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 Jake and I
When I was a little girl I never ever said, “When I grow up I want to be the mistress of a world leader.” It never entered my head. I intended to meet my prince charming, get married, raise two children and live happily ever after. Life pretty much met my expectations until it took a wrong turn somewhere and I ended up in bed with Jake. What happened?
I’d never met Jake in person when I walked into the Pacific Regency Hotel in downtown Victoria B.C. He was on the other end of my cell phone giving me directions as I scanned the crowded lobby for the man I came to meet in person. I listened to his voice on my phone. “Look for a man about two meters tall wearing a black suit, Mariners baseball cap and talking on a cell phone.’
“There, there I see you.” I stood on my tiptoes and shyly raised one hand. A surge of relief surprised me. He was huge, bulky muscular, tall and hairy. His nose sported multiple bumps suggesting he broke it more than twice. His face held more scars than mine. I didn’t feel tempted. I broke into a huge grin.
“That is not me. That is Peter, my friend. I am upstairs. He will escort you up.”
“Look, I know we have been talking by e-mail for months but I do not like the idea of getting into an elevator with a man I do not know so that I can meet another man that I’ve only talked with by e-mail. It doesn’t seem safe.” I tried to remember to talk slow and distinctly to accommodate any limits he may have with the English language.
“Celia, you must get into elevators with men you do not know every time you ride in one. How is this different? You can take the stairs if you like but the elevator is faster and closer.” I confess his voice and his accent were doing things to my heart rate. Part of my brain noticed that at least I was getting a cardio-vascular workout. His voice sounded deep but soft almost melodic. I thought he must sing base.
“Of course, I am being silly. My mum is always cautioning me to be careful that I do not fall prey to kidnappers or terrorists.” I laughed a little to cover the fact that I was nervous and embarrassed. “I forget that I am not a young girl anymore.” He chuckled.
Peter’s voice carried the same accent as Jake’s as he made a slight bow before me. “Please Mrs. McKinsey, the elevator is waiting.” He seemed nothing but gentle and courteous as he held the elevator door open for me.
In the reflective walls of the elevator I studied my warrior guide. He projected a comforting presence despite his size. I wondered what made him comforting. It may have been the combination of compassion and sadness I saw in the lines around his dark brown eyes. He stood with military bearing. I thought that he was a man to be respected. His build and scars suggested that those who didn’t respect him might learn to regret their mistake soon. The few words he spoke downstairs sounded articulate but obviously not in his native language. I suspected that he might be an educated man. The cut of his suit jacket looked less crisp than a military jacket. It fit looser more like a college professor might wear.
The same walls reveled that I looked respectable and well groomed. The cancer scar on my upper lip was well hidden with makeup. I liked the way the copper tone walls turned the gray in my hair a soft, warm brown. Most of the time I thought the hints of gray more interesting than the mousy brown of my youth. I sucked in my tummy and tried to wish away the excess stress pounds. I double-checked my turtleneck for spots. It was the only top I owned that didn’t have a grease spot.
The elevator stopped at the penthouse floor. I, of course, expected it to stop one floor lower at the tearooms. Again I felt anxious but I resolved not to embarrass myself again. I almost heard my mother telling me not to make a scene and to try to get along. One of my mum’s favorite assurances comforted me, “Nobody ever looks at you anyway.”
When the elevator doors opened I stepped out onto a carpet so thick, I almost tripped. This lounge was designed to convey luxury. Large, pink copper mirrors on the walls alternated with some excellent artwork. I was distracted looking for a Leighton painting I read about in a paper at the doctor’s office. Allowing my attention to be divided between admiring the artwork and checking my appearance in the mirrors was a mistake. While I was distracted Peter propelled me through a set of double doors into a room filled with men.
