Confessions of an Ex-Girlfriend

by Lynda Curnyn

  Pulling back, he looked up at my building, as if seeking out my window, then gazed at me once more with a small smile. “I think it might be safest if we say good-night here.”

  Max. Precious Max, I thought in my hazy mind. Such a gentleman. The kind even Grandma Zizi would admire, I thought, realizing his height and good looks also met her other qualifications. Hell, he might even be rich. I smiled up at him, feeling something like love welling up inside me. Except we don’t call it love, not this soon. Not until we are renting videos on Friday night and sharing a toothbrush on Saturday morning.

  He smiled back. Then, removing my arms from around his neck gently, he clasped my two hands in his and held me away from him, his eyes studying me in a way that made me giddy, and slightly nervous.

  Then he laughed, breaking the tension. And he spoke, breaking my bubble. “I still can’t believe you drank four tequila drinks in—” he dropped my hands to look at his watch “—as many hours.” He chuckled again, eyebrows raised.

  Suddenly those four drinks lurched in my stomach, in serious danger of making a comeback, all over his soft leather loafers. I laughed uneasily as he stepped back and with the most gentle, most innocuous wave, said, “I’ll call you.”

  I was certain, in that moment, that he never would.

  As I stumbled up the steps to my apartment, my head fuzzy and my eyes burning with something that felt frighteningly like tears, I realized there was only one thing to do. And that thing was guided by a faint ache in my soul that alcohol only heightened, and the sight of my empty apartment made absolutely imperative.

  I called Derrick. Don’t ask me what I expected. I wasn’t even sure myself. All I knew was that in the face of Max Van Gelder’s apparent rejection, I felt an almost painful yearning to hear the voice of the man who once told me he loved me more than life itself.

  As the phone rang in my ear, I consulted my watch: 12:20 a.m. New York time meant 9:20 p.m. California time. He could be home. He could be out. He could be having sex with his roommate. I quickly blotted out that last thought. That’s one of the great gifts alcohol brings: denial.

  “Hello?”

  “Derrick!” I said, relief evident in my voice.

  “Hey, Em, how are you?” he replied. I was certain that was warmth and happiness I heard in his voice. He was glad to hear from me. Maybe even jubilant.

  “I’m good, good. How’s everything with you?”

  “Excellent, in fact. I’m just getting ready to go to a screening party for one of the studio’s new films.” He chuckled. “And this time I have an invitation, being an employee of the studio. My days of party-crashing are over.”

  “That sounds great,” I said wistfully.

  “So what are you up to? You must be just getting home from somewhere?”

  “Um. Chelsea Square?”

  “Oh, I used to love that place.”

  Must be a guy thing. “Yeah, it was okay.”

  “That’s the one thing I really miss about being in New York. L.A. just doesn’t have the same kind of cool old bars that you find everywhere in New York.”

  I bristled, then joked, “Oh, so that’s the one thing you miss about NYC?” Fear filled me as I waited for his reply.

  “And you, of course, Em,” he said to my relief. “That goes without saying.”

  My heart trilled inside. He loves me, he loves me, he loves me.

  “So who did you go out with?”

  “Jade,” I replied quickly, then realizing I could inflict my own torture, I added, “and a few of her model friends. Just some guys she did a shoot with.”

  “That’s cool,” he replied, clearly unfazed by the fact that I allegedly spent the evening surrounded by the most beautiful men NYC had to offer. “How is Jade doing?”

  “She’s fine. Alyssa’s fine, too. Though Lulu isn’t too good. Poor little thing needs surgery.”

  “Oh, no, really? God, I hope Lulu’s all right. I loved that dog.”

  You did? Then why, oh why, did you leave Lulu? Why did you leave me? Swallowing my angst, I said, “I hope she’ll be all right. Alyssa’s pretty broken up about it.”

  “Well, give her a hug from me.”

  “I will.” I felt so light suddenly. He cared about me. Even my friends. Hell, he cared about my friend’s dog.

