Stunned, Alexander couldn’t believe that Damon had accused the woman of hitting on him, and that she had not only enjoyed the banter but actually paid for his drink. “I have no idea. What the hell just happened? How did you do that?”
“Women like to flirt. Did you see her attitude when she thought I was staring? She was pissed off. A sexy woman like that? It happens to her all the time. So I did the opposite. I made her feel guilty for assuming that I was hitting on her. Then I got her thinking about sex and suggested that she wanted me.”
“So act arrogant?”
“Well, don’t be arrogant. But sometimes giving her the impression that you’re a little arrogant can be a good thing. She picks up on that confidence, and it adds an air of mystery. She’s thinking: ‘What makes this guy so cocky?’ It creates questions in her mind. But you definitely don’t want to overdo it. The best way to do it is to act a little egotistic while being funny. You’d be great at this, because it relies on being modest. It’s a delicate balance, so be careful.”
“You’re telling me two different things,” said Alexander. “Be a little arrogant but also kind of humble – at the same time. How is that possible?”
“Little touches. Don’t boast or show off. Chicks hate that. It shows that you’re trying too hard. It’s like saying that you don’t think you’re good enough for her, so you have to give her reasons to like you. Act a little arrogant but also somewhat modest when you’re talking about sex or anything leading up to it.
“Say she says something like, ‘Men have no idea what they’re doing in bed.’ You can say something like, “‘Yeah, it’s a real shame. Guys should get a course in sexual instruction during high school: How to Please a Woman 101.’ ”
“Okay.” Alexander just stared at him, unimpressed.
“You don’t get it? I can’t say I’m surprised. We’re talking women here. Not men. When a woman hears that, she thinks: ‘he’s kind of funny.’ But just as important, she’s also thinking, ‘he’s confident enough to say that guys don’t know what they’re doing in bed.’ That automatically makes her assume that you do know what you’re doing when it comes to sex. That intrigues her. She’s now wondering all sorts of things: how many lovers you’ve had; have you been in many long-term relationships; what makes you think you’re so great in bed? The list goes on and on.
“But don’t overdo it,” Damon added. “And don’t goof around. The difference is that joking around comes naturally from the conversation. Goofing around is trying to get her attention, basically telling her that you want her attention because you know she wouldn’t have given it to you otherwise.” He shook his head. “Not attractive. And if she’s not laughing and having a good time? Then she doesn’t have a sense of humor. Move on. Find someone who likes to have fun, someone you enjoy talking with.”
“Sounds simple enough.”
“It’s not. Especially for you, since you’re used to pleasing customers all day long and you’ve needed the approval of your female managers for the last thirteen years. You need a new mindset. It’s going to take a lot of practice.”
“So give the assumption that you’re somewhat arrogant while being funny.” Alexander took that in. “And don’t compliment women.”
“Right. A normal guy approaches a gorgeous woman and tells her how attractive she is. You know what that does? It kills the attraction you’re trying to build. Even worse, by telling her you think she’s hot you’re giving her too much power. It makes you just like all the other guys who say the same thing. There’s no mystery there. Women want something different. So don’t compliment them. It’ll make them wonder what you’re thinking about. It makes them wonder why you aren’t attracted to her like all the other guys that hit on her all the time. It makes you a challenge. And don’t think that acting that way is manipulative. It’s not. Just treat them like any other person. Don’t chase them.”
“Because I must be the only guy who doesn’t like the chase.”
Damon laughed. “You’re not the only one. In fact, I’ll bet that only players like the chase.”
“But you’re a player. All those women? Come on.”
That comment silenced Damon. He looked uneasy, even pain-stricken. “I don’t like the chase. I hate it!” His bitter tone conflicted with the easygoing attitude he’d maintained only moments ago. “Probably 80 percent of women think it’s true that men love the chase. It’s a fallacy.” And just like that, the darkness that passed across his face vanished.
“But everyone says—”
“By everyone, you mean women. Women keep saying men love the chase because they want to believe it. More than that, they need to believe it. The moment they don’t, it’s all over for them. Within the first thirty seconds of spotting a man, a woman knows if she’s interested or not. They’re about 95 percent certain, anyway. They probably leave 5 percent open in case the guy has something interesting to say, which doesn’t happen often, so that’s why it’s only 5 percent.
“What it boils down to is this: a guy walk up to a girl and that girl decides whether she’s interested or not. The guy doesn’t get a choice in the matter. He either gets rejected or is given a chance to get to know the lady in question.”
Alexander stared at him, puzzled.
“Women choose. Men don’t. Think of a king sitting on the throne when others come to court. In this case, the woman is on the throne. Guys come courting. We are at their mercy. So why would women want to say anything other than ‘Men love the chase’? It gives them tremendous power.”
Astounded by that bit of wisdom, having never given it any consideration himself, Alexander simply nodded.
“Let’s boil it down: is Marisa as hot as that Asian woman who just walked away?”
“Marisa’s the most beautiful woman on the planet.”
