Pieces of Happily Ever After

by Irene Zutell

  “Oh” is all I can say.

  “It’s like me being a vegetarian.”

  “Huh?” I close my eyes and shake my head. Ridiculous.

  “A few years ago, I swore off meat. I told people I was a vegetarian. I just ate beans and rice and tofu. And then, after about a year, I was at a barbecue and the smell of those grilled hamburgers got the best of me. So I became a carnivore again.”

  “Okay,” I say, sighing. “I understand what you’re saying, but the logic seems off a bit.”

  “It’s just that sometimes the temptation is too great. But that doesn’t make me a liar.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “You should have asked,” Johnny says, a bit sadly. “And, I swear, if I had known it had anything to do with Alex, I would have told you. But I really thought they were over.” He pauses for a moment, smiles at me and then shakes his head. “I guess we’re off to a bad start.” He turns and walks towards his black Subaru Outback.

  “ ’Bye,” I say.

  He turns and waves. “You know, you expect a lot from your friends.”

  I let out a sharp “HA!” before I ask, “Is that what you want, Johnny, to be friends?”

  He looks annoyed with me. “Sure,” he says. “No expectations, right?”

  I walk towards him, my heart throbbing against my ribs. I can handle this two ways. I can agree with him and watch him drive away, and then wonder if I’ll run into him again at the coffee shop. And maybe I will. Maybe we’ll continue this game. Or maybe I’ll see him with someone else who admires his photos and his piercing blue eyes.

  Or I can make my own fairy tale.

  So I march towards him. Then I wrap my hand around his neck and I kiss him. He doesn’t move his lips and I think I’ve made a big mistake. Maybe all he wanted was a friend. So I stop, embarrassed. I begin to pull away. Then he grabs me tighter and kisses me back, hard, like he’s been wanting this for a long, long time.

  I don’t know how long we kiss—a second, a minute, ten minutes. He kisses so well that I’m at that place where time doesn’t exist, where my body doesn’t exist. I hear Gabby’s tinny voice drifting into my consciousness from far away. And I am vacuumed back into my body.

  “I caught one! I caught one and it’s so beautiful,” she shrieks. I wonder what she’s talking about. Then I remember the butterflies. Johnny and I stop kissing. Our noses still touch.

  Johnny looks into my eyes and whispers. “So did I, Gabby. So did I.”

  2

  Freely and with Abandon

  Gabby is in Salt Lake City with Alex for a little over a week. She’s filming her part in a movie; its working title is Forever Today, whatever that means. It’s one of those time warp movies that Hollywood likes to repackage every few years. Anyway, I’m alone. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been by myself for more than a weekend. Even when I was single, I always had a roommate or two around. Maybe I’ve never been alone like this before in my whole life.

  I don’t like it one bit.

  That’s why I decide it’s the perfect time to get that addition to the family: Gabby’s Chihuahua.

  Johnny is one of those people who has connections everywhere. So when I mentioned I was on a quest for a Chihuahua, he told me he knew a breeder in Santa Ynez, a town filled with vineyards and farms, just a little north of Santa Barbara.

  “A few years ago, every celeb was accessorizing with Chihuahuas, so I spent a lot of time up there, taking photos of Paris and Britney cuddling ’em,” he tells me.

  It’s been several weeks since our first kiss. And that’s all there’s been, although I have signed J. D. Wolfe as a client at my fledgling public relations company. But Johnny was away in San Francisco for a few weeks, working on a gallery exhibit. When he returned, I was busy preparing Gabby for her trip. When I did see him, Gabby was around. So the relationship couldn’t progress to anything but a few stolen kisses, quick hugs, and some flirtatious banter.

  And, in many, many ways, this is my idea of a perfect relationship. I feel I could continue like this forever. There is nothing scary or unknown. We are like an old couple without the history.

  Our relationship is safe.

  Okay. Our relationship is boring.

