Chapter 30/Page 2

Crazy Friend from high school actually did come out for a visit the following week. Good friend me picked her up at the airport (in 4’s car). Bad host me didn’t pay enough attention to her while she was in town. I intended to, I really did. It wasn’t her fault that 4 and I wanted to spend every waking and sleeping hour together. Timing is the bad guy here, as usual.

“You’ve got it bad.” Crazy Friend noted that I never took my eyes off 4 standing across the crowded room as we inched forward toward the bar.

“I do, don’t I?” I really needed to start wiping the smile off my face sometime soon.

“Whose birthday is this?”

“Guy from work.” A lot of guys from work were born in summer. We got fresh cocktails and returned to where 4 had been waiting.

“Damn, girl,” Crazy Friend said to 4, “I’d kill for your legs.” 4 had worn a new white leather mini skirt that really did justice to them.

“Let me introduce you to some people,” I told Crazy Friend, grabbing her hand. I kissed 4 and whispered in her ear, “I’ll be right back.”

One of my better friends from work, a Surfer from Carmel, always stacked parties with his rowdy childhood friends who had moved en masse down the coast to work in Hollywood. There was the Bagpipe Player, the Writer, the Artist, and the Jeweler, among others. They were a sottish bundle of noise that made sure they had their own great time wherever they went, regardless of how appropriate it was for the circumstances. Pairing Crazy Friend with them was a match made in someone’s heaven.

“Hey, guys,” I shouted over their racket, “Meet my friend from high school. She’s in town for a few days and looking for fun.” That’s all it took. Surfer and the Bagpipe Player hoisted Crazy Friend up over their shoulders and yelled a ritual chant welcoming her into the Clan of Carmel. She screamed and laughed hard as they carried her off into the night. 4 couldn’t help but smile when I returned empty handed. The rest of our party was spent holed up in a corner, necking and sipping vodka. An hour seemed a courteous amount of party time for her to refrain from giving me That Look. No more than an hour, though.

She grabbed my hand and led me through the party in search of Crazy Friend. We found her and the Clan of Carmel on a balcony, doing tequila shots. After every shot the decibel level in the room elevated by twofold from the shouting.

“Hey,” I yelled to Crazy Friend. “Are you having a good time?” She dribbled some tequila on her blouse, opened her eyes wide and gaped her mouth. Four full seconds passed in silence while an animated laugh/yell/giggle sound worked its way up her esophagus and past her teeth.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I said. Surfer slung one drunken arm around her.

“These Milwaukee girls can hold their liquor,” he slobbered.

“Yes they can,” I said. “We’re very proud.” In unison, they all shouted something comprehensible to only the Clan. I gave 4 a nervous smile.

“So listen,” I said to Crazy Friend, “we’re thinking that we might, um, well...” 4 finished my sentence for me.

“We’re going to have sex now.”

That was succinct.

“Don’t worry,” Bagpipe said, “we’ll take care of the little lassie.” And with that, he lifted Crazy Friend by her underarms and pranced around the room with her, swinging her legs around and making slicing noises, like a machete cutting through the jungle of drunks. 4 and I adjourned to my place and did exactly what she said we would.

I didn’t hear from Crazy Friend for a day and a half. She and the Clan went skinny-dipping in the Pacific that night, and then passed out on Surfer’s floor. Surfer’s wife -- an understanding woman if there ever was one -- woke up the next morning to find them all, including the new girl she’d never seen before, sprawled out in every nook and cranny of their house. Other women would have other reactions. Surfer’s wife simply made them breakfast and left Crazy Friend a note welcoming her to California before ducking out to work. I never asked Crazy Friend how they all spent the remaining hours till I saw her again. The booze on her breath told the story.

•••

4 made excuses to drop by my office. She’d sexually harass me with her crossed legs pouring out of her skirt and off the edge of my desk. Or she’d plop down in my lap while I was in the middle of a business call and nibble my free ear while I made futile attempts to pay attention to my job. Every visit ended with a mushy kiss.

“You two,” Tall Straight Assistant faked disgust when she’d finished with me.

“Sorry,” she faked an apology right back at him, “that’s what happens when you’re in love.” She got to the door and turned to me. “Hon, I forgot. I’ve got a department lunch today.”

“That’s okay,” I said, “I have to go to the mall for a new pair of jeans anyway.” She scrunched her face and said, “Buy me somethin’,” condensing her southern accent.

TSA waited a ten count after she left the office before he amused himself at my expense.

“Could you approve these invoices?” He paused for two beats and then capped it with, “Hon?”

“You’re just sour because you don’t have anyone in your life who loves you.”

•••

I treated myself to a leisurely stroll to the Beverly Center at lunchtime. I was a little miffed that the 31s fit better than the 30s when I tried on the jeans. When Happiness returned to my life, it brought with it the Appetite. I didn’t even know they were a couple. Hopefully the Waist wouldn’t stay my age plus one for the rest of my life, knock beer nuts.

All that was left was to select a little something for 4. It needed to be fun and sexy -- not too expensive, not too cheap. Playful was good. Soft was better. Enjoyable by the whole family was a must. Silk boxers it was.

