The Big Smoke

Chapter Eleven: New York State of Mind

Woodward Gallery, Manhattan, New York

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Jamie asked thoughtfully in a tone so soft I had to look at his face to discern his intent for asking. He was being attentive and I had a feeling it had to do with the formal dress I had on that differed from my usual denim-related clothing.

"Yes,"  I murmured, sitting down next to him as I looked around at the event, then I trailed off with my thoughts unintelligibly. I plucked the olive off of his drink's toothpick before placing it down onto the free napkin.  I had mentioned something, but I myself wasn't paying attention as I had to use all my concentration to keep my eyes off of Jamie.  He had no issue drinking in my figure, but I felt too shy to do the same to him now that he was in a suit.

"Is that what you want?" Jamie asked, even though I thought he hadn't picked up the end of my mumbling, "I didn't even know that's something you would want to do."

"Does that surprise you?"

"Honestly..." He looked for my eyes, asking if I truly wanted to know. Of course, I did and he knew that. "Yeah, it does. You don't seem like the dancing type."

"I'm not," I shook my head, finally finding enough courage in the movement to look at him. But it was fleeting as I jutted my chin towards the small dance floor and the people accumulated on it, "They just make it seem so appealing."

"Well then," Jamie started to rise with a deep breath, "Let's go dance."

"Jamie, no," I let out a brief laugh of disbelief, my eyes flashing up to him, nervous about his proposition, "I don't actually want to dance, it was just-

His hand was already extended to me, essentially leaving me no room to say no. I stared up at him slightly dumbfounded by his easiness. He looked almost perfect, just missing his signature cigarette hanging from his lips. I twiddled with the edges of the napkin on the table before succumbing. I wished it felt like a trap, I wish something about taking his hand in mine felt wrong, but it only further motivated me to follow him.

"It's nice being your height," I commented as I stood confidently in my heels for the night.

"Just about."

"If you step on my feet I'm going to take it personally," Jamie joked as he led my hands to rest behind his neck. He always had such a calm, confident demeanor, even now as his hands encircled my waist. I wondered if he ever felt shy, the way he was making me feel now.

"Now I want to step on them on purpose," I chided, becoming more comfortable in this embrace with each sway. "You know," My mind started to ease, but ultimately I ended up confessing to Jamie, "I'm proud of you."

Nonchalantly, I shrugged and averted my eyes as if I were embarrassed by my own confession. But in all honestly, it felt like a huge weight was lifted off of my chest. Something that had been weighing me down since I had met him. But Jamie was nothing of the sorts when he confessed his own, "I was hoping you were."

I was surprised he was able to hide this from me so well with my constant need to rummage through his things which included his calendar. I saw a few things scratched out, some more travel plans, and naturally doodles he probably made while on hold a few times. But nothing indicated a semblance of a hint towards an entirely independent art exhibition. It wasn't like we spent every second together, but I thought I knew what he did. I thought that I had started to learn the ins and outs of how he worked, but something didn't sit right with the fact that I didn't know up until about a week ago because his nerves got the better of him. A speech was expected and I was just across the hall, the perfect person to practice with.