The Science of Loving

by Candace Vianna

  My phone jolted me back to the present. “Hello?”

  “Good morning, dear.” Shit. I need to find out how to assign ringtones.

  “Hey Mom, how are you?”

  “As well as can be expected, I’m sure you’ve talked to your father.”

  “Yes, he told me what’s going on.”

  “Yes, well… I was hoping we could get together for lunch?”

  “Umm… Sure.”

  After exchanging a few stilted sentences filled with awkward pauses and false starts, we agreed to meet for a late lunch at a nearby restaurant. After so many revelations, I no longer knew what to say—what she did was none of my business, except for her making a pass at my date—well, allegedly made a pass at my date. Maybe Mat misread the situation.

  “Uh oh, we know that look.”

  “Huh?” Les had her arms crossed over her chest while Steve did his best bobble-head impression. “Don’t tell me, your head’s trying to talk you out of spending the weekend making wild monkey whoopee with that bald hottie?”

  “Wild monkey whoopee?” Steve asked curiously.

  “Bonobo orgies… look it up.” Les was a font of useless trivia.

  “Wow Les, primate porn?” Steve grinned. “I’m impressed.”

  “It’s not porn if: It’s a documentary; or, it premieres at Cannes,” Les said, ticking off each point with a finger, “doing the nasty’s relevant to the story; or, is accompanied by a really good sound track. Then it’s art. And now that I’ve cleared that up, what’s the dealio.”

  “Mom called.”

  “And you answered?”

  “I didn’t check the caller I.D.” I grimaced. “Now, I’m meeting her for lunch.”

  “Okay, just remember, Rohypnol can make anything bearable.”

  “Right, that’s just what I need.”

  “Pshaw… It’s not for you; it’s for your mom.”

  “You’re saying I should roofie my mother?”

  “Blackmail… Duh.” Les rolled her eyes. “How else are we going to get her to wear the moo-moo. We’ll tease her hair real big and video her going into Walmart.”

  “Oh, no, a fate worse than death.”

  “Yep, either she behaves, or we’ll Instagram her ass, and tell the world she buys off the rack and wears cheap Chinese knock-offs.”

  “Sure, ‘cause that’s so much more scandalous than her penchant for collecting boy-toys.”

  “Don’t go dissing my evil machinations, oh sarcastic one. Society may have short memories when it comes to sexual indiscretions, but fashion faux pas’ never die.” Sadly, she was probably right; Janet Jackson’s wardrobe malfunction caused way more outrage than anything Bill Clinton, or Newt Gingrich had done.

  “Be that as it may, I’m fresh out of roofies.”

  “Curses, foiled again. So what does she want?”

  “Just because she’s asked me to lunch, doesn’t mean she wants something.” They just looked at me. “Fine, I don’t know and it’s making me crazy.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be all right. Just remember, she can’t suck out your will to live, so long as you don’t look her in the eye. Now, I’m going to find a priest to bless this bottle of Aquafina for you before you go.” Ha ha… She was awfully mouthy for a minion.

  When I got to the restaurant, Mom was already working on a cocktail. The strong scent of alcohol took any hope that it was her first as I gave her a practiced kiss, mindful of her makeup.

  “Darling, you’re an adult now, you’re allowed to order something stronger,” she said when I ordered an iced tea from the nice waiter handing me a menu to hide behind.

  “I know. I just don’t want to; I’ve got plans for later.”

  She sipped her cocktail, allowing for a dramatic pause. “Going out with that man again?” she said, ‘that man,’ like he was diseased.

  “Yep.”

  “Fine,” she sighed dramatically. “I guess some things have to be learned the hard way. I forgive you.”

  Well wasn't that just peachy. Perhaps the weight of the recent events had unhinged me, or maybe they’d knocked some sense into me, because I was having an epiphany. I'd spent a lifetime trying to fit into her mold: Always quiet, obedient, never controversial, never having an opinion. Ensuring the spotlight fell squarely on her whenever she paraded me out for her dog and pony show. Look at the genius I’ve created. I’ve made something special… My toddler’s in Mensa… My child has perfect test scores. Sorry, HER special child couldn’t play with someone so common. HER special child had to study.

