Spinning

by Michael Baron

  About a week after she moved into her new apartment, we made love for the first time since Chicago. It was fabulous, less athletic, and more sensual than I remembered. But that wasn’t what made me think I was falling in love with her.

  She bought me this book on Feng Shui. She said my apartment was in conflict with itself and that the vibes were traveling in circles. I had heard of Feng Shui, but I really didn’t know what it was all about, or even how to pronounce it.

  “Feng shwing?” I said.

  “Not feng shwing. It’s pronounced phung schway and literally means wind water, she said, touching my shoulder. “It has to do with living in harmony with our environment.”

  “I already do that. See? Chair and TV there, and the beer is in the fridge.” I immediately chided myself for being a smartass. This was obviously important to her.

  I flipped through a few pages of the book. Apparently, the art of Feng Shui is about ergonomic placement of energy: doors and windows that open the correct way, a certain fluidity of air around static objects, and taking down naked art.

  “Close enough for now, Mr. Hunter.” Diane said when I told her the conclusions I’d drawn from my reading. “But if you’re going to keep your chair in front of the TV, at least you could be open to experimentation.”

  That sounded interesting. “Experimentation, huh?”

  She smacked me on the arm. “Not that kind of experimentation. Well, maybe that kind, too.”

  Then she told me she wanted to add more soy to my diet.

  Soy?

  After the warning, she surprised me with mac and soy cheese and said that Spring loved it. I went along, but only semi-willingly. More than surrender, accepting soy especially tofu involves a unique vulnerability of the digestion mechanisms, or more eloquently, the willing suspension of distaste.

  What the hell.

  I asked her what she put tofu in and she informed me that it wasn’t something you added to recipes. It was used to replace items in a recipe. In the next few days, I think I lost five pounds. Diane used tofu to substitute the ricotta in lasagna and the chicken in our stir-fry. She said the tofu adopted the flavor of the sauce and provided a “palatable and chewy substance.” It absorbed things, all right. After two nights, I figured I could sculpt it into the shape of giant, maniacal slugs. After painting the eyes with red food coloring, I could set them in the houseplants on my windowsill to scare the pigeons.

  I drew the line when, three days later, I was shriveling down to nothing and Diane used a blend of tofu and soy cheese in our grilled soy cheese sandwiches on organic whole wheat bread. Spring agreed. The concoction was no viable cheese substitute. After our loud protest, Diane agreed to reduce the aggressive tofu campaign.

  Then I realized something. Just as she had failed to understand my diet was grounded in beef, turkey, and chicken, I had failed to understand Feng Shui and tofu were more than trends to her. They were as much a part of her as Spring was. Was the fact that I was beginning to understand this an indication that I was falling in love?

  I was doing things I had never done before and doing them on the spur of the moment: Feng Shui and “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt;” Seitan and talking in bed for hours after making love. I even called in sick once just so we could take Spring to a midweek matinee. Spending time with Diane was like being on an exotic vacation; like a trip to Bangkok without the vaccinations.

  And the kid? I was starting to enjoy Spring as someone more than just a member of a demographic group I needed to learn more about. At three and a half, she displayed certain lovable qualities that were hard to resist, like a blanket fresh from the dryer. Of course, when she sided with me in the tofu battles, that didn’t hurt her chances, either.

  On Halloween, we took Spring trick-or-treating in her building. Although I had cut out of work early something that led to at least one snide comment from a colleague about my losing my edge I was still running late. It didn’t matter. Diane and Spring were even further behind.

  “Where’s your costume?” Diane said, looking a little disappointed, but not surprised.

  “I’m a pack rat, can’t you tell?” I pointed to my new Aspen eggplant-colored backpack with its ballistic nylon, ultra heavy gauge solid steel hardware, and lifetime guarantee.

  “You told Spring you’d dress up…”

  “I was running a little late. If she doesn’t like the pack rat costume…” I reached into my pocket, “I can wear my sunglasses.”

  “Pack rat on vacation?”

  “Nice guess.”

  Spring ran out from the bedroom and surprised me by jumping into my arms. She very nearly bowled me over and I was a little distracted by it for the next few minutes.

  “Hi,” she said, loudly.

  “Hi to you, too.” Spring had some whiskers drawn on her face. I turned to Diane. “Where’s her costume?”

  “She’s going as you.”

  “Ha.”

  “Okay, wait. Close your eyes.”

  I heard Diane whisper to Spring but couldn’t tell what they were saying.

  “Open them!”

  “Ta da!” they shouted. They were both wearing fake Groucho noses and glasses.

  “Those are lovely,” I said. “Does that mean you’re ready to go?”

  “We’re not ready yet. Have something to drink and we’ll be done in a few minutes.” Diane escorted Spring back to the bathroom.

  I wasn’t surprised that they weren’t ready. Actually, I had counted on it. When Diane and Spring went back into the bedroom, I slipped out her door, grabbed a box from around the corner and removed three pumpkins. I had cleaned them an hour before and still had orange goo under my fingernails to prove it. I set them on the counter and added a candle to each. Although the pumpkins were clean, this was hardly my best creative work. The faces were cute, but a little crooked.

