by Tanya Chris
“Because Nate said so?”
I didn’t answer, not sure what I could say.
“Anyway, thanks for the twofer. I could use an assistant if you’re not doing anything.”
I spent the rest of the afternoon lifting things up to her, surprised to find her easy-going and good-humored if you kept off a certain topic. She hadn’t mentioned Nate again, but she hadn’t called me Lissie either. It left me more curious than ever about the relationship between Nate and Deb and how I fit into it.
Or how I didn’t fit into it, because there wasn’t a relationship between me and Nate. He’d paid me some attention—that was all—and I’d soaked it up because I was a pathetic, lonely woman nearing forty.
“Hey, sorry about the cougar crack,” Donna said, bringing me back to the present. “I was only kidding.”
“It’s not you,” I admitted. “I feel stupid even thinking about it.”
“No, don’t. Listen, you remember Rodrigo?”
“Spanish guy who was really good in bed?”
“Yeah, him. I never told you at the time, but he was younger.” She cleared her throat and took a drink. “College.”
“Like twenty? Twenty-two?”
She nodded. No wonder I’d never met him.
“That was— what?— like a year you were with him.”
“He was good,” she protested, laughing. “Really good.” She lowered her voice and leaned into me. “He was hung.”
I thought I could hear the drinks in her voice. I took another sip of my own and laughed with her.
“Younger guys are hot,” she said, still confidentially. “You don’t see men feeling bad about dating younger women, do you?”
I shook my head. I’d already noticed in my brief time on CoupleMe that I was more likely to be approached by men in their fifties than men my own age. If they could date fifteen years younger, why couldn’t I?
“And another thing,” she added. “They want you. Like really want you. They’re not just settling for you. You’ve heard that expression?”
“MILF?” I asked, wincing. It was exactly that expression that bothered me. I hated the thought of being a sexual stereotype. Was that what Nate was looking for? A notch on his fantasy belt?
“Well, I’m no one’s mother,” Donna said, “but I do like to fuck.” She nudged me in the side with her elbow. Her voice was loud enough to catch the bartender’s attention. She winked at him when he looked over and right away he was there to see if we needed another drink.
I declined, but Donna didn’t. I knew she’d probably spend the rest of the evening there and very likely go home with someone. Maybe the bartender, the way it was playing out.
“So what happened to Rodrigo?” I asked when we’d finally gotten rid of the bartender.
She frowned, the giggles drying up. “I made the usual mistake. I tried to turn it into a relationship. A guy that age is there to fuck you, not take you to your cousin’s wedding or bring you chicken soup when you’ve got the flu.” She sighed. “He was a good guy, you know? I thought I could make things work. What’s the big deal over a few years?”
That was what I’d been asking myself about Nate. Now I asked myself what I thought Nate wanted from me. Had I been romancing myself?
“Just go into it with your eyes open,” Donna said, knowing how my thoughts were running. “Enjoy it for what it is. After years of boring married sex, it’ll be nice to have something different—to have some enthusiasm for a change.”
Wasn’t that exactly what Alex had been saying when he’d called me uninterested and uninteresting? But sex wouldn’t be different with Nate, because Alex wasn’t the problem. I was.
“I’m not going to get involved,” I told Donna. “I’m not looking for casual sex.”
Of all the things I missed about Alex, of all the ways my heart was aching, sex hadn’t even crossed my mind. I missed being touched, sure. I missed a kiss goodbye, a hand on my hip, his warmth beside me in bed. I missed the smell of him on the sheets and the back of his head on the pillow next to mine. I missed texting someone when I was on my way home. I missed checking to see if his car was in the driveway when I got there. I missed smiling when I walked in the door, and being smiled at.
Had I been thinking that Nate would be that? A warm body next to mine—filling in for Alex, making me whole again? But Nate wouldn’t be that, not if all he was looking for was sex, and I missed Alex for so much more than a warm body.
