by Scott, D. D.
“It doesn’t sound like he did much thinking.” Celia heard the toilet flush and knew Beth had gotten up to go to the bathroom. “First thing you need to do is take a deep breath and calm down before you hyperventilate.”
“How can I calm down? And what am I supposed to do?” she asked with a hysterical edge to her voice she knew she had to tamp down when Tara began to stir. “I really like him. I mean really like him. I don’t want to stop seeing him because of an old relationship, but I’m not sure how to get past this.”
“I think you need to give it some time to sink in,” Beth said. “And as much as I know you don’t want to, I think you need to talk to Tara and get her side of the story. That he’d get involved with her is a huge red flag, and if things didn’t go down like he said they did…I think you may want to jump ship while you can.”
“I know I need to ask her, but I can’t do it now. I’m too upset and she’s a scary bitch if she gets woken up.”
“Go to work and try to put it out of your mind. When you can talk to Tara, I think you should.”
Celia sighed and looked over at her spikey-haired roommate lying prone on her bed. Even with the black satin sleep mask hiding her light blue eyes, she looked like Sleeping Beauty with a buzz cut. “I know I do, but I don’t have to like it.”
“I’ll be there for you when it’s over, no matter how it goes.”
“We should be lesbians,” Celia said. “We’d be the perfect couple.”
“Yeah, but when we had a fight, who would we call?”
• • •
David did the unprecedented. He sent flowers to Celia’s office with a hand-written note that said, “Thinking of you,” because he didn’t know what else to say. He spent the morning tracking down Bob and waiting for his return call. By three, they finally connected.
“Celia Mason,” David said. “Tell me everything you know.”
“Well,” Bob began with a throat-clearing cough. “For one thing, she lives with Tara Fincher.”
“I figured that out.” He wanted to slam his head against the desk or reach through the phone line and slap Bob across the face. “How could you sic Tara on Celia like that?”
“David, look, I know you had a bad experience with Tara, but —”
“A bad experience? She’s crazy, and now she lives with Celia. How could you?”
“Tara’s an artist. They’re wired a little differently, that’s all.”
“Wired like a serpent.”
Bob chuckled. “How do you know Celia?”
“It’s a long story, but damn it, I like her. She’s the first girl I’ve met who makes me want to dip my toe back into the pond, and she lives with Tara.”
“If it makes you feel any better, they’re not friends. I don’t even think they see each other that much.”
“Celia explained that, but now I look like an ass because I had sex with her roommate.”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “That can’t look good.”
David didn’t want Bob’s sympathy. He wanted action. “You need to smooth this over for me, Bob.”
“Why’s that, Dave? I didn’t have sex with Tara.”
“I keep trying to find someone to blame and the most logical person is you.”
Bob let out his trademark sigh. “What do you want me to do?”
“Call Celia. Tell her…tell her the truth, that Tara and I hooked up a few times, and then she squatted in my apartment. Without my permission.”
“Why don’t you tell her that?”
“I did!” David rubbed his throbbing head. “It sounds like a made up story, even though she knows Tara. I need a little backup.”
“I feel for you, Dave, I really do, but I don’t want to get involved.”
“You’re already involved.”
“I don’t want to talk to Celia about your sex life.” Dave heard a beep and another dramatic sigh. “Well, it looks like I’m going to have to talk to Celia about your sex life. She’s on the other line.”
Seven
Celia tapped her pen on her desktop and waited through each excruciating ring. By the third, she was mentally drafting the message she planned to leave on Bob’s voicemail. When he answered, she dropped the pen and sat up in her chair. “Bob? It’s Celia Mason.”
“Hey, Celia.”
He sounded weird, not like the excitable guy she remembered. Celia wondered if she shouldn’t have called him at work. “Bob, this is going to sound a little strange —”
“I doubt it,” he mumbled.
“Can you tell me what happened between Tara and David Willingham?”
“Celia, I could pretend I don’t know why you’re asking, but I just got off the phone with David.”
“You did?” She reached out and fingered a delicate petal of one of the white calla lilies he’d had delivered earlier in the day. “What did he say?”
“He wanted me to call you and tell you what happened with Tara.”
“What did happen with Tara?”
“Look, I don’t want to be in the middle of this, but somehow I am. I’m going to tell you the truth and let the two of you figure this out.” He took a deep breath, as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders. “Tara and I were out in Greenwich one night. We ran into David. He was unattached, she was unattached. They hooked up, and just so you don’t feel too sorry for me, so did I.”
“Oh…congratulations.”
“Anyway, as far as I know, they hooked up a few more times, but you know Tara. It was a fling — on both sides. The next thing I know, Mr. Uptight is calling me, screaming because Tara’s moved some stuff into his place and he wants her out.”
Okay, she thought. That sounded like what he said, but… “I don’t mean to put you on the spot, Bob, but are you sure they didn’t have a relationship? I mean, I can understand a purely sexual thing running its course, but a relationship is different.”
