by Hart, Romi
She thought about it and looked down. It took her a minute to come back and see me.
“I guess it’s true what they say,” I say with a cocky grin. “Nice guys do finish last. Even the rich ones, if you can believe that.”
“Whatever, you are such a drama queen!” she says, laughing in disbelief. As angry as I am, at her, at everything, I can’t help but laugh myself. Her funny voice her adorable face, it always gets to me. I can’t hardly remember why I’m fighting at all when I’m laughing so jolly.
“Oh I’m a drama queen now?”
“Yeah you are! You think you can just say that to a person and she’ll like spread her legs oh so wide for you? You think just because some guy tried harder with me, that entitles you to a free ride because you’re not like him? So you want like sexual frequent flyer points or something.”’
“No one’s tried harder than me. I tried, remember? But you resisted.”
“I did resist because of Sarah, your girlfriend.”
“God rest her soul.”
“Is she dead?”
“Yeah…well, her character is. I killed her off in my book too.”
Denise laughed, against her will this time. There was something absurd about the conversation, indeed about our entire relationship, built on impulsive and reckless attraction. “Okay truth time. You did hurt me. Describing me as materialistic really hurt. Why is it that when a woman works she’s materialistic, but when a man works, he’s just providing for his family? I mean, explain that one!”
“Mickey always said that. Not me. I never treated you like him.”
“No, but the characters in your book did. Right? Didn’t you say that about me in the book?”
“No…” I say with a cynical headshake. “You’re taking that line way out of context.”
“Yeah that’s what everyone thinks of me, don’t worry I’m used to it.”
“But-?”
“Here’s the truth, from my perspective, sweetie,” she says raising her nose proudly and gazing into my eyes. “I tried so hard with Mickey not because of HIM. It was because of me. I…wanted to stick with something in my life, for once. That was before I had this great job, before I had all these strings of failures. You know?”
Her honesty and pained voice quiets me. I listen as she pours her heart out, still remarkably on guard.
“I wanted to win at something. To succeed. To make everyone happy and for the longest time I couldn’t accept failure. So no…it wasn’t him. It was my stupidity, my weakness. That’s what you saw. KIDDO.”
She was trying to be mean with that last remark, but dammit, the way she smiled when she teased me was so impish, so sexy, I couldn’t even take offense.
“You’re a very sexy gloater you know that.”
She blushed and retreated away from me, still the shy little girl in a grown woman’s body. As we all are, young and foolish under our veneers of maturity.
“I feel similarly, you know.”
“I’ll bet that’s what you all say.”
“What?”
“All you players who just want to go around bedding women. You all feel exactly what I feel. What a coincidence. But I see through that shit, my brother.”
“I was going to say, you frightened little mouse, that I understand the obligation to win, to stick to the plan. It’s what I do in charity fund raising, what I do with stories…I understand perfectly.”
“And what about relationships? Do you know how to QUIT your addiction?”
“My addiction?” he lasts. “My addiction to living a good life?”
“You know what I mean, funny boy.”
“Still blaming me for breaking Sarah’s heart. Even though I never did. And she actually left me. But go ahead and lecture me. My theory is that you lecture men you don’t know how to talk to. That’s what the CFO life prepared you for. But well…I’m not just any man, am I? And I certainly don’t work for you, Denise.”
She smiled begrudgingly. Staring, a little miffed, a little intrigued, and maybe even a bit pissed. But maybe for the first time turned on at the idea of us going to bed. What brought us to this point I had to wonder. Was it because I was being difficult, not so nice? Or that I was taunting her with my wealth and influence? Running circles around her mind, manipulating her to feel something?
No…maybe it was because for the first time, truly the first time, I was actually trying. Trying to get her attention, not giving up on her, trying to communicate with a wounded creature who was still hiding from the world.
“I’m sorry I proposed to you, kid,” I say with a meek smile. “I’ve always been the impulsive absurdly romantic type. But maybe I need a little dose of reality if I really want to feel something authentic. ”
“Me too. I’m sorry I get so swept away by grand romantic gestures…and hold you nice guys to such ridiculously high standards.”
“Hey that sounded like a press release, Miss CFO.”
We both laughed hard.
“It did. Can you tell I’m not very good at this dating thing?”
“Not good at handling a man’s sensitive ego that’s for sure…good thing I’m an egomaniac who can’t comprehend my own failure. Billionaire status helps with that.”
“I’m sure it does!”
“But you know…even though we rushed into this too soon…I think maybe there’s something here worth exploring. Maybe we just need to slow down a bit and think about a second date?”
She giggled at the thought. “From marriage proposal to first date and second date? I’m being pushed down the ladder!”
“Taking it slow…and wiping the slate clean. No more assumptions, no more comparisons. No more talking about the past.”
“Deal,” she said, finally nodding.
“Whatever we are, we are living now. Eternal moment, remember that?”
“I remember.”
“More than anything, Denise, I want to try to be your friend again. I really think friendship is an underrated thing. What a beautiful gift, to be a friend, to have a friend. To have this special person in your life, without expectations or pressure. Just the willingness and opportunity to confide. That’s what I want, come what may about the rest of it.”
