MAGPIE

  It was Saturday, the day after Greg and I exhausted ourselves fucking like teenagers in every room of his house, I went to work on my kitchen pantry: Consolidating duplicate containers of breadcrumbs; getting rid of near-empty spice bottles; and wiping small trays that held a wide variety of oils and vinegars. I was expecting a large crowd for Thanksgiving and probably the same number for Christmas Eve. To top it off, Steve had managed to make a full recovery from his accident; I intended to celebrate the holidays with panache, well seasoned with love and joy. It was only mid-October, but they’d sneak up on me, so I dedicated the next few weeks to preparing the house—especially the kitchen—for the merrymaking.

  Coffee on, Cody fed, I stood at my back door, glancing at the empty bird feeder that hung from the bare ash. Reaching for my jacket, I heard the phone buzz…it was Daniel. I hadn’t heard from him in weeks. We’d stopped talking altogether and only texted late at night when we (mostly him) needed a good virtual fuck. I couldn’t get past the emotionally charged text that exposed his feelings for me—feelings I’d had earlier on, but were eventually dowsed after realizing how much easier things were between us with no strings attached. I went outside to fill the feeder and empty my head.

  I could smell the coffee before I opened the back door. It wasn’t as cold outside as it looked, and I was glad to shed my jacket once inside. Grabbing my green mug, I poured a steaming cup and looked at the phone. Three more texts had come in, all from Daniel.

  What the fuck. I unlocked the screen, hit the text bubble and opened Daniel’s string:

  Today, 8:19 AM

  DANIEL: Hey

  Today, 8:21 AM

  DANIEL: Hey?

  DANIEL: U up?

  Today, 8:25 AM

  DANIEL: U even there??

  There was something very unappealing about his desperate tone. Still, I didn’t want to string him along by way of digital avoidance, so I responded,

  MAGS: Was outside, what’s up?

  DANIEL: Not me, anymore that is

  MAGS: Seriously

  DANIEL: Lighten up!

  MAGS: Just bsy today

  DANIEL: Oh ok, we haven’t talked lately

  MAGS: Ya, bsy at work 2

  DANIEL: Mags, what is it?

  I knew this time would come, I just didn’t expect it—or want it—to be today,

  MAGS: I’ve met someone

  DANIEL: So? Me 2!

  MAGS: Really like him, its good

  DANIEL: Tell me more

  MAGS: I don’t want to Danny, it’s special

  DANIEL: What else r u saying?

  MAGS: This could be it for me

  DANIEL: How long have u known him?

  MAGS: No, I mean it for u and me

  Daniel didn’t reply for some time. He could have received a call or become distracted with work. He did tell me once that his best writing happened on the weekends. Hell, I didn’t have time to contemplate Daniel’s feelings; I had a pantry to clean out.

  My phone buzzed as “Maggie May” played on my iPod,

  I know I keep you amused, but I feel I’m being used…

  I hesitated to look because I just didn’t want to deal with the Daniel dilemma. Relief washed over me as I read the screen: One missed call from Greg. I quickly unlocked the phone and listened,

  Sorry I missed you, Mags. Been on my mind all morning. Missing my green-eyed lady with golden skin and crazy hair. Call me back if you get a chance. Greg.

  I hit the call back button and listened for a ring, but Greg picked up before a single tone sounded.

  “Hey you! I was just going to try you one more time in hopes of securing a ‘yes.’” Greg’s excitement was contagious.

  “‘Hey you,’ back. What kind of ‘yes’?” I fidgeted on the bar stool like a schoolgirl waiting to be asked to dance.

  Greg said with higher pitch than normal, “Okay, so remember when I asked you to go see “Wicked” with me last month, but Steve was in an accident and you had to cancel?” He didn’t wait for my answer, interrupting my train of thought, “You know, I sold the tickets and figured we’d wait until the next time it came around. But the waiting is over.”

  Confused, I asked, “Greg, what are you taking about?”

  “Mags, this year marks the show’s tenth anniversary. It’s playing on Broadway in less than two weeks, October 30th, to be exact.” Greg’s enthusiasm was adorable, but it still wasn’t clicking.

