BEING alone was something Jordan did very well, under most circumstances. When he was working, thinking about working, thinking about not working, he liked to fold himself into the isolation of hisSoHo loft:
Then, the life, the noise, the movement and color on the street outside his windows were a kind of film he could watch or ignore depending on his mood.
He liked seeing it all through the glass, more, very often more, than he liked being a part of it.
New York had saved him, in a very real way. It had forced him to survive, to become, to live like a man—not someones son, someones friend, another student, but a man who had only himself to rely on. It had pushed and prodded him with its impatient and sharp fingers, reminding him on a daily basis during that jittery first year that it didnt really give a goddamn whether he sank or swam.
Hed learned to swim.
Hed learned to appreciate the noise, the action, the press of humanity.
He liked its selfishness and its generosity and its propensity for flipping the bird to the rest of the world.
And the more hed learned, the more hed observed and adjusted, the more hed realized that at the core he was just a small-town boy.
He would forever be grateful to New York.
When work was upon him, he could drop into that world. Not the one outside his window, but the one inside his own head. Then it wasnt like a film at all, but more like life than life itself for however many hours it gripped him.
Hed learned the difference between those worlds, had come to appreciate the subtleties and scopes of them in a way he knew he might never have done if he hadnt stripped away the safety nets of the .old and thrown himself headlong into the new.
Writing had never become routine for him, but remained a constant surprise. He was always surprised at how much fun it was, once it all got moving. And never failed to be surprised at how bloody hard it was. It was tike having an intense, frustrating love affair with a capricious, gorgeous, and often mean-spirited woman.
He loved every moment of it.
Writing had carried him through the worst of his grief when hed lost his mother. It had given him direction, purpose, and enough aggravation to pull himself out of the mire.
It had given him joy and bitterness, and great personal satisfaction. Beyond that, it had provided him with a kind of financial security hed never known or really expected to know.
Anyone who said money didnt matter had never had to count the coins that fell between the cushions of the couch.
He was alone now, with theafterburn of Danas words still singeing the air. He couldnt enjoy the solitude, couldnt fold himself into it or into his work.
A man was never so lonely, he thought, as when he was surrounded by the past.
There was no point in going out for a walk. Too many people who knew him would stop and speak, have questions, make comments. He couldnt lose himself in the Valley as he could in New York.
Which was one of the reasons hed bolted when and how he had. And one of the reasons hed come back.
So, he would go for a drive, get awayfrom,the echoes still bouncing off the walls.
I loved you.
Jesus! Jesus, how could he not have known? Had he been that clueless—or had she been that self-contained?
r /> He walked out and climbed into his Thunderbird, gunned the engine. He felt like speed. A long, fast ride to no particular destination.
He punched in the CD player, cranked it up. He didnt care what pumped out, as long as it was loud. Claptons blistering guitar rode with him out of town.
He had known hed hurt Dana all those years ago. But hed assumed the nip had been to her ego, exactly where he thought hed aimed; Hed known he pissed her off—she made that crystalclear—but he assumed that was pride. If he had known she loved him, hed have found a way to break things off more gently.
Wouldnt he?
Christ, he hoped so. Theyd been friends. Even when they had been consumed with and by each other, theyd been friends. He would never deliberately wound a friend. Hed been no good for her, thats what it came down to. Hed been no good for anybody at that time in his life. She was better off that he had ended it.
He headed for the mountains and began the steep, twisty climb.
But shed loved him. There was little to nothing he could do about that now. He wasnt at all sure there was anything he could have done at the time. He wasnt ready for the Big Love then. He wouldnt have known how to define it, what to think about it.