Psycho Bitch: A Love Story

by AJ Rico

  He hesitated. I repeated myself, again patting the bed. Finally, he jumped up, rushed to settle himself at my side as if worried I'd change my mind. Rolling to face him, I curled myself around his body and let him in.

  9. Baby Steps

  MY ENTIRE BODY WAS SORE when I awoke, but my spirit felt lighter. Hugo snored next to me. His heat was comforting and I felt warmed in more ways than the physical.

  Buttery light dappled the apartment and I felt peaceful. Casting my mind back, I couldn't remember ever feeling this before. My life had existed on a knife edge. The threat of injury—real or imagined—was constant.

  Growing up had been a stressful experience. My father was nothing more than a specter whom you tip-toed around to avoid his wrath. He who never participated in my life. My mother was too busy pitting my sister and I against one another to be any form of maternal figure. As a result, my youth had consisted of navigating a familial minefield rather than being a child.

  My adult life had been much the same, whether it was catty roommates or sketchy boyfriends, until Adam. Adam, while a vast improvement, was still more like wearing jeans that were one size too small. They may look great, but they suffocated you.

  Now, here I am middle aged, alone, struggling financially, and feeling an inner calm; a sense that I'll figure things out. The temptation to stress about my lack of stress was high, but I suppressed it. I may not understand what was happening to me, but I knew one thing: I wasn't hiding anymore. I was going back to Kona today and confronting Henry.

  We were going to have to agree to disagree on the Adam thing. I still wasn't willing to concede that argument, but I missed Henry. I missed him more than I missed Adam, but I wasn't telling him that either. I didn't understand why, but ever since our argument, I found myself thinking about Henry a lot. At first, it had been to mentally win the argument. I rewrite history so that I said exactly the right thing at exactly the right moment to be victorious. That had morphed into wondering what new outfit he'd be wearing or what reading material he'd be devouring. I found myself remembering his twinkling eyes and bottomless laugh. The memory caused a yearning so strong I'd find myself getting up to go see him. Then, I would remember how we left things.

  It was unfamiliar and disturbing to feel this way. I had no idea how to catalog it. It wasn't sexual and there was no obvious social or financial advantage gained from his acquaintance. Yet, I wanted to spend time with him.

  It left me feeling like I was trying to find my way in a dark room with no knowledge of the layout and no operating memory to guide me. Call me adventurous, I guess, because it was time to see where I stood.

  First things first, Hugo and I had a date with the park.

  * * *

  Who would have thought a little playing in the park would make a dog want to listen? Hugo and I walked the local park in our usual fashion. He pulled and tugged (though not as much) and I was only screeching at him a little. Completely by accident (I dropped my keys and had to go back for them) I discovered how to correct his pulling and save my joints. I just turned around and went the other way every time he pulled. It wasn't long before he figured out that we went the wrong way when he pulled.

  We took three times as long to walk the five blocks to the park, but we did okay -- for us. The park was empty. I was grateful. I wasn't ready to deal with Hugo and other dogs, too. I let Hugo off leash and left him to sniff around while I searched for a big stick. Once I found able to withstand his ability to chew it, I called Hugo to me. He came bounding over with nothing more than a single call of his name! I'd like to think it was my newfound connection with him, but his eyes were wholly focused on the stick.

  And, so it began. Our perfectly imperfect bonding session. I tossed the stick; he scrambled after it, often overshooting it, going feet over tail as he tried to stop. He'd turn, scoop it up, run a few victory laps around me and then ignore me completely as he lay down to chew on the stick. Fetch was not in his vocabulary, this was catch.

  Even still, I was gooey inside, so I couldn't find it in me to be offended. I simply extracted the stick and threw it again and again until the slobber overcame the dry bark.

  With a note-to-self to invest in portable hand wipes, I reattached his leash and began walking home. We were about a block in before I realized he wasn't pulling. At. All.

  I stopped certain I was hallucinating and said, "Hugo, sit."

  He sat, looking up at me with a grin despite panting from his exertions.

  Deciding to push my luck, I said, "Hugo, down."

