The Balance Thing

by Margaret Dumas

  “No,” I said firmly. “We’re talking about Connie. She’s a princess every day. I don’t think it’s that.” I paused. “Maybe it’s the dying alone thing.”

  “That’s not Connie’s thing, Becks, that’s my thing.” Vida looked a little embarrassed.

  “That’s everyone’s thing,” Max said.

  “Really?” Maybe I was a freak after all. “Not me. I’m much more afraid of spending my next thirty years with the wrong guy than I am of spending my last thirty days on my own.”

  “That’s because your fear of commitment thing is stronger than your dying alone thing,” Max told me. “Commitment, however, is clearly not a problem for Connie.”

  “No,” Vida agreed.

  “Trust me,” Max continued. “She just sees her ‘sell by’ date getting closer, and Ian looks like he’ll do.”

  “Ugh,” I groaned. “I won’t believe that of Connie.”

  “Happens every day,” Max said breezily. “Usually ends in divorce.”

  “Max!” Vida and I both protested.

  “She isn’t even married yet!” I said.

  “What?” Max said innocently. “That doesn’t mean we don’t love the pants off the girl. And it doesn’t mean we won’t have a very good time at the wedding.”

  After quite a bit more speculation we decided to call it a night, and Max gallantly offered to drive us both home. He dropped Vida off first, and when he pulled up outside my loft, he offered me a peck on the cheek and a promise.

  “In our next session we’ll deal with your fear of commitment.”

  “Please,” I said. “I’ve had plenty of discussions about what’s wrong with me lately. I don’t need your sham analysis on top of it.”

  And so what if I was afraid? As I unlocked my door, I remembered my grandmother’s advice, offered when my eight-year-old heart had been broken by Dean Hitzelburger in an inexcusable display of playground infidelity.

  “Becks, there’s something every girl should realize and realize early.” She’d lifted my chin so I could look straight into her bright violet eyes. “It’s better to be single than to wish you were.”

  Good for Grandma.

  Seven

  I returned home to a blinking light on my answering machine, which I ignored until morning. It wasn’t until the sun was fully up and the slice of cheesecake I’d hidden in my freezer started mentally announcing itself as a perfectly reasonable breakfast choice that I rolled over and hit the Play button.

  “Becks? Hi! It’s Chad Barlow. From PlanetCom.”

  Yikes! Had Rita not torpedoed me after all? I sat up and paid attention.

  “Look, I’m really sorry about what happened the other day.”

  The other week. Closer to two weeks, in fact. But I forgave him.

  “I couldn’t believe it when I heard what Rita said. Um…anyway, I’d like the chance to make it up to you. Are you free for dinner sometime? Maybe Thursday? Let me know, okay? I’d hate for you to get the wrong impression about everyone at PlanetCom.”

  A nervous laugh. Beep.

  Yes! Hope was not lost! Maybe the powers that be had decided my obvious marketing brilliance outweighed Rita’s overt hostility. They were wooing me! I mean, it wasn’t a request for a second round of interviews—it was a dinner meeting. Yes!

  ZUNI CAFÉ, NO LESS. When I’d called Chad back, he’d even offered to pick me up. Since I didn’t want to make it too social, I told him I’d meet him there.

  I loved Zuni. Aside from having amazing food, it was right down the street from one of my favorite bars in town, Martuni’s. If it had been a night out with friends, a nightcap at the Martuni’s back room piano bar would have been inevitable. But I didn’t think I’d be making that suggestion to Chad. This was business, after all. Business and drunken renditions of show tunes rarely mix.

  Chad was waiting at the bar when I came in, looking very sharp in a silky deep-blue striped shirt that he wore out, with the sleeves unbuttoned, over black leather jeans.

  Leather jeans? I hadn’t done the corporate dress thing either, opting for a lightweight cashmere sweater and simple A-line skirt, but I couldn’t imagine wearing leather jeans to a business dinner.

