One Step Away (A Bedford Falls Novel Book 1)

by Sydney Bristow

  “Your father must’ve been a baker,” said someone off to her left, “because baby, you’ve got a nice set of buns.”

  Lauren turned to find a tall man with a scruffy beard wearing a flannel shirt. She met his smile with an inquisitive expression. “Really? I’m sitting down. How do you know what my buns look like?”

  His smile vanished. He scratched curly hair that would have made Shirley Temple jealous. “Huh? I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “How did you get in here? Did they even card you? You look 19.”

  His cheeks reddened. He lowered his gaze and stuck his hands in his pockets.

  “Okay,” Lauren said to the young man. “I’m in a relationship, so I’m not really rejecting you. So don’t take it so hard. But I’m curious: has that line worked for you yet?”

  Some of the tension in his face drifted away. “No. But one of these days, I’m sure it will.”

  “Here’s a tip: don’t use it again.”

  Marisa couldn’t get over how Lauren’s somewhat dismissive tone reduced this man’s confidence from enthusiastic and full of possibility to complete humiliation and self-doubt. Of course, she’d always felt bad when a guy approached a woman who wasn’t interested. And then it dawned on her…was that how she made Alexander feel? Heat flared into her face. The notion made her feel so guilty that she decided she needed to right her wrong.

  Seeing the disappointment in the guy’s eyes, Marisa sympathized with him. She wanted to help this young man avoid a similar situation in the future, partly because she could set him in the right direction. She would have liked to help Alexander in the same way, but if she’d attempted to do so, whatever she said would have sounded either patronizing or full of pity, which would end up doing more harm than good.

  “I’m also not available,” Marisa said, “but I’d like to hear your next line.”

  The man turned back to the three friends sitting at a table at the back of the room, who cheered him on. He spun back to Marisa. “Your lips look lonely. Would they like to meet mine?”

  Marisa laughed. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”

  “The Internet. I’ve memorized like a dozen. How about this one: stand still so I can pick you up.”

  “But I’m still sitting,” she said, commiserating with him.

  “Oh, yeah. But if you weren’t, would it work?” Pellets of sweat stood out on his forehead and his hands rattled.

  For whatever reason, Marisa imagined that Alexander had taken this man’s place. And her heart went out to him. She reached out and took the man’s hands into her own to calm him down. “When you see a girl and she smiles at you and looks down and then looks at you again, she’s interested. If she flips her hair, she’s interested. If she licks her lips or tilts her head to the side, she’s interested. All of that can happen from across the room. So you don’t even have to get too close. But if she gives you any of those signals, she’s telling you that she wants to meet you. When that happens, walk right up to her because you have nothing to lose. But never, ever deliver one of those cheesy lines. Just go up to her and say hi. Then see what she says.”

  The young man gave her a cynical expression. “That’s too easy. What’s the catch?”

  “No smile, no interest. But her smile told you she wants to meet you. So just say hi. That’s all you need.” Watching a grin light up his face like he held a winning lottery ticket, Marisa wished she could have shared that wisdom with all men. It would make dating so much easier and less pressure-filled.

  She admitted that, during high school and college, she was naive in thinking that sharing tons of personal details would encourage men to share a part of their lives with her, but when she realized that some of them wanted only one thing from her, she always ended things between them before she felt a real attachment to them. Since then, over the last seven years, she’d met only three men who had reached that level of closeness.

  After meeting Russell Lande, a manager of the department store Carson Pirie Scott, she went on a dozen dates with him over three months before realizing that she was falling for him. But after they made love, he left in the middle of the night and never called her again. She had no idea what persuaded him to leave. Was she too inexperienced? After seeing her naked, did he lose all interest in her? Did he only plan on getting her into bed before leaving? And if so, how come she hadn’t been suspicious of his intentions?

  She visited his department store to find out what she did wrong, only to discover that he’d never worked there. It seemed he’d been a customer the day they met and lied about his profession. Which, of course, led to another round of self-doubt: if he’d lied about his career, what else had he lied about? And why had she failed to see through his lies? It took seven months of second-guessing herself before realizing that she would never have the answers she needed and that she shouldn’t blame herself for the squandered relationship.

  Then she met Jorn Allen, a Norwegian television reporter. This time, she spent four months laughing and enjoying his gentlemanly charm. And then they consummated their relationship. Unlike Russell, Jorn left in the middle of the act, calling her a tease because she didn’t live up to whatever image that he’d built up in his mind. He said that she couldn’t even compare to his wife, a woman who didn’t even arouse him. While he gathered his clothes, he spewed hateful words at her, culminating in calling her an ignorant slut as he slammed the door on his way out.

  Once more, self-doubt circled her mind for months: she hadn’t seen a wedding band on his finger, so how could she have known that he’d been married? What signs did she miss? In the end, she didn’t get the answers she sought. And she didn’t date anyone for more than a year after that experience.

  And then she met Brad, who turned out to contradict his words in a major way.

  Marisa supposed that she fell in love with the idea of love too easily. Part of that stemmed from enjoying the intensity of a new relationship; getting to know someone really well, and seeing how things progressed.