  But I’m not complaining. Boring is wonderful. Boring is all I am capable of handling. I couldn’t imagine having much more than a few stolen kisses, quick hugs, some banter.

  The truth is, I am horrified of sex for too many reasons to count. First of all, I don’t know what sex with Johnny would mean exactly. When I was younger, sex was the next step in a serious relationship. At first, it was the step after “I love you.” When I got a little older, it was a few steps before “I love you,” but I could see the “I love you” hovering in the distance. I never had a one-night stand. I never slept with someone I didn’t think I loved. Maybe I didn’t love them, but at least when I screwed them, I thought I did.

  But Johnny? Can’t I put aside love and just have a meaningless fling? Or is it already too late for that? Would it mean something to me? To him? And what would it mean? And would we even agree on its meaning?

  The one thing I do know is Faye was right. I think too much. I need to relax and enjoy life. Enjoy sex.

  But even if I can get past our various interpretations of the act of intercourse, I am terrified of the prospect of getting naked for Johnny. I look great in clothes. All svelte and toned. My body is able to hide its flaws well with the right material. But this might make things worse. Because Johnny is in for a real shock. There’s no way Johnny knows that I suck my stomach in all the time. He has no idea that I have cellulite and saggy breasts and a pouch of flesh dangling from my stomach. Or stretch marks across my hips and the tops of my legs. When I look at my body naked in the mirror I try to imagine what a man who has spent a lifetime photographing beautiful people would think of it.

  I have to look away.

  And Johnny’s body looks impeccable. His arms are muscular and his stomach is flat. He still has the body of his former football player self.

  Now Gabby is out of the picture for a week. She’s no longer my scapegoat. I feel like I’m seventeen and my parents have gone away for a long weekend and my boyfriend is pressuring me to put out for him.

  Although Johnny hasn’t been pressuring me at all. He seems fine with our current status. I think.

  “Thanks,” I said to Johnny when he told me about the breeder over the phone one day. “So, if you could give me directions . . .”

  Johnny laughed. “Well, I was proposing it as a kind of little excursion for the two of us. A trip out of the Valley to the country. Some touring. Some good eating. Some getting to know you time. And, of course, you could pick up that damn yappy vermin.”

  And then what, I wondered. The image of my naked body flashed before my eyes.

  “Okay,” I said, my heart throbbing, my stomach turning.

  I pick Johnny up from his condo in Studio City. He looks handsome wearing a navy T-shirt and jeans, his hair wet and slicked back. We drive towards Santa Ynez, getting stuck in horrible traffic. But, of course, Johnny knows an alternate route. We breeze through winding country roads shaded by twisted eucalyptus trees, and their menthol fragrance fills the car. We pass fields dotted with grazing cows, horses, sheep, and pigs. Around lunchtime we stop at a rustic-looking country home, which turns out to be a winery and a restaurant.

  And, of course, Johnny knows the owner. Some celebrity wedding was held there a few years ago. So we’re given a secluded table in the corner near a small fireplace. The place smells slightly musty. It’s the odor of antiques—everything in the place, from the dark wooden tables and benches to the vases and candle holders, seems to be meticulously collected from estate sales and antique shops. I gaze up to study the black-and-white on the wall. A series of dilapidated farmhouses, probably around here. I recognize the style and laugh.

  “What?”

  “Do you just take me places to show off?”

  “Actually, I came
here a few hours ago and begged them to put these up here. It’s all part of my elaborate plan to get you in the sack.”

  He laughs. I smile, but I can feel my face turning deep purple.

  “It’s gonna take a lot more than a few photos,” I finally blurt out. My heart thumps away. I know it’s lame, but nothing else comes to mind.

  “Don’t I know it,” he says, smiling slyly.

  We stare at each other for a few moments.

  “You know, I know absolutely nothing about you,” I say.

  “I’m pretty simple. What you see is what you get.”

  I feel my eyes narrow. “Somehow I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s true. What do you want to know? Ask me anything.”

