by Heidi Lowe
I'm not stupid. When a woman leaves you in the middle of the night without waking you to say goodbye, or leaving a note to tell you she'll call you, it's crystal clear what the night meant to her. A big fat nothing. Just skipped out while I was sleeping, and when I woke up to whisper a sleepy hello into her ear and peck her on the cheek, I saw she was gone. How long after I fell asleep did she split? She was probably waiting for me to drift off so she could sneak out. Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am.
God, I feel so stupid! I broke my most cardinal rule: never get involved with straight women. After Friday night, I'm adding a new rule to the list: never invite sexy amnesia patients to your house, ply them with alcohol before becoming a sexual experiment for them. Because I'm convinced that's exactly what I was to her – the lesbian friend you have a fling with just to see how it works, to cross it off your bucket list.
This is why I steer clear of straight women.
In her haste to get away from me, she left her panties on my floor. She probably couldn't find them. Great, I have the panties but I don't have the girl. Sounds like the lyrics to a country song.
I wish this didn't upset me as much as it does. And I know I'll get over it eventually, but I wish there was a way to speed it up. She doesn't know, nor would she care, that I never do this sort of thing. One-night stands are so not me. I've always pitied the people who took part in them. Why this woman? What's so special about her?
She can have her underwear back. I'll drop them off on my way to work tomorrow, and make it really nice and awkward for both of us. I'm a glutton for punishment.
Don't feel like writing anything else today. Gonna tuck into the strawberry cheese cake I picked up yesterday. Yeah, the intermittent fast is a thing of the past. Turns out I like eating a lot more than I thought I did.
THIRTEEN
It had taken me three whole days to read three pages, and even now I still couldn't say what had happened in the book. Paying attention to the story when I had my own drama on my mind proved difficult.
Three days had passed since my night with Tiffany, and one question remained unanswered: what the heck was I thinking?
Oh, right, I wasn't. My brain wasn't doing the thinking, but my vagina. It saw an opportunity and took it, leaving the rest of me to deal with the fallout.
I slept with someone! And did so with no consideration for the life I'd forgotten, the possibility that I belonged to someone. I may have been unfaithful and didn't even know it.
I threw the book across the room in a rage I hadn't seen coming. I was so frustrated at the mess I'd made of my life already, and it had only been a few weeks since the start of it. I must have broken a record for quickest time it took to screw up your life.
To make matters worse, I couldn't stop thinking about it; about her. How soft and delicate she felt, how gently she handled me, how sweet she smelled. We'd made love on her couch, but it could have been the most romantic setting in the world, because it couldn't have been more perfect. She couldn't have been more perfect.
I'd slipped so comfortably and easily into the role that it left no doubt in my mind that I'd had female lovers in my old life, possibly exclusively. How natural she'd felt to me. The more I thought about it, the more I reasoned that my pulling away from her at the hospital had nothing to do with her sexuality but my inhibitions about getting close to anyone, male or female. And in my effort to prove how unbigoted I was, I'd ended up crawling into bed (well, sofa) with her, then promptly splitting the moment the effects of the alcohol had worn off and taken my nerves with them.
We hadn't seen or spoken to each other since.
I buried my head in my pillow, groaned into it so the sounds would be swallowed up. Leaving so suddenly, without saying a word to her, wasn't a good look. God, what must she have thought of me? Disappearing after sex, like it meant nothing. And then to not call or see her in days... How despicable. Had the memory loss turned me into a bitch, or had I always been one?
I knew what I had to do. I sat up, took a deep breath, then pulled on my shoes and headed downstairs.
"Going out?" Mrs Howlett said from the bottom of the steps. She'd recently changed the color of her hair – to an even brighter orange than the pink, and looked like a cartoon character.
"Yeah, just for a walk. I need to clear my head...you know, more than it already has been," I said.
She chuckled. "Do you mind picking up some milk? We're running low."
"Of course."
She headed into the living room.
When I pulled the door open and went to step out, I jumped, startled to find someone standing there.
"Tiffany," I said.
She didn't smile when she said hi, which made me feel even worse. Her smile was the one thing that I relied on to make the world seem a little less scary. Now it was gone.
"I was just on my way to see you," I said.
"Okay." She didn't believe me, I could see it in her eyes. "I saved you the trouble. I just came to return these to you. You forgot them." She held up a brown paper bag, which I took from her. When I looked inside, I saw my once missing panties.
"Oh...thanks," I said, closing the bag quickly, my face burning up. Thankfully she wasn't looking at me to see my shame. "Hey, I'm sorry I–"
"It doesn't matter. I have to go to work. See you around."
"Wait," I called after her retreating form. She didn't stop, didn't look back.
Well, that didn't go at all how I'd planned it. She didn't let me explain myself, apologize properly for treating her like a piece of disposable meat.
I had a lot of grovelling to do.
Just on the off chance that she was home, I made an impromptu visit to her house the following evening, after the one student I had – a teenage girl whose previous piano teacher died suddenly during one of their lessons – canceled for the second time. We'd only had one lesson together, and I was certain she wouldn't be back. Truth was, my teaching style sucked. Which, surprisingly, was a relief. I could feel in my heart that I didn't have the patience or temperament to be a good teacher. That, and I didn't even remember having learned how to play myself.
