Noah let his thoughts travel backwards to the Miami NAAAI conference, which was after he’d married Maggie, Anna had moved in, and everything had gone south. He’d found himself again on the trade floor, knowing at some level that he was looking for Jordan, and as he’d headed toward AstraZeneca, he’d spotted her chatting up another rep.
They’d been laughing, Jordan throwing her head back, her hair bouncing, her lipstick a fresh pink, her throat open. He’d recognized her suit, a pinkish tweed that was tightly tailored. She used to wear a silky white top underneath, she’d called it acami. And he’d flashed on the bra she’d have on, a lacy black push-up that she joked was herconference bra. Her skirt had been short, and she’d had on high heels, like always. He remembered them lying on the rug next to the bedlike a pair of lethal weapons. He used to trip on them on the way to the bathroom, but he’d never complained.
Noah had approached her, and she’d done a double-take when she saw him, which she’d masked with another pretty laugh. He’d watched her touch the other rep on his upper arm, her fingertips brushing his biceps, but she’d been dismissing him. The rep had probably believed Noah was a sales target, but Jordan had known better.
Jordan, hey, Noah had tried to sound casual, which was impossible. He was born formal.
Hi, good to see you again. Jordan’s dark eyes had glittered in the way he recognized from before, connecting with him directly, not bothering to hide her interest.
How are you?
How’s married life?
Fine, good. Noah had noticed she didn’t answer the question.
I don’t believe you. You still look No-ha to me.
No, it’s fine. Noah had swallowed hard, unmasked. Jordan had been right, but he couldn’t tell her that.
I’ve missed you, Jordan had said, which was something he had always liked about her. She was strong in her own way, which was darker than Maggie’s way. Still he tried not to compare the two women. He loved Maggie. He’d never loved Jordan.
You look busy,Noah had said instead. He hadn’t missed Jordan until Anna had stirred everything up, not only the fighting but problems he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge in his marriage. Something had been missing. He’d realized what it was, looking down at Jordan who was looking up at him, her smile so lovely, hercamigapping in her cleavage. In her eyes, he felt like a man again, not a dad or a doc. He hadn’t felt like that since the early days with Maggie, when they’d clawed each other in bed. But after the forty-pound bags of mulch, the double coupons, and the parents’ nights, they’d lost something that no amount of date nights could fix. He couldn’t say exactly when, because time was a funny thing, backwards and forwards, from the tradeshow to the courtroom and somehow all the same. Somewherealong the line he’d lost himself. He’d become a husband, not a man.
No-ha, wanna meet me for a drink later?
Why not?
Come to my room at eight, number 317. I’ll bring the scotch. You bring the ha.
Noah had felt an unaccountable thrill. Of course she’d remembered he drank scotch. She was what his mother used to calla man’s woman.
Suddenly another group of doctors had come over, and he’d watched as Jordan’s expression had changed, the sexy warmth morphing to a cheery professionalism, and it had struck him that maybe there had been a face that she’d reserved only for him, that she did still love him. He’d left the trade floor and attended the afternoon session and the breakout, taking notes, sipping iced water from the ugly plastic pitcher, eating butterscotch candies, and checking his phone to see if Jordan had texted. She’d been an inveterate texter, being young.
Noah had moderated the final panel feeling more alert than he had in weeks, on top of his game. He’d handled the question-and-answer session with dispatch, then had an obligatory beer with his buddies, but begged off going to the evening speaker. At eight o’clock, he’d knocked on the door of Jordan’s room, not completely surprised when she’d opened it wearing only a hotel bathrobe.
I knew you’d come, Jordan had said, taking him by the arm, phone in hand, and Noah had let her close the door behind him, and she’d come fully into his arms, standing on tiptoe to kiss him and press herself against him, her breasts naked against the laminated name badge with its red satin Moderator ribbon.
Ouch,Jordan had said, stepping back.Your name tag scratched me.
Oh, sorry. Noah had spotted a red welt above her magnificent breasts, and it had broken the spell. He wasn’t a guy who cheated in a hotel room, surrounded by a cheap coffeemaker, a scummy remote, and Spectravision. He’d had a laminated name badge with a red ribbon. He was the Moderator of Panel 2508, Childhood Asthma &Environment; Problems at the Playground. He was the guy they counted on for order. The guy who made sure nobody monopolized the session. The most responsible guy, of all.Thatguy.
What’s the matter, No-ha?Jordan had asked, confused.
I don’t know what I’m doing here.
Yes you do. Jordan had stepped toward him, raising her lovely arms, closing her eyes and opening her mouth for a kiss, but Noah had caught her wrist, stopping her.
No, don’t. I’m remarried. I’m a father.
You were a father before. Jordan had slipped her right arm inside his jacket and pulled her body against him, but he’d held her off, his hand on her shoulder, more firmly.
Jordan, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come. I can’t do this.
Yes, you can. Nobody has to know, just you and me.
Still I can’t. Noah had felt the words spilling out, he’d known he’d been talking to himself.
Come on, No-ha. Just this once.
