Tempted

by Cj Paul

  Feeling as though I could take wing, I flit down the sidewalk, giddy in love. On a whim, I decide to pop into an eatery I’ve not been to in ages, the Fog City Diner. The first time I went there was the day I met Danielle. The memory comes into vivid focus, just as everything is doing at the moment, this moment governed by love. I think about Danielle’s parents and send a little prayer to them as they face their first holiday without their daughter. I think of my own parents and how they must have felt during our first holiday without Erica. I am so grateful to have had the parents and beautiful sister I was blessed with and have never felt more love for them than at this very moment.

  As the diner comes into view, my thoughts return to my lunch with Danielle. We had a power lunch, both nervous as all-get-out, and as a result, tried to act uber professional. Just as I did on that auspicious day, I order the Prawn Cobb salad with tarragon buttermilk dressing, plus an order of their famous cheddar biscuits with rosemary apple brown butter. The serving is enormous and the only way I was able to finish it was with Danielle’s help, because she was on a new diet and only ordered tea. The upshot was that she kept snitching from me the entire meal. Even then, she was on me about my love life. She asked me if I was single and made a comment about finding me a man. I smile to think about how happy she would be to hear about Alex. And I can’t wait to talk to Alex again, to tell him all that is in my heart. And to say those words I should have told him months ago: I’m in love with you, Alex.

  Just as I reach out my hand to open the diner’s front door, a rowdy trio exits in a cloud of alcohol, barreling into me and knocking me down. The two females of the threesome laugh hysterically at my plight. This has ‘fail’ written all over it and I fear a viral appearance on Youtube. The male member of the group busts up laughing too, and manages to blurt out, “You okay down there?”

  I look up to see two scantily clad women bearing cosmetically altered breasts the size of their heads, orangey air-brushed tans, and hair teased so ferociously as to add four inches to their height. There they stand, pointing and laughing at me, each of them tucked beneath one of David’s arms as he looks at me blankly through glazed, lifeless, apathetic eyes. It takes him a moment to realize it’s me sprawled on the pavement beneath him, struggling to get up. Wordlessly, he looks to the ground, and turning, ushers the giggling girls down the street, never stopping, never looking back.

  Chapter Forty-FourI spend the morning watching a spider weave a web outside my sunroom window. I’d never noticed before what precision and care goes into constructing such an elegant and effective trap. I marvel at how strong the structure is, how it holds up to the heavy weight of morning dew, the constant wind threatening to collapse it before it’s done.

  Little wonders like this entrance me now like never before. Colors are richer, sounds are clearer, and all is bathed in beauty and light and love. I’m glad for a diversion to occupy my thoughts and to keep me from looking to the clock for confirmation of Alex’s return. I have so much I want to tell him, or rather, discuss with him. I really do want to hear about him for once, too. I don’t remember the last time I gave him the space to tell me about his day, the things he does, the people he cares about.

  I smile and wiggle my Bugs-slippered toes at the thought of his daily life because I know how much I want to be part of it. On the way home from the city last night, after the run-in with David – the one I envision being our last – I searched my soul more deeply than I’ve ever thought possible, and did my best to adopt a ‘What would April say’ mindset. When in April mode, the answer as to what to do came quickly and directly. “Go to him.”

  Alex’s own words from long ago fill my thoughts: “I love you, and don’t want you to come to me until you are completely ready. In every way. Because once you come, I have no intention of ever letting you leave. I get the feeling you’re not quite ready for that right now. But, I believe in my heart that I'll know when you're ready. And then I'll have you.”

  I know now – I’m ready. There is nothing holding me back. No Mom to take care of, no David to be deluded and disappointed by. My show can be broadcast anywhere. The only issue is the menagerie. A light bulb goes off.