  Then he went and ruined it all. “Listen, Em, I gotta run. Carrie should be home any minute. I’m supposed to be ready to go when she gets here, and I haven’t even showered yet.”

  “Carrie? I thought you said you got the invite to this party.”

  “I did. But I asked Carrie to come with me,” he replied innocently.

  “But she’s your roommate,” I insisted.

  He laughed. “Yeah, and? Is there some kind of secret party law that says you can’t take your roommate to a film-opening bash? I figured it would be a good opportunity for her to make contacts. She is an actress and—”

  “Tell me the truth, Derrick.”

  “Truth?”

  “You’re sleeping with her, right?”

  “What?”

  “Okay, maybe you’re not sleeping with her. Yet. But it’s only a matter of time. A few dinners at home, a few parties. Next thing you know, you guys come home one night, tumble into bed. Next thing you know, you’re downsizing to a one bedroom.”

  “Emma—”

  “This is just like you, Derrick. Always doing whatever the fuck you want, no matter who you hurt. Well, I’m tired of it. I’m tired of everything.”

  He was silent on the other end, which only encouraged me to go on.

  “How dare you walk away from me after two years and call me up as if everything is fine between us?” I said, a well of anger rising in me that I had not known existed until now. “Then you have the nerve—the nerve!—to start fucking your roommate and think this isn’t going to bother me? Well, it does bother me, dammit. I know maybe you can tell someone you love them, and then move three thousand miles away. But I can’t. I said I loved you and I still love you. You can’t just change the rules on me. You can’t.”

  As I paused to catch my breath, I realized he still hadn’t said a word. And it was starting to make me nervous.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  He sighed. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk anymore.”

  That made me really furious. “Oh, here we go. Typical male solution. Let’s just not talk anymore. Why talk about anything? Why even try to have a relationship?”

  “We aren’t having a relationship, Emma.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. He had me there. And the truth coming out of his mouth stabbed painfully, right in the center of my heart. “I thought we were friends,” I said weakly.

  “Maybe we can’t be friends. I don’t know why I ever thought we could. Hell, it amazes me we even lasted so long as a couple. You’re so damn…difficult, Emma. You can never just let things be what they are.”

  I was difficult? I couldn’t let things be? “Is that right?” I asked now, my anger bubbling again. “If you’re such a genius at relationships, why don’t you fill me in on what exactly I’m supposed to let be?”

  “Us, Emma,” he said in a lethal whisper. “Let us be. We’re over, dammit. Over!” he yelled in my ear.

  I was stunned into silence by his words. And suddenly, achingly, sober.

  “Look, Emma,” he said, his voice softer. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you. Maybe it was wrong of me to think we could be friends right away. Maybe we need a time-out. To…to cool off.”

  My throat clogged as I realized what he was suggesting. I couldn’t imagine not talking to Derrick. Not hearing his voice. “I don’t think that’s a good—”

  “Stop thinking so much, Emma. That’s your problem. You think too damn much. About everything.”

  “Sorry, I hadn’t realized I was such a problem,” I replied, taking comfort in anger once more.

  He sighed again. “We are going to get nowhere with this. Listen, let’s just take a break,
okay? Let’s just agree we won’t talk for, say, a month.”

  A month? My insides quaked, but I rallied behind my anger. “A month?”

  “It’s not such a long time.”

  I was furious now. Furious and sad that he was so over me he could go an entire month without even hearing my voice. Without knowing whether I was dead or alive. Still, my temper caused me to drive in the final stake, knowing, even as I did, it would ultimately destroy me. “I don’t think a month is long enough!”

  And with that, I slammed down the phone and finally, finally, allowed myself to cry.

  Confession: The truth has set me free: I am truly dumped now.

  Something broke inside of me. I wasn’t sure if I needed whatever it was, but I certainly felt freed from a burden I had not even realized I carried. I woke up Saturday morning, and my first thought was that I was alone. Completely, utterly alone. My second thought was that I didn’t have time to dwell on it. I had things to do.