  And growing up, I’d been so afraid I’d make a mistake. Would she still have loved me if everyone realize how truly unremarkable I was? The world might believe her lies, but I’d always known I wasn’t nearly as special as everyone thought. I’d given her everything trying to be special for her. She might forgive me, but I was suddenly too angry to care.

  “Really for what: Finding someone who actually wants me for me, someone who defends me?” I hissed. “I know you’re not jealous that a handsome man chose me over you. That would be silly since you’re married. Besides, it’s my understanding that your tastes run a bit younger.”

  The venom spilling from my mouth sickened me, but I couldn’t stop. “Or, perhaps you’re just cranky that you were interrupted before you got your happy ending.” I cringed at those last words. I’d rendered us both speechless, but it only took a few moments for her to recover. Her eyes narrowed—oh, God, now I’d done it—I shrank inside, seeing bitterness twist her beautiful face into something ugly.

  “Look at you, so self-righteous. If you actually believe he wants you, you’d best take a good look in the mirror. Why would a man so obviously out of your league bother with you? Men like him don’t settle for timid wallflowers. Go ahead, enjoy it while it lasts, just recognize what you are: a rich pity fuck set up by his sister.”

  “You know nothing about him, he’s not like that.”

  “Oh Angelina, I know more than you think. Besides, they’re all like that. You won’t hold onto him; you can’t. Eventually he’s going to trade up. Why should he settle for a mouse when he can have a tiger? Just look how he treated his ex-partner.” What?

  “His ex-partner?”

  “Yes. Apparently, your hero did some fancy bookkeeping to force him out for pennies on the dollar.” How could she know anything about that? And why was I always out of the loop? Dammit.

  “How do you even know about Mat’s business dealings?”

  “I have my ways. We’re not so different, he and I. You don’t think I got where I am today by happy accident, do you? In the end, it’s all about sex and money. He’s got the sex, and you’ve got the money. Do you honestly think I would’ve given your father a second look if not for his healthy trust fund? He was so grateful when I became pregnant. But even gratitude wears thin after a while.”

  Although, I knew what she was doing, her words still hit their mark, and I retreated behind my menu when the waiter returned, but the ugly turn of our conversation had stolen my appetite. Mom ordered another cocktail as I handed the menu back, just wanting to leave. “I think we’re done here unless there’s a specific reason you asked me to lunch.”

  “Actually, there is. My last encounter with Bob occurred under less than ideal circumstances.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Please Angelina, there’s no need to be snide.” No need to be snide? She was the queen of snide. “I need to know what you’ve heard.”

  “Bob hasn’t shared the details with me.”

  “Of course he hasn’t, but obviously you’ve heard something.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard all kinds of things. You’re the latest sensation. Thanks for that. It was delightful hearing about your escapades from my colleagues. Where to start… Mmmm… Surprisingly, your trolling for young cock is old news, well to everyone but me. Probably, your getting served while getting serviced is the most salacious bit of gossip.” Wearing crudeness like amour, I waited, hoping she'd deny, or
at least, justify her indiscretions.

  She did neither. “I need you need to ensure Bob won’t testify for your father in court.”

  “Why does that matter? You obviously don’t want this marriage.”

  “It matters because your father’s trust required a prenup, and there’s too much money involved not to try getting it thrown out. Unfortunately, there’s an infidelity clause. Not only could I be denied alimony, I could actually be sued for damages.”

  “So what, you expect Bob to commit perjury?”

  “You’d be surprised what people will do for you, if you ask.”

  “So ask him.”

  She grimaced. “He’s not taking my calls.”

  “He’s pretty much a black and white kind of guy. He’s not going to lie for you.”

  “He might not lie for me, but he would for you. Use that special relationship you have with him and ask for a favor. Just look at him with your big sad eyes, squeeze out a few tears…” She was unbelievable. “Don’t you shake your head at me. This is entirely your fault. We wouldn’t be in this position if you hadn’t gone crying to your father over that scene your boyfriend made.”