  “Greg, please slow down. I don’t understand.” I was trying to sound rational, but I probably came off like more of a fuddy-duddy.

  “Mags, I want to take you to New York to see ‘Wicked.” It’s a Wednesday, but that shouldn’t be a problem… should it?” He paused, waiting for an eager, “yes.”

  “Greg, I have to work. That’s the middle of the week.” I shot him down with a perfectly aimed missile. “As much as I appreciate your proposal, I can’t just take off like that.” Settled. Now, let’s talk about lunch, I almost said, but was interrupted.

  “You’re joking, right? You told me that you had tons of saved personal time. You told me you couldn’t wait to see ‘Wicked.’ You told me you loved how spontaneously I lived my life, Mags. What was that all about?” Greg was puzzled, and I couldn’t blame him.

  “Greg, I don’t even know how to process this. I don’t live like that. I have a job, I have a dog, I have…”

  For the second time, Greg interrupted me and said emphatically, “All of which can go on without you for a couple of days! Mags, I’m not talking about a week. I’m talking about thirty-six friggin hours spent in The Big Apple enjoying fabulous food and a show you’ve been dying to see for years!”

  “Greg, how can you just take off like that? I mean, you have a job, too, right?” Fuddy-duddy to the nth degree, but I couldn’t stop my rational strong arm from striking down Greg’s thoughtful and exciting plan. I’d never done anything so impulsive with someone else; spontaneity had been reserved for my solo adventures. Would his enthusiasm prevail? Would I let it?

  “Mags, remember when you didn’t want me to come over after you’d spent the morning with Tony and Steve in the hospital? Do you remember how glad you were when I insisted?”

  Yes, I do.

  “Can you trust me that this could be the best time we’ve had together and the start of something fantastic for us?” Greg’s confidence was beginning to chip away at my skepticism.

  “Greg, I really don’t want to be a ‘Debbie downer,’ but this is a biggie for me, you have to know that about me by now. I just can’t take off with you like this…”

  Interrupting me for the third time, Greg said, “Here’s what I know, Mags. I know you feel stuck. I know you feel stressed. You’d have a blast, Maggie, and I know I’d have one with you. Thirty-six hours, Mags. A day and a half, that’s all I’m talking about.”

  Stubbornly, I added, “We haven’t even talked about the cost of the trip, Greg.”

  “That’s ridiculous, and you know it. You’re being childish now. I’m asking you out on a date. He who asketh, payeth!” Greg was teasing me now, which meant he believed he’d won this battle.

  Playing into his victory, I said, “What shall one weareth?!

  “That’s m ’Lady!”

  ***

  I had Colorado clothes in my closet, not attire fit for New York City dining and theatre. In a panic, I texted Katie,

  Today, 1:22 PM

  MAGS: Need u sis!

  KATIE: Really?!

  MAGS: Ya, usually the other way, right

  KATIE: Whats up?

  MAGS: Clothes dilemma

  KATIE: What, where and when?

  MAGS: Dinner and a play, NYC, soon

  KATIE: WTF?!

  MAGS: Ya

  KATIE: OMW – better have wine

  Katie barged through the door like a wild boar, “Okay, pour me a glass, and tell me everything!” She was grinning from ear to ear, seemingly waiting for this moment.

  I opened a simple California white and bro
ke out some veggies and dip. I had a few ripe avocados, so I whipped up some guacamole and found a not-yet-stale bag of chips.

  Katie sat on the edge of the barstool, so she could reach the guac. She scooped up a good-sized dollop and shoved it in her mouth, washing it down with a gulp of wine. Clearing her throat she said, “Okay, start from the beginning, Mags.”

  Katie knew I’d been dating Greg for a while, but I’d shared few details. Tonight however, I opened up and told her almost everything there was to tell. She chuckled at his age, drooled at his pictures, questioned what his job “really” was, and probed a little too much into our sex life.

  “Katie! Really, some things are off limits,” I said as color filled my cheeks.

  “Oh, Jesus, Mags, we’re sisters! We’re supposed to know everything, like how big is his cock?” She’d had always been more sexually open and loved to talk about her escapades. We hadn’t had a heart-to-heart “sister” talk in some time and I missed it suddenly.