Oh dear…oh my…time stopped. The earth stopped spinning. The room seemed full of overly large men but the man in the middle stared at me with his mouth hanging open. He recovered and smiled. The man in the middle was, well. He looked almost like someone I saw on the cover of every magazine in the doctor’s office and all those in the grocery checkout lanes. He smiled at me. He was ten times better looking than that other guy on the magazines. Peter the warrior introduced him to me, “Mrs. Celia McKinsey may I present President Jake Jaconovich.” The buzzing in my ears prohibited me from hearing the full introduction. I didn’t need to hear it. I wanted to cry. Where was my friend Jake? He said something soft in his native language, and the bodyguards melted away.
“Jake?”
“Celia? You are beautiful.” This great conversational opening was soon followed by several more equally inane observations. For two intelligent and well-educated adults, we were not presenting ourselves very well. My sense of justice soon allowed me to regain my composure as far as possible under the circumstances.
“You never told me that you are a president.”
“You told me that you were fat and had scars on your face.”
“But you are a president.”
“And you are beautiful so we are even. Popkin, I could not very well announce to everybody on the Care Givers list that I am a president. I would not get honest answers and I am afraid that I would get too much unwanted information.”
“But all those e-mails,”
“Yes that is why I wanted to see you today, to explain things to you. Please, be seated. Do you prefer coffee or tea?” I felt his arm against my back as he pulled a chair out for me at a cozy tea table. I was afraid my knees might give out at that slight touch. He continued the previous thought. “But you, I distinctly remember you saying you are overweight and have a cancer scar. For me to be entertaining a beautiful woman in my suite leaves me open to criticism for womanizing.” One of my hands went to my tummy and the other to my upper lip. If he didn’t notice these deformities, I quickly decided not to point them out.
“I prefer coffee please.” He gave another command in his melodious voice and a man appeared with a coffee carafe. I tried not to stare. This man wore no coat. I could clearly see that he carried a large gun in a shoulder holster. Handguns are a rarity in my country. I tried not to stare at the gun. I could see that this guard was smaller than Peter. He looked obviously physically fit. I decided that I wanted to look at President Jake.
“Thank you, I prefer cream and sugar. Everything looks lovely. I used to come here for tea with friends. The food is always excellent and frankly less expensive than the places that advertise high tea.”
“You say you used to come here. You do not anymore?” Jake seated himself, and our server put his napkin in his lap.
“Oh, I would love to get out, but the day program, where I used to leave Kevin, was discontinued due to budget cuts. Now, I need to take him with me when I leave home. He does not like to go out. I am fortunate to get away today.” I sipped my coffee. It tasted excellent. “One of Kevin’s friends from church came to stay with him. This is the first time one of the people who says, ‘Call me anytime’ was actually available.” I knew I was babbling. I decided to shut up. I smiled at Jake. Oops, looking at him caused me to melt. I decided to eat.
I couldn’t believe how good everything tasted. I loved the cucumber sandwiches and the tarts. “Please you must try the smoked salmon. It is a specialty here. It is so good that I am tempted to tell you it is foul and to eat it all myself but I will be good and share.” He laughed at this simple piece of silliness. We commented on the food and architecture of the city. He told me about his recent visit with my prime minister. As we finished our meal, he leaned back in his chair and focused his attention on me.
“How are you doing? Are you managing okay at home with your husband, Kyle or, Kevin isn’t it?”
“Yes, Kevin. He’s not well. His condition is worse than it was at this time last year.” I think that at this point, Jake pulled my chair back for me and we walked to the conversation area and sat on a love seat. At least that is what I assume happened. It could be that the world resumed turning at this point and the furniture shifted under us. I think I sat properly at one end of the green velvet love seat but the spinning of the earth made me disoriented. I reached the part of my woes where I told him how frustrated I felt at the lack of understanding of others for the realities of my life. “I do not get out often but that is not as bad as it sounds. When I meet people they always ask how Kevin is. If I say anything half honest their eyes glaze over and slide away from mine. These conversations usually end with a pat, trite platitude. My least favorite of these platitudes is,” I changed my voice to a supercilious nasal tone. “Well, dear, I am sure you’re doing fine and remember that you will receive jewels in your crown in heaven for taking such good care of dear Kevin.” I returned to my normal tone of voice. “Oh God, I want to scream at the platitudes. ‘I don’t want jewels in heaven! Give them to me now so I can pawn them and get enough money to hire some help around here!” Jake chuckled. I felt his breath warm on my hair. When did I move so close to him? When did he put his arm along the back of the love seat?