  I think for a moment. There’s so much I could ask. What was his childhood like? Where did he go to school? How did he become a photographer? But really, the truth is, there’s one question that’s been nagging at me.

  “Okay, what’s the real reason you never got married?”

  Johnny smiles. “Never? You make it sound so hopeless. I’m not dead yet. It still could happen.” He smiles at me. “You think it’s weird, don’t you? That I’ve never been married. You’re wondering if something’s wrong with me.”

  No, I know something’s wrong with you.

  “Of course not,” I say.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I was almost married once.”

  I can’t help but lean closer. “Really? What happened?”

  Johnny laughs. “If I told a guy this, he’d high-five me and then change the subject to sports or something. Why is it that chicks always want the sordid details?”

  I shrug.

  “If I tell you, you’ll really lose respect for me.”

  Now I’m intrigued. Better to find this out sooner rather than later. “I promise I won’t,” I lie.

  He leans in. “Well, I was with this woman for a few years.”

  “How many years?”

  “Six.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  Johnny shrugs. “I guess.”

  “What was her name?”

  “What does it matter?”

  I shrug. “I just want to know.”

  “Caroline.”

  I nod. “So . . . ?”

  Johnny shakes his head and laughs. “Why am I telling you this? Okay, so we’d been together for a long time and figured it was time to get married, right?”

  I nod.

  “She’s from San Francisco, so we figured we’d get married there. Her parents have a big house right in Nob Hill, so everyone flew or drove in for a long weekend. It was all going great. We had a really fun rehearsal dinner with drunken toasts and lots of singing. Then the next morning, I played golf with some buddies, even though I never golf. It was all going according to the plan.”

  “The plan?”

  “The perfect wedding plan that all you girls have in your heads,” Johnny says. He takes a deep breath and rubs his head. “Okay, so then I went back to the hotel to take a nap and get ready for the wedding. I had every intention of getting married that day. It never crossed my mind that I wouldn’t.”

  My eyes widen. Johnny’s enjoying my rapt attention. He pauses dramatically. Then takes a long sip of water.

  “And then what?”

  “You’re not going to like this part,” he says in a sing-songy voice. “I shouldn’t continue.”

  “Continue.”

  He dramatically shudders. “Okay. You asked for it. So then, back at the room, I get a call from the bureau chief of the Enquirer. Turns out I wasn’t the only one in San Fran getting married that weekend.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Courteney Cox and David Arquette were at the Grace Cathedral right in Nob Hill right at that moment!”

  I sigh. “You didn’t.”

  He nods his head slowly. “The editor just wanted a few pictures from me. And I had plenty of time to spare. I just wouldn’t get to take my nap. So what? I figured no one would even notice I was gone.”

  He takes another long sip of water.

  “But they did notice, right?”

  He smirks. “I got carried away, as usual. It’s like fishing. Or gambling. It’s hard to stop. So I’m sneaking around. I get a few good photos of them from a tiny slit in a window at the church. They’re up at the altar, exchanging vows. I could have left then and my boss would have been satisfied. But I figured I could get some better ones when they came out of the church. And I did. I got them kissing. But then I thought, why stop now? I could get some great candids of guests in front of the hotel where the reception is, right? So I go for it. I lose complete track of time. I’m actually at their wedding when I’m supposed to be at mine.”

  I let out a long breath. I don’t know what to say. Johnny puts the water glass to his lips before realizing it’s empty. He puts it back down on the table and runs his fingers around its rim. He looks at me. “Pretty awful, huh? I’m a real shithead.”

  “So what did Caroline do?”

  “I showed up at her parents’ house an hour late. She was gone. Her brothers beat me up. A year later, she married Tony, my best man. I just saw them when I was in San Francisco for my gallery exhibit.”

  I figured they’d bumped into each other somewhere. “Wow. That must have been awkward.”

  Johnny laughs. “No. I see them whenever I’m in San Francisco. I had dinner at their place. They’ve got three great kids. They named their son John after me.”