“Okay. If this chick is sick of getting hit on by losers who don’t know how to build attraction, how do you think Marisa’s going to relate to that same kind of person? I’m trying to show you how to speak to Marisa on a different wavelength, one where she’ll finally think about you differently.”
“You make it seem so easy,” Alexander said.
“It’s not. It takes a lot of practice. And that’s what we’re doing tonight – practicing.”
Alexander nodded, finally understanding what advice Damon intended to impart.
“Now let’s go talk with those ladies.”
CHAPTER TEN
The next two weeks were the most uncomfortable period of Alexander’s entire tenure at the Bedford Falls Public Library. As Damon expected, Marisa rarely saw him during that time period. But it didn’t start that way. The first few times they met in the stairwell or in a corridor, she broke into the beginning of a smile, but then, as though confused about the status of their friendship, she crushed the happiness that came over her, lowered her gaze to the floor, and walked past him. On a few occasions, he’d even seen tears sparkling in her eyes. He hated not spending time with her.
It didn’t help that each time she walked by, his heartbeat hammered and his breath came quick. He felt dreadful for making her feel so uncomfortable, but if given the chance, he wouldn’t retract his declaration of love. If anything, he was glad to have revealed the truth.
After the library closed on his final day, he entered the staff lounge to find a white banner stretched across the ceiling from one end of the room to the other with bold red letters stating, “Congratulations, Alexander! We’ll Miss You.”
Seeing over fifty smiling faces clogging the small lounge made it impossible not to smile. He counted each of them as a friend, and knowing that he would no longer see them on a daily basis made happy memories spring to mind: the shared jokes, the private conversations, and the goofiness they indulged in during their staff training days, where they relied on teamwork to enforce mutual trust.
A swell of emotion overcame him, and he put a hand to his mouth to block the impulse to speak. If he did, his voice would squeak, and he heard Damon
’s voice enter his thoughts: not attractive! Alexander refused to utter a sound. The apprehension he felt about leaving would soon be dwarfed by the sadness that he’d endured the past two weeks due to having not spent time with Marisa, which would spark tears. And if he let them into his eyes, they’d soon slip out of with no end in sight. He clenched his tongue between his teeth and bit down hard to replace his melancholy with pain.
The group clapped and whistled and hollered, hoping to get him to tear up.
But as he glanced at all of the friends he’d made over the past two years, he didn’t spot the one person he wanted to see most: Marisa. That realization closed off the possibility of tear-streaked cheeks. Her disappearance blasted a cool torrent of despair into his chest, debilitating him.
But then someone disclosed that Marisa had set up this gathering. She’d also created the banner and the multicolored streamers hanging from the ceiling, had hand-picked and purchased the cake, and even set up a poster board sprinkled with pictures of him and various other staff members. There were pictures of him working to set up for their summer reading program, speaking to the staff about the importance of customer service, portraying a magician’s assistant for a children’s program, where he was supposed to get cut in half, and countless other images that spoke to how he’d dedicated so much of his time and energy to his chosen profession. Beside each of these pictures, staff members wrote a short goodbye note to him, recalling instances from their past and wishing him good luck in his future endeavors.
This undertaking had clearly taken quite some time to organize, and it chased away some of his sadness. It meant that Marisa still cared a great deal for him. But just as he got his hopes up, he figured that if Marisa truly loved him, wouldn’t she be standing beside him now?
No longer flushed with emotion, Alexander felt a lack of sentiment as he forced a smile and hugged dozens of people who had played a part in his life. A huge Devil’s Food Cake with the words “Our Favorite Traitor” in whipped cream made him overlook his sorrow by chuckling. The group chanted, “Speech, speech, speech” for about five seconds before he relented.
When everyone quieted down, Alexander said, “Thank you, everyone, for coming. It really means a lot to me. And the time we spent together these past couple years have meant even more. I consider each of you not only colleagues but friends. And I don’t underestimate what that means. People often make new friends and shed others as life changes. But I’ll never forget the good times we’ve shared…Now, let’s eat some cake!”
His words brought forth another round of applause. As everyone enjoyed dessert, Alexander reminisced with his colleagues. An hour later, after the last person helped him throw out cups, plates, and plastic forks, he let out a deep breath, prepared to leave this part of his life behind.
*
Marisa entered the staff lounge and stood in the doorway, watching Alexander stuff garbage into the waste basket. The past two weeks had been the most difficult in recent memory. Making it through each day without sharing time with her best friend felt like someone had severed a limb from her body. She’d always counted on Alexander whenever she needed advice or just someone to talk with. And more than that, she had spent much of her time doing everyday things like shopping with him, going to see movies, or just playing Chess or Scrabble.
Overall, until these past two weeks, not a day went by where they didn’t communicate, either in person, on the phone or via email or text. She felt guilty for ruining their friendship, for dissecting a relationship that should have lasted until only death separated them. But Marisa had considered it necessary to keep their distance—if she hoped their friendship would survive in the long-run.
She took another step forward. Only ten feet separated her from Alexander. She suspected that he knew she’d entered the lounge, but he hadn’t turned around for only one reason; he didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable. And that singular thought explained why she had a difficult time sleeping these past two weeks.