  * * *

  Delores Feldman is an imposing figure. She is quite gracious and friendly, but I somehow feel like a noisy student who is about to be shushed by the librarian when I’m in her presence. I’m unable to refer to her as anything other than Ma’am. So, seeing her down on her hands and knees, on the floor, cooing ‘koochy koochy koo’ to Daphne is a sight too surreal to be believed. I explain to her that I will be taking a trip, and ask if the menagerie can stay at the facility during my absence. I’ve brought Mom’s buddy Daphne along to plead my case for me.

  Delores apologizes profusely, saying that while the Meadows residents love the pets, she really can’t allow them to stay for any sort of extended period of time. She then asks the nature of my trip. “Are you going for business, dear? Is this about your show? I hope your ratings haven’t suffered too terribly now that your mother is gone.”

  “No, Ma’am...umm...I’m going to New York to meet the love of my life.”

  Delores is silent and her lips begin to twitch. For a moment, I think she may erupt like a fissure, and I regret having ever made the request. When she at last speaks, she is like the captain of a submarine trying to dodge torpedoes or steer clear of underwater icebergs. She snaps immediately into action and commands, “Judy, call Isaac the groundskeeper and tell him we will need a pen for a turtle, and a dog run. Kathy, please add food for the pets to the shopping list.” Then she presses the button activating the facility’s intercom system. “Attention all residents of Redwood Meadows, Lana Eden’s grandbabies are going to be staying with us, indefinitely.”

  A rousing cheer echoes down the corridors and I know I’ve made the right decision. April would be proud. And Mom would be thrilled silly.

  “Now what about your house, dear?” she asks.

  “Oh my!” I hadn’t even thought about the house.

  Ma’am Delores wastes no time. “Frank Jergins, please come to reception. Frank Jergins to reception,” she announces, giving me a slight nod and a knowing smile as we wait.

  A moment later, an elderly man waddles up to where we are standing. “You called for me?”

  “Frank, this young lady would like to speak with you.”

  His face lights up.

  “Tell him, dear.”

  “Ummm. It’s nice to meet you?”

  “Frank, Claire here needs her house sold. She is going to New York to meet her great love. While the house is on the market, she will need someone to look after the gardens. Can you see to it?”

  “I’ll make a call,” he says smiling at me, then waddles away in double time.

  I stand slack-jawed as Ma’am Delores hugs me, turns me around and tells me to scoot and meet my destiny.

  Wow. I hadn’t even bothered to consider what to do with my house. Fortunately, my inheritance from Mom more than covers the monthly payments.

  Back at home, I begin inventorying the menagerie’s things: toys, chews, balls, food, treats, favorite pillows and blankets. A wave of emotion overtakes me, and I feel at once heavy-hearted, hopeful and grateful.

  Once everything is in place, I boot up my laptop, searching for any signs of Alex, though I know he is incommunicado. Nothin’. My next order of business is to arrange for transport to the east coast, and I begin a vigorous search to find a direct flight at a reasonable hour. Based on his schedule, I know that Alex’s first chunk of time alone is the week before Christmas, about three weeks hence. I find a flight that meets my criteria fairly quickly, and consult the menagerie for their input. They seem to know something unusual is going on, but since none of them are out of sorts or getting into mischief, I take it as a unanimous vote of ‘aye.’ Then I put the question to the April test and determine unreservedly that she would say that if I didn’t get on a plane, she would come home to the states and put me on it herself.
I click the purchase button and the deed is done. One non-refundable airline ticket to NYC. No turning back now. Besides, if anything goes wrong, at least I will get a trip to Manhattan out of it.

  Dear God, please don’t let anything go wrong.

  * * *

  I sleep fitfully, too excited to turn off my mind or heart. At 8am sharp, a representative from Frank Jergins’ real estate conglomerate arrives to assess my house and needs. She is a smartly dressed, perfectly coiffed woman named Jill, and she is just as nice as she is well-groomed. She gives me a list of things to accomplish prior to my departure, and I am thrilled to have something to do to get my mind off counting down the time until Alex is reachable, presumably tonight. I rehearse a dozen different scenarios imagining what I’m going to say to him, each time becoming too giddy to finish the scene in my head.

