by Theresa Alan
G abrielle wants to talk to Will and his friends about online gaming for her dissertation, so on Friday night, Will and I pick up Gabrielle and we drive down to Mickie’s Pub together. I introduce her to Richard, Abby, and Jerry who are already there with beers in hand.
“This is Gabrielle Leveska. She’s working on her dissertation in sociology. I met her when we were in grad school together,” I say.
“What’s your dissertation on?” Richard asks.
“It’s about representation of self and social interaction via online gaming.”
“Are you much of a gamer?” he asks.
She nods. “I was an Everquest junkie for awhile.”
“Me, too!”
And they’re off, talking about the games they like and the weird world of Internet gaming: Sharing their stories about people who got so addicted that they lost their jobs and their families and were unable to relate to humans anymore; and of other people for whom gaming broadened their circle of friends, because they took the people they met online and extended that relationship into the real world.
Gabrielle and Richard talk so feverishly, nobody else can get a word in. Abby, Jerry, Will, and I start a conversation of our own. Our conversation goes from everything from religion, to politics, to healthcare, to reality TV shows, and upcoming movies. When we talk about politics or religion, I can slip in historical trivia, and I feel, in those moments, that my degree in history was good for something. This is the knowledge I bring to our little group. As for the guys, they are all capable of quoting lines from “The Simpsons” episodes and a wide array of B-movies that I’ve never heard of, and no matter how many times they repeat these lines, they never stop busting a gut with laughter. I don’t know if this is common to all men or just all men who work with computers for a living. Is there a secret geek test all these guys have to pass before they’re allowed to create Web applications and software programs? I don’t know, but I suspect there might be.
When I’ve finished my second beer, I excuse myself to use the bathroom.
I go to the bathroom and choose the stall that doesn’t have the You are not the first…graffiti. It has graffiti of its own, however. It reads, For a good time, fuck patriarchy.
A smile spreads across my entire face.
Chapter 42
O n Valentine’s Day, Will takes me to a fancy restaurant. As we share a plate of exotic cheeses and sip our rich Merlot, I tell him about how I landed a new consulting project. “I’ll need to go to Montreal to meet with her. She’s bilingual, obviously, since I don’t speak a word of French. Anyway, I thought maybe you could take a few days off of work and we could make a long weekend of it.”
“Sure. That sounds fun.”
“Great. I’ll get the plane tickets and let you know what days you should tell your boss you need off.”
I notice a man at the table next to us getting up from his table and getting down on one knee. Will notices too, and after the woman accepts the ring and marriage proposal, the restaurant erupts into cheers and applause.
The rest of the evening is awkward for Will and me. We go home and we don’t make love.
T hings are still awkward between Will and me the next morning. We kiss each other good-bye and tell each other to have a good day at work, but it feels like we’re not ourselves, like we’re auditioning for parts in play or something.
I work for a little while and then I call Gabrielle and ask her what she thought of Richard.
“He’s a total babe. I can’t believe he’s still single. What does he think of me?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. But I can shoot him an email and we can see if he’d be up for going on a double date. Are you free tomorrow night?”
“For him, absolutely.”
As soon as I get off the phone with Gabrielle, I email Richard and ask him what he thought of Gabrielle.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Hey, Rich, what did you think of Gabrielle?
A few minutes later, I hear back from him.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
She’s very cute. And so bright. There’s nothing sexier than a smart woman. She’s not single, is she?
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
She is. She thinks you’re really cute, too. Would you be up for a double date tomorrow night? I thought we could get some dinner and then see a show at The
Bovine Metropolis Theater.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
I’d definitely be up for that.
I feel gleeful as I write him back that I’ll buy the tickets and set everything up. When I call Gabrielle, she makes me repeat four times what he said about her being cute and bright. She practically squeals with delight.
When Will gets home, I tell him about my triumphant scheming to get Richard and Gabrielle together.
“That’s great, hon. I hope it works out for them.”
I’ve tried matchmaking a few other times and the results have always been disastrous. Even so, I’m delirious with excitement over the potential for Gabrielle and Richard. Despite everything, I will always believe in love.
Chapter 43
T he double date starts off well. At first, the four of us sit down together at the upscale restaurant and look over our menus in silence. Once we order, we all spend a few moments looking at each other and smiling stupidly.
“Um, so, Gabrielle did her undergraduate degree in film,” I say as a not-so-subtle icebreaker to Richard.
“Really?”
Gabrielle nods.
It appears for a moment as if the conversational thread has died. I try valiantly to resurrect it. “So have either of you seen any good movies lately?”
“I just rented Leprechaun 6: Back 2 tha Hood,” Richard says.
“I haven’t seen that one yet!” Gabrielle says.
“I’m sorry, but what the hell are you talking about?” I say.
“The Leprechaun series. Number five was called Leprechaun: In the Hood. Number six is Back 2 tha Hood,” Richard explains carefully.