  No longer sipping my wine, I took a generous swig and said, “Okay, okay! But be patient, you know this is much harder for me than for you.”

  I started with the day Steve had his accident and Katie’s questions flowed immediately. “He just walked into your house? He didn’t knock?” She looked like a kid listening to one of Andersen’s fairy tales for the first time.

  I explained that he’d noticed the door ajar, and wanting to make sure I was okay, he walked in without my invitation. I went on to explain that Greg made himself at home, preparing a wonderful tea tray that he brought to me as I soaked in the tub. Then, the details—how he touched and kissed me, making me feel like there was no one else in the world but the two of us. Transfixed, Katie strained over the bar, and this time she wasn’t after guacamole.

  “You’ll never guess what was playing when Greg came over: ‘Diamonds and Rust.’” Staring into my glass of wine, I replayed the afternoon in my head, pairing Greg’s persona with Baez’s lyrics.

  My sister pierced my day dream with a much too practical comment, “Holy shit, Mags, I hope it’s not an omen. Dylan treated Baez like shit!” Spell broken, I shoved a guacamole-covered chip into my mouth.

  I hesitated divulging details of the snow day I spent at Greg’s house, exploring each other’s erotic desires, curiosities and limits. I choked at the thought of having to describe the fuckfest we had that day because Katie didn’t know that side of me. She’d been an integral part of my family since Jack and I married, witnessing all the joyous moments then standing by me through all the tragedies. She’d marveled at our unconditional love for Michael and how easily the two of us became three. I wondered if my baby sister’s perception of me as a wife and mother would keep her from knowing me as another man’s lover. Not really sure how she would react, I skipped to the time Greg and I, completely spent from our ravenous lovemaking, slept like babies, waking in the same spot where we’d dozed off the night before.

  Twenty minutes of filler passed before I revealed Greg’s “Wicked” invitation, requiring another bottle of wine.

  “So, he just asked to you go see ‘Wicked’ in New York, just like that? What the hell does he do again, Mags?” Katie’s innocent nosiness shifted to an ever-growing sisterly suspicion.

  I hesitated a few seconds before answering Katie because, quite honestly, I didn’t know precisely what Greg did.

  “He dabbles in the stock market.” I answered tentatively, hoping that would suffice.

  Katie wrinkled her face and asked, “What does that mean exactly?”

  I let out a little harrumph and began, “Well, I know he doesn’t trade. He says he buys and holds companies that seem promising.” It was obvious that I lacked any authority on the matter.

  “What does that mean exactly?” Her eyebrows arched as she emphasized her question.

  Exacerbated, I barked, “I don’t know Katie, you’ll have to ask Greg!”

  “I’d love to, Mags. When do I get to meet the mysterious market manipulator?” She was poking fun, and I didn’t like it.

  “Come on, Katie, it’s not like he’s a mobster. Shit. Do I know everything about the ass wipes you date?” I stomped off to go to the bathroom. I was pissed. Sitting on the john, I scrutinized Katie’s question: What does that mean exactly? I had no fucking clue.

  I heard my sister rustling around in the kitchen, and when I came out of the bathroom, she’d already put on her coat.

  “Oh for Christ’s sake, Katie. Really? Don’t leave. You just triggered something in me that’s actually been festering all morning. Please stay. Please?” I rarely pled like this, but I wanted to walk through a few things with her. I needed a sounding board now that Greg’s shadowy career had moved to the forefront.

  Katie dropped her purse, stripped off her coat, and plopped back down on the barstool. “I worry about you, Mags. You haven’t been dating long, and there are creeps out there.”

  So Tina says...

  “Yeah, I know. And I appreciate it, sis, I really do.” I reached for my laptop and opened it so both of us could see the screen. I Googled, “dabble in stock market” and was surprised to see the volume of sites that came up. I scrolled to see if there was a more formal looking site, rather than the ehow.com or answers.yahoo.com types.