“I want that too,” she said nodding looking at me in the oddest way. That same weird face she used to give Mickey, when she earnestly wanted to believe him—so badly in fact she ignored her plaguing doubt. But the emotion was real all right. This was a beautiful woman with her heart wide open.
Chapter 5
Denise
I am ashamed to say that my relationship with Simeon seems to have exploded and all because of the impulsive nature of our attraction. I thought him suddenly proposing was romantic…but it wasn’t the real Simeon doing it, just the image of him I had inside my own mind being spontaneous and romantic.
Part of me thinks that Simeon didn’t even mean his proposal. He did it because he thought we had an understanding, maybe he even thought I wanted something grand like that. Maybe he did it all for his ego, or for a good story, I don’t know.
But I felt partly responsible for our combustible relationship. Maybe I read him wrong. Or maybe I just embarrassed myself loving him too hard, too vigorously, without giving it the proper time.
I do adore at least one thing about him. He is so peaceable, such a gentle soul. Even when I say something mean or try to push him away, he laughs it off. He has fun with me and he gets me to laugh with him in ways…ways I thought Mickey could do, at least in the beginning.
“Simeon,” I said last week in heated discussion, “I do remember things! Why do you always act like I can’t keep up with you? Just talk…no need to stop, and pause, and tell me that I don’t understand. I’m a quick study! Everyone tells me that at work I learn fast.”
“And yet you can’t figure me out,” he mocked.
“Who says I haven’t? In fact who says I want to figure you out?”
He laughed heartily, making me giggle too, even thoug
h just moments ago I was annoyed at him.
“I can’t imagine you being mean, Denise,” he said with an adoring smile. “I imagine it would be like a Disney Princess getting angry at me.”
“Why’s that?” I say, wondering for a moment if I have a Belle or Ariel face when I feel cranky. “I can be very mean if you cross me.”
“Because it would be too cute. You’re such a beautiful and good-natured person I can’t imagine you being unpleasant to be around.”
“Well you’re sweet. You’re a very good friend.”
“I prefer the term weirdo, I don’t like friend.”
“Why don’t you like friend? Wait let me guess…the friend-zone thing guys are always talking about?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe that’s part of it. Or more to the point, maybe it’s because I actually cherish my friendships in the real world. I value my friends, especially my long-term friends. When people use the word ‘friend’ they use it in a patronizing way. But sometimes a man just feels like…fuck love and romance, we can take it or leave it. A friend is for life. A friend is there for you day in and day out. A friend is there when you need a shoulder to cry on. Don’t call yourself a friend unless you actually care about the other person.”
“You really value friendship I see. Even more than love?” I said, wagging my head in sarcasm—as always, trying to provoke him. I don’t know what it was about Simeon…his arrogance, or his amazing way with words, but I just wanted so much more from him.
“Definitely. Because love without friendship, without that quality of mutual respect, IS just lust.”
I had to think about that a while. Like any complex multi-series book, Simeon’s mind was deep and hard to summarize. Was he an idealistic lover? A cold, distant womanizer like I feared? Or was he just a man…a big kid…not quite able to control his own emotions?
I meant what I told him. I wanted to take it slow. I couldn’t think of an honest reason to completely reject him. And of course to Simeon, friend-zoning him wasn’t an option. The man seemed to LOVE his friends but hold his ex-lovers in contempt. Even Sarah, the woman who arguably made him rich with her suggestions, he seemed to feel completely blasé about, as if she was just a supporting character in his great novel-worthy life.
I know…I know, I was judging him too harshly. I was seeing all these negative traits in him. But at the same time, I wondered if my maniacal relationship with Mickey was influencing my view of poor Simeon. He was being himself, he wasn’t being the dickhead abusive macho guy that mistreated me for so long. He was just being himself. I owed him that much to see Simeon for Simeon, a clean slate as he called it.
After all, I had already left Mickey a while ago. The past should stay in the past, that was the promise we made to each other. Good…I only want to live in the moment, for the rest of my life.
(Today)
I wait for Simeon on the couch, wearing a little more of a party dress, this time in light blue. I do want to remind him that I’m “beautiful” as he always likes to call me. And that maybe I don’t want to be just friends with him. Maybe I want something a little more.
Chrissy is also here and volunteered to house-sit while I’m away. We also think it’s prudent to keep a tight buddy system when I go on dates. Who knows which of these rich guys might be a secret psychopath. Although, if that were really Simeon, he’s sure got a great act going.
“Yeah but he has money,” Chrissy says. “That means he can get away with anything.”
“Not with me,” I joke. “I still have high standards! Even among billionaire suitors.”
I laugh it off. Of course it’s ridiculous to think I belong with a rich and successful guy. If anything, that stuff is intimidating. I want to be loved, not paraded about in front of the world. I have to admit though, after years of being cut down by my ex-husband it feels really good to have a man worship me—sing so brazenly about my every curve.
Sometimes I blush when he goes on and on.
“You look stunning,” he says, letting himself inside and meeting my eyes like a true prince. This feels right…or at least it feels like a much safer pace.