“Celia, you live with Tara. I’ve known her for probably seven or eight years. She doesn’t do relationships. As far as David goes, I’m not really sure. I think he was in a relationship a few years ago, but nothing lately.”
“Okay.” She should feel better. She really should. But she didn’t.
“Celia, listen. This is all I’m going to say about the matter. It was an entertaining couple of weeks for both of them, and then it wasn’t. Since David called me and you called me, I think it’s time for the two of you to talk to each other.”
• • •
The dance studio smelled like Celia’s high school gym. There were people milling about everywhere — on the floor, lounging on couches and chairs haphazardly placed along the hallway, and standing in groups. Celia looked incredibly out of place in her belted sheath dress and platform pumps. What was she doing there? How could she have a personal conversation with Tara when she felt so woefully out of place? And how in the hell would she find her roommate in the sea of dancers?
As if by magic, Tara waltzed out of a door marked Studio C wearing a skimpy leotard and a sweaty towel around her neck. Celia had always envied Tara’s body, but respected the hours and discipline it took to achieve perfection. It rankled Celia knowing David had found pleasure within the dancer’s sculpted form. Their eyes locked.
“What in the world could be so urgent?” Tara asked with an irritated smirk. “I’m on a tight schedule today.”
“I appreciate your time, Tara.”
“If this is about the rent, I’ll get a check to you next week. It’s not due until the end of the month.”
“It’s not about the rent.” Celia cleared her throat and straightened her spine. She would not be intimidated by her gypsy roommate. “I need to talk to you about something personal.”
Tara began walking down a hallway and entered the women’s locker room. Celia followed, hoping for some privacy. Tara stopped at a metal locker, opened the combination lock, and began disrobing as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do in a room full of strangers. A quick look around the
small space and Celia realized Tara wasn’t alone in her lack of modesty.
“You’d better spill it or you’ll have to follow me to the shower.”
Celia stared at a corner locker. “I wanted to ask you about David Willingham.”
“What about him?” Tara asked.
“Did you used to date him?”
Celia glanced over when she heard Tara snicker and instantly regretted it when she realized her roommate was naked. “Fuck him was more like it.”
“Tara, please.” She quickly averted her eyes. “Can you just tell me what happened between the two of you?”
“Fine. We ‘dated’ a handful of times.”
“He said you moved in with him. Uninvited.”
She sighed. “God, he’s so uptight. That’s why I don’t fuck — excuse me — date Republicans anymore. Look, I needed a place to stay. I was bunking with a friend who got picked for a traveling show. It wasn’t planning on staying forever and I didn’t bring all my stuff. Just my cat and some clothes. He went ape-shit crazy and threatened to call the cops.”
“So you hooked up a few times, you moved in, he got upset, and it was over.”
“Basically.”
“Basically? Am I missing something?”
“Yeah,” Tara laughed. “Common sense, if you’re thinking of getting involved with him. He’s a decent lay, but what a tight-ass.” She snorted and walked out of earshot.
Celia glanced around, her cheeks on fire, and made a hasty retreat from the studio. She didn’t need any more corroborating stories. She didn’t need anyone else’s opinion. It was time to make a decision.
Eight
David popped the top off a beer, leaned against his kitchen counter, and took a long pull from the bottle. He glanced at the clock as he swallowed. If it weren’t for bad luck, he would have been preparing for Celia to come over. As it stood, he hadn’t heard from her all day and he figured he might never again.
Fuck it, he told himself. He didn’t need a woman in his life. He just needed to get laid and spend more time with his friends. But most of his friends had wives or girlfriends. And the thought of hitting the bars and the endless rounds of twenty questions had him tossing the bottle cap in the garbage with more force than he’d intended.
When the buzzer sounded in the otherwise quiet apartment, he jolted and jogged for the intercom.
“Mr. Willingham?” the doorman asked. “Mr. and Mrs. Willingham, Sr. are here to see you.”
His parents? In the city? Now? “Send them up, please, Mr. V.”
His mother breezed in wearing a shimmering top, flared pants, and a bright red overcoat. “My boy,” she said, and grabbed him for a quick, but hearty hug. She smelled, as always, like Chanel.
His father, in a suit and tie, closed the door behind him. “David.” They shook hands as they usually did in greeting.
“What’s wrong?” his mother asked. She cocked her head and pursed her painted lips. “You forgot we were coming.”
“No,” he said. “I…yes. I completely forgot.”
“I told you he wouldn’t remember,” his father mumbled.
“Oh, well,” his mother chided. “Good thing we didn’t expect you for dinner.”
“What are you doing here?” David asked.
“We’re seeing that new acrobatic show at Union Square, remember? We made plans to stop by for a drink.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’ve had a crappy day and I totally forgot.”
She looked at the beer he still held in his hand. “Well, since we’re here and you’ve already started, why don’t you offer us a drink?”
He leaned down and kissed her soft cheek. “Of course I will. How about a nice Bordeaux?”
“Sounds wonderful,” she said as they followed him into the kitchen. “Just the right drink for a chilly night.”
David opened the wine, poured it through the aerator, and passed a glass to both of his parents.
