Balancing Acts

by Zoe Fishman

  “Be careful on those stairs!” called Sabine after her. “Jesus, she sounds like a herd of elephants. I wonder where she has to be?” She glanced at Naomi guiltily. She felt terrible about her faux pas. “Hey Naomi, really, I am so sorry about before. I went too far.”

  Naomi smiled at Sabine. Ten years might have passed since college, but Sabine was still as sweet as the day they met, offering to share the giant bin of animal crackers she had brought with her to school. “Oh, it’s okay. I overreacted.” They smiled at each other.

  “Hey, want to get some breakfast at this diner down the street?” she asked Sabine. “I am famished!”

  “Yes! Only if you promise to split some hash browns with me.” Sabine ignored the manic prom queen inside of her. She wasn’t seeing Zach for ten hours. There was only so much hair removal one woman could do. Besides, hanging out with Naomi alone sounded really enticing.

  “Done,” replied Naomi, her stomach already growling in anticipation.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Bess

  Bess sat on the subway, thinking about the power of sex. She had been an irritated ball of amplified estrogen just days ago—wanting to murder her boss with a chainsaw each time she presented her with yet another asinine story idea, wanting to pour Rob’s soup bowl all over his keyboard while she listened to him greedily slurp its contents at lunch, even cursing an elderly Chinese woman under her breath as she blocked her path hobbling along Ninth Avenue in her plastic slippers. Even thinking about Dan’s imminent arrival hadn’t helped to quell her unmitigated evilness. Since their IM argument, they hadn’t really connected on the phone—it was all pleasant jibber-jabber about their days, but no real meat to the conversation.

  It was only when Dan called her to tell her that he was in a cab, on his way to her apartment, that the tide had started to turn. The mere thought of seeing his scruffy face and putting her arms around his broad, boy back brought a smile to her face—the first smile that face had seen in weeks. Bess was almost embarrassed by her lust. It seemed silly somehow, especially in contrast to how rational she usually was. It was only when Dan walked through the door, and the warmth flowed through her body like blood, did rationality pack its bags and take a much-needed vacation.

  They had tumbled right into bed, hungrily groping at each other and laughing with giddy glee. Afterward, Bess had showed him the itinerary she had crafted for his visit. Dan had smirked and taken it from her, ripping it in two and throwing it on the floor.

  “I just want to be with you,” he had said, hugging her close. “No fancy plans necessary. As far as I’m concerned, we never have to get out of bed.” Bess had hugged him back fiercely, surprising them both with the ferocity of her grip. Having Dan in her bed—in New York—made her deliriously happy.

  At least for the first, sex-filled twelve hours, she reminded herself. If only they could truly section themselves off from all forms of reality, including her doubts about the durability of their relationship for the long haul. This morning’s reality had delivered itself as Bess’s yoga class. She really hoped that Dan had come to the realization that his opinion about the article was better left unsaid. She would hate to taint their very limited time together with a pointless argument. Maybe a surprise bagel and lox ambush of deliciousness would head off any of his rumblings at the pass.

  Once off the subway, she went to her bagel shop and picked up Dan’s favorite: toasted everything with scallion cream cheese, onion, and lox, and the same for herself. If his breath is going to reek anyway, I have nothing to worry about, she told herself. This was one of the gigantic benefits of coupledom: you could eat anything offensive that you wanted to and you never had to worry about not getting kissed. Well, maybe that was true almost always. It was certainly true if you both ate the exact same olfactory nightmare.

  The warm brown paper bag clutched firmly in her hand, Bess bounded up the stairs to her apartment. She looked at her watch: 11:45. She really hoped that Dan was still in bed. That way, she could just offer up her yoga explanation casually when he inquired as to her whereabouts, and hopefully his grogginess would overwhelm any judgments.

  I can’t believe I’m sneaking around to go to yoga class, thought Bess. Even though she considered this in ironic terms, part of her was wary about the concept. To have to lie about anything to your boyfriend, or even belittle an experience so as not to evoke anger, was not a happy foreshadowing. Her excitement about seeing a sleepy Dan began to wane as reality—this time in the form of resentment—crept in.