As I walked back to the office in the high summer sun, I retraced the events of our affair, from before Christmas when we first met, through the episode in the stairs, though my birthday party, right up to that very morning in my office. It was all so good. I never wanted it to end. To ensure that, I realized I needed to make a sacrifice. We had been together virtually twenty-four hours a day since my return from Wisconsin. That was perfectly fine by me, but for the greater good of our relationship I would sleep at my place, alone, that night.

When I returned to my office, gift-wrapped box of boxers in hand, 4 had already been by my office and left me a cute, but sarcastic on company letterhead -- something about finding someone else to kiss in my absence. I went up the one floor to her cubicle.

“Ha, ha, ha,” I mocked her. “Got your note. Did you find anyone?”

“No,” she sighed wistfully. “No one will have me since I hooked up with you.”

“Got you something.” I held up her gift. She smiled broadly.

“I wasn’t serious.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, setting the package on her desk. “It’s not much.” She went for the ribbon.

“Not here,” I cautioned. “Wait till you get home. Speaking of which -- I’ve been ignoring my home too long lately. So I think I should spend tonight taking care of my bills and cleaning and all the other things I’ve neglected.”

“Okay.” I’d hoped she’d be at least a little upset at the prospect of not seeing me for a whole night.

“Call me later.”

•••

There were no new messages waiting on my machine when I got home, so I listened to 4’s “love you madly” message I’d saved a couple times. Jesus, I’m a sap.

The bills had piled up, as did the dust bunnies under my furniture. My bitch neighbor with the big tits left me a note complaining about noise. I knocked on her door to talk about it. The blinds on her living room window were opened just right so that from my angle, I saw her get up from her couch stark naked and slip into a thin robe as she came to the door. A strong odor of patchouli preceded her and some soft jazz was on her stereo.

“Hi,” I said -- very friendly, “I got you your note and-” she cut me off.

“Yeah. You need to keep it down.” All right. That wasn’t the foot I’d hoped we’d start off on.

She had looked attractive from the distance that I’d only seen her, but now, up close, her features were rather common -- Too much time at the gym, too much makeup. Overcompensating for her small dick, I guess.

“Hold on,” I tried to calmly reason with her, “I haven’t even been here in like two and a half weeks, so I’m not sure why you chose to leave this note on my door.”

“Because of the noise always coming from your place.”

“The sound does echo around the alley here. Maybe it just seems like it’s coming from my place,” I offered politely. “But honestly, I haven’t been around to make any noise.” Still being polite.

“Then it’s your roommate.”

“Sorry. I don’t have a roommate. It has to be one of the other neighbors.” I was losing the urge to remain polite.

“Look,” she snarled, “just keep the fucking noise down.”

When it happens, it happens very quickly. See, I don’t like confrontation. When I find myself in the middle of one, I first exhaust every chance to calmly talk my way out of it. But some people simply won’t listen to reason. When that becomes evident, I say whatever I have to say to end the conflict. Unfortunately, that usually means saying something hurtful and personal that has little to do with the issue at hand.

“I’m sorry if the noise back here is distracting you,” I motioned into her dimly lit apartment, “and your battery operated devices, but it’s not me.” She didn’t care for how I intimated she spent her intimate time. Everybody does it; everybody knows that everybody does it, yet nobody wants anybody to know they’re doing it.

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“You know, you’re really too ordinary to get away with acting like such a cunt,” I said and walked away. That did the trick on all the right levels. I could hear her lips flapping as she tried to get out a retort. Too late -- I was back in my courtyard. My door slammed shut and my phone rang. I was fuming when I picked it up.

“What?” I demanded of whomever was calling.

“I love my present,” 4 said in a honey-smooth voice that instantly coated me with anger amnesia. That’s how quickly it can go away.

“Do you?” I asked. “I’m glad.”

“I’m lonely,” she purred. It wasn’t even eight o’clock.

“Me, too,” I said.

“Do you want me to come and get you?”

“Yes.”

She arrived twenty minutes later wearing a lightweight black trench coat, a pair of strappy sandals, and her new silk boxers. I could have left my stereo blaring out the back window toward my bitch neighbor, but I rose above the occasion. It was more important to let my fingers rummage through 4’s trench coat on the ride to her place. Once there, I leaned her up against her kitchen counter and released any residual anger toward my neighbor in a far more productive way.

As she lay in my arms, I sat up most of the night. This new form of insomnia that I’d developed didn’t seem to rob me of energy or cause other health problems. My skin was still clear and my stomach calm. I felt none of the anxiety or frustration I used to when I couldn’t get to sleep. It’s not like I was really trying to sleep, anyway. I had a lot to think about that I couldn’t when I was working or with her. This was my private time when I entertained my most personal thoughts.

That night I thought about 4. I thought that I didn’t want her to be Number 4 at all. I hated that there was a Number 1, 2, 3a, and 3b. I wanted her to be Number One And Only. Could there be a way to forget about the others? They were ghosts. Any weight they carried in my world I gave to them. They weren’t doing anything to actively keep themselves alive in my memory. I hadn’t seen the first two in more than ten years. The last time I reached out to 3a, she ran screaming. Any thoughts that put us in the same universe were mine. Why couldn’t I just shut them off and start over?

4’s breaths reflected what stage of sleep she was in. During shallow breaths I held still, so as not to wake her. Deeper breaths signaled her approach into R.E.M. and I was free to move at will. The cycle repeats itself many times by dawn.

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