“We didn’t invite you to join us because I assumed you’d be busy.” His mom took a small sip and approved his choice with a smile. “You’re welcome to come if you don’t have other plans.”
“I had other plans, but I’m pretty sure they fell through.”
“Sounds like women trouble,” his father said with a toast of his glass.
David shrugged. He absolutely didn’t want to talk about Celia with his parents.
“Oohh,” his mother cooed. “Women trouble implies there is a woman. Tell me more.”
“There was a woman, but I’m pretty sure I screwed it up.” Which wasn’t altogether true. What had he done, other than have the unfortunate luck to have slept with Celia’s future roommate almost a year ago? “Or it just got screwed up.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, darling. Why don’t you join us for dinner, and you can tell us all about how you may or may not have screwed things up with this woman?”
He scratched the back of his neck and tried to figure out how upset his mom would get if he declined. He didn’t want to go to dinner with his parents if they were going to pepper him with questions. He just wanted to change his clothes, have another beer, maybe order some Chinese, and watch hockey. Although, hockey now reminded him of Celia. Basketball. He’d watch some basketball.
“I don’t think —”
The buzzer rang for the second time that evening. It couldn’t be, he wondered. Could it? “Excuse me just a minute,” he said to his parents and walked to the intercom.
“Mr. Willingham?”
“Yes, Mr. V?”
“There’s a Celia Mason here to see you.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “Send her up.”
“You got it,” Mr. V. replied.
He stood at the door, waiting for her knock. When he heard the gentle tapping, he opened the door. She wore her long black parka and an anxious expression on her stunning face.
“Look,” she said. “This is stupid.”
“Yeah.” David stood with his hand on the doorknob, the threshold between them. “I agree.”
She pushed past him into the foyer of his apartment and turned around without taking off her coat. David had the insane urge to back her into his bedroom.
“I called Bob, I talked to Tara. This whole thing was just bad luck and bad timing. But I can’t curse luck because that’s what brought us together in the first place.”
Okay, he thought. That sounded good. “Keep going.”
“So you had a trashy fling with my psycho roommate. So what?”
David looked over Celia’s shoulder to see his mother’s brows shoot up in surprise and his dad’s usually bored expression morph into interest. Talk about bad timing.
“I don’t want to have to explain every guy I’ve ever slept with,” Celia went on. “So I can’t expect you to explain about Tara. But you did explain, and so did she, and so did Bob.”
“Celia…” he tried to interrupt, but she wasn’t finished.
“I was shocked, and then I was jealous. She’s beautiful and exotic and she’s got that incredible dancer’s body. I mean, if I were a guy — or a lesbian — I’d probably have sex with her myself.”
“Celia,” he said again, this time with a lot more force. He grabbed her arm and turned her around. “These are my parents, Sybil and David Willingham.”
Celia whimpered. “Oh. Hi.”
The look she gave him was that of a lamb on the way to slaughter. “I’ve got to go,” she said and pivoted, nearly knocking him down in her effort to escape.
He held tight to her arm. No way was he letting her go now.
His mother stepped forward, her hand extended in greeting. “Celia, how lovely to meet you. David was just telling us about you.”
Celia reluctantly shook his mother’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Willingham.” She spared a quick glance at his dad. “Mr. Willingham.”
“Davey,” his mother said to her husband. “Get my coat, would you, dear? We absolutely must leave if we want to make our reservations.”
“I’ll be right back,” David said to her before he walked his mom and dad to the elevator.
“You have a nice evening, David,” his mother said. The doors opened with a loud ding.
His dad slapped him on the shoulder. “I’d like to hear about that exotic dancer.”
“Some other time,” he said as the doors closed in his face. He took a deep breath and hoped he could salvage things with a different kind of exotic beauty.
• • •
Celia walked to the window of David’s apartment. If she weren’t so high up, she would have taken her chances and climbed out on the ornate ledge and tried to find an escape route. As it was, she felt trapped by the height and the unbelievable beauty of his view. She swung around when she heard the door close.
“I’m an idiot,” she said. “I’m an idiot with a big, blabbering mouth. I’m sorry.”
He walked to where she stood and slipped his hands into his pants pockets. “You’re beautiful and I’m glad you’re here.”
“David, your parents…”
“Are fine. They have dinner and a show to keep them busy, along with visions of you having sex with an exotic dancer.”
She dropped her head into her hands. “Oh my God.” The feel of his arms around her had her peeling her fingers from her face. “Do you hate me?” she asked.
“Not even close.”
“Not even a little?”
He started swaying with her in his arms. It felt like the most intimate dance she’d ever shared. “Not even a fraction of a little. You make quite a first impression, on everyone it seems.”
“You’re just saying that so I won’t leave.”
“No, I’m saying that because it’s true.” He kissed her on the corner of her eye, right next to her mole. “And because I don’t want you to leave.”
She pulled her arms free and wrapped them around his neck. She felt just right against him, as if they were meant to go together. “Is this all happening too fast? It feels really fast, doesn’t it?”