“Hey, are you doing anything tonight?”
Nick popped into her mind. Glad he was out of town, she thought, ‘Thank you Dallas audit department’.
“No plans,” she said nonchalantly, aiming for a casual demeanor, although her heart was racing.
“I have an extra ticket to this show at the Paradise. My buddy was supposed to come with me but he got sick. I was going to sell his ticket outside the show, but you could come with me instead. It’s a reggae show, four really great bands. You interested?”
“Sure, that sounds fun. Why not?”
“Exactly, why not?" He nodded his head in agreement. "Cool.”
The train pulled into North Station and as they got up to exit, he put his hand on her back, guiding her through the train station towards the subway. When it got really crowded on the stairs to the Green line, he grabbed her hand. “Yo. Follow me." They slipped through the crowds, down the side of the stairs, stopping by the tracks to wait for the next train. He didn’t let go of her hand. He pulled her closer. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m starving. I only had a peanut butter sandwich for lunch.”
“I know a Mexican place on the way to the Paradise. You like spicy food?”
She nodded her head yes. “Do they have margaritas?”
“Of course they do. Hey, have you ever tried peanut butter with nutella?”
He asked if she minded sitting at the bar. “I really prefer it.” Taking his hat off, he bent over, shaking his shoulder length hair then stood back up, pushing his hair off his face. His curly bangs kept tumbling onto his forehead and he finally gave up trying to push them back. “Hat hair, ” he laughed. His hair was thick and wavy, very luxurious. Unlike some guys with ratty, stringy long hair, it looked clean and soft. She was sure some girls were very envious of that head of hair. She wanted to touch it, run her fingers through it. She was pretty sure it smelled good too. The evening was turning out really well. “I prefer the bar too, much more social.”
“Word.”
She shook her head. He talked in surfer dude lingo but knew what a double entendre was. They ordered nachos and chili rellenos to share and a pitcher of margaritas. She told him about college and her trip cross-country with Katie. She mentioned how she really liked Oregon and was not sure why she moved back. She didn’t mention Nick.
He told her about traveling to Australia and New Zealand after finishing his apprenticeship. He did some surfing. He loved to surf, which is why he wanted to move to L.A., along with being a best boy. When he was getting ready to leave New Zealand, he got the opportunity to go to Vietnam where he surfed for two months.
“That is so awesome. Did you like it there?”
“It was bonus. This guy I met just invited me at the last minute. The surfing is gnarly and the hotels and food are so cheap. You gotta go.”
“I would love to. Hey, how do you get back to Newburyport tonight? Don’t the trains stop early?”
“Yeah, it’s a bummer. The last train out leaves at midnight, which means I would have to leave the show early to catch the train. But I have a friend in Cleveland Circle who told me to give him a call anytime I need a place to stay. He usually hides a key for me if I’m gonna be late. I asked him to take my buddy’s ticket and join me, but he has a hot date tonight. Hey, he probably lives near you.”
The bartender brought their food. “So what are you writing about?” He was serving up food from the platters for the two of them.
“Well, I started a screenplay about a group of underemployed college grads living in Portland. It was based on my roommates and me. I thought it was pretty funny, but then that show came out. Portlandia?”
“Oh, yeah. Well just move the characters to a different city, like Boston.”
“That’s true. But then it would be like Cheers, and if I move it to New York it’s Friends.”
“Those shows are old, and you know what they say. There are only so many stories in the world. It’s all in the telling of the story. Your version of the story.”
“You’re right. I got so bummed out, like the writers of Portlandia stole my idea by osmosis. One of my roommates was even a standup comedian, like that character that bombs out in his one-man stage performance? The whole thing got me so discouraged, I got writer's block.”
“That happened to me too. I wrote a song and Jack Johnson stole it. Seriously. It was that song Flake, about maybe really meaning no.” He softly sang a few lines.
“You really do have a nice voice.”