For fourteen years he’d been my life, my home. There was so little left when Alex was gone that I thought, at first, that I was gone too, like he’d taken me with him when he moved out the way he’d taken the Keurig. I couldn’t remember how to make coffee before there was a Keurig and I couldn’t remember who I used to be before there was an Alex.
“Casual sex is exactly what you should be looking for,” Donna said, breaking into my thoughts. “Don’t go trying to replace Alex right away. It’s like grocery shopping when you’re hungry. You’ll buy anything.”
“So if I’m hungry, I should go to McDonald’s? Fast food sex?”
“Better than buying the cow.”
“I think we’re mixing our metaphors,” I said. We shared a laugh, jostling against each other in tipsy friendliness.
“Seriously,” I said when we were done laughing, “I know that—about not trying to replace him. I couldn’t if I tried.”
“He wasn’t all that.”
“He was to me.”
“See, that’s where you went wrong. Men have to be, like, one piece of you, not the whole pie. An interchangeable piece. Insert slot A in hole B.”
“Don’t be so jaded. You’ve been on the dating scene too long.”
“I may be kidding about them being interchangeable, but not about them being only one piece. Who is Melissa without a man?”
“You sound like my sister. And like every advice columnist out there. I get it. Why do you think I’m climbing rocks—well, plastic rocks— and painting sets?”
“I thought it was to meet men.”
“Well, it’s not. Not mainly. I’m expanding my horizons, developing new interests, and blah, blah, blah.” I swept an arm dramatically around the bar, nearly knocking over my drink which was empty anyway. Stupid drink.
“You always did follow directions,” Donna said, making my expanded horizons sound like another safe garden path.
“I can’t win.” I pouted at my empty glass.
“No, it’s good. Try something new, sure.” She put her hand on my shoulder and rubbed a little. “Hey, come with me to this Beltane thing. Something new, plus—no men.”
“What’s a Beltane thing?”
“It’s Wicca. White magic, feminine deity, Mother Earth. You know.”
“And you accused me of going hippie. It doesn’t sound like you.”
“It’s totally not me,” she agreed. “Or you. That’s why we should do it. This woman at the gym invited me. Here, look.” She searched through her pocketbook and pulled out a flyer printed on pink paper ringed with poorly drawn flowers. The flyer featured a bunch of bonny country lasses dancing around a maypole while down in the corner something more sinister was going on.
“Are they burning her?” I asked. The bonfire appeared to be consuming one of the lasses.
Donna squinted at the paper. “I think it’s just poor placement. OK, it’s not the most professional flyer but we’re talking about witches here. We’re not going to have them do our taxes.”
“It’s at the Community Center,” I pointed out. “I don’t see how they’re going to have a bonfire. Or a maypole for that matter.”
“Stop being so analytical.” Donna took the flyer from me and folded it back into her purse. “It’s a spiritual experience—women bonding together in celebration of their feminine power.”
“Sounds freaky.”
“Right, so let’s do it.”
I shrugged. Why not? With all the trouble men caused in my life, maybe it was about time to think o
f God as a woman. Although to be honest, I didn’t think of God at all on a day-to-day basis.
I’d been raised Catholic, but like many people I’d drifted away from it as an adult. Since my wedding, I’d been to church twice a year—Christmas and Easter—to placate my mother. But I remembered believing that God was with me the day I’d been married, that he was joining me to this man by the vow we made before him.
It hadn’t seemed wrong to set out on married life whole-heartedly, though it was a very secular life. I’d expected to go back to church when the children came, but life had gotten in the way of having children, just as it had gotten in the way of going to church. I’d drifted from one day to the next, too busy to notice, not prepared for the bottom to drop out. Now look where I was—no Alex, no children, no God.
“It’ll be fun,” Donna said. “If it’s stupid, we’ll have fun laughing at them. You gonna have another drink?” She waved at the bartender and he wasted no time getting over to us.
“Not for me. I have an early morning.”
Donna didn’t ask why. Her eyes were on the man in front of us.
