“I don’t care, Samantha. You went behind my back, and you lied to my face. I’ll miss what we had, but you have to pack your things.”
Harsh. That’s two breakups back to back for me. And one of them includes the loss of a job. I wonder if I could still have sex with John and do this all differently? Could I go far back enough to fix this? And more importantly, would I want to? I’m so incredibly mad at John, just for being who he is.
There’s only one person I feel like talking to right now, and that’s Marty. But I can’t talk to him because he doesn’t know of the great intimacy we’ve shared, and ever since the airplane conversation, it’s just awkward between us.
So I call up Lacey.
~
When I get to her house, she’s excitedly getting ready for a date.
“You really can fix anything!” she exclaims as she lets me inside, and I follow her upstairs to watch her finish doing her makeup. Lacey lives on the top floor of a duplex. “How did you get Marty to finally call me?” she continues. And here I thought this day couldn’t get any worse.
“I didn’t,” I admit, thoroughly confused.
“Well, either way, your boss was a fool to fire you. But at least you still rep Marty!” Then she starts rambling, “Do you know what he said, when he called me? He said that now that he has money, he finally feels deserving of a girl as pretty as me!” Lacey giggles. “So that’s all it was! He just didn’t think he deserved me. Men are so weird.”
I nod, forcing a sympathetic smile for her and holding back the disappointment I feel for myself. It’s only fair. He was always her guy.
Meanwhile, she’s still talking, “And I’ve always wanted to date a best-selling author!” She looks at the time, “Oh my God, he’s going to be here any minute! How do I look?”
She looks great, as always. But I’m just realizing that I don’t want to run into him. I feel crappy enough without him having to know about it. Lacey’s not the type to notice, but Marty will be able to feel my drained energy within seconds, no matter how hard I try to act happy for them. He’s very astute, and particularly in touch with me. Oh God, I don’t even wanna think about how well he knows me, or how well he gets me. That’ll just make it worse. I have to get out of here.
“Hey, I should get going before he gets here,” I grab my purse. “Have fun tonight!” I hope she didn’t notice the crack in my voice. I really do want her to have fun. This is what she’s been waiting for. And I guess it is her turn. After all, I’ve just had almost nine mostly amazing months with John. I shouldn’t be such a boy-hog. It’s ugly and rude.
I open the front door to leave, and there he is, ringing the doorbell, right on time.
“Oh, hi!” I exclaim, not able to stop myself from smiling when I see him. I’ve missed him over the last few days, and he really has been the only person I've wanted to share all my recent defeats with. He looks more uncomfortable than happy to see me. The tension we had left each other with has only gotten worse.
“Hi,” he replies, completely taken off guard by the sight of me, “I’m—you’re here. Um, that’s weird, because I’ve been meaning to call you, actually.”
Well that’s music to my ears.
“Yeah? What’s up?” How’s that for casual?
Marty looks up the stairs beyond me. I turn to see that Lacey is there, waving.
“Be one second!” she yells down, before running off.
“This isn’t really the time or the place to get into it,” Marty says quietly.
“Should we just talk before we shoot those instructional videos next week?” I suggest.
“It’s about that,” he sighs deeply, looking like he was about to inform me of a dear relative’s passing, “I don’t think I can work with you anymore.” The shock and fear must be visible on my face because he decides to clarify, making it worse, “I mean, I can, but I don’t want to.”
Make that three breakups and two job losses. Anyone else wanna line up to kick me while I’m down?
“Oh,” I say, trying my damndest not to cry, “Why?”
“We should talk about it later. I just wanted to let you know as soon as possible, so you could schedule other things. I know you have a lot of clients to coordinate.”
“Yeah. Tons…”
I need to get out of here before either of them sees me cry and I have to explain why, “Ok. We’ll talk later, then… Bye.” I make a mad dash for the other side of the door jam, so I can get to the street, out of view from this building and let myself wail hysterically.
Chapter 31
I don’t know if it’s because I think it will make me feel better or worse, but I decide to call Lacey to find out how her date went. Part of me doesn’t want to know if it went well, but another part of me wants to be a big enough person to live vicariously through her joy, knowing that if I can’t be happy, at least I created the scenario in which my two best friends in the world can be happy—even if it does have to be with each other. Another advantage of knowing how it went is that then I can stop making up stories about it in my head. It’s bound to be less painful than the things I’m inventing and visualizing. And sometimes, just knowing the truth, forces you to accept the reality of a situation, as it is. And that can help you move on from it.
I know that hearing about it is going to suck at first, no matter how it went, but the suspense is killing me, so I call her. Several times. Why am I calling her so much? Probably because for some reason, she’s not calling me back!
A week goes by. I leave another message.
“Hey Lacey, it’s me. I was thinking about checking out K-Bar again, tonight. I mean, unless you and Marty are an official item now, and you don’t feel like going out anymore? Ha-ha. Honestly, I don’t really feel like going out either, but I was gonna force myself. And K-Bar went so well for us last time. But call me back either way. I want to know what’s going on with you.”