  He lay down.

  I laughed and screeched, "Yes!" scaring Hugo and making him leap onto all fours.

  I scratched him all over and told him how good he was. Maybe I could do this after all, but it couldn't hurt to get some help. When we got in the house, I gave Hugo water and emailed Gloria to ask for a trial session. I wasn't sure how I would pay her, but I'd figure that out later. Right now, I wanted to get to Kona and see if I could catch Henry.

  10. Thinking Inside the Box

  SEVERAL HOURS LATER—THANK YOU decrepit wiring that blows if you plug in both a hair dryer and a clothes iron—I was finally ready to go. I threw a signed copy of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy into my tote bag on my way out. I'd found it at a flea market years before and it would make a good peace offering. Given how late I was, I'd probably missed him, but worst case scenario, I'd get some work done and try again tomorrow.

  As fickle as D.C.'s subway system is, the transit gods must have been smiling on me because the commute was effortless. I used the time in a vain effort to compose what I wanted to say. I was completely stymied. My repertoire of machinations had no entry for this particular circumstance. I wasn't one to salvage a relationship. I tended to replace them as I would a battery that had run out. Like with Greg, I was once again in uncharted territory.

  All my nerves lit up as soon as I alighted from the dark recesses of the Metro station. It felt like stage fright and it only got worse the closer I got to Kona. My heart was pounding and my knees felt like jelly. Why was I doing this? Henry wasn't a necessary presence and I'd be giving him power over me. If I did this, he'd know he had importance in my life and he would then be able to exploit me. Greg was one thing. I needed that contract, but Henry couldn't do anything for me.

  I would be a fool to put myself at his mercy. Nope. Not doing it. I would just pretend nothing happened and see what he did. If he ignored me, it would be no great loss. Right? I'd had lots of people fade from my life over the years and I had always managed. I didn't need Henry either.

  Feeling much more resolute, I turned the corner and saw Kona. My heart skipped and I smiled. I loved this place. If nothing else, I was getting my coffee shop back. I crossed the large window and scanned what crowd there was for this time of day.

  There was no sign of Henry.

  I took a deep breath, refusing to acknowledge any disappointment, and went inside.

  As I approached the counter to place my order, I heard, "What sylph-like creature is this? Has Charlotte returned to the fold?"

  I could contain neither my grin nor the surge of joy pulsing through me as I turned and faced Henry.

  He was as I remembered him. A contradiction in terms with his high-brow accent and plebeian clothes. His T-shirt read There's no place like 127.0.0.1. I had no idea what that meant, but I adored the consummate and unapologetic nerdiness of it. His smile was wide and welcoming and everything inside me relaxed.

  Abandoning the counter and my order, I joined him by the exit. He had a paperback tucked under his arm, but I saw no coffee.

  "Are you leaving?" Not the most graceful opening, but he smiled anyway.

  "As a matter of fact, I was about to exchange one establishment for another and get a proper meal."

  In an obvious attempt to get the Least-Eloquent-Response-Ever award, I said, "Oh." I was at a loss. This reunion was not working out at all like I'd fantasized.

  When I said nothing further, Henry qu
irked an eyebrow and said, "Would you care to join me? It's been an age since you've been in. I'd rather begun to think you were avoiding me."

  I blushed and just knew I was giving the tomato a run for its money on depth of shade. Henry's eyebrows shot even higher.

  "Were you avoiding me?"

  Confusion colored his voice such that even I recognized it. I don't always recognize the emotional landscape of the person I'm dealing with, but, in this at least, Henry was an easy read.

  "I can explain," I said, stepping closer and resting a hand on his arm. His skin was warm and felt velvety under my fingers. He had the physique of a man who was naturally slim rather than someone who made fitness a priority, "It's why I came to find you —"

  "You were looking for me? I definitely need to hear this. I didn't think I registered on your radar enough to put you off your routine."

  I flushed deeper and grew tongue-tied, looking away as I sought some way to save face. Henry took pity on me. He patted my hand and said, "I'm teasing, Madame. But, this story definitely sounds like it's best told over a meal. Why don't you let me take you to lunch?"