  “Hey, hit that one,” Katie said with a much perkier voice than before. She pointed to a blog written by a thirty-seven-year-old guy who appeared to be successful, or so his picture suggested. He’d written an article that outlined criteria for buying companies. The article highlighted topics like purchasing strategies, goals and methods. The content was way over my head, but its seeming legitimacy bolstered my confidence in Greg.

  Reassured, I said, “See, it’s a real business. This guy has done very well for himself!”

  “It’s a blog, Mags. He could have written anything. It’s not like it’s a Wall Street Journal article vetted by layers of editors.” Before I could protest, she went on, “But I’m okay with it for now. I’m going to dig a little deeper when I get home and talk to a few buddies at work, just to be safe.”

  “Deal.” I said as I poured two more glasses of wine, polishing off the second bottle.

  ***

  I went shopping with Katie the next day for some clothes appropriate for New York theatre—hell, New York in general. I was struck by the holiday apparel and accessories draping emaciated mannequins in all the major department stores; it wasn’t even Halloween yet. I despised shopping malls, and my sister knew it. She, on the other hand, could roam the endless stretches of polished tile, peering into shop windows as if she were in a museum.

  As promised, I’d prepared a list of “must haves,” which was scribed next to a list of “can’t stands.” Katie inspected it, grabbed my arm, and headed toward Nordstrom.

  I dreaded trying on fancy dresses. The sales ladies (rarely men) groped and prodded almost as intimately as my gynecologist. What kind of person considers a career that requires manipulating women’s breasts for ideal positioning in an overpriced garment made in China?

  Like a mother hen, Katie scolded me when I protested such dressing room antics. “Mags, stop it with the faces. You have to go through this to find the right dress, okay? Let her feel you up, it’ll make your time with Greg that much better.”

  Shirley, a stout grey-haired woman who looked to be my mom’s age, brought in several choices, but my eyes closed in on a simple, black sheath dress with a cut-out yolk, stopping just above the knee. I tried it on and fell in love with it. Both Shirley and my bossy sibling insisted that I try on more, but I knew this was the one. I paid for the dress, and we drifted to the shoe department, where I found a simple pair of heeled sandals with an ankle strap; I was betting on motorized transportation, not strolls through New York’s bitter cold. We rounded our shopping adventure at a specialty shop that sold interesting and unique accessories. I was looking for a wrap and my eyes landed on a gorgeous turquoise and gold jacquard shawl. This treasure would bring out my eyes, I knew, and would help
me stand out from all the other women in black.

  Pleased with my goodies, Katie and I stopped at California Kitchen for a quick salad before heading home. My excitement stirred, and I silently imagined what it was going to be like traveling with Greg to one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the world.

  ***

  I woke early Sunday to the buzzing of my phone. It was Daniel; he’d never texted at three in the morning. I was curious,

  Today, 3:02 AM

  DANIEL: I know it’s late

  MAGS: Early

  DANIEL: Thinking bout your pussy, so much sweeter than the one I fucked tonite

  Funny, Daniel could always wake my libido, regardless of the hour. A shot of guilt ripped through me knowing I’d be on a plane with Greg in a few days. Oh, what the hell…

  MAGS: You don’t know that – she any good?

  DANIEL: Sorta

  MAGS: Trying to make me jealous

  DANIEL: No, just horny, wanna fuck u 2

  MAGS: Gotta lick me first

  DANIEL: With pleasure

  MAGS: Squeeze my tits

  DANIEL: My cock is rock hard, need u to suck me off

  MAGS: God I want to 69 with you, ur entire cock in my mouth while u suck my clit

  DANIEL: Baby, I hate to say it but im gunna cum!

  MAGS: me 2! cum for me - oh fuck, of fuck, oh fuck!

  I dropped my phone and came hard, screaming unabashedly. Normally, Daniel took great pleasure in hearing me cum; then I’d tease him through his orgasm, savoring his guttural moans. Our near simultaneous climax tonight was one of the best I’d had with Daniel—it dismantled the emotional barrier I’d carefully constructed. Was sex better with Daniel when we were detached from each other? Had Daniel become an emotional vibrator that I manipulated according to my own selfish desires?

  “Shut the hell up, Mags,” I said with resignation and turned to pick up my phone. Two texts from Daniel,

  Today, 3:19 AM