her more tightly to him, deepening the kiss and
tangling his tongue with hers, willing himself not to think about how he would feel when
this ended. He slid his hand under the hem of her shirt, against the small of her back,
pulling gently on her hair to tilt her head back and arch her toward him, and she moaned
softly at the sensation of his lips on her neck. He felt her fingers slip under the collar of
his shirt and her knees tighten their grip on his hips. His hand slid down along her lower
back, pressing her tightly against him as his mouth slid into the V of her top and caressed
the upper swell of her breast.

Jess watched the world go red as Rory sobbed his name and pressed her body against his. He
wanted to lay her down on the bench and bury himself inside of her, completely lose
himself in the overwhelming emotions she made him feel. He ripped his lips away from
her skin, clutching her to him and burying his head against her chest, forcing his breathing
steady.

Rory relaxed, stroking his shoulders and pressing delicate kisses against his hair.
"Jess…"

He pulled back to look at her. "You know we have to stop."

She nodded. "You know I didn't want you to stop."

His face was pained. "Rory…"

"Shhh." She interrupted him with a quick kiss. "Not now. I don't want to analyze it now."
He nodded and smiled a bit. "What was the poem?"

"The Retreat," he said.

"There's more to it, I presume?" Jess nodded and she continued. "I'll go read it."

"Don't read that one," he murmured. "Read The Bluebird instead."

"OK." She tilted her head; Jess had never sounded so serious. There wasn't even a trace
of smirk in his voice, and his face was calm. She would have said serene, except he didn't
look content, just shuttered.

"Jess…" He smiled at her and straightened, nudging her slightly toward standing up.

"Come on, I'll walk you home." They stood, and he grabbed her backpack, taking her
hand as they walked silently toward her house.
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Rory pulled her anthology of Beat poetry off the shelf before crawling into bed, and
turned to the pages for Bukowski:

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.

then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

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