“God, I look ridiculous though,” I say without thinking. “But thanks for patronizing me.”
“Hey, accept a compliment,” he says. “Tell her she’s gorgeous,” he tells Chrissy.
“See? Told ya. She always puts herself down when guys compliment her”
“You know something kiddo? You are a natural beauty. Doesn’t matter whether you wear makeup or get dressed in the finest dress. You always look lovely. No, no, I mean it. If the average dude had a choice of gawking at you or Kim Calabashian or whatever her name is, ninety-nine percent of them would choose you.”
“Oh get out of here! I look like Bitter Beer Face.”
“Nope, not at all. That’s because you’re what I call real life beautiful. No plastic, no photoshopping or artifice. You could walk into a room and any man would do a 360 just to check you out.”
“Get out of here, I’m thirty-seven years old. No one wants me but 90-year-old geezers.”
“You’re beautiful. Say it with me and accept the compliment.”
“Awwww, fine. Thanks my friend. Oh wait…I haven’t earned the distinction of being your friend, have I?”
“No, friend is for life.”
“What a nice compliment. Thank you, I appreciate it.”
“And please, for future reference don’t call me friend.”
Chrissy and I look at each other. “Why not?”
“Because I prefer the term Friendo.”
“Friendo?” I laugh boisterously. So I’m not a friend, I’m a Friendo?”
“Yes. It’s a sign of respect among gangsters and wise guys. Friendo means you’re from the old country. You’re one of us.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“How about I call you Weirdo instead?”
“Well, ‘Weirdo’ is actually a very familiar term. Weirdo is a bit familiar. It’s what you say to a lover, you know.”
“Weirdo?”
“Yes,” he replies with a straight face. “In Paris, for example, paramours call each other ‘Weirdo’ as a sign of affection and sexual attraction. The expression is “Je rêve de tremper ma baguette dans ta soupe, Weirdo.”
“Uh huh?”
“I just wanted you to know for the sake of prudency.”
“Well we’re not in Paris so the point is moot. Weirdo.”
Chrissy and I both giggled at Simeon’s dry smile. He welcomed me by the hand outside, eager to begin our first date.
“Have fun you guys,” Chrissy said, “don’t stay out too late. Don’t go to Vegas and get hitched.”
“Guess we had that coming,” laughs the old romantic.
Of course I enjoy calling Simeon “the old romantic” even though he’s actually a couple of years younger than I am—the same reason he teases me, calling me kiddo or kid. Simeon and I talked all the way to the restaurant. He is very excited about our date because he’s auditioning me not to be his girlfriend or wife but to be his Very Important Friend.
Turns out Simeon really does treasure friendship and holds a special place in Hell for people that don’t value his friendship. But no worries there. I’ve always considered him a good friend, whether he’s talking about crazy sci-fi things, his book, or even sparring with me and feeding me bullshit lines for a laugh.
“Well I do very much want to be your friend,” I say with a smirk. “So please let me know what the initiation stage is so I can do it. Do I have to beat someone up?”
“Of course not. It’s merely the Pinky Pledge.”
“What is that? It sounds weird. I don’t want to do it.”
He laughs. “It’s not as perverted as it sounds. It just means that I consider you a good friend, someone I hope I stay friends with for the rest of my life. We don’t really meet that many people in life that we truly remember, do we? I think we should appreciate friendships that are specia
l.”
“I’m honored to be considered a good friend. And NOT a fair-weather friend, my friend. OHH! Was I too presumptuous in announcing myself as a friend?”
“Well, it was before the Pinkie Pledge. But once we take it…”
He took my hand and make sure our pinky fingers hugged. “Then we honor the pledge. No matter what happens in the future, we’ll always remember this moment. When we both really liked each other.”
“I do really like you. I’ve always liked you.”
“Even when I was being a dick and just thinking of scoring with you?”
“YES, even then. I still liked you. I just RESISTED you.”
“Hey good for you. A man doesn’t respect a woman who’s too easy, right?”
We look around the table waiting for some guests. Turns out, Simeon is very serious about this friendship initiation ritual—as he is serious about everything else! The most serious man I’ve ever met and yet with the most absurd sense of humor.
“I wanted you to meet my other friends. My BEST friend. And his wife.”
I laugh. “So you love the guy and hate his wife?”
“Nooo!” he laughs back to me. “I don’t love his wife. I love him. I’ve known him a long time and we bonded as brothers.”
“Hmmm you do have an odd habit of falling in love with your best friend’s wife…but keeping it secret for years.”
“Resisting you mean.”
“Sure,” I said with a head shake and grin. “We’ll call it resisting if you want.”
“My best friend’s name is Zander.”
“That’s an odd name. What, are all your friends superheroes or something?”
“Yes. Well, in that we have money. By pure coincidence, I assure you.”
“Uh huh. Why aren’t you friends with non-rich people?”
“Probably because conversations inevitably devolve to, “Sooo can I borrow some money, rich man?”
“Ahh. I gotcha. I’m not even super rich and I’m always having that conversation with my aunt.”