Jake’s eyes didn’t slide away from mine. They were dilated huge. What I saw of the iris was midnight blue. “What do you think needs to be done to help someone in your circumstances? What can I do to help my papa?” I asked him then about his father’s situation. I asked about what ministries the churches have for visiting the elderly. I looked into his eyes. I felt his arm slide around me holding me closer. “The truth is that papa is not so isolated as you are. I am the one he needs to see. I need my papa.” His voice sounded thick as he said these last words. He bowed his head and I felt his lips in my hair.
I panicked. Most women might wonder what kind of foolish prudery ran through my head to break things up at this cozy moment. I can only explain it was too much, too close, and too soon. My life reached at a point where I lived in terror that my weeping meltdowns might start attacking me in front of other people. I remembered I still needed to shop for my mum’s birthday. I confess, I also remembered that my underwear was ratty. I wore the best bra and panties I owned but the lace pilled and sprouted strings. “Um, Jake, I am enjoying talking to you but I cannot leave Kevin too much longer and I need to buy a birthday gift for my mother.” I felt as if I was fighting my way out of a marshmallow to get my limbs to respond to my command to stand up.
“May I go shopping with you? What are you going to buy?”
“I don’t know. I mean yes you can come with me.” I smiled. “I want to have your company while I shop. I have no idea what to get my mum. I think I want to get her something to wear. She buys all her clothes in second hand stores. I usually get her something new. I am not sure she appreciates new clothes. Sometimes if I get her something suitable for Christmas she will wear it on Christmas day.” Jake called his guards on a small radio he carried in his pocket. They were still pulling their coats on over their shoulder holsters and guns when they joined us by the elevator. I should add that they wore shirts and pants and shoes. It was just that the guns distressed me. I wondered if they were even legal. I didn’t know if my government allowed the security for a visiting president to carry handguns.
“Where are we going?”
“Most of the shops downtown cater to tourists. We have one decent mall. We have some decent stores outside the city now. I want to visit the mall.”
“What does your mum need most?”
“I don’t know.”
“What article of your mother’s clothing do you hate the most?”
“Her coat.” My answer sounded vehement. I didn’t pause or stop to consider. Jake grinned at me. “How did you do that so quickly? How did you know what question to ask?”
Jake laughed, “I was a prosecuting attorney for years. It is part of what I do to ask the right questions. I could have asked about your mum’s interests and tastes but I know you well enough to know that you can easily hit on the heart of an issue.”
“You know me?”
“Of course, I have been reading your blog and checking in on your website for over two years. I know how you handle questions people ask. I have witnessed your compassion for other’s problems. I recognize your passion…” here Jake stopped and swallowed. “I recognize your passion for helping others. If you buy your mum a gift that you feel passionate about, it will be right.” We took two of the cars he had with him to the store. I worried about parking but our driver dropped us at our door. He would come back when we were ready to leave. I wondered about Jake talking about my passion for my vocation. I wondered if he felt the same kind of passion that turned my brain to mush.
I’d seldom shopped with a man before. This experience was different from any other shopping experience. He totally engaged in the whole experience and asked a thousand questions. “Where are the clothes in this store made?”
“Mostly, England, Scotland and Canada. We have a few US brands.”
“How can you be sure the clothes are not made in factories that have human rights violations?”
“By reading the label. I know which companies are better than most. I cannot imagine human rights violations occurring in Scotland.” It didn’t occur to me then that he’d learned something important for his country.