Warm tears spilled down her face. He knew her so well. Sometimes better than she knew herself. It became hard to breathe, but she wouldn’t let him realize how badly she hurt, so she steadied her nerves and took in a deep breath, telling herself not to reveal how deeply missing him had affected her. Alexander had admitted his feelings; he wanted more than friendship.
And since Marisa couldn’t meet those expectations, she had to let him go. Trying to be friends with someone who wanted more would lead to misunderstandings and resentment. She didn’t want to give the wrong impression, so she decided on the only other option available: they had to their go separate ways.
Alexander cleaned up after others who had gathered to wish him a goodbye, displaying yet another amazing quality, showing that he would be sincere when helping his future wife with chores around the house or picking up the wrapping paper after his kids had opened all their gifts on Christmas morning. These attributes sounded trivial, but how many women got to accept help without having to ask for it? And that led to a different, although somewhat related thought: if he took the time to help mere friends, how much more love and attention would he lavish upon his wife and children? It gave her yet one more reason to scold herself for failing to consider him as anything more than a best friend.
Because that realization made her feel unworthy of his love, Marisa couldn’t help but blink away the tears that shimmered in her eyes.
When he stood up, Alexander stopped, somehow sensing that someone stood in the doorway. But he didn’t turn toward her. Instead, he remained in place. “I’m glad you came. It means a lot to me.”
Hearing his wavering voice and the words that clarified his feelings, Marisa almost choked on words that refused to exit her mouth. A wave of emotion overcame her, and she bit her lower lip to stop the impulse to tear up. She wouldn’t let that happen. Because if she did, the sadness that she’d endured the past two weeks would make it impossible for her to stop the waterworks. She stepped toward him but pulled up short and looked at her shoes.
Still facing the opposite direction, Alexander said, “I understand that you’re angry with me for messing up our friendship. But I don’t regret telling you how I feel. And I never will.”
But she didn’t want to speak or even think about how their relationship had suffered these past two weeks. It hurt too much. Anything she might say would come out wrong, and she didn’t want to pour salt on an open wound. So didn’t it only make sense that she had to cut off all contact?
“I don’t know what to say,” Alexander said, “except that I miss you.”
Head down, Marisa continued walking up to him, feeling moisture slipping into her eyes.
“You’re my best friend.”
The weight of that admission made her stop a foot behind him. Through blurry eyes, she raised her head. That’s when he turned around, so she rushed into his arms to prevent him from seeing the tears in her eyes. And she felt it again, for perhaps the thousandth time – every time they hugged, their bodies fit together perfectly, which always reminded her of action figures perfectly packaged in plastic bubble wrap.
Sometimes when she felt stressed out, upset, or confused, Alexander would wrap her into an embrace, where everything felt calm and allowed her to catch a whiff of his cologne, which never failed to soothe her spirits. Afterwards, whenever she left his arms, she felt as relaxed as if she had just taken a warm bath. And that made her feel guilty, because Alexander deserved so much more love than she could ever give.
He held her tight. “I know you don’t mean to hurt me…and I don’t blame you.”
She broke away from him swiftly so he wouldn’t see her wet and puffy face. Then she strode out of the room before he had a chance to say even one word.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Later that evening, just as he’d done every weekday over the past two weeks, Alexander spent the night on his Harley, going over drills and practicing his technique: doing figure 8’s, cutting sharp corners, shifting and downshifting i
n quick succession. The moves came easier than in the past, especially since last week, when Damon had ridden with him on residential streets, giving him an opportunity to put his newfound skills to use.
Now finished in the parking lot, he visited the Illinois Secretary of State facility in Vista Heights for the fifth time to work on weaving between cones, swerving, and a few other exercises he would need to pass once he took the motorcycle test to receive his license.
Technically, he broke the law by riding without a partner, which could get him fined up to $1,000, adding to the fright factor, but he couldn’t rely on Damon for everything. Besides, he felt comfortable riding on less congested streets, and practicing so often had increased his skills. Regardless, he still hadn’t done as he would need in order to pass the test.
He needed to concentrate on something other than his meeting with Marisa a few hours ago, which monopolized his thoughts since leaving work. At least now, he knew how much she cared for him – as a friend. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have shown up before he left. Unfortunately, that information intensified his sadness. And yet, the level of anguish he was experiencing seemed almost necessary in order to get his mind off the fears he had about riding.”
Each time he started riding, he gripped the handlebars too tightly, his body tense and rigid, making it difficult for him to find and maintain a comfortable position.
Now that it was mid-October, he had only another couple weeks before the weather became too cold to ride. At this pace, he wouldn’t be able to pass the test and receive his motorcycle license before the end of the riding season. And all the time, all the effort, all the money he’d poured into trying to pick up this new skill would crumble under the weight of his fears.
Knowing that he’d actually ridden in traffic without getting killed lifted his spirits and made the lingering sorrow from the afternoon leave his mind. The confidence boost had allowed him to relax, and he no longer clutched the handlebars as though the bike would rocket away from him, sending him to the concrete, scarred and bruised.
One Step Away (A Bedford Falls Novel Book 1) Page 11