She is definitely avoiding me. I meant what I said though, if something is going on with her, she should tell me about it, so I can fix it. Maybe I should just go to K-Bar by myself. Yeah, that wouldn’t be awkward; I can picture the conversations now:
“Who are you here with?”
“Nobody.”
“Where do you work?”
“Nowhere.”
“What do you like to do for fun?”
“Nothing.”
“Wow! How could a great girl like you be single?”
I call Lacey again throughout the week, basically begging her to talk to me and be my friend.
“Fine, don’t tell me about your date with Marty. Tell me about yourself. Tell me about why you’re mad at me. Just tell me something! I miss you. I really need to talk.”
If I had left that message on a guy’s voice mail, I would probably feel really stupid about it, but that’s one of the great things about girlfriends. You can be totally emotional with them, and they actually appreciate you for it. That said, this latest message still did not elicit a call back from Lacey, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to reduce myself to pretending I was worried about her well being, and ask her to, “Please call back and let me know you’re okay.” It’s a good trick, that always gets a call back, but it’s desperate.
I accidentally see myself in the mirror. What a hot mess, I am! My hair is a complete rat’s nest, which shouldn’t surprise me in the least since it hasn’t been washed or combed in over four days. My pajamas have food stains dripping down them. My general sense of loserness has made it so that I’m not able to eat much lately, but when I do eat, I do it very poorly. Drinking happens more often, and has created a proportional amount of spillage on my chest. I’ve tried to restrict myself to water, vodka, and similarly clear beverages for this reason, but my mouth gets bored, and I find myself reaching for the cranberry juice and hot chocolate, which inevitably end up on my front side. I have a drinking problem. I really have to learn to do it right.
I consider putting on makeup just to avoid the shock of seeing the d
ark circles that have formed around my sad-looking eyes, and the red blotchiness that has built up from blowing my nose as I cry, but makeup without showering seems erroneous, so I skip the whole thing.
My energy has been sapped, and even walking from the bedroom to the kitchen to get something to eat, drink, or spill on myself seems like hard labor. It’s been eighteen hours since my last meal, so I decide to get some nuts. The idea of chewing them seems tedious, but at least they don’t stain.
On the way to the kitchen, I trip over that giant box that I left there in the filth pile I call a living room, stubbing my toe. I jump around holding my foot, and cursing them all! That stupid box that caused my breakup with John. That annoying box that caused me to miss out on my ring, and lose my great job. That teasing box that sits there in my home, filled with vibrating replicas of the appendage that gave me the most pleasurable sexual experience of my life…
Fuck it, I’m calling Marty. As soon as I find the ability to walk again, or the energy to dig up my phone from this mess I’ve left everywhere. Last time I used it was to call Lacey, but who knows where I threw if from there. I’m just angry enough to figure it out, while still limping from the pain in my toe.
Find it! Dial! Get his voice mail! Leave a message!
“Hi, Marty, I never heard from you about finishing that conversation, and—whatever. I just wanted to let you know that those sex toys arrived, and I have them at my place. They’ve been here for a while actually, and I was gonna tell you when you called, but you never called, so… Yeah. This is Samantha, by the way.”
Hang up! Regret my angry tone! Hate myself! Cry. Talk to myself out loud.
“I wish I had had sex with him…”
That’s not the wish that transports me back to a time where all this misery could be avoided, and I didn’t do the act that I needed to perform to make the wish that does transport me back, but a girl can still wish, right?
Suddenly, the doorbell rings. Oh, no.
“Who is it?”
“I’m worried that if I tell you, you won’t let me in,” he says through the door.
“John?”
I’m shocked. I didn’t really expect to hear from him again, no less have him show up at my door. Did I just flashback to some time or event I don’t remember? I run to the mirror.
Nope. I still look like shit.
I’d better do something about that! I quickly wipe away my tears, run a brush through my hair. Give up on that, and put my hair in a messy bun. Trust me, it’s an improvement. I splash some water on my face, throw off my dirty pajamas, throw on the closest casual dress I can reach from the pile of laundry on the floor, and go to the door.
“Are you okay?” he still says, as he notices my appearance. I did what I could, but obviously, I need a good hour or two to make any significant improvements.
I nod, with lingering tears in my eyes, and to my stupefaction, he pulls me in for a tender hug.
“Come here,” he says, sweetly rubbing my back and taking responsibility for my despair, “I never should’ve broken up with you. I’m sorry.”
“Really?” I am genuinely surprised, “I mean, why? What I told you was so crazy.”
“I know,” he agrees, “but I believe you.”
Well there’s an interesting turn of events!
“You do?” He nods.
“Not too long ago, I had a similarly weird experience, where I thought I got in a car accident, and I saw my life flash before my eyes, just like they say it will. And there were a couple of parts in there, that weren’t entirely familiar. And they involved having sex… with you. Three times. Once on the night we met at K-Bar, and once in the woods, and once—I think it was the first time I came over here for dinner or something like that. It was definitely here.” My face drops to the ground, and I think he can see that I know what he’s talking about.