  Bess shook it off as she opened her apartment door. She peeked around its corner into her laughably small living room. To call it a “living” room was a joke. It would have been better described as the “couch” room as that is really all that fit inside of it. It was empty—no signs of Dan.

  Yes! she thought to herself. I can make like Martha Stewart and bring him bagels in bed. She wondered if she had anything that could pass as a tray.

  “Mornin’, beau-tee-full,” she heard from the kitchen. Happiness flooded her body at the mere sound of his voice.

  I really am a sucker, she thought. Dan shuffled into the room and smiled broadly at her—his face still creased from the pillow’s imprints and his hair matted into a roosterlike approximation.

  “Hey sleepyhead. I have bagels!” she exclaimed, holding the bag out in front of her and rattling it excitedly. “Your favorite!”

  “You are the best,” replied Dan, moving toward her and scooping her into a hug. “Bagels are against the law in LA. Anyone who even thinks about one gets life at fat camp.”

  Bess laughed as he took the bag into the kitchen. She unzipped herself from the confines of her down prison.

  “It is no joke cold outside. Sometimes I become convinced that winter never actually ends—that summer is just a myth.”

  “It does last forever here,” agreed Dan from the kitchen, putting their bagels on plates. “I made coffee. Want some?”

  “Yes, please.” She wondered if she should get out of her yoga gear and take a shower before eating. She did feel a bit grubby, but not grubby enough to trump the promise of food. That was the thing about yoga: she never really sweat her brains out the way she sweat when she ran at the gym, but her muscles still felt pleasantly exhausted afterward—perhaps even more so.

  “Here you go, madam,” said Dan as he handed Bess her bagel on a plate. “These look so delicious. Thanks so much for getting them.” He plopped down beside her and took a giant bite of his bagel.

  “Mmmm, blurgh rerr boo meeve?” he asked, his mouth full. Even this was adorable to Bess. She chewed back at him, her eyes sparkling.

  “What?” she asked after she swallowed.

  “Sorry. Forgive me, I was raised by wolves.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Where were you this morning?”

  Bess took a deep breath before answering. “Yoga,” she explained, refusing to meet Dan’s eyes. Please, please, please, no argument.

  “Oh,” answered Dan, as he examined his bagel for the next best bite. “That’s cool.” Bess noticed that he wasn’t meeting her gaze either. “How was it?”

  “It was good. Really good. My muscles are aching, but in a good way, you know?”

  Dan nodded in response as he chewed. Bess moved closer to him on the couch and laid her head against his warm chest. How was he always so warm? It was incredible.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, partly to change the subject and partly because that was really how she felt: incredibly happy to be sitting next to him on the couch, eating bagels.

  “Me, too,” he replied, snuggling into her. “You know, if you moved to LA, you would never have to deal with this winter crap.”

  “Thanks, Al Roker,” she replied, already slightly defensive. They had talked about the idea of her moving once or twice before, and Bess was always adamantly opposed. Not only because she had grown up in southern California and had a hard time with the idea of settling there as an adult, but because she didn’t like
the idea of turning her entire world upside down for the sake of a man. It felt too fifties housewife to her.

  “Dan, I know the weather rules in LA.” She sat up straighter beside him. “But you know how I feel about leaving my life completely behind for you. I don’t like what that sacrifice entails. It sets a tone.”

  “Jesus, when you start spewing that ‘setting a tone’ bullshit, my arm hair stands on end. What does that even mean?”

  “What do you mean, ‘What does it mean?’” Bess shot back. “It means that I would be giving up everything I’ve worked for to follow you across the country. And for what?”