  I arrange to take my beloved babies to The Meadows the morning before I leave. They are all the family I have, and I want to spend as much time with them as possible. I wonder what they make of all the packing I’m doing and the string of strangers tromping through the house to spruce it up before I go.

  The day drags on, and as the sun goes down, my enthusiasm builds. I’m beside myself with joy and cannot wait another moment to speak with Alex. We had agreed that he would ring me from the car on his way home, so I expect a call anytime now.

  Much to my disappointment, minutes turn to hours without hearing from him. I know Alex has done nothing wrong, but still, somehow, I am mildly disconsolate. I fall asleep in tears, an emotional wreck from the intensity of all that’s been going on internally.

  I awake the next morning and check my phone. Nothing. I crack open the laptop and urgently search my messages.

  1:30am

  Alexander Armstrong

  So much to tell you. It was a weekend unlike any other. Hope yours was as beautiful as mine. Can’t wait to talk. I’ve managed to misplace my phone but will call you the minute I find it, after I get some needed rest. Too much good stuff going on to sleep during the weekend. It felt amazing to use muscles that have been laying dormant for far too long, if you know what I mean. Hugs

  I smile and go to visit his Facebook wall, hoping to bathe in one of his inspiring posts.

  I scroll down the page to find where I’d left off. I always love to read his posts in chronological order. It makes me feel like I am right there with him, living life as it happens.

  I find a slew of holiday wishes from his friends, and then, finally, one by the maestro himself, written when he got in last night, after he’d messaged me.

  Aww. I smile.

  Huh? Her who?

  I am instantly bewildered and panicked, and feel my chest tighten in a scary way.

  I reread the post.

  Now I’m more confused than ever.

  I reread his message to me, looking for answers. What I find is distress and more panic. Into his every sentence I read that he was with another woman, one who makes him happy. Desperate for clarification, I call his cell phone. It goes straight to voicemail. Well, he did say he couldn’t find it. Next, I try videochatting him. He is offline. Finally, I send him a message, trying to appear composed.

  7:12am

  Claire Nichole Eden

  Pssst, you online?

  No response. My panic reaches dangerous levels. I frantically wade through the rest of the now annoying holiday ditties by others, in search of something by him. I find one of his lengthy posts and breathe deeply. Whenever he writes at length, it is always something lovely and elevating. I am sure this post will explain it all and put my needless fears to rest.

  I am too dismayed to breathe or even blink. Never have I felt so shattered. After all of the hardships I’ve faced – losing my job at the station, losing so many loved ones to death and deceit, from Erica to Dad, Danielle, Mom and then the whole David betrayal, I thought I’d seen it all, and that I could handle anything. But this...this is literally more than I can bear. This is too much. Alex has met someone else. He has met The One. And whoever this One is, she’s not me.

  Though I’m tempted to feel like a fool for getting my plane ticket and making plans, I am in far too much anguish to berate myself. This hurts too terribly. I think back on our conversations the last few weeks, looking for clues as to who this One might be, how he met her, when he met her. I realize it could have been at any time, because I talked incessantly about me and my problems – my problems with David, with his legal mess, little issues with my broadcasts, funny anecdotes about callers, but never about him or his life.

  I really have been a fool, in so many ways – especially about David. All that time and affection and attention invested in a man who cheated on his girlfriend in a variety of ways, including his bold flirtations with me before we’d met in person. I chose to overlook it all because of my feelings for him. Foolish. Then again, if I had to do it all over, I would still do my best to get all the facts before judging him. It’s what I did after getting the facts that was most foolish. I kept hoping he would go against his track record and surprise me by showing the integrity I always believed he had. Well, that’s really none of my business. Nor is how he lives his life.

  Meanwhile, I had this paragon of manhood, Alex – this caring, honest, monogamous man whom I adore, wanting me and no one but me. That is, before he found The One.

