My first introduction to him came a week after I moved in, via a scrap of paper taped to the mirror of the second floor bathroom. Love Is An Idea, Not An Actual Thing. Therefore, It Does Not Exist. was scribbled in a delightfully curly script. I mistook it for girl handwriting and worried about the love triangle. “Is everything okay with Steph and Bernadette and Michelle?” I asked Bob, who was flossing his teeth at the sink next to mine.
He shook his head. “It’s Sam.”
“Sam,” I repeated. The mystery roommate I had then only heard of. As it turned out, Sam taped his feelings to the bathroom mirrors throughout the house on a regular basis. Not realizing then that he did this all the time, this particular message stuck in my head as meaningful.
“Is Sam going through a breakup?” I asked Steph the next morning at breakfast.
“No, he’s just moronic,” she said.
“Is he ever home?”
“He’s probably in his room, moping.”
“Should we invite him to share some of this oatmeal?”
“Let’s not.”
A few days later I learned a little more about him: I Accidentally Ate Half A Napkin With My Sandwich Today When I Was Having Lunch. Now I Am In A Lot of Pain. I had still not laid eyes on him but I pictured him to be handsome, noble, tortured… Like a blue eyed dog.
The following week, yet another peek into his secret mind: I Found A Coupon Book Filled With Half Offs And Buy One Get Ones In A Walgreen’s Parking Lot. Now I Am Going To Have To Spend A Lot Of Money On Things I Do Not Want.
In those first weeks, when all I knew of him was based upon scribblings on pocket-sized sheets of notebook paper, an imperfect but loveable Sam sprouted and grew in my brain. Then one day while lounging in the living room and crocheting a scarf, I heard him speak.
“Did you eat the rest of my Golden Grahams? Did you? I am positive there was half a box yesterday!” came the searing, whiny voice of a demon troll. The sound curdled and died in the big, high-ceilinged kitchen, awkwardly met with no response.
“Who is that?” I whispered to Bernadette who was lying on the floor, circling toys in an old Sears Christmas catalog.
“It’s Sam,” she said without looking up. She hesitated, her Sharpie hovering over a My Little Pony from 1986, and then she circled it and wrote maybe beside it. “You’ve never heard him before?”
“I guess not. I mean, I’m pretty sure I would remember.”
Michelle, half dozing on the couch, buried the box of cereal she’d just had her hand in beneath a couch cushion and we all laughed at what a loser he was.
It was inevitable that I would end up sleeping with him.
One day men with big metal cranes showed up to tear down our house. Boy were we surprised! It was a Wednesday morning, but as luck would have it, we were all home. Steph tried calling our landlord, but none of us could remember who it was. We just gave our money to Nora every month and she took care of things. We asked her who to call, but her English was mysteriously failing her in this time of crisis. She kept saying she couldn’t understand, couldn’t understand.
“Write it down?” she said, gesturing like she was wiggling a pen.
“Let’s band together,” said Bob. “This is our home and we aren’t leaving without a fight!”
I curled up on the couch and decided I would just do whatever everyone else decided to do.
Outside, the big ball on the crane was swinging ominously overhead.
“Pick your battles,” said Sam, pushing his granny glasses up his nose.
“Yeah, screw it,” said Steph. She grabbed her backpack and her weed and she was gone. This made the rest of us panic.
None of us had time to do much besides throw together what we could in some duffel bags and laundry baskets. Sam and I were driving around together, wearing pajamas, homeless, with everything we had been able to grab in the back of my car. As the afternoon turned to evening and our worry grew, we passed a rickety four unit over by Camp Randall. A ‘For Rent’ sign was nailed to the front porch, which the landlord happened to be repairing. We stopped the car, talked to him for a few minutes, and looked at the apartment. Next we were signing a lease he retrieved from his car, and just like that, our problems were solved and we were living together. It seemed like an obvious decision. I would even say we both felt pretty lucky.