  “Wow— Why would— Just— Wow… You know what? I’m done. This sounds like something you should discuss with your attorney.”

  This so messed up. I was reasonably sure conspiring to commit perjury was illegal. I practically sprinted for the door. What was I supposed to do? Normally, I’d ask Daddy for advice, but I couldn’t this time. As for confiding in Mat, what if he was only interested in me of my family’s money? I knew better than to overestimate my appeal, despite not seeing dollar signs in his eyes. But for the moment he was mine, if my issues didn't drive him away first. And, after Monday’s events, I wasn’t about to share any more drama.

  Jack answered my knock. “Hey, she just got home, so it’ll be a few minutes.”

  “No worries, we’re just hanging out. How you doing?” I asked, offering my hand.

  “Good… Good… Can I get you anything?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say no to a beer.”

  “Sure, make yourself at home.”

  Handing me a sweating bottle, he settled on the sofa next to me, an episode of Top Gear filling the silence. Holy shit. Apparently, the show’s hosts seriously underestimated Louisianans’ propensity for violence, and were fleeing for their lives in graffitied cars, professing gay love and pro Hillary slogans.

  “I’ll be glad once everything’s settled—the divorce I mean,” Jack said, not taking his eyes off the television. “I miss tinkering. I don’t know what to do with idle hands.” He took a slug of beer. “And, Angie needs her privacy, ‘though she’ll never admit it.” Was this his way of saying he was okay with me bedding his daughter?

  “Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take?”

  “Optimistically? About six months. We have a prenup to deal with, but not all of it’s enforceable. Unlike Florida, where it was written, California’s a no fault divorce state. As soon as we’ve hammered out a separation agreement, I’ll start looking for a place of my own.”

  “What part is unenforceable? I mean if you don’t mind me asking.”

  “There’s a morals and infidelity clause, not that it matters, I’d never invoke it. I wouldn’t expose Angie to that sort of ugliness.” How in the hell did such a good guy end up with someone like Stephanie?

  “Hey.” Angie greeted me uneasily.

  “Hey babe,” I grabbed her backpack. I'd been around her enough to know something was weighing on her. “Rough day?”

  She shrugged. “Same as always. Daddy, are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine. You got your phone? Mad money?” Jack said. “And you, you take good care of my baby.” Silently adding ‘or else’ with a fatherly evil eye.

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Mad money?” I asked when we were driving down the street.

  “Yeah, just in case things go south, I’m supposed to carry enough cash so I’m not stranded.”

  “That’s cool. Have you ever had to use it?”

  “Just once. The night of my one and only marriage proposal.”

  “Go on…”

  “Please, you don’t want to hear about that.”

  “Oh, but I do.” I waited. If her fidgeting was any indication, this was one hell of a story.

  “God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this… Okay, a few years ago, several months before my twenty-first birthday, a friend set me up on a blind date with this Navy guy. He was slightly plump, not fat really, just sort of doughy. But that was okay. Beggars can’t be choosers, right?” Christ, I hated when she put herself down like that. “It was even okay when he couldn’t read the menu at dinner. It was written in French after all, and I found his honesty and willingness to let me order for him refreshing. I’d chosen the restaurant knowing it was pricey, so I’d insisted on paying for dinner, but I asked him to pick up dessert so he could save face. Unfortunately, his idea of dessert was fruity drinks at a strip bar.”

  “You’re shitting me.” I just couldn't imagine her in a place like that.

  “Oh, I shit you not. He must’ve been a regular because they knew him by name and didn’t card me; they wouldn’t have let me in, otherwise. Needless to say there was no second date.”

  “So when did he propose?”

  “Oh, on our way to get dessert. I think he only asked because he was living in the barracks, and he’d get extra money to live off base if he were married.”

  “I wish I could’ve seen your face when you walked into the strip club.”