“Leprechaun? You’re watching movies about leprechauns?” I ask.
“He’s a murderous leprechaun in search of his gold,” Gabrielle explains. “Didn’t you love it when, God, which one was it, Leprechaun in Space maybe—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I say. “Why are you watching movies about murderous leprechauns in space?”
“Because it’s hilarious!” they say in unison.
“And there were six of these movies made?” I ask, incredulous.
They try to explain the entertainment value to me, talking about their favorite moments in murderous leprechaun history. Here they are, a woman who is earning a doctorate and a man with a master’s degree in computer science, talking about the merits of a leprechaun on a rampage. Just when you think you know someone, it turns out you know nothing.
After dinner, we go to a show at the Bovine Metropolis Theater. Rattlebrain does sketch comedy shows and is Denver’s answer to Second City. As always, the show is hilarious, and all of us have a great time. When we leave into the cold winter air, Gabrielle says, “I’m having so much fun! Let’s go get drinks somewhere.”
I take a quick look at my watch. It’s after eleven. Way, way past my bedtime. But I want Richard and Gabrielle to get together, so, in the name of love, I agree.
We go to Mickie’s and, as usual for a Saturday night, a band is playing. Gabrielle and Richard go off to get us drinks, and it’s not until they’ve left that I realize they didn’t ask what we want. When they return, they have Irish Car Bombs for everyone.
“Car Bombs?” I say. “This could be dangerous.”
As it turns out, they are dangerous. Gabrielle and Richard order another round of Irish Car Bombs about ten minutes after we’ve had our firs
t, and by the time Richard suggests yet another round, I’m so buzzed this seems like a very reasonable and in fact good idea.
We’re standing at the edge of the dance floor, not really dancing but sort of bopping to the music. The band is good but the beat is really too slow to dance to. An older woman wearing a very slutty outfit that she’s falling out of chooses to stand right in front of us. She has a good body, but she looks like a sixties groupie, aged beyond her years from decades of too much drinking and drugging and tanning her skin into a leathery crisp. Still, when there is someone standing in front of you who is half naked, it’s hard not to watch out of morbid curiosity if nothing else. She desperately wants to dance, but it’s just not dancing music. She’s all hussied up with no place to go.
The strap on her cropped tank top (excuse me, but it’s the middle of winter—I mean really) keeps falling off her shoulder and she looks drunk enough that I don’t think she’d noticed if it came off completely.
“She’s wearing so few clothes you’d think she could at least keep the clothes she has on,” I say to Will.
Richard may or may not have gotten us another round of drinks. By this point, facts are blurred, details are trivial.
The groupie chick decides she needs to get to the bar to get another drink and she stumbles, and she really does almost come out of her blouse completely.
“She’s wearing so few clothes you’d think she could at least keep the clothes she has on,” I say.
“You just said that,” Will says.
“I did?” I wave my hand dismissively. “But that’s the great thing about drinking. You can have the same conversations over and over again and it’s like new every time.”
I don’t know how many beers later it is when we leave, but when I wake up, I realize I’m asleep on Richard’s living room floor desperately hung over and being assaulted by the putrid stench of Richard’s dog Bear sniffing at my face. I don’t recommend mixing acrid dog breath with a hangover if at all possible. Just a little tip from me to you.
I lift my head. The side of my face is covered with carpet lint. Through mostly closed eyes I see Will asleep on the couch. I get up and go over to him.
“Hmm?” he says, waking.
“Hi. What happened last night? Why was I sleeping on Richard’s floor?”
“We decided to come to his place because we were all too drunk to drive and he was the only one with a place within walking distance. You volunteered to sleep on the floor.”
“I did? Why would I do such a thing?”
“You just kind of flopped down and were asleep in about eight seconds. You don’t mind that I took the couch, do you?”
“No.”
I get up and go to Richard’s bathroom. I suck down three Advil and a vitamin and return to the living room. I return to my spot on the living room floor and get another hour or two of sleep before Richard and Gabrielle wake up.
We go to a diner and order huge breakfasts. In my opinion, there is nothing like heavily salted home fries to assist in getting over a hangover. I watch as more than once Richard lightly touches Gabrielle’s back or she briefly lays her fingers on his arm. Things are looking good.
After breakfast, I say I need to use the bathroom. “Gabrielle, do you want to join me?”
“No. I don’t need to go.”
I glare at her.
“I mean, sure,” she says.
In the bathroom, I attack. “So? Did anything happen?”
“We kissed. That was all.”
“Was it good? Do you like him?”
She smiles. “It was great. I like him a lot.”
“He seems to like you. Do you think the height thing is going to be an issue?”
“He did have to do a deep plié to kiss me, but it’s not an issue for me. He’s got my number and he already asked me out for dinner for tomorrow night.”