  Dan placed his cup on the tiny coffee table with studied concentration. “First of all, you are using this bullshit explanation as an excuse. You wouldn’t be leaving shit behind, really. You could transfer to the LA office and you would have a much better chance of getting your freelance stuff published in LA newspapers than here. You even have a hook-up there that you refuse to utilize.” It was true; Bess had gone to high school with the head of the Los Angeles Times Metro desk, but she barely knew him. She felt like Dan was grasping at straws.

  Bess tried to remain calm. “I have come too far in New York to turn back now. And I’m really excited about this article. I really think it has a shot at being picked up by a major publication.”

  Dan was silent as he eyed her with disdain. Bess could tell that he was holding something back. “What?! Go ahead and say it,” coaxed Bess.

  “You know how I feel about the article. There’s no point in bringing it up again.”

  “You know, it’s interesting that this article upsets you so much.”

  “How so?”

  “I think its premise scares you. I think its premise scares every man,” she explained.

  “Bess, no offense, but what the hell are you talking about?”

  “This idea that women no longer have to feel as pressured to push their own dreams and goals aside for someone or something else. It’s not like it used to be. Men are like accessories now. Women don’t need them to thrive.”

  “What the hell does that have to do with your article?” snarled Dan angrily. “Your article is about the groundbreaking idea of ‘women working at jobs that they don’t love—to survive in one of the most expensive cities in the world.’ Wow, what a novel concept! Give me a break. Your article has nothing whatsoever to do with men and whether or not they’re accessories. And what’s with the word accessories? Who are you? Gloria Steinem or Paris Hilton?! I don’t even know what you’re talking about! You’re making no sense, Bess.”

  Bess felt the anger rushing through her body like a sandstorm. Part of her was outraged by Dan’s arrogance and part of her—a tiny, boiling part—knew that what he was saying was true. Lately, she had been paralyzed by the thought that maybe this article had no legs at all to stand on. That, ironically, she was just as guilty as Sabine and Naomi of selling out.

  That was the thing though—writing the article was her ticket out of that same classification. She had to complete it just to prove to herself that she did still have a creative vision—that she did crave a life beyond her mundane nine-to-five one. That she wasn’t going to stop striving just because she had gone and done something stupid like fall in love with a man who lived across the country.

  All of her thoughts, reservations, and anxiety had swirled into one giant mass of confusion in Bess’s head. She had been avoiding this tornado of emotion for a good week and a half, and here it was, touching down in her living room. Too bad she couldn’t hide under the couch until it passed.

  She held back tears of frustration. “I am going to take a shower. I can’t talk about this anymore right now. Nothing is making sense and you are being an asshole.” Dan opened his mouth to argue against the moniker, but thought better of it as he saw a tear roll down Bess’s face and betray her tough facade.

  “Okay,” he answered, fighting the urge to take her in his arms. He hated arguing, too, but he couldn’t be a no-opinion doormat. It just wasn’t his nature. “I’m going to go for a walk.”

  “Fine,” she replied over her shoulder as she walked toward the bedroom. She closed the door and flung herself on the bed in a heap of emotional exhaustion. What if Dan was right? What if this article was nothing but a sad attempt at greatness with something that wasn’t even good? Facedown on her bed, she couldn’t see the door open, but she felt Dan’s presence instinctively. She tensed up, like a threatened snake ready to strike.

  “Hey, Bess,” whispered Dan. She didn’t answer.

  “Bess,” he repeated, moving to sit on the bed beside her. He put his hand on her back. Instantly, Bess felt warmth radiate up her spine. She relaxed against it, damning the power of physical chemistry. It was impossible to fight.

  “Listen, I’m sorry I’m being so hard on you about LA and this article.”

  Bess turned over to look at him. “You should be sorry. I feel like you’re giving me no room to breathe on either subject, Dan. You’re backing me into a corner.”

  “I just, well. . .I guess I’m just worried about the future.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “I mean, I look at our dreams as easily intertwined, you know?” explained Dan. “I just don’t see us as having to strive for such separate goals. We can both strive for creative fulfillment together, you know?”