  “Oh my God, this place wasn’t classy enough to call a club. The inside was red. Really, really red. I’m not talking about red accents and red furnishings; although, those were there too I think. It was hard to tell because everything was drenched in blood red light: Red floors, red ceilings, red patrons. It was like walking into a darkroom.

  There was this chubby stripper working its lone pole. She wasn’t really dancing, not like they do in the movies. She just wandered around in circles, randomly bending over to stick her butt in people’s faces. Her arms and legs had these dark splotches that I assume were bruises, and like everything else, she was red.”

  “I can’t decide if I should laugh, or be horrified.” Laughter was definitely winning.

  “Yeah, it’s horrifically funny now—” She returned my grin. “—but at the time, it was a little scary. I didn’t know what to do. I was trying to be a good sport, and not embarrass him in front of his friends. So, I smiled, laughed at his jokes, joined him on the dance floor when he asked. But when the D.J. and some of the other patrons started pressuring me to take off my clothes, I hightailed it outta there. Sadly, I never heard from him again.”

  That was fucking hilarious, but if I ever met him, I was still kicking his ass. And any daughter of mine would definitely carry mad-money. “So I guess a lap-dance is out of the question, huh?” Or maybe not, going by the sparkle in her eyes. My steel doors rolled into motion when I hit the button on my visor.

  “Are you offering me a lap-dance?” Her nervous blush ruined the coyness she was striving for—oh, sweetness, you better believe you’re gonna get a lap-dance.

  I pushed the button a second time to bring the doors back down. “Babe, I’m gonna rock your world.”

  We sat in inky blackness after the doors clanked to a halt, shutting out the day, the engine ticking as it cooled. The leather creaked when she shifted as I cautiously reached for her shoulder strap; head butting her in the dark would definitely spoil the mood. The back of my hand brushed over her breast as I followed it down to the buckle. The car’s cabin lights flashed on, shining long enough for us to reach the elevator. It lit with the press of a button then rose with an electric hum to my sunlit living room.

  After grabbing a couple beers, I settled on the couch, cuddling her in my arms. “So tell me about you’re same-as-always day.”

  “Fruit-fly buggery’s not all that interestin
g,” she said, finding her beer suddenly fascinating. Yep, something was definitely up. “But on a totally random note: Did you know bonobos have orgies?”

  “Yeah, they’re all about making love, not war.” I grinned; pleased I was able to surprise her. “I saw a BBC documentary on it. So what else happened?”

  “What makes you think something happened?”

  “Of course something happened; something’s always happening. Life is one long sequence of happenings—although, some argue only perceived events count in our personal realities.”

  “If that were true, how can anyone’s existence be one long sequence? What about sleeping, or loss of consciousness?”

  “Good question.” I pondered, stalling, trying to come up with some more bullshit. “How ‘bout this: Perhaps, life’s the compilation of a series of sequential happenings ordered by a singular awareness. Mmmmmm… But if that’s so, what about dreams? Do they count? Or only the dreams you can remember? And, if you can’t remember, did you really dream? What if you forget a real experience, does that mean it never happened? Oh my God, what if you’re an amnesiac?! It’s a conundrum.”

  “Yeah, especially for Schrödinger's cat.”

  “Okay, enough channeling Timothy Leary and quit trying to confuse me with sexy quantum mechanics references.” I dropped my voice. “Talk to me sweetness.” Her smile fled—that’s right; I’m pulling out the big guns. “Because I’m not fucking you senseless until I know what’s stressing you out.” I was lying of course, I was absolutely fucking her senseless, but she didn't need to know that.

  “It’s nothing, really… I maybe had a small disagreement with my mom.”

  “Uh huh. When, where, and about what?”

  “This afternoon, at a restaurant.”

  “And?”

  “The divorce mostly. She wants me to convince Bob not to testify against her in divorce court.” Motherfucker.

  “This is about the prenup, isn’t it?”

  “Wait, how do you know about that?” She squirmed, trying to get free, not that I let her. “How does everyone hear about this stuff before me?”