“No, I don’t, but thanks. Anyway, my Mom always used to say that. She’d ask me to do something or tell me I should take advanced math, stuff like that, trying to get me to push myself and I’d always say maybe.” Using a bossy Mom type voice, he said, "I know that maybe really means no. You can’t fool me. So I wrote a song about it and whatta ya know, Jack Johnson writes a song about it. Unreal. How does that happen? You might be right. It could be osmosis.”
The evening just kept going like that. He was so funny and relaxed. He seemed to understand or anticipate everything she said. It was as if she’d known him all her life.
On the way to the club, she was lost in thoughts about how the evening was going to end. She definitely didn’t want it to end. They’d be taking the same train to Cleveland Circle. Should she ask him to come over for one more drink? She did a quick inventory of her apartment. Were there any photos of Nick in the living room? She didn’t think so. They didn’t have any personal photos displayed around the apartment. What about the bathroom? Nick usually kept his things in his shaving kit because he’d been traveling a lot lately, so he would have that with him in Dallas. She used the guest room as her writing room, where they also had a double bed. It would be really bad to stay in the master bedroom she shared with Nick. What was she thinking? She knew this whole train of thought was really bad. She was planning to bring another guy back to the apartment where she lived with her boyfriend. But she also knew she didn’t care. She felt his elbow nudge her arm. She smiled up at him. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Do you blaze?” He passed her a joint. She took a big hit, trying to relax and not get ahead of herself, just let the evening take its course.
* * *
The club was packed and the music was loud, everyone dancing. They were standing in the middle of the crowded room. She was craning her neck around a tall guy in front of her. The Best Boy leaned over and shouted in her ear, “Can you see anything down there?”
“Not really, but I can get closer. Stay right with me. I’m good at this.” Grabbing his hand, she pulled him close behind her. Nudging the tall guy, he turned to look down at her as she smiled back at him. He moved a little to his left. They slipped into the open space and continued working their way forward until she got to the stage, pulling him along right behind her.
“You really are good at that. I’m stickin’ with you, babe.” He wrapped his arms around her waist. She turned her head to look back at him and as she did, he kissed her. Whispering in her ear, he murmured, “I’ve been waiting to do that since the train pulled out of the station.” A lock of his wavy hair fell across his face. She reached to push it back. It was as soft as it looked.
The last song of the evening was a cover of Mellow Mood, one of her favorite Bob Marley tunes. They were at the back of the room now, where it was cooler and not so crowded. He took her beer glass, putting it down on a nearby table. Reaching out his arm, he grabbed her hand, twirled her around and swung her under his arm, pulled her close and put his other arm around her waist. They danced to the mellow love song.
I HAD A DREAM LAST NIGHT
Home from the wine emergency, Sophie sat in Ray’s recliner, watching the movie Blue Valentine and drinking another glass of wine, the bottle of cabernet on the table next to her chair. Once in awhile she spoke out loud to herself.
“Oh my God, look at his hands. They have paint on them. He paints houses for a living.”
“Their marriage is disinteg
rating. Why am I watching this?”
“This is my life.”
“This is so sad. My life is so sad.”
“My marriage is falling apart.”
When Ryan Gosling played the ukulele in the storefront doorway, she rewound the DVD and watched it again. “This guy is so cute. Is this the guy from The Notebook?” She also rewound the oral sex scene, twice.
Getting weepy, she poured another glass of wine. The movie ended with her quietly sobbing as she shut the TV off. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, got a glass of water and went up to bed alone.
* * *
Sophie was asleep, stretched corner to corner in the queen size bed, wearing a T-shirt and undies. It was dawn, still a little dark in the room. She was dreaming.