  “Becks!” His face lit up when he saw me, and as I got within range, he stood up and kissed me on the cheek.

  Kissed me on the cheek? What the hell was that about? Then I tuned in to what he was saying: “…really happy you didn’t let that stupid thing at work get in the way of going out with me.”

  Holy shit. Vida was right. I do need to be conked over the head before I realize someone is interested in me. And Chad Barlow had just conked me.

  I probably responded with something like “Um…hi” before the hostess saved my clueless ass by telling us our table was ready. As we walked around the open-fire oven toward the brick wall at the rear of the restaurant, I felt Chad’s hand resting proprietarily on the small of my back.

  Yep. This was a date.

  IT WASN’T HORRIBLE. Once I adjusted to the fact that this was a personal thing, I said a mental “Oh, what the hell” and ordered a martini.

  I spent some time kicking myself for being such an idiot, but it turned out I could do that while paying enough attention to Chad’s conversation to be polite. It was standard first date patter. How much he liked this place, had I been there before, what he liked to do, blah, blah, blah.

  But the oysters—I had said “what the hell,” after all—were amazing, and the wine Chad ordered with our roast chicken was quite nice, and after a while I found myself nodding and smiling and answering and chatting without even having to tell myself to.

  Okay, so it wasn’t fireworks and symphonies, but he was, when all was said and done, a nice guy. Good-looking even, in a prep school sort of way. And he had interests in things like art and music and movies.

  “But I have to admit,” he said over a shared slice of chocolate hazelnut cake, “I’m really a geek at heart.”

  “Big surprise,” I told him. “Let me guess, computer games?”

  He grinned. “Even worse. Comic books.”

  I felt a faint stirring of apprehension. “Could be worse. You could have an Internet gambling problem.”

  He laughed. “It’s not that bad. But I do spend a lot of time online. A lot of the best comics are Web-based these days.”

  Okay, definitely time to change the subject. “Gosh, this cake is good.”

  Not my best effort, I know. And it didn’t work. Chad blundered right out onto the minefield. “It’s the weirdest thing, but when I first saw you I thought we’d met somewhere before.”

  “Oh, that happens to me a lot,” I babbled. “I have one of those faces. People always think I used to be in a sitcom—”

  “No,” he marched on, “it’s not just your face—it’s your voice. It took me a while, but I finally figured out who you remind me of. Have you ever heard of an online comic, well, more of an animation, I guess—anyway, a superhero vampire named Vladima Cross?”

  I swallowed and gave him a completely blank look. “Vladima?”

  “It’s funny.” He forked the last bite of frosting. “Because I’d swear the guy who draws her must know you.”

  “Weird.” I wasn’t going to give him a single inch more. The last thing I needed was the news getting back to PlanetCom, and by extension everywhere else in the business world, that I was a cartoon blood drinker. My chances for a professional comeback would get a serious stake through the heart.

  Chad shot me a look from beneath his lashes. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into giving me a little bite on the neck?”

  I gulped the last of my wine. “Never on the first date.”

  I think I managed a smile.

  CHAD WALKED ME TO MY CAR. I knew what was coming. I just didn’t know how I should handle it. But as it turned out, Chad moved so fast I didn’t have time to plan anything anyway. Before I could get out a breezy little “well, this was fun,” I was being kissed. And rather well.

&nb
sp; He started with his hands lightly on my shoulders, then drew me closer when it was pretty clear I wasn’t going to back away and slap him. Things progressed until I was leaning against my passenger door and felt the tip of my tongue reaching out for him.

  Oops.

  He pulled back just enough to look searchingly into my eyes, and I knew. I knew I wasn’t interested. I knew he was a perfectly pleasant, good-on-paper sort of guy and that if I didn’t do something about it I’d probably end up making out with him tonight, and going out with him again, and sleeping with him on the third date, and probably taking him to Connie’s going-away party next week and introducing him to all my friends. And I knew I wouldn’t miss him in London, and I’d start looking for his flaws the minute I got back.