Reassured, he goes on, “Then I saw the white light, and I floated toward it, for a long, long time, and I came into an open space where I recognized the spirits of people and dogs that I’d loved, but were dead. And then I suddenly got sucked away from them, and—I sound crazy, don’t I?” I shake my head no. “Because after that, we were still just camping, and I figured that I had hallucinated the whole thing, like some elaborate déjà-vu—even though you were hugging me and kissing me like I’d just come back from the dead.”
I can’t even speak right now, I’m so amazed this is happening. So I just nod, like a mute.
“So, I guess that’s why I thought that maybe there was some small chance that you weren’t lying and we really did have sex.” I nod, and he continues, “In which case, I want another chance to give you what you want.”
He wants to give me another chance. I am loving this side of him. He is open-minded. He is accepting of my faults and mistakes.
He finishes his thought, “Everyone deserves a second chance, right?”
“And sometimes a third, and a fourth, or a fifth,” I concur, still nodding and smiling stupidly at my new found happiness, not to mention my new found ability to exercise my vocal chords.
He hugs me, and kisses me, and hugs me some more. He is so happy that I’m agreeing to this. He knows we’ve had sex, and he really wants to be with me anyway! He loves me. For real!
He opens the front door and grabs something he’s left outside by it, “Here, I got you something to wear for this. It’s something I think would look nice on you.” He hands me a box.
Inside it is a beautiful dress. He really does know what would look nice on me.
“Put it on,” he says enthusiastically, “I want to take you somewhere special and do this right this time.”
His perpetual smile is back, and so is mine.
Chapter 32
“Somewhere special” turns out to be the same salsa club we’ve gone to on our multiple salsa dancing dates. I guess it’s special enough. I mean, we have had a lot of dates here, and we even talked about it on the first night we met. That said, this place must somehow have more meaning for him than it does for me.
“It’s our club,” I point out, as I get out of the car, looking hot in my new dress.
John takes my hand and leads me inside, “Yes, but it’s more special than you think.” Good, so it wasn’t just me being skeptical of our relationship to this place. “You haven’t seen the rooftop, yet!”
He walks me through the club, past all the expert dancers twirling and shaking, to a back door I’m not sure we’re allowed to exit through in case of a non-emergency.
Behind the club, there is a ladder, leading to the roof. I’m not exactly dressed for scaling walls, but John seems so excited to show me this rooftop, that I produce my best Spiderman impression anyway. He goes up ahead of me, and as I get to the top, he lends me his hand.
“It’s the most romantic place I’ve ever been,” he exclaims, accidentally demonstrating that he’s been here with someone besides me.
That said, he’s not wrong. It is very romantic. It’s got 360 views of the City, the Bay, the Pacific Ocean, and the Golden Gate Bridge. It’s got little green shrubs surrounding the protective railing, interspersed with ivy, bougainvillea, and large pots of roses along the perimeter. The greenery is laced with classy white Christmas lights. The kind you can leave up year round. There’s a couch and a love seat surrounding a small table, with a candle burning brightly, as if it were expecting us. And in the far corner, across from the ladder’s edge, there is a beautiful, old-fashioned canopy bed. It’s like a million dollar loft apartment that’s all glass windows and no roof. The other thing that makes it special is that only those in the know can enjoy it.
“How did you find this place?” I have to ask.
“Someone who worked here showed it to me, and I’ve always thought it would’ve been the perfect place to do this,” John gets on one knee, and opens the ring box. “Samantha Harper, will you marry me, in a proper wedding ceremony, surrounded by all our friends and family?”
After all that we’ve
been through, something tells me I should think about this, but I don’t.
“Yes! Yes! I would love to!”
He puts the ring on my finger. Oh my God, I have a ring on my finger. And it’s from John, the man I’ve been chasing all year! And it’s big! And beautiful! And perfect! Lacey can have Marty! Marty can take Lacey away from me. I don’t care. I’ve got John Hollister!
I lower myself to my knees to meet John where he is, and I kiss him. It’s romantic and enchanting. It’s that moment you read about in fairy tales. And it’s mine.
The salsa music seeps through the walls, setting a tone of sexiness and making us feel like our movie moment has its very own soundtrack. It thumps through the ceiling below us. It thumps through my heart. It thumps through our kiss. And then there is a loud thump.
Another kissing couple has become so caught up in their own lustful feelings, that they haven’t noticed us kneeling in their path, and they’ve tripped right over John, landing on the ground next to us. We hear them yelp from the hit, and then burst out laughing together.
For a moment, John and I are confused. But then John says the most pivotal thing he’s ever said in front of me.
“Colette?”
The woman in the couple looks up at him, and with her French accent says, “John?”
“Colette?” I repeat, wondering if I’ve just met John’s ex-wife.
“John?” Colette’s companion asks, apparently having a revelation similar to mine.
Colette is striking looking. But more pertinent than that is how much she looks like me. Not that I’m striking. If anything, I’d say that I’m the poor-man’s version of her, and not vice-versa. Her hair is cut like mine. The dress John gave me to wear tonight has the same shape and style as hers. I’m even starting to think that he probably bought it at Colette’s favorite boutique. How else would he know where to get something like this?
How Long You Should Wait to Have Sex: a Novel Page 22