  I spent the day in front of my computer. I didn’t just sit there, I wrote. I shut off the ringer on my phone and just wrote. And within a few hours, I had composed what I believed to be the strongest and best and most innovative proposal for Bridal Best that I had done in my whole career there. I waxed poetic on the choices facing older single women, I belted out ideas for articles. I was brilliant.

  When I went to work on Monday, dressed appropriately in my black blazer and matching trousers, which suddenly felt like a power suit, I confidently handed my freshly printed pages to Patricia’s admin, Nancy, who eyed me with surprise. Then I marched over to Rebecca’s cubicle to gloat, only to discover a note proclaiming her out sick.

  Poor baby, I thought sarcastically. She was probably home polishing up her new engagement ring, hoping to blind us all with its glare when she came in tomorrow. Well, she wouldn’t find me hovering over her, exclaiming with the rest of the staff about its large size and glowing brilliance. I couldn’t care less.

  And as I worked out at the gym that night with Alyssa, I even acted blasé about her upcoming and long-anticipated fling with Dr. Jason Carruthers. Suddenly I was a strong advocate of her taking what she needed and not worrying about the consequences. I mean, really, what was she waiting for? The big wedding? Who wanted to be tied down anyway? I asked as I heaved weights into the air with more fervor than usual.

  When she eyed me suspiciously, I finally confessed that I’d had an eye-opening exchange with Derrick the night before. I could tell Alyssa felt vindicated. “See, I told you you were angry,” she said. But she still looked at me worriedly when I suggested she call in advance to book the hotel room for her and Jason’s rendezvous.

  On Tuesday I had drinks with Jade at Bar Six, served to us compliments of Enrico, who was working that night, probably harder than he ever had, in order to keep our glasses no less than half full and us completely happy. Jade, of course, was quite pleased with my new attitude, and we spent the evening taking great delight in ogling any unsuspecting male who sidled too close to us whenever Enrico disappeared to handle another table. We laughed. We smoked—yes, I even allowed myself one mind-tingling, breath-stealing cigarette—and we sat back in our chairs, our bare legs crossed lazily and alluringly in front of us, feeling like two women too wise in the ways of the world to be taken for granted by some man.

  By Thursday, things started to fall apart.

  First, Caroline called me into her office as soon as I got in to work, and in her usual pleasant manner, informed me Patricia had read my proposal and had passed it on to her for review. “As your manager, she thought I should have a look at it,” she said with a somewhat uneasy smile.

  Then, in a more careful tone, she asked, “Is everything okay, Emma?”

  “Everything’s fine,” I replied confidently.

  “In your personal life?” she coaxed.

  I frowned. “My life is…great. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Good,” she said, sitting back in her chair and looking somewhat relieved, yet still uneasy. “Well, I have to say after reading your proposal for the new issue, I was a bit concerned.”

  “About?”

  “Well, Emma. I don’t know how to say this, but—” She paused, biting her bottom lip. “You’ve written what amounts to…to an antimarriage manifesto.”

  My eyes widened and I opened my mouth to defend myself, but for some reason, nothing came out.

  “Look, I understand if this project got away from you for…for whatever reason. But this proposal is just…unacceptable. There is no way Bridal Best could do an issue with articles like—” and she began flipping through the proposal, scanning the pages “—‘Understanding Your Man: When I Do is Not the Right Answer.’ Or—” she flipped another page “—‘Life Beyond the Altar—You Don’t Have to Marry to Have it All.’”

  Though fear had begun to invade my senses, I rallied. “Well, I had thought since Bridal Best is devoted to the whole woman, we might explore a woman’s options outside of marriage. I mean, the more I thought about this, the more I realized that if a woman waits long enough to marry, she might come to realize that marriage isn’t the only—or even the best—answer.” There, now I had her.

  But Caroline’s face only creased further with her concern. “Emma, I understand what you are saying, and you may, in fact, have an excellent point.” She paused. “But Bridal Best is a wedding planning magazine.” She smiled, as if trying to get me to see the humor of it all. “I mean, really, Emma, where would we be—where would our advertisers be, for that matter—if we started preaching that women shouldn’t get married? I don’t imagine we’d sell a lot of wedding cake, now would we?”