She was in a nightclub, dancing with friends. She was young, in her twenties. A boy was watching her from over at the bar. He looked an awful lot like The Actor in the movie she watched just before she went to bed. He was wearing a black leather jacket, white T-shirt, and jeans. Catching her eye, he smiled, joining her on the crowded dance floor. She sensed she knew him, that he was her boyfriend. He walked up to her very confidently, smiled and grabbed her by the waist. They began to dance erotically, holding onto each other and kissing, laughing, flirting. She had one leg bent and was wrapping it around him. As he put his hands on her butt, she hopped up, wrapping both her legs around him. Holding her and rocking to the rhythm, he slid one hand under her shirt, stroking her back.
The dream jumped to the interior of a jeep in the parking lot of the nightclub. In the weird world of dreaming, they were somehow making it from the front seat to the back of the jeep without encountering any obstacles. The Actor undressed her, pulling her jeans down and lifting her T-shirt over her head, as they inched their way back. He moved his hand along her bare leg, kissing her stomach. They began to make passionate love.
Sleeping Sophie was in her bed, tossing around, apparently aroused. Sunlight filtered into the bedroom through the lace curtains. Her eyes drifted open and shut as she moaned and rolled over, trying to go back to sleep and recapture the dream. She felt herself bouncing and floating around the room. As she rolled onto her back, her eyes popped open. She stared up at the ceiling, the echo of the dream brushing her skin.
Pushing the vacuum around the living room, she gazed out at the deck towards the river, leaves blowing across the yard, and noticed the outdoor furniture, minus the cushions. She knew they were stacked up behind the couch, which was covered with a pile of folded laundry. Getting some large black garbage bags from the kitchen to stuff the cushions in, she carried them out to a shed past the deck, then one at time, brought the chairs to the shed, disturbing a squirrel who had made his winter nest in the corner of the old concrete block building. The wind whipped her hair across her face. Coming back in the house, she shivered as leaves from the deck blew across the floor she just vacuumed. She put the folded clothes in a laundry basket and carried it upstairs. Lying on her bed, she closed her eyes, drifting off between wakefulness and dreaming.
* * *
Young Sophie entered a subway car in Boston, listening to her IPod. She had long brown hair and her silver bracelets and hoop earrings caught the light from the harsh overhead lighting. She was wearing faded jeans, a Che Quevera T-shirt and a flannel jacket with a soft fleece lining. The Actor was sitting across from the door as she entered. He was in jeans, a black hoodie, jean jacket and boots.
He looked up at her, was instantly attracted and smiled. She didn’t notice, she was looking down at her IPod, selecting music and walking down the aisle to a seat running along the side of the subway car. The Actor got up and followed her, taking a seat perpendicular to her, his legs bumping hers. She looked up and he said, “Sorry.” He smiled. She smiled back and took a map out of her backpack, studying it. The Actor tapped her on the knee and asked, “Where are you headed?” She looked up again. “Government Center.”
“Me too. Are you going to the rally?”
“Yes, I am.”
“You can walk with me if you like. I know where it is.”
“Sure, why not.” She laughed, folding her map, looking him over, assessing him. He was very attractive and had a really nice smile and a twinkle in his eyes. "Yes, why not," he said.
Her dream drifted, they were talking, leaning towards each other. He put his hand on her arm and pointed to a sign above the seats across from them. Covered with graffiti, the people in the advertisement were made up with funny faces, mustaches and large glasses. He looked at her, widening his eyes in a very inquisitive, endearing way. Almost as if he were asking, “What’s up with that?” They laughed.
Arriving at the Government Center stop, he took her hand, pulled her up from the seat and said, “Come on.” They wove their way through the large crowd of people, some wearing Obama ’08 buttons or carrying signs. He took her hand. “This way, it’s less crowded.” She bumped up close to him, grabbing his arm with her other hand.
Sophie rolled over in her restless sleep, moaning, trying to hold onto the dream.
She was in a studio apartment in a small galley kitchen with The Actor. He cooked spaghetti and meatballs while she drank a beer, leaning against the counter. They were flirting with each other. He was waving a wooden spoon in the air while he talked and laughed. She was clearly fascinated with whatever it was he was talking about.
She heard a song coming from her IPod, setup on a docking station in the living room. She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the other room, where they started to dance.