As the months in our lice nest ticked past, we came to realize that we needed to get better jobs. My part-time job at the yarn store and Sam’s reliance on finding garbage and selling it on eBay were making it hard to scrape by. He was still posting his thoughts on the bathroom mirror as his only means of real communication, and I was beginning to notice a theme: I Want Groceries. was Monday’s message. Starving. How About You? on Tuesday. Ramen Again? No Thanks. was on Wednesday. Finally he got a job at Merry Maids and I started working at Border’s.
It was the fall of 1999 and everywhere you looked, The Millennium was the theme. The. Millennium. A looming, ominous abyss, just a few steps away. There was fear and excitement about what a new millennium might bring. Would computers still work? Would our bank accounts freeze? Would we say the year was two thousand, or would we say twenty oh oh?
Border’s was filled with Millennium-themed calendars and coffee mugs and books about Nostradamus’s predictions. My supervisor Krystle was putting together a newsletter about all of us employees she called her Y Not Get 2 Know Your Border’s Team Gazette. Her boss was totally impressed that she had taken it upon herself to go above and beyond the call of duty. In actuality, she was one of those lazy, creative types who found ways to tie up all her time with little diversionary projects. She interviewed every last one of us over the course of that fall. By December she had stacks of the newsletters ready for customers to take. “They’re free! Learn about Your Border’s Team!” We stuck them in people’s shopping bags until Corporate found out and told us that was taking it too far. Stacks by the door were allowed though.
In February we all got to divide up the leftovers. I still have a few. It’s not very often I’ve had half a page devoted to me. I must admit, it was kind of flattering. I showed a copy to Sam. “What’s so special about that,” he said, still in his Merry Maids outfit. “Everyone is in here. It’s not like you won some kind of contest.”
By the summer of 2000 Sam was getting really depressed. Despite his cynical outlook, I believe he had expected the new millennium to bring some kind of positive, sweeping change to the world, and it had not. His messages were getting longer and ramblier, and less subtle.
There was this one in June: I Can’t Even Tie My Shoes Anymore Without Spending Ten Minutes Trying To Psych Myself Up For It. Everything Hurts. Especially My Teeth. I Wish I Was Dead. And then in July, this: I Try Overdosing On Tylenol Almost Every Day Now But I Am Too Big To Die. I Think I Will Buy A Gun.
He and I never had sex anymore, which was fine considering how unattractive I found him. He was starting to not even shower. Plus, there was someone new at work who made Sam seem even worse than he actually was, if that was possible. It was Adrian.
Adrian had started in the early spring, but our schedules hadn’t crossed until summer. When I first saw him I looked twice, then a third time. Inexplicably, I seemed to have captured his attention too. It was impossible. He must be gay, I decided, remembering Alex Wescott, the only other cute boy who had ever liked me. The last I heard, Alex was tap dancing off Broadway and living with some ancient, emerald-encrusted sugar daddy named The Captain. Adorable, sexy, straight men might be my type, but I was not theirs.
In August Krystle bought her first home and invited everyone over for a housewarming party. I invited Sam to come along, but he said he would rather eat glass shards.
I had the closing shift on the night of the party, and so did Adrian. We had never worked together before. When I saw both our names on the schedule, I got butterflies.
“Are you going to Krystle’s?” Adrian asked me, while we were straightening one of the front tables that some little k
ids had demolished two minutes before we closed.
“Yeah, I guess so. Are you?” I tried to act cool.
“Yeah…” he said. I waited for him to say something more.
The thing is, I had no idea Adrian was married. I knew practically nothing about him and I was not “in” with the Border’s gossip. He never wore a ring. I felt like he wanted to ask me to go with him, yet now he was silent, straightening the books and not looking at me. What if this had been The Opportunity, the only one I got? I struggled against it slipping away, trying to come up with the right thing to say. “I hate finding new places at night. Do you know where Krystle lives?” I asked. “So I can follow you, in my car,” I added.
He turned back to me and said, “Why don’t you come with me? We can ride together. It just makes sense to not take two cars.”
“Okay. If you’re sure,” I said.