  She had a point. An extremely major point that somehow, in my surge of creative expression and newfound single-girl freedom, I had completely forgotten. I was mortified. What the hell had I been thinking?

  “I…I guess I was a little…distracted when I…I put the proposal together.”

  Then Caroline, in her warm and forgiving way, smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Emma.” She handed me back my proposal. “Why don’t you give it another shot now that you’ve gained some…perspective. Let’s see what you can come up with.”

  I nodded weakly, taking the proposal from her in one boneless hand and rising to leave. “Thanks, Caroline. I…I’ll see what I can do.”

  Back at my desk, as I sat pondering how I had managed to make such an utter fool out of myself to everyone who was anyone at Bridal Best, Rebecca showed up at my cubicle. She was the last person I expected to see, as she had been out sick for the past three days, and I was fairly shocked when I saw her face, which was red and blotchy and masked in what looked like Calamine lotion. “Are you all right?” I asked, stunned by how unattractive she looked.

  “I need to talk to you. Drinks tonight?”

  “Sure,” I muttered, curious. Then, with a glance down at Rebecca’s ringless left hand, I knew this little outing wasn’t going to be pretty.

  We went to Rio Grande, sitting outside so Rebecca could keep her sunglasses on and cover most of the puffy madness of her face. She told me on the way over it was poison ivy, though she refrained from any further explanation until we were seated across from one another, margaritas in front of us.

  “So tell me how the hell you managed to get poison ivy in the middle of New York City,” I said.

  “I didn’t get this in New York City,” she said, looking at me as if I were some kind of dimwit. “Nash and I drove upstate on Saturday morning. Turns out he couldn’t get a reservation at Le Colonial for my birthday, and he had a little surprise planned for me up there instead.” She took a healthy sip of her margarita. “Boy, did he ever.”

  I cringed inwardly when I realized I hadn’t even wished her a happy birthday, then figured that judging by the look on her face, she wasn’t in the mood for any sort of merriment.

  “So I’m imagining a cozy cabin. Moonlit strolls. Plenty of opportunities for him to pop the question,” Rebecca continued, her face a mask that hid
whatever emotions she was feeling. “I mean, I had certainly dropped enough hints that I wanted to be engaged by my twenty-ninth birthday!”

  I nodded my head encouragingly, and neglected to point out that, at thirty-one, I was far from engaged.

  “So we are driving through this wooded area in the Berkshires. Absolutely beautiful. I’m looking everywhere for that cozy cabin, when Nash turns onto a dirt road with a sign that says “Lakeview Campgrounds.”

  “Oh, I went there as a kid!” I exclaimed.

  This information did not impress her. “Apparently so did Nash. With his dad. Seems he was trying to relive some boyhood memories. Don’t ask me why he thought this would be the perfect thing to do on my birthday.”

  “You know guys. They always seem to think that we’re going to adore their fantasies. I think it’s a defect of the male brain.” Then I laughed. “Did I ever tell you that Derrick brought me to a batting range for our one-year anniversary?”

  “Yeah, well, I was trying to be a good sport. Tried not to shudder when he pulled out the tent and gleefully asked me to help him set it up. After all, in my mind, I was getting engaged.” She shrugged. “I figured it would make a good story to tell our children someday.”

  I nodded, trying to imagine Rebecca, with her manicured hands and careful bob, as a mother. Somehow the Calamine dotting her face was helping me conjure something up, but it was an image far from maternal.

  “So we get the tent up, and while he’s merrily puttering around the campsite, I decide to walk down by the lake and take a shower.”

  “Oh, didn’t you love those outdoor showers—with the view of the mountains—” I stopped at the sight of her raised eyebrows. Apparently not.

  “When I come back about an hour or so later, Nash suggests we take a walk. And he’s got this silly little grin on his face that tells me he’s up to something, right?” She shook her head and took a fortifying sip of her drink. “Oh, he was up to something all right. But not what I was expecting.”

  I leaned in close, completely drawn in.