  Bess fought back tears. “Oh Dan,” she said, sitting up and enveloping him in a bear hug. “I know you’re right, but it’s hard for me. I’ve been single for so long that I never really thought that I could have everything I wanted. Career fulfillment and love? How can you have one without sacrificing the other?”

  “Wow,” he said, stroking her hair. “That’s crazy to me. You are so someone who deserves everything in life. The fact that you see love and personal fulfillment as two separate entities makes me sad.” He kissed her cheek. “I know you can have both.”

  “But at what cost? I mean, something’s got to give.”

  “Maybe you’ll fall behind on your fruit canning,” teased Dan. “Or your embroidery. Come on, Bess, you’re not giving yourself enough credit. I know you can make your life as full or as vacuous as you want it.”

  Bess laughed. “I have the power to live a life completely devoid of meaning! The power is within me!”

  Dan squeezed her tightly as he laughed with her. “You know what I mean. I just want us to do this together. I don’t want to lose you to your insecurities about your independence or lack thereof.”

  Bess stroked his scruff. “And I don’t want to walk away from what we have because of those insecurities, either. But it’s not just the insecurities. I mean, what are we doing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “LA. . .New York. . .what’s happening? Who’s going where? Are we really going to do this thing or are we going to live in long-distance la-la land forever?”

  Dan sighed heavily. “Every time I bring up LA, you shoot it down.”

  “Why hasn’t the possibility of you coming back to New York ever really been discussed? Why is it just assumed that I’ll be the one to make the move? That’s the kind of shit that really gets under my skin, you know? The whole male-female dynamic. Naturally, the woman has to pack it up to follow her man. God forbid it’s the other way around.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Take it easy, anger management. Jesus. You know why I can’t come back to New York anytime soon. I’m getting my master’s in screenwriting for chrissake. That’s sort of LA-centric, at least for the first couple years or so, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I know it is,” she conceded. “I just don’t think I could leave New York to be with you and not resent the hell out of you if we didn’t work out. You can spin it however you want it—I could easily get a job in LA, my family is from LA and my dad’s not doing too hot lately, LA is cheaper, blah, blah, blah—but the fact of the matter is that I would really be going only because of you. That’s a lot of pressure to put on one relationship.”

  “I know
it’s a lot of pressure. It’s pressure for me too, you know. True, I wouldn’t be the one having to move, but I would be the one having to take at least a bit of responsibility for your happiness. And us living together would take things up a whole other level.” He paused. “Hey, how is your dad, by the way? You haven’t brought him up in a while. How’s the pacemaker working out?” Bess’s father had had a heart attack when she was in high school, and had been lucky to survive. Although he was still as robust and active as ever, he was operating on only two thirds of his heart. Because of who he was, you would never know that he felt the repercussions of that loss on a daily level, but his basket full of medications and his defibrillator told a different story.

  “He’s hanging in there. You know, he’s the last one to say that he feels weak or unwell. I’m worried about him,” said Bess. Dan brushed her hair off her face. “I really need to go see him, and my mom. Maybe I can do a double trip or something—see you and my parents.” She paused. “Would you want to meet them?”

  “I would love to meet them,” he answered, not skipping a beat. “That’s some ‘next level’ stuff, Bessie. I like it.” She smiled at him. Her parents hadn’t met a boyfriend of hers since high school.

  “Listen, I want to give us a real shot,” said Dan. “Of course I understand your hesitancy and doubts about moving west, believe me. If we have to continue the long-distance thing, we’ll make it work. I don’t want to lose you. . .or us. I love you, Bess.”

  Bess inhaled sharply. Dan had never said that to her before. It was huge. Involuntarily, tears sprung to her eyes. Who knew I was such a chick? she thought. “I. . .I love you, too. I really do.”

  “Holy shit! We’re in love!” exclaimed Dan. He wrestled Bess onto her back and smiled down at her.

  “I know! What a world!” She reached up to stroke his hair. “Now that this part is established, maybe the rest of the details will just work themselves out on their own.”