  I studied his face which was alight with curiosity and surprised myself by agreeing. I rarely went off script once I determined what I was trying to do, but Henry was the least predictable person I'd ever met.

  Opening the door, he gestured for me to precede him. Out on the street, he asked, "Do you have a preference for any particular cuisine?"

  "Not really, but there is a great little grill a few blocks over. I'm open, though, if you had something you were already thinking of."

  "I hadn't decided what my taste buds were looking for but a grill sounds like as good a place as any to take my afternoon tea."

  "But, I thought you said you were hungry."

  He laughed that bottomless laugh that I had missed so much.

  "Lead the way, my dear, and allow me to educate you on the ways of British afternoon tea." As we walked, he continued, "It all began with a certain duchess. Of Bedford, if I remember correctly …"

  I allowed myself to relax as he regaled me with a tale of a woman who had just wanted a damn snack with her tea. But, because everything had to be done with pomp and circumstance back then (his words not mine) it became a ritual. He finished by informing me that it's only a proper afternoon tea (again, his words) if it's served between 3:30 and 5:00 p.m.

  I looked at my watch and said, "But, it's only two."

  He grinned and replied, "I never said I was a proper British gentleman" and winked.

  My eyes went wide. Was Henry flirting with me? In my wildest imagination, I hadn't considered that. After our last discussion, I felt he saw me as a recalcitrant child.

  Our arrival at the restaurant saved me from having to reply. It was a blink-and-you'll-miss-it kind of place since it sat below street level. The only hint of its presence was a free standing chalk board listing the daily specials out on the street.

  I led Henry down steps that flanked a huge aquarium to the double doors leading to the restaurant. The interior featured gleaming woods with creamy yellow walls and lots of leather. A bar ran the length of one wall and liquor bottles had been artfully arranged to create a mosaic effect. A baby grand piano occupied the far corner. A trim woman with a voice like smoke-infused bourbon sang Diana Krall's "Peel Me a Grape" as she played.

  The decibel level of the conversation didn't compete with the music despite the heavy afternoon crowd. The hostess, an anorexic twenty-something who wore heels too high for the job, led us to an intimate table near the piano.

  Henry held my chair as I sat. I couldn't remember anyone ever doing anything like that before and said so.

  "I'm from a different era, my dear. One where men still valued small chivalries."

  "You make yourself sound so old."

  "Age is all about how you feel," was all he said as he settled himself into his own seat, taking a menu. I felt the warmth and weight of his thigh next to my own as our legs wove together under the small table. Neither of us moved away.

  "Can I take a drink order to get you started?" The hostess looked bored.

  "What kind of tea do you have?" Henry asked after waiting while I ordered lemonade.

  She listed out several herbal blends and a green tea. Henry selected the green tea.

  "I tried to get into drinking tea, but was never able to do it," I said she left.

  "Why not?" he leaned in as he spoke.

  "Well, because of my mother, really," I rested my chin in my hand. "I had a conflicted and abusive relationship with her and she drank hot tea every day of her life." I winked, "If I'm pulling an 'arm chair psychologist' that is."

  I sipped from the water that a bus boy had poured for us and wondered what the hell I was doing. It was like I had no control over my mouth today.

  "Do you think that's so?"

  "Oh, I'm sure there's some truth to it," I waved to diminish the impact. "In reality, I think it's because I have great memories of coffee. When I was young, my paternal grandparents would come over for Christmas and my mother would always serve biscotti and coffee. My grandfather demanded it."

  "Are you Italian?" Henry interjected and I started at his insight.

  "Yes. Funny, most people don't make that connection."

  He tapped a finger against his temple and said, "I'm not most people. Besides," he shrugged, "it was reasonable that an Italian would demand biscotti. It's rather random for any other nationality."

  "True," I played with the napkin as I continued. "I always wanted to be with the adults. It seemed like that's where the real action was, so I'd beg to sit at the table and drink coffee. When I was five or six my mother finally got sick of my whining and gave in."