  Other than the drawings on the fridge, the pumpkins on the counter, and a laptop with a sticker touting Barnes, Inc., not much more about Diane’s apartment had changed. The pumpkins added color to her place. When I looked at the three of them, the thought flashed that they resembled Jim, Hank, and me. I hadn’t missed the boys the last few weeks, or the ladies at the Magenta Martini or even Laurel. I had thought about her a little before Diane and I had started to get serious, but not much after that. We’d smile at work, but I think she understood.

  I considered my indifference toward Laurel to be further proof that I was in love with Diane. I had almost said the words to her twice. We were making love and it almost slipped out during, and then again after. For some reason that I didn’t fully understand, I just lay there fighting the urge. Why was I fighting love?

  Diane was unlike any woman I had ever known. After a week of thinking about telling her I loved her, I even pulled her picture out of my drawer at work and practiced. The picture looked good on my desk. As if it were a copy of Playboy, I had been sneaking peeks at it during the day. I decided to leave the picture on my desk.

  If I were going to tell Diane I loved her, though, I didn’t just want to blurt it out during or after sex. I wanted it to be special. Diane loved old movies, so I decided to tell her I loved her on the top of the Empire State Building. I’d pretend to be Cary Grant in that movie. To make sure she arrived, I planned to hold her hand until we reached the observation deck.

  We didn’t get there.

  Although I had envisioned a quiet and romantic moment alone with Diane, she said that we had to take Spring because Spring would want to see the view. I decided to stay with my plan, but fate stepped in again. The elevator to the observation deck was closed for repairs and wouldn’t open again until the next morning. Diane and Spring shrugged off the disappointment, but I skulked. “This is getting all screwed up,” I said.

  Diane offered me a patient smile. “It’s no big deal. We’ll come back some other time.

  I stopped her by a water cooler and took her hands. She eyed me with curiosity, but didn’t say anything.

  “D
iane, do you know that movie, A Night to Remember?”

  “Yeah,”

  “That’s why I brought you and Spring here.”

  “Because of A Night to Remember?”

  “Knowing how you like old movies, I wanted to be romantic and tell you…” For a moment, my eyes drifted. This was as personal as I had ever gotten with someone.

  Diane made a sour face. “A Night to Remember?”

  “Yeah,”

  “That’s the movie about the Titanic… with the iceberg?”

  “I meant the one with Cary Grant.”

  “That’s An Affair to Remember.”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. ”

  Spring tugged at Diane’s coat. “I don’t feel so good.”

  I continued. “I wanted to take you to the top of the world, like in the movies….”

  Spring tugged harder.

  “Mommy, I really don’t feel good.”

  Diane knelt down next to her.

  “I think I might throw up,” Spring said.

  Diane looked up at me. “I’d better get her to a bathroom.”

  I just laughed and shook my head. Diane gave me an apologetic expression and took Spring away. By the time they came back, Spring seemed okay, but the moment had been lost for me.

  “Sorry about that,” Diane said. “Sometimes, it’s too much juice. Other times, I think it’s just too much adult conversation. She was okay by the time we got to the bathroom. What were you saying?”

  “Nothing that can’t wait.” I was bummed about the missed romantic opportunity, but I forced myself to get over it and wait for another shot.

  Halloween costumes finally completed, Diane and Spring came out from the back and saw the pumpkins. “Oh, Dylan!”

  “D!” Spring exclaimed, running to the small one. She was wearing a teddy bear head and a duck costume like the stuffed toy I bought her and her Groucho glasses.

  “That is so sweet!” Diane said, putting her arms around me. “I can’t believe you did this for us. I love you, Dylan Hunter.”

  It wasn’t at all the way I pictured it, but it was still eminently satisfying. “I love you, too,” I said.

  Chapter 6

  Quite a Piece of Real Estate

  Sure, it s 3:00 a. m. but Jim will understand. I beat on his door.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

  Unfortunately, Jim looked exactly as I imagined he would at 3:00 in the morning, answering the door in his boxers. His hair was all over his head like a basket of feathers.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Can we talk? I can’t sleep.”

  “Yeah, yeah, what the hell. I’m up. Come on in. Beer?”

  “Yeah.”

  I followed him into the kitchen, where he twisted the tops off a couple of Buds.

  “Sorry I don’t have any Samuel Smiths here. You’ll have to drink my brand. What the hell’s going on? You two get into fight or something?”

  “No fight. But it is about Diane.”

  “She finally figured you out and left?”

  “No, now shut up; this is important.” I took a swig from the bottle. “It’s been six weeks now and it’s been great.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I told her I love her, but how do I know if I really mean it?”

  “You want me to call Dr. Phil?”

  “No, I want you to tell me why you got married.”

  “Shit, D-Man. It’s three o’clock in the morning. If you’re gonna wake me up, can’t we talk about football or something?”

  “Come on, please?”

  Jim looked at me and sipped some beer. “Okay, but if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.”

  “Deal.”

  “Why did I get married? Why did I get married? Mostly because Gina told me we were either gonna get married or break up.”

  “That’s it?”