  I laugh.

  “I’m not joking,” Johnny says. “You know what their other kids’ names are?”

  “Courteney and David?” I’m being sarcastic.

  “Very good!”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. See, it all worked out in the end. Caroline and I weren’t supposed to be married. We were both lying to each other. I was just looking for a way out. Courteney and David provided it.”

  “That’s the weirdest breakup story I’ve ever heard,” I finally say.

  “Hey, it all worked out in the end. They got their happily ever after.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Oh, yeah? And what did you get?”

  He smiles and looks hard at me. It’s like he’s saying something without words. If it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t have met you. Out loud, he says, “My freedom.”

  Garlic mingles with the musty antique smell. And soon plates of seafood pasta are brought to us by the Millie, the owner. She’s a woman in her early sixties who was probably a hippie in the sixties. She has its residual effects—long frizzy gray hair, no makeup, a long, flowing brown gauzy skirt and shirt, dangling earrings, and clanging bracelets.

  “I see my cows are all gone,” Johnny says to her. “Did some big art connoisseur buy the whole series?”

  Millie looks like she’s stifling a laugh. “Something like that.”

  “Tell us more,” Johnny says. He winks at me.

  She lets out a sigh. “A couple. The wife’s pregnant. She’s due any day. She thought the cows would go nicely in the nursery. She’s got a farm motif going. Pigs. Horses. Sheep. Cows. Said your stuff would work well with the wallpaper.”

  “Egads, Millie, can’t you see I’m trying to impress someone? I might have ruined my chances already with the Courteney Cox story.”

  “Johnny, why the hell did you go and do that?”

  “I dunno. She looked like she’d get it.”

  Millie checks me out slowly. “She has smart eyes. Maybe too smart for you, John.”

  She leaves us alone with our food, but I’m not hungry at all. I move the pasta around on the plate and force a few strands into my mouth. My stomach is in turmoil. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way. Probably about when I was seventeen and dating the football star who wanted me to put out. How can I lust after a sleazy paparazzo who ditched his fiancé at the altar? I’ll just tell Johnny that I’m not ready for any of this yet—all this honesty, all this hope, all this pre-foreplay foreplay. I
t’s too soon. I’m too damaged. Plus, my body needs a year of intense boot camp along with a boob job and some lipo and God knows what else.

  “You, too?”

  I had been so busy trying to cover up my lack of an appetite that I didn’t notice Johnny wasn’t eating either. I didn’t know this happened to guys. I thought guys could eat no matter what. A week-old corpse could be rotting next to them and they’d still tear through a steak. But not Johnny. The mound of pasta remains in front of him, untouched. We smile. Then we go back to struggling with our food.

  Millie returns a little while later. She looks at our plates. I’m afraid we’ve offended her. I scan my brain for a good excuse. Millie flashes a knowing grin.

  “Touch of the flu, John?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Don’t worry,” she says as she collects the plates. “I’ll give it to the dogs. They love my cooking.” She pauses and a mischievous look spreads across her face. “Plus, they’re too stupid to get nervous jitters over sex. They just hump each other freely and without reservation. You two should try it sometime.”

  She guffaws as she turns and heads into the kitchen, leaving Johnny and me facing each other. There’s an uncomfortable moment of silence. What is this about? I’m an adult. I’ve had sex before. We stare at each other for a few moments.

  Johnny clears his throat.

  “Speaking of dogs, let’s go get that Chihuahua,” he finally says.

  Johnny drives home while the Chihuahua sits on my lap. It’s so small, skinny and skittish, way too fragile for Gabby and me. How will it ever handle Gabby’s temper tantrums? The screams? The slamming doors? The I-hate-yous? Just this car ride home seems too stressful for it. Why couldn’t Gabby have wanted a black Lab or something more suitable for us? Like maybe a pitbull? But a Chihuahua? They’re not pets. As Johnny said, they’re accessories for the red carpet.