“All these clothes have labels?”
“Yes sometimes they are hard to find but they must be there. We need to have information telling us how to clean the garment, what it is made of and where it is made.”
“What color are your mother’s eyes?” This question was prompted because we stopped to look at a rack of casual coats. A clerk came to help us. I told her that I was looking for a coat for my mum. Jake asked her questions. “It is late in the day. Have you been working all day?”
“No, I work evenings. I started my shift an hour ago.”
“Is it hard for you to travel after dark?”
“No not at all. I get on the bus when it is returning to the city after dropping off all the day commuters.”
“Is it safe.”
“Perfectly safe. The busses themselves are well lit. My neighborhood is safe and well lit. I never have any trouble. My route drivers all know me by name.”
“Do many people commute by bus?” I tried to focus my attention on my shopping. I really wanted to watch Jake. Somehow it comforted me to see that my clerk melted under the warmth of his gaze and his attention to her. I wondered if I looked that besotted when I talked to him.
“Oh look isn’t this beautiful?” I found a wool dress coat in a smoky blue. I thought of it as the blue of the Olympic Mountains across the straits on a day when the sun has not quite dissolved all the mists.
“That is very stylish.”
“I think it is perfect. It is even on sale which will make Mum even happier.” I stroked the beautiful wool. I thought I heard Jake growl. I looked into his eyes and thought about biting him on the neck and stroking the fabric of his wool suit jacket, up the arms and across the shoulder. I reminded myself that he was a married man. I paid for the coat while Jake discussed exchange rates with our clerk.
Our driver returned us to the Pacific Regency. In the dark car, Jake held one of my hands in both of his and stroked the underside of my wrist with his thumb. I knew I wasn’t going to recover from his touch anytime soon.
We arrived at the hotel. I sent the valet for my car. Jake waited with me. “I am so glad we got to meet and that you finally came out about your job. I suspect that at one time you may have told me that you were a civil servant.”
“So I am. I may be the highest-ranking civil servant in my country. I am the boss over the other civil servants, but that is what I am.”
“Oh don’t tease me with your lawyer technicalities. You are the president, and a very popular president if what I read is accurate.”
“My people love me. This is precious to me. I will do whatever I can to hold their trust.” His hand rested in the center of my back as he said this. I wondered if he had any idea how I felt. Was he trying to hint that he would not consider a relationship with me because of his people? I reminded myself again that he had a perfectly lovely wife. My car arrived. He assisted me into the drivers seat. “It has been wonderful meeting you. I fear my obligations will not allow us to meet again.”
“Yes, yes, of course, I understand.” I smiled and refrained from saying “Thank God,” or worse, “I want to have your babies.” The reminder of my ovarian cancer brought me half way back to earth so I remembered the polite phrases. “Thank you very much for the invitation and the tea. I needed to get out of the house and talk to someone who knows something about life with someone with Kevin’s illness.” He closed my car door and waved me off.
On the drive home, I felt as if I was flying at least a meter above the pavement. I cannot say exactly what he did or how. He listened to me when I talked about something. He kept touching me in little ways. He waited with me for the valet to bring my car. He held my hand. He touched my elbow. I rationalized to myself that he was just being courteous.
I composed a new mantra on my drive home. “Men from other cultures have different standards of personal space and courtesy.” I decided if I repeated this often enough I might be able to stop grinning before Lent. The different cultures mantra might eventually return me to my senses, but no cure existed for what having someone listen to me did to my poor heart and soul. I blushed in the darkness when I thought about how intently he listened to my rant about the silly things people say that hurt my feelings.
I walked in the door of my home to be greeted by Kevin’s friend who was not a happy sitter. “Look, I was happy to help you out this time but do not call me again. Kevin really freaked me out.”
“What did he do? Is he hurt? Was he inappropriate?”
“Nothing.” My sitter headed out the door.
