by Angela Kelly
When I got back to the table Cindy hugged me. “You know, I know you’re right, and, in the end, someone will probably get hurt, maybe you, maybe her. But I also know you would spend the rest of your life wishing you’d taken the chance if you didn’t. Do this for yourself, Maggie. Stop pretending you have some pre-determined path of being alone forever. Fate is what we make it.”
We settled the bill and walked around the village for a while, stopped in Rebel Rebel to browse, then got some cappuccino on the way to the parking deck where Cindy’s Lexus looked out of place in the halogen lights of the dingy garage, like a high-class prostitute in a dive bar. I loved that Cindy didn’t allow her success or her money to turn her into someone else.
She was still genuinely kind, she gave a lot of her money away to various charities, and still volunteered at a domestic violence shelter twice a week. The only thing she didn’t have was the same as me, a partner with whom to share it all. But Cindy’s case was much different than mine. She had found her true love, Joe, on the last leg of her international flight coming home from Tibet. They had a whirlwind romance and got married after only a year, it was the most beautiful wedding I had ever attended.
From the moment she walked into the church, her husband locked eyes with her, and I swear never looked at anything or anyone else for the remainder of the ceremony. Never before had I known two people so much in love, so utterly devoted to each other. Then, one night, he left their Upper East Side walk-up to go to the corner bodega for a pack of smokes and was run down by a drunk driver. It was the most tragic thing that had ever 45
happened to someone I knew. Cindy wouldn’t even talk about it for two solid years.
She was done looking for romance. She said Joe had given her the happiest days of her life, and she knew she would always compare other men to him and that wasn’t fair to anyone.
So, through her personal brand of spirituality and a lot of soul searching, she had found ways to make peace with it. I admired her and I was proud to call her my friend.
The Lexus rolled to a stop in front of my building. “So, I just have one question for you,” she said.
“Oh, yeah, what’s that?”
“When do I get to meet her?” I just stood there and smiled.
* * * *
“Maggie, come to Pete’s office. Maggie to Pete’s office, please.”
I looked up to see everyone staring at me. Usually when you were paged to the big boss’s office it was because you were in trouble. I wasn’t, as far as I knew. I got up, ignored the ogling co-workers, and walked to the front of the offices.
“Yeah Pete?” I popped my head into his suite I envied, more than a little. Although, I didn’t really want the responsibility that came with the suite.
“Come in. Close the door.” He didn’t seem upset but he was always difficult to read.
I sat down in front of his desk. “What’s up?”
“Maggie, we just landed a really big contract with Wolf Creek Records.”
I froze. Wolf Creek was Janine’s label.
“Apparently they want us to do the entire layout for the next Blue Is record, although they don’t quite know when that will be yet. In the meantime they contracted us for design and lyric typesetting for five other bands.”
He looked at me, waiting for me to say something. I wasn’t sure how to feel, let alone what to say.
“I’m just wondering why it is you were requested 46
specifically to manage these projects. Is there anything you want to tell me?”
He waited. Pete was a nice guy and a good boss. Since I’d never been in this position, I wasn’t sure what the next right thing to do was. I mean, it would be one thing if I were sleeping with the actual client, but Janine wasn’t the client, she was the singer represented by the client, surely that was a loophole in any sort of conflict of interest mandate.
“Maggie, relax, you aren’t in any kind of trouble.”
Only then did I realize I’d been holding my breath. I exhaled slowly. “Oh. Okay, that’s good, I mean, you know I love my job.”
“I just have one question,” he said. I knew exactly what he was going to say next.
“When do I get to meet her?”
* * * *
I asked my boss to keep the information between us, and I trusted him to do so. I knew if everyone found out, I would become a backseat in every single conversation. My life as I knew it would become completely boring to my colleagues and they would only ever ask questions about Janine. I shuddered to think of it. I was painfully aware there was a part of me that didn’t want her to succeed for that very reason. It was incredibly selfish of me and I knew it. I thought someone should start a support group for the Nobody partners of famous people.
One night about a week after the package, I came home and Janine was on my doorstep. It was one of those snapshot moments, filed in your memory cells for instant recall. I came walking around the corner, and there she was, wearing jeans and a spaghetti strap tank top, not looking like a famous or about-to-be famous person at all. She looked just like any other girlfriend, waiting for me to get home.
“How’s work?” she called out to me, smiling. “Anything interesting happen this week?”
I dropped everything I was carrying onto the steps and 47
kissed her. “I missed you,” I whispered into her hair. “How long are you here?”
“We can talk about all that later. I want to take you out to dinner.”
I assumed that meant not long. I was going to have to get used to this, I supposed. But it sure did feel good for her to hook her fingers through my belt loop and pull me toward her for another kiss.
“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…” I started to joke.
“Oh, come on, you wouldn’t really have wanted me to walk into anyone else’s, would you?” She was right. But I couldn’t shake the feeling our relationship was going to look a lot more like Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? than Casablanca.
“ Let me cook for you instead?”