“Awesome!”
Chapter 44
G abrielle and Richard see each other several more times over the next couple of weeks. Gabrielle and I email back and forth and she tells me all the details of how well they are getting along. She also emails me ideas for how we can celebrate her thirty-fifth birthday. Together we work out all the details.
She ends up throwing a party in Nederland, which is a small town north of Boulder. Will and I have a heck of a time negotiating the winding mountain roads to get there. The party is in a tiny bar that was once a house and is now just a big room—the walls have been torn down and you can see the seams in the ceiling where they once were. There is only enough room for a smattering of wood tables and two couches with the stuffing popping out of them. Gabrielle has gotten an astrologer/psychic to do tarot readings at the party, and when it’s my turn, I approach the astrologer with trepidation. The astrologer is a woman in her early fifties with white hair that falls to her shoulders. I’ve never believed in psychics or astrology, but the moment she starts reading my cards, I start crying. She says that I have several fire cards, which she reads to mean that I have a tremendous drive and desire to succeed. She says that I’m so focused on money and success that I have a tough time living in the present, and I need to learn to slow down and get in touch with my spiritual side. This is stuff I already know. These are the same issues I’ve been talking to my therapist about twice a week for the last several weeks, so I have no idea why it is that her telling me this makes me cry so much, but I cry for most of the reading, nodding my head vigorously and saying again and again, “That is so true. That’s exactly right!” After Gabrielle and Rachel have their readings done, we all compare notes. All of us cried through the readings, and we start crying again when we recount the highlights to each other. Both Rachel’s and Gabrielle’s readings are lessons that apply to me as well—and I suspect they apply to all women. Lessons about the communication issues with our mothers, lessons about how we tend to take on the problems of everyone around us and not focus on our needs, lessons about facing change. Will and Richard watch the three of us sobbing women curiously.
When I break apart from Rachel and Gabrielle, Will says, “I thought you don’t believe in psychics or tarot cards.”
“I don’t believe in it. But getting your cards read is like going to a therapist. She can say something general and you can instantly apply it to your life. At least for me, I usually know what my problems are. It’s doing anything about them that’s the challenge. Getting your reading done or your chart read is just another opportunity to reflect on how to improve yourself, how you want to lead your life.”
Will still looks incredulous. Guys just don’t get it.
At some point, a local band gets on the small stage and starts playing. I watch Richard and Gabrielle dance. Their height difference is kind of funny, but they have a blast dancing together, and it makes my heart happy.
Will and I sit on one of the torn-up couches across from two girls that Gabrielle used to go to school with. Almost all of Gabrielle’s friends are unique and different and highly political. The two women and Will dig into the bowl of Goldfish crackers that is on the coffee table in front of us.
“These things are addictive,” one of the girls says. She’s wearing her hair in short ponytails and is wearing clothes that are seventies-era inspired and so tattered looking they appear to actually have been worn every day since 1972.
“My dog loves Goldfish,” the other girl says. “I use them to train him.”
“You could train me with them,” Will says, taking another handful.
The three of us chuckle, and then I look at Will with a gleam in my eye, wondering what I’d want to train him to do exactly.
When the band takes a break, I pull Gabrielle aside and ask her how things are going with Richard.
“Things are wonderful.”
“Awesome. How’s the rest of your life going?”
“Good. My research is going well, and one of my old professors has asked me to help her do some research, so I think I’ll be able to quit my job and just work part-time on
that and the rest of the time on my research.”
“That’s amazing!”
“I know. Isn’t it exciting?”
“What is the professor you’re going to work for doing research on?”
“She’s studying the discrimination women face in the police force and how this leads to poor police work. I’m actually trying to get into the police academy so I can do my research incognito. I went to the academy the other day and I realized that for me to pass there, I’m going to need to take all my angry political bumper stickers off my car. I just don’t fit in there at all, but it’ll be interesting.”
“That is so cool. Good for you.”
“I know. For the last two years my life felt like it was falling apart. I was worried that things would never come together for me again.”
“But you got through it, and now look how things are.”
“I know. Right now I’m actually happy Dan divorced me. We were so young when we got together that I really didn’t know any other way to be in a relationship, but I feel so much more freedom to be myself with Richard than I ever was with Dan.”
I start crying again, thinking about how, sometimes, things really are better the second time around. I hug Gabrielle, and we hold each other for a long time.
Chapter 45
I ’ve scheduled our trip to Montreal so that I meet Maggie first thing and then Will and I have the rest of the long weekend in Montreal to have fun.
I meet Maggie a couple hours after our plane arrives. Maggie is an eighty year old who launched her own business a year ago. After the jewelry she creates got featured in Vogue, demand for her products has skyrocketed, and she can’t keep up. She wants help figuring out how to expand her business, which is called “Beauté Cachée,” which is French for “hidden beauty.”