Page 15 of Jackie

“Come for the weekend. My mother will recite ‘Paul Revere’s Ride.’ ”

“Promise?”

As we walk by a Woolworths, he takes my arm and steers me in. “Come on.”

“What are we doing?”

“I’m going to buy you some jewelry.”

“You are not.”

“Earrings? A bracelet? What is it girls like you like?”

“Anything but a ring.”

He frowns and I laugh.

“You asked,” I say.

He walks past the jewelry counter, the women’s apparel with its bony mannequins, all the way to the photo booth at the back of the store. He digs into his pocket.

“Let me guess,” I say. “No change?”

He pulls out a nickel, a dime, two quarters.

“That was my change from Martin’s,” I say.

He puts the coins in the slot, pulls me into the little booth, and draws the curtain closed, his hands on my waist; I’m half in his lap, the seat too narrow. I can tell he likes that I’m close and that it undoes me a bit to be so close. He likes pushing that edge. The light flashes, a countdown, red light blinking, red light, a long solid green.

“Keep still, Jackie. Smile.”

His hand around my hip. I feel my body shift toward him. I want him to touch me, his face near mine, I can smell his skin, his hair. We stare at that little green light, the tiny orb of lens beneath it. He draws me tighter against him as the machine rumbles, gearing up, a funny jolting sound. It goes still. He leaps up. The photo strip starts to thread out. He puts his body between it and me.

“Jack, let me see.”

He takes the strip, holding it out of my reach.

“Too bad your eyes are closed.”

“In all of them?”

“Yep. No—wait. They’re open here, this last one, but it’s not too good. You won’t like it.”

“Jack, let me see.”

He smiles, the smile that says, You want to see? Then come get it. He starts down the aisle, heading toward the exit. He walks fast, his stride long. I run to catch up. When we reach the street, he shows me the strip.

“My eyes aren’t closed. Those are nice. Really nice. Let me see.”

He tucks them into his pocket. “You saw.”

“Let me keep one.”

“Nope, these are mine.”

“It was my change from lunch.”

We keep walking. That light electric current between us heightens. I can feel it, we both feel it; he takes my hand, his fingers braid loosely through mine. His index finger runs lightly through the center of my palm, intentional, sensual. I let my body brush against him as we walk.

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