A HAT TRICK
They were riding above ground on the Green line, down Commonwealth Avenue towards Cleveland Circle. Her stop was the next one. They already exchanged cell phone numbers. He asked her if she was on Facebook and she said no. She needed to get on the computer ASAP and close her account. She didn’t want him to see she was in a relationship with Nick. And if she removed her relationship status, Nick would see it. She thought it must have been easier to have an affair before the Internet. Was that what she was doing? Planning to have an affair? She never pictured herself as That Girl.
“Is your place right on Comm Ave?” he asked.
She snapped out of her reverie. “Huh? Oh no, it’s about five blocks up that way.” She pointed out the window of the subway car. The snow was still coming down steadily. It had been like that ever since she left work. “Then two blocks to the right. I’m closer to Beacon Street. I usually take that line home, but we were on Comm Ave and I can get there from here.”
He frowned, looking concerned. It was after one, the streets were empty. “That’s a long way. I’m gonna walk you home.”
“You don’t really have to do that. There won’t be any more trains at this time of night and it’s a long walk from my place to the Circle. This is a safe neighborhood. I’ve done it by myself plenty of times.”
“Hey, I’m not taking no for an answer.” He made his blackjack player’s signal from earlier in the evening, placing his hand over hers. “You shouldn’t be walking around alone like that late at night.” She didn’t protest. She wanted him to walk her home, already deciding she was going to invite him in when they got to her apartment.
* * *
Once inside the apartment, she gave a quick look around in case there were photos she forgot about. He let out a long, slow whistle, pointing to the bay windows with the seat looking out at a park across the street and the beautiful woodwork.
“This is a nice place.”
“Thanks, my roommate found it and she pays two thirds of the rent because her parents help her.” Lying didn’t seem like it was going to be a problem for her. Where was this coming from?
Pointing to the master bedroom door, which thankfully was closed, he whispered, “Is she here?”
“No, she’s away on business. Would you like a beer?”
“No, thanks, I’m all set. What does she do?” He looked around curiously, checking out the sofa and the giant flat screen TV Nick splu
rged on with his first bonus check.
“Accounting. She makes good money. Most of this stuff is hers. The old stuff is from my parents' house in Vermont before they moved to Florida.”
“You’re from Vermont? Do you board?” He seemed nervous. He was rocking on his feet.
“I ski. I learned when I was little and got pretty good, so I never wanted to go back to being a beginner on a board. I beat most boarders down the mountain.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I could see that.” He looked down for a minute. “Hey, I’m not really good at this. I had a girlfriend for three years. About a year ago, she got a job in New York and bounced. She told me it was time to move on. I haven’t really been dating much since getting burned, just hanging with my buddies and working a lot. Saving money ‘til it’s my turn to bounce to L.A.”
“That’s OK. I had a really nice time tonight. A really, really nice...”
He leaned in, cupped her face with his right hand while running his left hand through her hair. He kissed her, long and deep. She put her arms around his neck, running her hands through that really soft hair of his, responding with equal intensity. She moved her left leg around his right one. He reached down with both hands to grab her butt, as she hopped up and wrapped her legs around him. His voice deep and husky sounding, he asked, “Where are we going?” She nodded towards the guest bedroom.
* * *
The alarm went off at six in the morning. Still dark outside, she moaned and as she came to, she realized she was in the arms of the boy she met last night. She rolled away from him and groped for her cell phone on the night table. “That’s annoying,” she mumbled, shutting it off.
“Hmm. Hey, get back here.” He rolled on his side and reached for her, but she hopped out of bed.
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Hurry back. I need you.”
When she got back to the bed, she was wearing a silk bathrobe. Lying with his arms behind his head, his eyes were wide open. Pulling himself up on his elbows, he asked, “Where you going?” His voice was groggy. He had some seriously sexy bed head going on and she wanted to jump back in and pounce on him.
The Reverse Commute Page 7