  I am sick, literally, and spend the next hour and a half on the tile in the restroom, heaving the contents of my stomach in between crying jags.

  Once I have purged my heartache, I go back to Facebook and read his messages one last time, now with a clear head. The story is still the same. And it is one I cannot endure. It is truly too painful. I read the list of comments made to his post, a series of hoorays and congratulations. I love this man more than I can say, and in my heart, sincerely wish him every happiness. I just wish that happiness were with me. As fast as my fingers can type, I pound out a congratulatory comment.

  The searing pain in my chest is back, as is my previous nausea. It makes me physically ill to picture him with someone else. And I just can’t take the thought of seeing his happy posts scroll down my newsfeed as he talks about the sublime perfection of his new love. I don’t mean to be shallow or petty, but…

  With tears welling up in my eyes again, I select the ‘Unfriend’ option on his page. Then I go into my account’s settings and ‘block’ him, so that he can in no way contact me. Deep breath, this time without nausea.

  Goodbye, Alexander.

  You were my One.

  Chapter Forty-FiveI have always been grateful that I’m practical – at least when it comes to matters other than those of the heart. And never have I been more grateful for my practicality than the Wednesday, two days after the crushing news about Alex. I was still in abject pain and emotional ruin when showtime rolled around that week. Fortunately, I have a few pre-canned shows taped in case of laryngitis or other maladies. Though, I admit, I never took into account life-threatening heartbreak.

  When the time comes for today’s broadcast, I go to Youtube to make the pre-taped show available to the public, then go back to bed for an erotic menage a trois with my two favorite men, a pair with whom I intend to spend a great deal of intimate time – Messrs. Ben & Jerry. I decide to work my way through their flavors list alphabetically this time around. So far, I am up to Chocolate Peanut Buttery Swirl. And I’m just fine staying there for a while.

  Days go by without my cognizance, and I really don’t care. It occurs to me that I truly am alone, except for the menagerie, who have all been on their best and sweetest behavior since I fell into despondency. For the first time in my life, I understand the fulfilling glories of being a catlady, and count myself as one of the proud few, a noble sisterhood of felinity.

  I’ve not gone on Facebook since my goodbye to Alex, and frankly have no desire to. What would be the point? The activity there would seem so trivial to me right now, so meaningless, and I would feel like a fraud trying to chime in cheerfully on this or that p
ost. No, I am not ready, and am not sure if I ever will be, or that I would even want to be.

  This morning, I make a point to check the date in order to ensure I’m prepared for this week’s show. Woops, it was 2 days ago. Oh well, nothing some B&J’s Mission to Marzipan can’t fix.

  * * *

  Wallowing alone has its merits: pajamas for days on end, a distinct lack of basic grooming without another human around to object to the stench, old movies on the AMC channel, reading, napping, chocolate for breakfast. It almost makes utter heartbreak worth it...almost...sort of...not even close.

  As the days roll on, I find that not only is time not healing my heart’s gaping wound, but it is, more accurately, pouring in salt, squeezing in lemon juice, and putting out cigarettes in it! How could I have been so daft as to let a man like Alex get away? I took him for granted and I will rue it the rest of my life.

  For all of my self-righteous forgiveness, my efforts to not assume or judge David, I made up my mind about Alex’s posts on The One without even giving him the chance to explain – not cool, and not fair. It’s a clear case of ‘burn me once, shame on you – burn me twice shame on me.’ But in this situation, I gave the benefit of the doubt and additional chances to the wrong person. Alex deserved them, but David received them. And look where it all has landed me – drowning in a pool of frozen dairy products, puffy eyed, miserable and very much alone.

  * * *

  A day comes when I feel there is a chance I may be able to take a breath without conscious effort. I get the hint that it’s time to bathe when Jasper starts kicking his kitty litter onto my feet. Persephone, on the other paw, finds me infinitely more interesting and sniffable since I took up slovenliness.