  If I didn’t stop this right now, I’d be just as date lazy as I’d always been. I’d be seeing him because he was into me, not because I was into him. And he wasn’t really into me anyway. He was into Vladima. And that would only get worse if he found out the truth. So I took a deep breath and did the decent thing.

  “Chad, I had a really nice time tonight, and you seem like a really great guy, but I just don’t think this is something I want to pursue.”

  I gazed up at him confidently, sure I’d done the right thing.

  He took a step back. He blinked and, I have to say, looked kind of stupid.

  “What?”

  Okay, I realized he’d lost some of the blood supply to his brain with that kiss, but really.

  “I just don’t think we’re right for each other,” I explained.

  “Are you serious? Did you really just say that?”

  “Yes, well…don’t get me wrong. I’m sure you’re a great guy, but…” I waited. It seemed to be taking him an awfully long time to get it.

  “Chad?”

  “I don’t believe you.” He seemed dazed. “I mean, Rita told me you were a bitch, but…”

  “Hey—”

  “She was right.” He shook his head, then looked at me again with narrowed eyes. “You’re such a bitch.”

  Surely the man had been rejected before? But something in his increasingly pissed-off expression convinced me that I might have been better off telling him something more tried and true. Something like “It’s not you—it’s me” or “I’m just getting over a really bad breakup.”

  Someone who says those things probably never gets called a bitch.

  “POOR BABY,” Max sympathized over the phone. “You do seem to be getting the bad reviews these days.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “And he couldn’t come up with anything more descriptive than ‘such a bitch’?”

  “You see why it would never have worked between us.”

  “No conversational skills,” Max agreed. “Still…”

  “I did the right thing!” I protested. “I was just shorthanding the whole affair. I saw the future, I didn’t want to spend my time there, and I thought we should leave it at that!”

  “Is that what you told him?”

  “More or less.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him it wasn’t something I wanted to pursue.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “You think that was the problem?”

  “It might be a little harsh.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It wasn’t harsh, it was just direct. Honest. Harsh would have been ‘I can tell we’re doomed to a short-term mediocre relationship, and I’d rather cut my losses now than indulge in yet another pointless timewaster.’”

  “Yes, well, that relies a bit too much on your faith that you can actually see the future.”

  “Believe me, I could. It looked remarkably like the past.” I groaned with the hideous unfairness of it all. “I thought I’d get points for this! I broke the date-laziness cycle!”

  “You get points from me, sweetie, and I’m sure you’ll get points from Con and Vee.”

  I sighed. “Yeah.”

  “But it’s probably a bit much to expect points from the guy you’ve decided to break the cycle with. Especially when you do it so…directly.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Anyway,” he suggested, his tone brightening, “why don’t we have lunch with the girls tomorrow? We’ll shower you with points.”

  “I can’t,” I moaned.

  “What? Have you got another date?”

  “Sort of.” I looked over at my coffee table and the script Josh had sent by messenger. “With a vampire.”

  Eight

  At the studio the next day it was business as usual. Except for the sword fight in the break room.

  I strolled up behind Josh, who was standing at the rear of the gathered crowd of minions. I hadn’t seen him since our talk at Wilde Oscar’s. He looked slightly better than usual. As if he’d managed to remember to both eat and sleep on the same day.

  Josh was absorbed in the battle currently raging between two of his senior staff members. Malcolm, one of the animators, was wearing his usual skateboard fashions and brandishing a medieval-looking broadsword. Alex, Vladima’s Web master, gave the action some class with his J. Crew shirt and a shiny new saber. I tapped Josh’s shoulder. “Who’s winning?”

  He jumped a little. “Hey, Becks. You’re early. We’re listening to the swords.”

  “Oh, darn. I thought maybe they were dueling over my besmirched honor.”