  "She gave a five-year-old coffee?" He looked horrified.

  I smiled and shook my head. "She gave me milk laced with sugar and enough coffee to turn it brown."

  He grinned and said, "Well, that explains the fru-fru coffee you order at Kona."

  "I do not! Besides, how do you even know what I order?"

  I felt some vindication to see him flush.

  "I've been behind you in line," he said, but didn't look at me, instead he studied the menu. "Do you recommend anything?"

  I knew a deflection when it came my way, but I let it slide.

  "They make a great burger here. Any of them are worth it and the sweet potato fries are excellent."

  "I've never eaten a hamburger," he said it so casually, it almost didn't register.

  "What?" I exclaimed when his words finally sunk in. "You've never had a burger! How long have you been in the states?"

  "Five years and no, I've never had a burger." He was smiling. "There are other things one can eat. You know, fish and those green growy things that you American's seem to ignore or drown in sauce. Plus, I detest fast food. Wait, what—"

  I took his menu from him.

  "Well, that ends today. You are having your first full-on American hamburger." I stacked our menus so he couldn't see the offerings.

  "Well, that looks like that," he said, but he was smiling.

  Our server chose that moment to appear with our drinks. He introduced himself as Brian and ran down the specials. When he finished, I ordered for both of us.

  "Two Yankees please, medium rare, with all the fixins." I looked at Henry for confirmation. Not everyone likes their burger pink in the middle, but he nodded.

  "Do you plan to tell me what I'm eating and exactly what 'fixins' are?" he asked when our waiter had gone to input our orders.

  "'Fixins' are all the extras; Lettuce, tomato, etc. As for the rest, you'll see soon enough. Trust me, you'll enjoy it."

  "I do," he said.

  "You do what?" it seemed like I had missed something.

  "I trust you."

  Three words I had never heard before. Tears welled behind my eyes and my sinuses immediately clogged. It took everything I had to hold it together. No one trusted me.

  On the one hand, I got it, but
I'd never realized that I cared about it until this moment.

  "You shouldn't," I said, my voice barely audible to my own ears, as I deliberately handed back the gift he'd just given me. "I lie when it suits me, and I'm not above stepping on someone to get what I need."

  "I believe that," he said.

  I must have been gaping because he chuckled. "Close your mouth, Charlotte, you'll drool otherwise."

  I complied but I remained silent for several moments, unable to do more than stare. He never looked away as hazel eyes met bottomless blue and held. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, his were infinite. I couldn't read his depths, couldn't fathom his purpose, but he never faltered. I looked away first, feeling both humbled and chastened.

  "I don't understand you," I said, feeling flustered. I reached into my bag and took out the book, sliding it across the table to him. "I thought you'd be angry at me after the way I left things. This is a peace offering."

  He picked it up, his eyes going wide as he noticed the signature on the inside cover. "How did you know?"

  I shrugged, "I saw you reading it the first time we met."

  "You're quite observant," was all he said.

  I wanted to say that I had to be. That my every interaction is about looking for the cues I need to navigate the human social landscape. That I often feel as if I am deaf, blind, and mute and everyone is speaking a different language. That I memorize details and use them to manufacture common ground.

  I said none of this. Instead, I reverted to habit to mask my discomfort and flirted, "Well, you're pretty memorable."

  "Don't do that, Charlotte. Please." His voice was quiet and his manners softened the reprimand, leaving me even more confused. Then, as if I wasn't already floundering like a beached fish, he slid the book back. "I can't accept this."

  I left the book where it was.

  "Why not? I don't understand."

  He didn't respond at first and the sultry strains of Nina Simone's "Feeling Good" swirled around us. I let the music soothe me, singing along mentally … “It's a new dawn/It's a new day/It's a new life for me.”

  "You don't need to buy me off, Charlotte. It's not necessary."

  I snapped back to Henry who, though he spoke to me, didn't look at me. He sipped his tea and continued. "I liked you immediately. Your take down of that man was wickedly insightful though harsh. It was fascinating." His skin went ruddy then and I realized this wasn't easy for him to say either.