  The other aspect that probably contributed to falling for someone too quickly derived from the fact that she hadn’t done too much dating throughout the years. And that, in turn, meant a lot of alone time, which obviously lent itself to a cynical outlook. Therefore, the few times she met someone new, she couldn’t get over the excitement that overwhelmed her. All of the waiting and hoping had contributed to her own enthusiasm. Having experienced so much loneliness between each relationship, she craved intimacy.

  And when it came to romantic endeavors, Marisa always jumped into the water without first testing the temperature. Each time, she intended to take it slow, but soon enough, she threw logic aside and listened to her heart. Of course, she realized that she trusted too easily, especially with men who didn’t shower her with compliments about her appearance.

  That had always been a tricky issue for her, because Jaclyn placed so much emphasis on making sure her daughter looked “presentable” at such a young age. The night before each day of grade school, Marisa selected an outfit that her mother had to approve.

  The next morning, Jaclyn expected a certain ratio of bounce to waves in her hair, as well as a tasteful amount of make-up that drew attention away from her “facial imperfections:” a nose that looked like someone had “spent days slamming a frying pan against it” and an angular jawline more “fit for a boy” than a girl, as though her mother’s genes hadn’t played any part in her daughter’s appearance. And if Marisa hadn’t achieved the desired effect in time to catch the bus that morning? Rather than simply driving her to school, Jaclyn either forced her to walk to school that day or stay home. And remaining home with her mother was more punishment than school could ever be.

  So when men praised Marisa’s appearance, she thought of her mother, including all the time Jaclyn had spent criticizing her and all the effort she forced her daughter to endure in order make her look “presentable.” Therefore, compliments robbed the elation that she should have felt and instead
made her self-conscious because she focused on what these men hadn’t commented on: her imperfections. And when she met men who didn’t try to flatter her, she wasn’t reminded of those unpleasant experiences, giving her the added side effect of trusting them more than she would have trusted someone who had complimented her.

  When men seemed to enjoy spending time with her because they liked her personality, rather than just wanting to get with her because they found her attractive, Marisa felt her interest spike, and she rushed into the relationship without much thought about how her actions might contribute to the success or failure of the relationship. Which reminded her of the time she’d spent last night with Brad. Even worse, after having not seen him for months, she read his poem and suspected that he really cherished her.

  In hindsight, she should have asked him more about the poem, as well as how and when he’d decided that he truly cared for her. But she wouldn’t have been satisfied with only a few details. Because of their propensity as an on-again, off-again couple, she would have wanted an in-depth analysis: what gave him clarity when it came to their relationship? Why had he waited until she called (even though she knew it was a pride-thing – she wanted to actually hear him admit it)? How often did he think about her? Had he presumed that she’d been dating someone else?

  Her slight buzz last night had stripped away all of those questions and countless others, leaving her with only one thought: deep down, he deeply cared her. That was why he kept coming back. The only problem? Last night, he hadn’t shown her the true depth of his feelings. He’d treated her no better than Russell or Jorn had.

  Her phone chirped. How fitting: a text message from Brad: “I feel so bad about last night. How are you feeling? Call me when you get a chance.”

  Lauren nodded at her. “Alexander?”

  Marisa shook her head. Until now, she had never understood why Alexander never wanted to talk about Brad. “No. It’s Brad. Apologizing for last night.”

  “Let me see the text,” Lauren said, snatching her phone. She hit Marisa with a sullen look. “He didn’t actually apologize, did he? He just said that he felt bad about it. Bad about what? Did he say that he’s thinking about you? That he cares about you? That he misses you?”

  “No, but—”

  “But he loves you, right?”

  Marisa didn’t want to get into an argument, which she sensed she was nearing judging by her friend’s harsh tone.

  “Instead of getting excited about what can be, why don’t you think about what is? People who love each other actually say the words. Like Alexander did. I don’t buy the whole ‘he doesn’t like expressing feelings’ crap. You need the constant validation. Fifteen years of friendship tells me so. That’s who you are, Marisa. And if Brad hasn’t said those words by now, he won’t in the future. Imagine that you have kids. How is he going to tell them that he loves them? Grab a red crayon and write it down in his son’s coloring book?” With that, she scooted away from the table. “Congratulations on your promotion. You truly deserved it. But Brad? You deserve better.” Then she left.

  This was the first time since Russell and Jorn had broken her heart that Lauren had gotten angry while telling her the truth as she saw it. The concern and the intensity with which Lauren spoke made tears enter Marisa’s eyes.

  But she drove those thoughts from her mind by concentrating on her recent promotion. That should be her number one priority. Then she recalled that the library staff thought that she and Alexander had become a couple. It seemed that in spite of her professional success, no matter what she did, she couldn’t get a grasp on her personal life.

  *

  That night, Alexander and Damon went to a bar called Sanitarium. A wide, two-story building erected in a triangle pattern with a bar on each floor was surrounded by booths on all sides, the dark interior full of vintage signs from various beer companies spread across the walls. Other than the circular lamps hanging from the ceiling, blue and pink neon lights cut through an otherwise dark ambiance, allowing customers the opportunity to talk since the top 40 music playing through a decent sound system didn’t force patrons to raise their voices.