“Please give me some hint of the problem in case he has more trouble or it is something I need to mention to the doctor.”
“When I was in the john, he took off all his clothes and then went outside. I had to chase him around the farm for an hour. He cut his foot. I was not able to clean it up. He didn’t talk to me. He kept touching my face with his hands.”
I felt quite cheerful when I replied, “Oh okay that doesn’t sound like anything serious then. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about making certain he is occupied with something before using the restroom and he suffers with feeling too warm. His illness causes him to feel too warm.” My sitter ran to his car. I called my thanks after him.
My first task was to see to the cut foot. I saw Kevin tracked blood all over the house. “Dearest, I’m home. I’m so happy your friend visited. It’s time for your bath now, then you can watch a movie.”
“Ah, um, um, bath, no, friend.”
“Yes, my love, a friend visited and you took him on a nice tour of the farm.” I was prepared for Kevin’s minor injuries with a spray local anesthetic. “You sit here and we’ll play spa. I’ll give you a pedicure. This will tickle a little.”
It took me well over two hours to get Kevin bathed and his foot bandaged. Then I needed to get him into pajamas and into bed. He kept wandering away if I turned my back. I sang to him to keep his attention. He liked for me to sing. “Sweetie, would you like for me to play the piano? Put your arm into the sleeve and then we will go to the sitting room and I’ll play for you. Remember, you like to hear me play the piano.” Kevin always liked to sit and listen to me play. Considering how poorly I play, I always considered his enjoyment of my playing to be a sign of his love for me. Now, playing for Kevin was one of the things that calmed him. I got him into his bed for the first time that night at about one AM.
The morning after, I still felt high but I started to shake. I don’t know why but I couldn’t stop shaking. Kevin slept in fits and starts all night. Any change in his routine upset him. My being gone for four hours totally threw him off. Kevin felt too fussy to sleep and I felt too high. I finally got Kevin to sleep about four AM and I managed a light snooze for two hours. When I got up, I tried everything to regain control of my emotions. The shaking scared me. I started working on my lists of things to do. Usually, my lists calm me. I thought the shaking might interfere with my ability to write. A funny thing happened with my penmanship. It looked beautiful. Even as I wrote quickly, my usual scrawl disappeared and beautiful round clear letters flowed from my pen. I used to write like that years ago before I married Kevin and started living with his son Kyle. One of the first things I did in the morning was write Jake a perfectly proper e-mail.
To: President Jake Sir From: Celia Subject: tea
I enjoyed meeting you in my city. Your kind invitation meant a great deal to this shut in. I am well aware you could have spent your evening with the lieutenant governor or the provincial premier.
In the spirit of full disclosure
Celia Louise Jones-McKinsey
To: Celia Louise Jones-McKinsey From: President Jake Sir Subject: Gratitude
The pleasure and gratitude for our evening together are all mine. I know it was difficult for you to find someone to stay with your husband. I did not stop to see your premier or your lieutenant governor. I stopped to see you. Your perspective is enlightening because you do not follow any party rhetoric. Way too many people tell me what they think I want to hear. I am constantly pressured to support this cause or that enterprise. Internationally, I am expected to be friends with the “right” people and ignore the “wrong” people. If I try to do what is best for my own people in international relations I am condemned as a dangerous dictator. I am exhausted by the lies, dirty politics, political pressures, and posing that seem to be part of this job. You are honest and refreshing. You make me smile. Thank you for a wonderful evening. Jake
I thought this would be the end of our relationship. The next day I got another e-mail from him.
To: Celia From: Jake Subject: Researcher
“Popkin can you give me the name and contact information for the researcher you mentioned. He was in San Francisco I think. Yours, Jake”
We resumed our previous pattern of friendly e-mails. I felt thankful for his friendship and kept telling myself it was nothing more than a long distance friendship. I didn’t admit to myself that the erotic dreams I enjoyed about Jake were an indication of my own vulnerability.
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