“I’m sure,” he said. Then he seemed to reconsider. “Hey, do you mind finishing this? I’ll be back in a minute.” He disappeared in the direction of the break room and I kept straightening.
He’s calling someone, I thought. He’s making an excuse why he will be late.
“Can you help me with this?” a new girl called to me, standing by her cash register, so I went over to help her.
A few moments later, Adrian came up behind me and pulled me aside, literally, touching my arm and pulling me gently toward him. “Hey,” he said. I melted, heart-stoppingly aware of his entire aura, tingly from being within its parameters.
“Hi. What’s up?” I asked.
He pulled us a little farther away from the new girl. She was in her own world anyway, counting the pennies for the second time.
“My wife is coming with us, I hope that’s okay with you.”
“Oh, sure. That’s great,” I said.
“Okay.” He shifted from foot to foot. “I just wanted to, you know, mention it.”
“We’re just driving together, right?” I said, raising my eyebrow at him like he was crazy.
“Right. Sorry.” Then he blushed and nodded, taking off to finish whatever it was he had left to do.
Four or five of us left at the same time that night, and everyone except for the new girl was headed to Krystle’s. Adrian’s wife was in the parking lot waiting for us. She stood beside her car, a green, rusty 1970’s car. She was cool enough to make it seem like the most desirable car in the world. I would have looked like a fool behind the wheel of a car like that. Anyone would have. She was smoking a cigarette and playing with her long red hair. When she saw Adrian she waved and came walking over. She wore funky, cat-eye glasses. She was taller than me, and super thin. Without hesitating, she kissed him on the mouth.
“Everyone, this is Belinda, my wife,” he said.
“Hi Belinda,” we said.
“Do you want to drive, Honey?” she asked Adrian.
“Sure,” he said, taking her keys. They were on a simple, steel ring with a small, artsy metal ornament hanging from it. Of course I noticed everything. I think it is a female problem, to notice and evaluate and compare.
Without a word I got in my car and followed along. There was no way I was riding along with them. I had become invisible to Adrian and he seemed to have forgotten our earlier plan.
I felt like a stalker, a loser, driving behind them. I watched the burnt out taillight, the Strong Women like Strong Beer bumper sticker, the backs of their heads. You’re a creep, I told myself, feeling dirty as I trailed after them, wishing them ill. I could not get Belinda’s face out of my mind. She was to me, at this time, the answer key to the book of code of Adrian. An explanation of what his soul must desire. I wanted to have what she had. I wanted to be skinnier, cooler, smarter. I barely knew him, but I felt as strongly as I had ever felt about anything that I wanted him to be mine. And I wanted to be his.
My desperation and insecurity began to slip away as I drove behind them. The night air gave me confidence. I suppose that’s normal. It’s why motorcycle gangs beat people up. Still, it made me feel special. A mean, delicious feeling of purpose and determination found me that night in the car, batting at my self-doubt. For a brief moment it swept my nervousness right out the open window. I felt ethereal, wise, a little smug. I became more than myself. Stronger. My desires were pushing ahead of everyone else’s feelings. I became powerful and free, sociopathic, invincible.
They parked at the top of the hill in front of Krystle’s little cottage, and I parked farther down so I could touch up my makeup without being noticed. Without the cool night wind in my face, I was becoming myself again. Fading. Shrinking. I put on extra makeup, trying to combat the ordinariness.
The front yard was packed with our co-workers and Adrian and Belinda had already joined the party by the time I walked up the steep, quaint path to the little bungalow. They were standing side by side and they both had beers in their hands, but when Adrian saw me he casually dropped his arm from around his wife’s waist. I got a beer and started talking to some girls who worked mainly on weekends. We were chatting and laughing, as they filled me in on all the Border’s drama I was usually oblivious to, and I forgot to notice Adrian for a little while. When I went to get another beer I saw Belinda leaving, alone.
I scanned the party, looking for him, and just like that he was behind me.
“Are you looking for someone?” he asked.
“I found him,” I said and blushed, realizing how forward that sounded.
