Dead Flowers | H.S.

the last bit of Harry + Jane

June 1st, 1974
Somewhere in New York City

"Finally! We're always waiting on you two," Marybeth exclaimed, kissing both of my cheeks before staining Harry's with her bright orange lipstick.

Paxton finished off his beer before winking at me from his seat, appearing tired and not at all ready to ship out to Africa in the next month like he was going to do.

"Rough week?"

"Rough life," Paxton answered while Harry settled in the metallic chair beside me, scooting close enough to keep a hand on my knee and wandering eye on my silhouette.

Marybeth was already ordering drinks for us, long brown hair twisting unfortunately between the wrath of her manicured nails while she spoke to the waiter. Paxton said something to Harry that I didn't catch and they laughed. I smiled at them, kissed Harry's hand, then watched the dance floor change from white to red to blue to green until my eyes began to cross. Alberto's Disco wasn't busy on Sunday nights, the night Paxton, Marybeth, Harry, and I all met up for some drinking and dancing before our hectic week began.

"What do you say, Jane?"

My cheeks became hot when I realized that an entire conversation happened and I hadn't heard a thing. Harry gave me a secretive smile and squeezed my knee while Paxton and Marybeth expectantly stared at me.

"To what?"

"Nixon!"

"Oh, fuck that guy."

"Hey," Paxton grinned while half-heartedly raising his glass, "I'll drink to that!"

Harry and Paxton talked about Nixon for a long time, mulling over his resignation versus the eventual impeachment. There were utters of cowardice and stupidity while I watched grooving bodies slowly devour the dance floor until the only time I saw the alternating lights was when it was reflecting off the sweat on someone's bare legs.

Harry leaned over, suddenly, and pulled my eyes away from the dance floor. Forehead against mine, hands holding my hips, nose grazing my cheek, we kissed. I carefully moved his long hair from his eyes and smiled up at him.

It attracted a wolf-whistle from Paxton and a longing glance from Marybeth, who hit Paxton on the chest.

"So," Marybeth started loudly after polishing off her third vodka cranberry as I nursed my glass of wine, "why aren't you two married?"

A knowing glance between Harry and I; then the clasping of hands, the hiding of laughter, the bumping of knees.

"Jane just doesn't want to anchor herself to Harry while she still has a chance with me," Paxton laughed, tipping his beer into his mouth with a messy gulp.

There was a roar of laughter from Paxton and hiccuping giggles from Marybeth. Harry rolled his eyes and then smiled at me, gentle.

"I don't see the point in it," I finally said, "we know we're going to be together forever. Why spend time and money on a day like a wedding when we could be spending it somewhere that matters?"

"Feminist hippy," Paxton accused teasingly.

"You forgot tree hugger," I taunted.

Just as Marybeth began to chatter about feminism and the implications of religion within femininity and bodily autonomy, and the lights lowered and the volume on the dance floor raised, Harry's hand raised to touch my inner thigh beneath the silver slickness of my dress.

"My audacious girl," he whispered. I shuddered against his breathy tone. "Meet me in the bathroom in five."

With that, Harry stood. He ambled to the bathroom, cool and confident. I watched with a dry mouth, wanting so badly for him to swallow me whole. I had to press my legs together when I stood up.