There was a light on in her living room when I walked up to the door. My heart began pounding harder than ever. It would have been all too easy for me if she wasn't home, but this was something I had to eventually do if I wanted to keep this amazing, considerate woman in my life. And I did, more than anything. Almost as much as I wanted to get my memory back.
"Just a minute," came her voice when I pressed the bell.
I stood on her doorstep wringing my hands, going over in my head what I would say, if she ever gave me the chance. Slamming the door in my face might have been her only response to me.
Moments later, the door opened, and she stood before me, blonde hair tousled, wearing a matching pink vest top and white pajama shorts combo. In her hand was a thick booklet.
The first thing she did when she saw me was frown, which was an improvement on the irksome look she'd given me the day before.
"Hi," I said in a small voice.
"Hi?" Her tone was questioning.
"Did I come at a bad time? I can come back another time." There was something so serene and majestic about her in her pajamas, something sweet yet incredibly sexy. I instantly stopped beating myself up for sleeping with her. No right-thinking person with blood pumping through their veins could have resisted her. It simply wasn't possible. Heck, I was afraid I would do it again if given half the chance.
"No, it's fine. Do you want to come in?"
I nodded and stepped past her, the memory of my last time here rushing back to me. She led me into the living room, which now held new, sexy meaning. I could no longer look at the couch the same way.
"Would you like something to drink...something non-alcoholic?"
I gave a nervous laugh. "I'm fine, thanks. Look, I won't take up too much of your time, you're obviously busy," I said, gesturing to the papers in her hand. From what I could discern from the wr
iting and layout of the words, it was a script.
"I'm just doing some lines." She set the script on the table, brushed her hair out of her face. "What did you want to talk to me about?"
"Well, about what happened."
"We don't have to do this, Abby. It happened, let's just move on."
"Not until I apologize. I'm sorry I left so hastily and didn't call. I felt terrible about it, but the longer I left it, the harder it got to put it right."
She sighed. "It's fine."
"No, it's not. And it's not you, it's all me. You were...great. It was great." Understatement of the century. Great was forgettable; what we did, I was sure, I would never forget, and would likely have transcended any type of amnesia, if I were ever unlucky enough to lose my memory again.
My words must have shocked her, because her eyebrows rose.
"I just don't want to get into anything, not while I don't know who I am, or who, if anyone, I left behind. Please say you understand where I'm coming from."
She nodded. "I do. I get it. I'm sorry I was so cold before. It was totally unethical of me to sleep with you, knowing what you've been through."
"You don't have to apologize. I'm the jerk. And I can totally understand if you don't want to be friends, but I really want us to be. I want you in my life, and I hope we can get past this."
She smiled. "I'd like that, too." Then she extended her hand. "Friends?"
I shook it, smiled back. "Friends." Then I picked up the script. "And as your friend, I'd like to help you with this, if you want."
"You want to help me with my lines?"
"Sure. New play?"
"No, the same one, My Fair Lady. The writer made quite a few changes. We got the go ahead to perform in the Oakwood Playhouse."
"That's great!" I said, genuinely excited for her, and to get the chance to see her perform. It must have been some acting if she had random people stopping her in the street.
"No date as yet, but I wanted to get better acquainted with the script and my character, improve on the things I wasn't happy with in the last performance."
I leafed through the pages. "So who are you again?"
"Eliza Doolittle, one of the two leads."
"Okay, so I'll be Henry Higgins. He seems to pop up often. What is he, her father, her husband?"
"Neither. And the writer's sort of used his creative license to rework the original story and make them lovers..."
I laughed. "So I'll be playing your lover?"
She laughed too. "Basically."
Oh, the irony!
FOURTEEN
The pennies and quarters made a thunderous clang as I tipped out the contents of my purse onto the table. I pushed the meager amount onto the twenty dollar bill I'd scavenged from my jacket pocket, then counted everything up.
I let out a despondent sigh. Twenty-three dollars and thirty-seven cents to my name, and no idea when that would change. Four weeks into my piano instruction career and I'd had just a handful of students, none of whom had returned for more lessons.
"Face it, Abby, you're no good at this," I said to myself one evening. "You can barely afford to buy a pizza."
If I wasn't so strapped for cash, the rejection wouldn't have bothered me at all. Like I said, teaching was hard. But I still had to eat and live. And I couldn't possibly keep letting Mrs Howlett pay for all the grocery shopping, no matter how much she insisted. I had to face it: I'd become somewhat of a bum!
Such was life without a surname or work history. The law hadn't exactly been set up for my situation, and thus state benefits didn't apply to someone like me. I needed a real job. Mooching off my landlord was no longer an option. It was bad enough she didn't charge me rent.
Delores came pushing her way into my room because I'd left the door ajar. She purred, rubbing herself against my leg. Mrs Howlett must not have fed her for the evening yet, that was the only reason why she ever came to see me.