  “No. We hadn’t dated very long, a year or some shit, and we were getting along pretty good. I was still working as a firefighter at the time you know, two days on, two days off so before I could screw up with Gina, I had to go back to work. Saved my ass more than a few times with her. But when I’d get home, Gina’d be there at my apartment waiting for me. I’d be dog-tired and I’d say ‘Gina, what the hell are you doin here?You know, because she’d know I was too tired to do anything. And she’d say she just wanted to be here when I got home… make sure I was safe. She said she wanted to be around me. I didn’t know why, but I figured that was part of it. We didn’t have to do anything or go anywhere, she just wanted to be around.”

  “I want Diane around.”

  “See, that’s not it.”

  “I figured it was more complicated than that.”

  “Way more complicated, D-Man. We saw more of each other, time goes by, sometimes we go out, sometimes we stay at my place and order pizza. We just hang out on the couch. The sex is great. I’m getting laid, she’s happy, and then one day she says, ‘Jimmy, do you love me?’ Is that what Diane did?”

  “No.”

  “Gina did. So I sit there for a minute and think, you know, because time’s a tickin.’ If I say no, she’s gonna hate my guts and leave. If I say I don’t know, it’s gonna be no sex and she still might leave. But if I say yes, I love her, she’s gonna stay.”

  “Did you love her?”

  Jim set his beer down. “I’ll tell you, D-Man, it was like somebody flipped a switch. As soon as I told Gina I loved her, everything changed.”

  He went to the fridge to retrieve two more Buds.

  “Now she wants to do more, we fight less, and things are pretty good. You know, we say I love you’ on a regular basis sometimes in public when no one is listening and I start to feel like I really do love her. This is the trap.”

  “The trap?”

  “The trap. See, right now, everything is good. She only does the things you like and you ignore the other stuff.”

  “Like…”

  “Stuff, you know, like gabbing to her sister about you getting drunk and falling asleep during sex. Stuff like that… Remember, I’ll deny all of this.”

  “Yeah, yeah. That’s why you got divorced?”

  “Hell no. That’s why I got married.”

  “You lost me.”

  “I wasn’t paying attention to the things I didn’t like. Just the good stuff like the sex, do you follow me?”

  “Yeah. So, why did you get divorced?”

  “I got divorced because my girlfriend didn’t like me being married all the time.”

  He took a drag from the bottle.

  “Dylan, when I split from Gina, I left with three great boys and this knowledge, which I will impart on you for free… or a couple beers the next time we’re out.”

  “Deal.”

  “It’s easy to see only the good stuff in a relationship, especially this early in the game. So ask yourself if you can live with the things you don’t like.”

  “Isn’t that settling?”

  “No,” he said, pointing at me. “You are not settling for anything. It’s a compromise. D-Man. If you’re thinking about Diane and who wouldn’t, you lucky bastard and Spring, remember she’s a pre-fab. I can say that without prejudice because I’m also a pre-fab. Remember how you felt about pre-fabs before she knocked on your door? Gotta keep that in mind, while you’re sorting things out.”

  “Thanks.” I downed the rest of the beer and left with Jim’s wisdom and a slight buzz.

  When I got back to my apartment, I removed the small, robin’s-egg blue box from the countertop and opened it. The ring was expensive, but if I was ever going to get married, I wanted a rock my wife would be proud to show off for the rest of her life.

  I went to the hall closet, put the ring in my overcoat, and somewhere, a plate fell to the floor.

  Friday morning, I sat in my office staring at the picture, which had now been on my desktop for the last few weeks. With the exception of Laurel, who’d gotten chillier the longer my relationship with Diane continued, I was st
arting to enjoy how everyone was treating me. It might have all been in my mind, but I sensed a new respect; the impression that I had to be responsible if I was dating a woman with a child.

  Lunch came and went, and I stayed in my office. My stomach churned as I thought about what I planned to do that night.

  “Hey. It was Billie.

  “Come on in, close the door.”

  “Why?”

  “Would you tell me if I was about to do something stupid?”

  “Always do. What did you do this time?”

  “Would you be honest?”

  “When am I not?”

  “How would I know?”

  “True. Shoot.”

  I took a deep breath. “It’s only been six weeks since Diane and I really started our relationship…”

  “Uh, oh.”

  “Uh, oh what? No, uh, oh. Well, maybe uh, oh. I bought this.” I tossed the small robin’s-egg blue box over to her.

  When she opened the box, her eyes grew wide. “This is quite a piece of real estate.” She looked at the ring. “Wow. But why are you showing me? Were we competing on who would get married first?”

  “It’s only been six weeks.”

  “That’s like a couple of decades to me. But what’s the fuss? If you’re not sure it’s time, wait. What’s another week or two hundred?”

  “But I don’t think I want to wait. I love her… ”

  Billie tossed the box back.

  “… and Spring.”

  “Then why are we having this conversation?”

  “I respect your opinion.”

  “Thanks, but this is something you need to figure out for yourself.”

  “Who figures this stuff out by themselves? Help me. Please?”

  I must have looked desperate. Billie’s opinion was very important to me. It had been for a long time.