Page 5 of Across the Universe

"Is everything okay?" Bill asks, taking a small step closer to Jeanie. "With you?"

Jeanie gives a single shake of her head as the mirrored ball overhead rotates slowly, throwing sparks on her bare arms and on the floor around her. "A night like New Year's Eve isn't the time to talk about what might be wrong, Bill," she says softly, finally lifting her eyes to meet his. "It's a night to celebrate the close of one year and the promise of a new one."

"Sure," Bill agrees, watching the soft curve of her cheek as she turns her head and looks across the room. "But if you're not good, then I'd like to hear about it."

Again, Jeanie shakes her head—just once—and turns eyes full of yearning back to Bill. "Go," she says. "Go find your wife."

But Bill doesn't go. Instead, he stays rooted to the spot as she walks away, her strong shoulder blades jutting out from her back as she lifts the hem of her long, black dress and cuts a path through the crowd on the dance floor.

* * *

A few more colleagues stop Bill to talk shop, to toast the new year, and to consider the possibilities ahead of them on the horizon. The whiskey in his hand is always replenished, and through the liquid fortification, Bill rides a wave of gregariousness that he doesn’t normally experience.

He’s laughing at something Vance Majors and Ed Maxwell are saying and watching a smiling Arvin North as he spins his wife on the dance floor, but Bill’s eyes continue to sweep over the dancing couples. There, near the bandstand, is Ted Mackey. His broad-shouldered back is facing Bill, but the arrogance of the man surrounds him like a bubble. Ted turns around with a woman in his arms, and Bill’s smile makes a crash landing when he realizes Ted is looking down into the eyes of none other than Jeanie Florence.

A rage boils up in him that is unparalleled. Jeanie and Mackey? No. This can’t be. There’s no way she would fall for the smooth, insincere charms of a man like Ted. Ted’s words run through Bill’s head as he watches them, remembering the tasteless way the man had talked about his nanny, the smug knowingness he’d exhibited about Apollo, and the inbred sense of entitlement that Bill absolutely cannot stand.

“Booker,” Vance is saying, nudging Bill with an elbow. “You think?”

Bill’s head snaps in their direction; he’s missed whatever it is they’re talking about.

“Yeah,” Bill says noncommittally. “Sure.”

“There you are,” Jo says, appearing beside him. Her eyes follow his to the dance floor and Jo bristles. “I’ve been looking for you.” Her voice takes on an edge that sets off alarm bells in Bill’s head.

Vance and Ed have stopped talking, and without warning, they vanish, moving away from Bill and Jo like two men who can sense marital discord from a mile away and want nothing to do with it.

“Oh?” Bill says, rattling his ice cubes once again. How does this glass of whiskey keep ending up empty? “I’ve been right here.”

“Here?” Jo spins on him like she’s angling for something. “You’ve been standing right here all evening, William Booker?” she says in a clipped tone. “Because I’ve been wandering around this damn ballroom, that’s full ofyourcoworkers, looking for you while you hide out elsewhere.”

“I haven’t been hiding.” Bill sounds defensive and he knows it. “I’ve been mingling.”

Jo folds her gloved arms across her torso; her chest is heaving slightly with the exertion of keeping her feelings in check. “I understand mingling, but I’m here as your wife. You can’t just leave me alone all evening.” The anger has turned to hurt, and Bill knows Jo well enough to understand that the hurt is what’s fueling her fire here.

“Hey,” Bill says gently, turning his whole body to her. He takes one of her elbows in his hand, holding his drink in the other; her arm is warm through the fabric of the glove. “I was talking to the guys, and I met this man from Connecticut—actually, as it turns out, he’s Barbie’s brother—and, I don’t know…” Bill shakes his head, trying to pick up the train of thought. He knows the fury is still in him over the interaction with Mackey, but the abundance of whiskey has somehow dulled the sensation and numbed his memory. “He really got under my skin.”

Jo is staring at him with flint in her eyes. She’s clearly still upset with him, but he knows that if he talks his way out of this, things will be fine.

“Anyway, he seemed to know more about my job than I did, and I just hated everything about him. The way he talked. The sound of his voice, I just?—“

“Is that the man dancing with Jeanie right now?” Jo asks flatly.

Bill deflates; he’s been caught, and he knows it. Somehow, through some busybody or other, Jo has heard about the kiss. Visions of his marriage falling apart collide in his mind like two asteroids making contact in space. Surely Jo has encountered one of NASA’s many secretaries in the ladies’ lounge. Perhaps she’d been in a bathroom stall and overheard them gossiping. Maybe when he’d spotted Jeanie and Jo together on the dance floor, Jeanie herself had been the one doing the unburdening, telling Jo Booker how sorry she was for kissing her husband. Each of these thoughts hits him hard, and he struggles to keep his breathing even.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Bill says carefully. “Jackass extraordinaire.”

“I see.” Jo waits. It’s a game of patience and steadiness, and she’s had next to nothing to drink all evening, so it’s almost certain that she’ll come out on top here.

“I just need to have a word with him,” Bill says, suddenly feeling unsteady on his feet. “I don’t want him running around, talking about things that are out of his purchase.” The words are thick on Bill’s tongue.

“Purview,” Jo corrects him.

Bill waves the hand holding the glass through the air and a few chips of ice fly out, landing on the wooden floor. “I just can’t stand the arrogance, you know? I’ve put in a lot of years, dedicated mylifeto this, and some kid whose dad is a senator wants to come down here and tellmewhat my future holds? I don’t think so, Jo.”

Wisely, Jo takes her husband by the arm and steers him toward the back of the ballroom. “I’m not sure we should stay until midnight,” she says disapprovingly. “You’re not in any condition at this point.”

Bill is chagrined at hearing his own wife talk to him like he’s one of their children. Her disappointment in him is palpable, and she leads the way, head held high as she strides toward the ballroom doors, ready to make their exit.

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