Chapter 4
It had been a very long week, something the theater folks called Hell Week. If I’d known what I was signing up for, I probably wouldn’t have. Apparently the week before opening night there was a rehearsal every single night, not just for the actors, who were used to being there all the time, but for the crew, too. That meant me.
On Sunday, Rebekah let me watch the show. Seeing the set under the stage lights, I felt proud of having helped build it. From the audience, it looked like the inside of someone’s house—kitchen, dining room and staircase—but if you went around the back it was nothing but unfinished plywood. The grand staircase only went up five steps before you had to climb down a ladder on the other side.
Nate played a seventeen-year-old twit. Well, that was basically what he was—sulky, insecure, unappreciative, and argumentative. He did it so well I found myself wondering if I’d really liked him as much as I remembered. He was less attractive physically than I remembered too. In a defeated slouch with a sideways baseball hat and giant sneakers, looking ridiculous in a pair of skinny jeans and a petulant sneer, he was the very image of my friend Marley’s adolescent son. Even his beautiful eyes were hooded and dull. Maybe I’d been imagining his boyish appeal. This was boyish non-appeal.
I didn’t like the character very much, but Nate played him well. Equally as good was Pete, who played his older brother. Off stage, Nate was taller than Pete by at least six inches. On stage, I had no trouble believing that Pete was a big, mean bully, even if Nate’s character did bring it on by being so annoyingly whiny.
That first night, there were still a lot of rough spots. Sometimes the actors looked lost, frozen in place like they were waiting for salvation to appear. Eventually someone would say something and the action would continue, but I could tell it wasn’t right. Other times, the director stopped the action in the middle of a scene, like when Pete pretended to hit Nate and Nate pretended to fall down.
“Stop, stop, stop,” Tony interrupted. “That was a fucking joke.”
Nate got back up to his feet and he and Pete tried the scene again.
“You’ve got to hit him,” Tony screeched. “I’m four fucking feet away from you. Repeat!”
Repeat took Pete’s place on stage. Nate said his line again—“If you hit me, I’ll tell Mom”—and Repeat hauled off and hit him. I was half out of my seat with a gasp when Nate went flying into the dining room table.
“Yes,” Tony said. “Like that.”
Nate stood up smiling, so I knew Repeat hadn’t really hit him, but even from four feet—four fucking feet, as Tony had said—it had been convincing. Repeat conferred with Pete, then Pete tried again, and although it wasn’t nearly as good as when Repeat did it, Tony let them move forward.
“Damned show’s supposed to be two hours long,” Rebekah said when they finally finished.
“Is every night going to be like this?” I asked. It was almost eleven and I’d been there since five.
“They don’t call it Hell Week for nothing.”
I must have looked unhappy because she backtracked quickly.
“But no, not as bad as this, no. The show’s only two hours long. Don’t quit on me.”
“I won’t,” I said, but only because quitting was cowardly. It didn’t mean I’d ever do it again.
“For now, go on home. Tony’s got to tell everyone what they did wrong, and in tedious detail if I know Tony, but you go ahead. Come back tomorrow at six, OK?”
I told her I would and gathered my stuff up and headed for the back door.
“Lissie,” Nate called, bounding up to me. He surprised me with a hug. “What did you think?” He was still wearing those ridiculous skinny jeans, but otherwise the Nate I remembered was back. His dark blue eyes shone brightly beneath the full lashes and his grin was charming and easy.
“You were really good. I didn’t like you at all.”
He grinned wider. “What did you think of the fight?”
“It sort of scared me.”
“I know. I heard you. I hope we can get Pete to hit me like that.” He rubbed his jaw.
“He didn’t really hit you!” Concerned, I lifted my hand to his face.
“No, not really. He didn’t even touch me. I just like your reaction.”
I dropped my hand and frowned at him.
“Notes!” Rebekah screamed, making me jump.
“What does that mean?” I asked Nate.
He grimaced. “It means it’s time to go listen to Tony bitch at us.”