  “So,” Damon said, scoping out the area for attractive women. “See anyone you like?”

  “This isn’t going to work,” Alexander said. “I’m in love with her, man. I haven’t been able to approach anyone in a couple years. I can’t force myself to feel something I don’t feel.”

  “But she’s not into you. And as long as you got this whole lovesick aura going on, she’s going to keep pushing you further and further away, until one day, she hates you and never wants to see you again because you want something she can’t give and she feels too guilty to keep seeing you. That’s your future. Do you want that?”

  “No.”

  “When Marisa said you needed to build up your confidence, she was also telling you subconsciously what she wants, because right now, you’re not it. But she wants you to be. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have told you, right?”

  Damon pointed to the eight-inch scrape on Alexander’s forearm. “You’ve got a good start. And that’s a lot more painful than flirting with some woman. Notice I said flirting. You’re not out here trying to get laid. I’m not saying it won’t happen…wait, you’ve been in love with Marisa for two years? Are you saying you haven’t gotten laid in two years?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “That just told me it’s true. Damn, Alex. Two years? I can see six months, a year even. But two years?” He looked astonished. “Okay, never mind that. You need to build up your skills. You remember the movie Crazy, Stupid, Love? The whole Ryan Gosling-Steve Carell Jedi tutorials? Well, think of me as a poor-man’s Ryan Gosling.

  “Only I’m more knowledgeable than him because I have to be. That dude’s too good-looking, so he doesn’t have to work as hard as me. But think about what Gosling did: he basically showed Steve Carell how to dress, which isn’t a problem for you. Then Gosling had Carell watch and listen to how he picked up women. Soon enough, Carell starts picking up women left and right.”

  “Yeah, Steve Carell can’t be that strong.”

  “Come on, Alex. I’m being serious here.”

  “Why do you keep calling me Alex?”

  “Because Alexander? He’s an accountant. He’s a pencil pusher. In other words, he’s boring. But Alex…that dude rides a Harley and he’s a library director. A risk-taker but intelligent. Understand?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “From now on, I’m calling you Alex. Moving on…Carell snagging nine women? That’s just too far-fetched. The point of the matter is that he needed to get his confidence back because his wife, Julianne Moore, no longer found him attractive. Moore found him attractive once, so when he got his confidence back, she was into him again. It was pretty easy. You’ve got a more difficult task ahead of you: encouraging a woman who never found you attractive to light up when she sees you.”

  “Thanks for picking up my spirits.”

  “Just need you to know what you’re facing.”

  A petite Asian woman wearing a violet sweater over a pink button-down shirt and a black skirt that displayed shapely thighs stepped up to the bar beside Damon. She paid him no attention: just waited for the bartender to serve her.

  Damon said to Alexander, “Listen to how I say what I say. Just as important, notice what I don’t say.” He turned toward the Asian woman and stared at her until she glanced at him.

  She gave him a weird look. “What are you staring at, freak?”

  “Trying to read the clock,” Damon said, unfazed by her remark. If anything, he relaxed a bit, as though he found the statement amusing. He redirected his gaze at the wall behind her. He softened his features to make it apparent that he finally noticed the time. “Do you attack all men like that when they’re checking out the time?”

  She gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I thought you were staring. It’s so annoying.”

  “Tell me about it. Happens to me
all the time. Women nowadays: no class. Treat men like an accessory they can throw in their purse and take home, expecting guys to please them whenever they want. Even more pathetic? So many guys let it happen.”

  The woman chuckled. She turned towards him and met his gaze. “I don’t think you’d fit in my purse.”

  Damon examined her purse; it was about nine inches long. “You’re right,” he said, glancing from the purse to his crotch and back to her again. “I wouldn’t fit in there.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, confused. Then she broke into a smile. “That is so dirty.” Her smile grew in intensity. “Oh, my God. You’ve got such a filthy mind.”

  “Oh, you thought…” Damon let his mouth drop open. “That’s pretty forward. Here we just met, and you’re already trying to seduce me? Unbelievable. But like I said: it happens to me all the time.”

  The bartender, a thirty-something man with frizzy blond hair, stepped up to them. “What’ll it be?”

  Damon said to the Asian woman, “You owe me a drink for the insult and trying to proposition me.” He turned to the bartender. “I’ll take a Miller Light.”

  After the Asian woman ordered a couple Cosmopolitans and the bartender went about making their drinks, she said to Damon, “Okay, first off, I didn’t proposition you. That was your deluded mind deceiving you.”

  “Hmmm. You admit to having dirty thoughts about me, a man you just met by the way, and I’m the one who’s deluded?”

  The bartender placed their drinks in front of them. The Asian woman handed him payment for the drinks and said to Damon, “If you can get your mind out of the gutter, I’m hanging out with a friend of mine.” She gestured to the back of the room and headed off in that direction with a sneaky smile on her lips.

  Damon watched her go, checking out her curves then turned to Alexander. “What happened there?”