I stroked her and noticed that she'd left bits of fur on my black pants. Great! Add lint roller to the list of things I had to buy.
Feeling deflated at my financial situation and lack of funds, I threw on my jacket, led Delores out of the room, shutting it firmly behind me, in case she snuck in while I was out. I fed her because I heard Mrs Howlett on the phone in the living room, then headed out. In this mood, there was only one person who could make me feel better. Luckily, she lived only a twenty minute walk from the guesthouse, so I didn't have to shell out for a bus or cab. Plus we'd been having great weather all month, so the walk was pleasant.
"I didn't know you were coming," Tiffany said when she opened the door later that evening. The baby blue sports bra and shorts combo she wore was damp with sweat; perspiration glistened on her washboard stomach and forehead.
It always took me a while to speak when I saw her in this state, because my mind was in the gutter. No matter the time of day, whenever her flesh was on show, it always brought me back to that night four weeks ago – our night of love-making. Although we'd seen each other several times, hung out like friends who'd known each other forever, I could never get our tryst out of my head. Sometimes I thought that, when she looked at me, she could tell that I'd thought about her as I lay in bed, bringing myself to climax. Thinking about her doing things to me that went beyond the duties of a platonic friend.
"Yoga again?" I said, closing the door behind me and following her into the living room, where a yoga VHS was playing on her TV. The emaciated woman giving the instruction looked like a hippie, precisely the type interested in yoga. I still didn't get the appeal, despite Tiffany encouraging me to try it with her.
She wiped her face and chest with a towel, switched off the TV. "I still think you'd love it if you gave it a chance."
"No thanks. It's an injury waiting to happen."
She laughed. "You're such a wuss. Want a drink?"
"Orange juice, if you have it. Thanks." She always had it, even though she herself didn't drink it. She bought it for me.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening?" she asked when she returned from the kitchen with my drink. "Not that I'm not always happy to see you."
I shrugged. "I needed cheering up."
She sat down beside me, concerned. "What's wrong? What happened?"
"Nothing, that's just it. Nothing is happening. My piano tuition business is a big, fat flop. I'm broke, and there doesn't seem to be any way out of it, not while I still can't remember my name."
"I'm sorry." She rubbed my shoulder. Her touch always made me feel better, albeit momentarily. "I know you said business was slow, but I didn't realize how bad it was. Why didn't you say something sooner?"
"I thought it would get better, but the truth is, I make for a terrible piano tutor."
"You can't be that bad. You're excellent at playing, surely that translates to teaching."
I shook my head. "It doesn't. At least I know I wasn't a teacher in my old life."
She went quiet for a while, and I drank my orange juice, wallowing in my misery, but happy to have someone to console me. What would I have done without her? We'd only been in each other's lives for a few weeks, but she was already an integral part of mine. Abigail No Surname's first friend, and first lover. The crutch that supported me in this crazy new world.
After some deliberation, she turned to me and said, "I can't promise anything, but how would you feel about playing at the hospital? When you were a patient, the other patients seemed to really enjoy the music, especially the children. I think it could really help them."
Enraptured, the biggest, goofiest smile spread across my face. "I would love that! That would be a dream come true."
"Like I said, I can't promise anything. I'll talk to my bosses tomorrow, present the idea to them."
I threw my arms around her neck, squeezed her so tightly I thought I would break her. Even though she'd been sweating, she still smelled great, like roses.
She chuckled. "It's not a sure thing."
"I
don't care. The fact that you'd bring it to them, that's more than I could ask for. Thank you."
I finally let her go, and we looked at each other, said nothing, until she got up to get a drink.
When she came back in, she didn't sit on the couch beside me again, but on one of her dining chairs.
"Have you eaten? I made a vegetarian lasagne. There's loads left."
I patted my stomach. "I'm starving!"
She served us up some lasagne, gave me a big helping, and we ate, talking about the politics at Oakwood General, who among the staff to avoid, and who to befriend. Call it premature, but I was already excited about working there.
"Doctor McCann is known for his use of innuendos and saying sexually inappropriate things, to men and women. It's mild, he's old, and most of us just ignore him. He'll be retiring soon, anyway, thank God."
"He sounds horrible."
"Yeah. When you get to that age I guess you lose your filter. I thought he and Mrs Howlett would get on well."
We laughed.
"She doesn't need a seventh husband," I said.
Just then, the bell rang. It wasn't my place to ask her who it was, though my curiosity threatened to kill me.
She went to answer, and I took note of how tense she'd suddenly become. When she returned, visitor in tow, I understood why.
"Hey." A leather jacket clad Sarah nodded her hello at me, looking cool and mysterious.
"Oh, hey," I said.
The awkward silence in the room was deafening. They stood there not saying what they wanted to, and I finally took the hint.
I got to my feet. "Well, I'm gonna go now. I've got some stuff to do." Bullshit!
"I'll let you know about the job tomorrow," Tiffany said as she walked me to the door. Behind us, Sarah removed her jacket, got comfortable. The visitor who she'd actually been expecting, unlike me.