“What’s on the menu?”
“Linguine. Clam sauce.”
“Red or white?”
“White, why?”
“Do you have a nice bottle of Friuli Sauvignon? Never mind. Of course you do. And if you don’t, I’m sure you’ve got something just as nice stashed away.”
As we climbed the stairs, I wondered how much she knew about wine. Was it as much as she seemed to know about everything else? Her capacity for knowledge amazed me; hell, everything about her amazed me. But the greatest miracle was that she was here, standing smack in the middle of my life. In that moment, holding the door for her, I was suddenly struck with the feeling that it didn’t matter to me who she was, how famous she was, how often she was away, who else she slept with, or anything else she did. I was making a conscious decision to love, for it is only when love is a choice that it even has a chance.
Those addictive emotions of fascination, falling head over heels, even obsession, would always give way when the people in the relationship acted as their adult selves. I wanted something much more real than that. I decided right then and there that when the going got rough, as surely it would, for the first time in 48
my life I wouldn’t run. I wouldn’t abandon her or my heart’s desire, which had in an instant become one and the same.
* * * *
While I prepared dinner, she told me all about her LA trip, working at the Wolf Creek studios out there, how it was different from New York. With each little success, there were people higher up in the industry to meet and to appease.
“It’s frustrating, you know? Me and the guys, we just want to make music. While we’re doing that, there’s some guy in a suit telling you the song needs to have another chorus, or the bridge is too long, or something needs to be six bars and not eight, and so on.”
I couldn’t imagine anyone putting any kind of restraint on what she did, but I supposed if you wanted to be successful yo
u had to follow some rules.
We sat down together and ate mostly in silence. I kept admiring her in the flicker of candlelight. She asked me if I had to work tomorrow and I said yes. “Can I see you again after work?”
I chuckled. Seriously? “That depends. Will you make dinner tomorrow?”
“Can we make homemade pizza together? My brothers and I did that when we were little with our parents. I miss it, and haven’t done it in a long time. I would like to do something nostalgic with you.”
I knew she meant because I had done something nostalgic with her, by taking her to Keyport.
“Do you see your family? Are they local?” I cleaned up, put leftovers away, and did the dishes. I could get used to her being in my home all the time.
“One brother lives in San Francisco now, so I try and see him when I’m out west. My other brother lives in Denver. My parents are still here, upstate in a beautiful house in the mountains, close to the Pennsylvania border. I am the only one that insisted on staying in the city. I talk with my brothers on the phone once in a while, the one in Denver has a family and I have 49
two nephews, but we don’t really know each other, he moved there with his wife for his job a long time ago. I’m closer to my brother out west, he’s a bit of a man-whore and still likes to party.
He went out there to go to school, then decided that wasn’t really for him but he loved Cali so much that he stayed.”
I waited for her to continue. “My mom and dad are…good, they’re good. I go up and visit occasionally. They don’t understand what I do, at all, but they know I’m happy doing it, and that makes them happy. I don’t think they will be happy about me being with a woman, but they’ll get over it. I’ve done much worse.” She smiled.
I could only imagine what the “much worse” was.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, reading my mind again like she knew I was a little offended.
“They’re just old-fashioned.”
She got up from the table and crossed the floor to where I stood at the sink. Gently touching my face, she kissed me slowly, searching. She looked behind me at the clock on the wall. It was 8:00.
“Wanna go to bed early?”
* * * *
It was difficult for me to leave her in the morning, but I am very much a workaholic. I kissed her goodbye and asked her to lock up on her way out. I was distracted all day and felt like a teenager, smiling and giggling to myself. The night before, our lovemaking was heated and intense, lasting long into the night. It was not quite how it had been during the first quickie on the couch, and it was also not like it had been on the beach. I liked that it always seemed different. Since it seemed we had each un-vocally decided to keep seeing each other, there seemed a higher level of intimacy. When we first went to bed my hands were shaking when I touched her. I couldn’t remember the last time that happened, if ever. I also liked that she was like me, equally comfortable in the role of dominant or submissive, gentle or rough, demanding or acquiescent. It was as if we had known 50
each other’s bodies for years, I’d never had that kind of chemistry with anyone before. It was strange; sex seemed almost spiritual, euphoric in a way I couldn’t quite describe. The sex, the relationship, it was all new but it seemed to be going so well, I was actually shocked. It was…bliss.
My bliss abruptly ended that evening. I got home, set out all the bread, sauce, and toppings, waiting for her to appear as she had the day before. When she hadn’t shown at my apartment by 9 PM, I ran out of patience and called her. No answer. I got angry, unpredictable was one thing; it was cute, even alluring. But unreliable was not. I called Cindy, who only said to me, “Well, you’re powerless over her, aren’t you? Getting mad about it won’t change that.”
I did some quiet meditation and had a nice glass of scotch. Although tempted to have many more glasses, I took some Melatonin and went to bed. At 3:00 AM my phone rang.
With a sinking feeling I answered.