“Do you need another drink?” he asked.
“Not quite yet. Have you been left unattended?”
“I have.”
“Everything okay?” I immediately wished I hadn’t asked. Why ruin this by talking about her?
“She has a headache.”
“Oh.” We each took sips of our beer.
“Do you want to sit down?” he asked me. There was one of those old-fashioned glider lawn benches in Krystle’s back yard. It was a little bit removed from where everyone was standing.
“Sure.”
We sat close enough that our legs were touching. It could have been anyone else and it all would have meant so little. We talked for an hour and for the first time in my life, it felt easy to be funny. I felt attractive and clever.
“People are going to start talking about us if we aren’t careful,” Adrian said at one point.
“They talk about everyone. It doesn’t matter,” I said back. Easy for me to say; I wasn’t married.
He got up to get another beer. “Can I get you one?” he asked. I nodded even though I didn’t like it. Anything to keep this going.
People had been leaving for the last half hour or so and the party was fizzling down.
“I better go,” Adrian said, looking at his watch.
“How are you getting home?” I asked him.
“You’re going to take me?” he asked.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I said, unable to hide my smile.
He and Belinda lived on the Near-East side, only a few blocks from my old Mifflin Street dump. I realized as we turned towards downtown that it would have been so much quicker to take him back to his car, which was still at Border’s. It’s what would have made sense. It was five minutes from Krystal’s, and now Belinda would have to take him to work in the morning.
“Do you want me to take you to your car, instead?” I asked.
“No, I wanted to spend some more time talking to you,” he said.
“Oh.” I smiled. “I guess you aren’t afraid to just say what’s on your mind.”
“I guess I’m not,” he said, laughing a little.
“Will your wife think it’s strange that you got a ride home instead of to your car?”
“I’ll tell her I drank too much to drive.”
“Good idea.”
When I was getting close, but we were still talking and laughing about one of our co-workers, I turned onto the wrong street and drove past the place where the house I had once lived in had stood. Now there were condos in its place.
> “I used to live there,” I said.
“Those are nice,” said Adrian.
“I mean, I lived there before the condos were there. It was a big, old house with mice.” We both laughed. Everything is funny when you’re falling in love.
“Turn here,” said Adrian. He pointed out a laundromat and said that he had once found a fifty-dollar bill in a washing machine there.
Then I took him down the street to where I had once found a five-dollar bill frozen into a snow bank.
“Five dollars? That’s kind of pathetic,” he said.
“But at least I’m telling the truth,” I said.
“You don’t believe I found fifty dollars?”
“Whatever you say…” We smiled at each other.
We drove around for two hours. Finally Adrian said he’d better get home.
I turned onto Livingston Street and found the house number. It was a tiny blue house with white shutters, cute as a button.
“Is this your house?” I asked, picturing his wife, unconscious and safe, resting inside with her cat-eye glasses folded on a table beside the bed.
“It’s not ours, we rent it. But yeah, it’s ours.”
I almost pointed out how cute it was, but thought better of it. Then I almost made some stupid comment about his wife seeming nice, but had the sense to keep my mouth shut about that, too. There was no reason to point out how much he had to lose.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll see you at work.”
“Bye,” I said, careful not to accidentally add, I love you, Adrian. But I did. I already did.
“Bye.” He shut the door and walked to his front door, waving to me as I drove away.
That’s how the whole thing started.
Chapter 57
There was no getting past Adrian’s trip to Minnesota. When I was not hiding in the nursery and Adrian was not hiding in his studio, we made sporadic efforts to act like our old selves. We did so while holding our collective breath that no more detectives would show up, and so far none had.
In the evenings, like everyone else in our neighborhood, we walked our dog and cooked on the grill, trying to give the impression of two innocent, average folks. Days passed without either of us mentioning word of John Spade and the events surrounding him. When I occasionally tried to talk to Adrian about it, he would cut me off. “Now we’re safe,” he would tell me. “Let’s just try to get back to our normal lives.”
Surviving Valencia Page 24