  Malcolm landed a seriously clanging swat on his opponent’s weapon. A small woman close to the action clapped. “That’s it!”

  “Let me guess—she’s your new sound effects person?”

  Josh nodded, not taking his eyes off the action. “As of two days ago. I fired Amy’s replacement. This is Raven. She’s great. Her sucking is classic.”

  In other offices that comment might be considered sexual harassment. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “Who besmirched your honor?” he asked.

  “Who hasn’t?”

  He shot me a look. “You’re suitably despondent today.”

  “I’m just trying to fit in with the cool kids.”

  The new sound effects artist yelled something, and the fight was over. Everyone applauded and headed back to their cubicles.

  “Raven,” Josh called. “Come meet Vladima’s voice.”

  The small woman approached, her face flushed with pleasure. “I think we’ve cracked it,” she announced, then gave her attention to me. “You’re very good when you’re very bitchy.”

  “Succinctly put, Raven,” Josh said. “This is Becks Mansfield. Becks, Raven Nightly.”

  I considered becoming very bitchy on the spot but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Raven was older than I’d thought from a distance, and there was something about the enthusiastic grin beaming from her weather-worn face that made it impossible to be offended by her calling me a bitch.

  Either that or I was getting used to it.

  JOSH AND I HEADED for the sound booth. I was there to work on a couple of promotional spots Josh was planning to place with some of the bigger Web sites and possibly run as commercials on a few cable TV stations.

  He’d pulled most of the vocals from previous features, but I still needed to record things like “Check it out” and “AOL users click on keyword Vladima.” It only took an hour or so.

  “That was great.” Josh’s voice sounded in my headphones. “I think we’re done.”

  “Hey, Josh, have you got a minute?” I spoke into the mike and looked over at him through the glass that separated the control room from the recording booth.

  “Sure. Come on over.” He took off his headset and motioned me into his studio.

  I wasn’t sure I should be doing this, but I figured it was now or never. I hadn’t realized I’d be so nervous about it.

  Josh looked apprehensive as I came in. “You’re not going to quit, are you?”

  My eyebrows went up. “Quit? What makes you think I’d quit?”

  He gave me a look.

  “Okay, so maybe I’m not Vladi
ma’s biggest fan, but I wouldn’t walk out on you, Josh.”

  “You wouldn’t?”

  I was probably as surprised as he was, but I realized it was true. At least until my real career came back from the undead. “Where else would I get paid to hang out and say ridiculous things in a tiny dark room all day?”

  “Well, when you put it like that.” He sank back into his chair and made a gesture for me to pull up the other one.

  It was pretty close quarters in there. Most of the room was taken up by the big mixing board that Josh manned when we were recording. Aside from that there was just enough space for the two chairs and some miscellaneous piles of junk—cords and extra microphones and assorted other hardware that I’d be hard-pressed to identify.

  Suddenly, this close to Josh, I felt completely awkward about what I was going to say. “Josh,” I began, “I really don’t know how to put this…”

  He looked away and began fiddling with some switches on the board. “Put what?”

  “It’s about the promotional spots.”

  He stopped fiddling. “The what?”

  I decided if he could avoid my eyes, I could avoid his. I picked up a piece of speaker wire and tried to make it into a neat coil. “I’ve been thinking about them.”

  “You have?”

  At least I’d managed to surprise him again. “The thing is, Josh…”

  “Yeah?”

  I could feel him watching me. There was nothing else to do but plunge ahead. I looked him in the eye. “They suck, Josh.”

  It had become clear to me as I’d been looking over the copy he’d sent the night before that, despite being a creative genius and everything, Josh was lousy at promotion.

  The question was, should I say anything about it? I’d never gotten involved with the business end of Josh’s enterprise. I’d just said my lines and scampered out of there as fast as I could. But he was a friend—sort of—and clearly he was awful at advertising. I could help. The question was, would he want me to?