“Hello?”
“Anything worth having is worth suffering for, isn’t it?” I recognized her voice first and the line from Days of Wine and Roses second. Jesus. She’s waking me up at 3 AM loaded and still she quotes movies.
“Janine. It’s 3 AM. What happened to you?” I had gone to bed angry, but the moment I heard her voice it all went away. I didn’t like that, not one bit, it gave her a lot of control without my permission.
“Baby doll, I’m soooo sorry! Some friends showed up, and I went out for a while, and one thing led to another, and, well, I guess I’m still out. I’m pretty drunk.”
Duh. “And it didn’t occur to you to call until now?” I hated how that sounded, chiding and shaming.
“The night got away from me. I’m really drunk. And really high.”
“You said that already.”
“Can I take a cab and come to you? I need you.”
And there it was. It didn’t matter what time it was or what she’d done, my desire to be near her canceled everything. I 51
knew this was bad. I knew I would let her walk all over me. But what if she didn’t want to? I mean, this was a first offense, right?
Maybe she just made a mistake. And so the first brick in the foundation of my denial was cemented into place.
“Okay.”
When the cab rolled up in front of my apartment I had to help her out of it, and I had to pay the driver. I carried her up the stairs, kicked the door closed behind me, and gently put her down on my couch.
“What am I going to do with you, kiddo?”
“Is there any pizza left?” she asked.
“You know, I held out hope you would still show up until like ten. Stupid, foolish, I guess.”
She kissed me in response. Then she pulled away and started to cry. “I was afraid,” she said.
“Afraid of what?”
“How I feel. I remembered we had plans, Maggie; I blew you off on purpose. Then I went out with my friends to try to forget you, but I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“I told you. I’m afraid. I don’t know if I’ve ever been in love, Maggie. But I know I’ve thought I was. And it always goes bad.
Always. Like I’m just incapable or something. I always do this thing, I…I…”
“Self-sabotage?” I offered.
“Yeah. I guess you’d call it that. You scare the hell out of me.”
“You scare me too, but I keep showing up for this. Don’t you think I worry? Don’t you think I tried to forget you when you were in LA? I know where you’re career is going…you could have anyone you wanted. That frightens me. But when I see you I forget all that. I can’t help it Janine, I want to be with you. I don’t know how to do this either, I never have. I’m a self-sabotager myself. I’m mostly a garden variety drunk who got lucky with a great job and a cool place to live, but I really am just very lost most of the time.”
I got quiet for a moment. “Are you even going to remember this conversation tomorrow?”
52
She smiled. “The cab ride was sobering. It still amazes me we don’t hear about more cabby accidents and fatalities.”
“Honey. Listen to me. You are maybe the only woman I have been with where I haven’t been anyone but me from the very first night. You make me feel naked, and vulnerable, and crazy. I think maybe that’s what love is, I don’t know. The world is insane. What I want more than anything is to stand with you, holding your hand, beneath a sheltering sky, letting passion run its due course. Maybe we will be a disaster. But maybe not, anything is possible. I’m not much of a religious person, but I do think in spiritual terms sometimes, and it seems to me that this—
you, me, us—is, I don’t know how else to say it—meant to be, meant to happen. I feel like I have looked for you my whole life, even when I didn’t know I was searching. Like you… just reached in, and put a string of lights around my heart.” I’d been waiting for the right moment to get a Desert Hearts quote into my conversations with Janine.
“If you tell me we can try, that we can be honest with each other. Then yes.”
“Okay. Let’s do this. You get to be you and I get to be me, for better or worse.” She hugged me. “You’re not going to like me very much tomorrow.”
“You’re right.” I said. “But I will have forgiven you by mid-afternoon.”
“We have a show at CBGB’s in three weeks. Wil you come?”
My rock and roll girlfriend. Unbelievable. But this was happening. I had no idea what to expect, I was only glad in that moment she was there. I could look into her eyes, I could smell her perfume, she was, just then, undeniably mine. Maybe what I had said was true, I had been looking for her my whole life. I just knew I was willing to try, no matter what, I was willing to try and make this work.
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Chapter 4
I dragged Cindy out of the house in the middle of her 70-hour work week to go to CBGBs with me. We got there early and sat at the bar, listening to a newly formed punk band founded in Bayonne, New Jersey. They were good, but it was obvious they were trying too hard to be The Sex Pistols. This is why most bands fail; they can’t create something new and original. It can be argued, of course, that all bands have influences and “it’s all been done before.” But if you wanted to sign and produce, you had to have something special. The Blue Is had Janine. Special indeed.
When the second band, another, slightly improved punk-pop trio, was clearing their equipment, my girlfriend came bouncing up to the bar behind me and Cindy. “I’m so glad you’re here!” She threw her arms around me and kissed me, I melted as usual. I was so attracted to her it often frightened me, and it seemed to be getting stronger, which was worrisome since I didn’t know if it worked both ways. She ordered a Dewar’s and perched on the barstool next to Cindy.