“Oh. Rebekah said I could skip that part.”
“Lucky you. See you tomorrow though, right?”
When I said yes, he pulled me in for another hug. “I’m glad,” he said into my ear. Then he let me go and bounced away towards the auditorium where the actors were gathering. When you were twenty-five, you had that kind of energy at eleven o’clock at night.
Monday and Tuesday weren’t much easier than Sunday. I began to think Rebekah had been leading me on, but then Wednesday the show was pretty close to two hours long. Of course, there was setup time before, and intermission time during, and cleanup time after. They were still long nights. By Thursday I was tired and cranky.
“Some people take Tech Week off from work,” Nate told me when he caught me yawning. I’d learned that Tech Week was the proper name for Hell Week, but I preferred Hell Week as being more accurate.
“Do you?” I asked him.
“No, I do too many shows. Can’t afford to always be taking a week off.” He plunked himself down next to me on the green room sofa and ran a finger along my arm.
He kept touching me for some reason, for any reason. He kept hugging me hello, hugging me goodbye. He kept talking to me, sitting next to me, finding me, at least as much as the demands of his role allowed. Nate might take most things lightly, but the show he did not.
I yawned again, wanting to lean up against him and close my eyes.
“Almost over.” He put an arm around me and pulled me into him, as though he’d read my mind. I resisted, automatically checking for Deb who I knew wouldn’t approve.
“Lay back a minute,” he said. He tucked his head over mine.
I let myself relax. I even closed my eyes. In fact, I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew Rebekah was calling for the actors to take their places and Nate was easing me off of him.
Friday, I called in sick to work and slept until ten. I felt guilty making the call but not sorry I’d done it because it meant I could enjoy opening night and the party that followed.
By midnight, the party was fading from rowdy to cozy. I sat on the floor, half-listening to the conversation around me, thinking I should either get a new beer or go home. I’d been nursing the bottle in my hand so long it was flat and warm, but standing up felt like too much trouble. I tried to remember the last time I’d been awake past midnight, probably a New Y
ear’s Eve some number of years ago, certainly not a recent one. I put the bottle down and pressed a hand against the floor to push myself up.
“Not leaving already?” Nate asked, throwing himself down on the floor next to me.
“Working on it.”
“Early yet.” He laid his long frame down and put his head in my lap, snuggling an arm under my thigh to plump it up into a better pillow. “And I need you.”
“For what?” I looked down at his poetic profile, the long lashes fanning against the pale skin beneath his eyes. I stroked his hair back from his face, the better to see it.
“For this.”
I looked around. No one was watching us. Half the people in the room were engaged in their own public displays of affection and the other half were ignoring them. I had no idea why he was in my lap, but I decided to enjoy it while he was there.
Ever since I’d seen those curls at the nape of his neck I’d been wanting to run my fingers through them. I tangled my fingers in the coiled mass, then brushed upward, letting my nails scratch lightly against his scalp. His hair was softer than I’d expected, silky like a toddler’s.
“Mmm. Just like that.” Nate sank deeper into my touch.
“Rain,” Pete said, making a sudden appearance above us. Apparently he’d been out in it because he shook himself like a cocker spaniel, splattering us.
Nate rolled his head upward and opened his eyes to look at Pete. “You had to tell us that, why?”
“You rode your bike, didn’t you?
“Mmm,” Nate agreed. He rolled back into his previous position and closed his eyes again. “Wasn’t planning on riding it home.”
“How are you getting home?”
“Lissie’s taking me.”
“I am?”
He rolled towards me. “Will you?” He opened his eyes extra wide in a convincing manner.
“Sure. I hear it’s raining.”
“Great.” He hopped up and reached a hand back down to me. “Let’s go.”
He took my hand and moved purposefully towards the back door, back-slapping and waving to people as he went but not stopping. I felt like I was in a luge, racing unavoidably downhill on a predetermined track. He pushed the door open, still tugging me behind him. We paused under the overhang. It was, in fact, raining.