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Chapter 12/Page 3 |
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Somewhere over Nebraska some more inane concerns came to mind. We’d both had seven years of life pass. How would we reconcile the day-to-day changes we’d gone through? If I’d developed habits, she certainly must have. What if those habits were incompatible? I didn’t eat breakfast. What if she can’t get out of the house without a bowl of cereal? I sleep on the right side of the bed. Will that work for us? California affects people. I exercised, for god’s sake. The Hollywood effects were more sinister: I trusted no one, my career was all consuming, and I was the most important person I knew. Well, I guess Hollywood had nothing to do with that in my case. “Seat belts,” the flight attendant cautioned as we began our initial descent into O’Hare. About the time we crossed Rockford, I began to reason that it didn’t matter if it was 3a or a total stranger. If I were to get involved with anyone, there would be an adjustment. The memory of the adjustment our mouths made that first night on my staircase calmed me. I put my seat in its fully upright position, my resolve intact. That day in Chicago was fittingly cinematic for a guy who worked in the film industry. I cabbed it to a restaurant where she worked. “You just missed her.” Luckily, I wasn’t behaving too much like a stalker and her coworker gave me the address of the bar she also worked. Another cab. “She was here, but just to pick up her paycheck.” The next cab reached the hotel where she held her third job ten minutes after she’d left. Cinematic, my ass. I was always a step behind. She was due back that night. Just in case, I left her my parents’ number and a note: Please call. I was getting discouraged, but I took one last shot: I went to her apartment. Every one of the first five times I reached for the bell, my heart leapt to my throat and I withdrew my hand. The sixth time my finger connected. I gave her a full ten minutes to answer. Giving up was not part of my plan. The Balls had consented to be my travel companions and I wasn’t going to let them down. I’d visit my fifth grade ghosts at the Museum of Science and Industry for a few hours and go back to the hotel when I knew she’d be there. I had nothing to lose but my dignity and there wasn’t much of that, anyway. None of the displays I remembered from the field trip I spent without Number 1 remained. The museum had moved on. I pored over my plan, poking holes in it. The plan lost steam and I, as usual, put the responsibility on someone else. If 3a wanted to talk to me, she had the number. I had chased her all over town. I had done my part. The train ride back to Milwaukee was a lonely one. The Balls ditched me for parts unknown.
•••
“What did you do to her?” “What did I do to who?” I asked. “Were you in Chicago today?” My chest constricted. “She called me in a panic,” Best Friend said. “I speak to her maybe twice a year and suddenly she’s calling me, practically in tears, to find out what you want with her. Like I’m supposed to know. What went on with you two?” I told her everything. She would finally know. I told her when the affair started and how her words helped pulled the trigger. I told her about the sneaking around and that we once seriously discussed bringing her into the affair. (We were young and curious. I’m not very proud that in the middle of all this I felt cheated when Best Friend said she would have been totally into it.) If Best Friend was hurt, she never let on. “That explains why she was acting so weird after you moved.” “What do you mean?” “That’s why we don’t speak anymore. We got into a fight over you.” “Aw, shit.” “She was pissed at you but wouldn’t say why. I stuck up for you.” She stuck up for her lying friend. What could I possibly say to that? I lied to her one last time. I told her that keeping it from her was all my idea and 3a wanted to tell her. The least I could do is try to help her get a friend back. “I never wanted to hurt you. I just couldn’t figure out how to tell you. I’m so sorry.” She paused for an eternity. “Me too.” This was fucked up on so many levels. Because the two girls no longer spoke, 3a couldn’t have known that 3b and I had split. Because Best Friend didn’t know about the affair, not only had their friendship suffered, but also she couldn’t advise 3a about my intentions. She couldn’t anyway, because I didn’t tell her I was going to Chicago, because that would have meant spilling the beans first. But now, seeing as Best Friend knew everything, couldn’t she call 3a on my behalf? Even I couldn’t ask that. I stayed in Milwaukee for a few days, snapping at my family, avoiding my friends, and waiting for the phone to ring. I thought about the Very Famous Band Producer and how one little action on his part fucked up my entire life. Was that my Karma for how I handled things with 3a? If so, weren’t we even? Did I have to suffer this as well? And what about 3a? Did my actions, or more precisely inaction, break her heart? When I left, did I fuck up her entire life? Was the universe trying to show me how my seemingly insignificant acts could affect the rest of the world? I wondered if she would be pleased to know how badly I ached now. I packed up the million pieces of my heart and went back to L.A. to live the rest of my life.
•••
At the end of “Damage,” Jeremy Irons’ character sees the woman he fucked up his entire life over, a few years after their affair ended. He is alone. She is with her new husband and child, and looks, “like everyone else.” I think I saw 3a in New York some time later. I was alone. She was with her new husband and child. She didn’t look like everyone else. I couldn’t muster the courage to approach her.
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