The Last Place She'd Look Page 18

  I didn't really want to go, but I felt I owed him closure. So I agreed to meet for coffee, midday. I positioned myself at the back table of Starbucks in Studio City, on the corner of Vantage Avenue, with a direct view of the door, casually reading Elle magazine while I waited. Three pages into “Hot New Handbags”, I noticed him enter, walking towards me.

  He sat down in the wooden chair facing me, gazing into my eyes piercingly and with purpose, as if to punctuate the joyousness of his delight. His facial expression said, “She's a pretty one. How lucky am I?”

  His eyes continued to focus on mine, unwavering, seemingly unaware of our surroundings or the young, scantily clad actresses lining up for lattes inches away from our electrically charged optic lock.

  “My day got a whole lot better the minute I sat down here.”

  As I glanced up at his piercing, elated eyes, I felt myself begin to glow.

  “Don't you want to get a coffee first, Derrick?”

  “No, I'm good. I just had to see you.”

  When Derrick looked at me, with caring eyes, he made me feel decades younger. He's such a loving soul, maybe my picker was broken and I was wrong. Was this man my answer and I was too clueless to see? Would his presence in my life be big enough to stop my wondering? Maybe the issue all along was not men or women, but finding the right person to make me feel loved, all the time. It was a heady moment. I sipped my mocha ice blended, stirring the ice, searching for more liquid, breaking his gaze, so I wouldn't be swallowed up as his eyes continued to drink me in.

  During our conversation, he said “safe” and “dysfunction” frequently; no doubt remnants from therapy sessions following the dissolution of his marriage.

  “I have something really important to tell you,” he said, purposefully. “Our time together has been magical; we both know that. I can never forget a minute of it. But the other night's limp soldier is proof that magic can't last. No matter what happened with us, my life is in Chicago.”

  “I know that,” I responded calmly.

  “Being with you gave me the courage to see myself as a new man. Our time together prompted me to get into cross training. I'm in this group with 15 others, including a web designer named Anita. She and I have gone to dinner, but haven't slept together, yet. I really like her. I think when you and I were together the other night, I was thinking about her. I could never…two women…you know what I mean?”

  I sighed deeply, knowing all too well what he meant. I did not feel rejected, but instead, gently released. It was a warm, positive feeling.

  “Let's go,” I said, standing, gently ushering him out the door.

  Standing on the street corner, I kissed his cheek. He held me closer. Derrick smelled really good, like hot apple pie on a rainy night. I stroked his face, feeling drenched in hope, of new beginnings for both of us. Grateful for the time we'd spent together. His shoulders and arms were endless, wrapping around me, strong, cocooning me from the world. We both knew this was our last moment this close. As I kissed his cheek again, he tilted his head, so his lips could touch mine. They were big, sweet lips, enveloping. And time stood still in the middle of midday on bustling Ventura Boulevard. Then we were officially making out, as time passed and we were magnetized, smooching it up, one last time, for any passerby to see.

  I heard a car's brakes screech, as if trying to avoid a crash.

  “Back to work,” I said, breaking the lip lock, which felt like it could last an hour longer unless I took charge. We walked in opposite directions to our cars.

  I was now ready to move forward, devoting myself to building a relationship with Jessica, certain of smooth sailing given our harmonious personalities.

  When I arrived home there were five missed messages, all hang-ups on my voice-mail. I explored further—all from Jessica. I went to my email, nothing from her. On Facebook I had two new friends. Meanwhile, Derrick posted this on my wall:

  Thank you for these last few weekends together, some of the best times of my life.

  “Shit!” I screamed out loud, realizing he'd posted it for all of my 266 Facebook friends to see…including Jessica! I deleted his comment, and realized why Jessica might not have wanted to leave a message. I raced to the fridge for a diet Coke.

  My doorbell rang. I took a long swig of soda before answering it.

  “Jessica,” I said smiling, while opening the door, trying to act like nothing was wrong. “How are you?”

  “Who are you, is more like it,” she raged at me. “I was almost in a car accident. I was driving along Ventura Boulevard on my way to show a house, and I saw a woman who looked like MY girlfriend, standing on a street corner swallowing the tongue of some guy. I was so stunned by what I saw, I almost rear ended another car. Luckily my BMW has great brakes. That screech could have shattered glass. Then I go home and learn from Facebook, not from you, that some guy, probably the same guy, thanked you for wonderful weekends! Which weekends were you with him, if you were with me the last few? Or were you?”

  “I can explain,” I said, clumsily and weakly.

  “While you're making excuses, that night you emailed me that you were out “researching” yes, you said researching…is that your word for being a cocksucker!” she yelled, ready to strangle me.

  “I love you. I've finally learned that. I was going to tell you tonight. You are the most important person in my life, in my world. I just want to make you happy,” I said calmly, slowly, trying to ease the moment.

  “You're dishonest, duplicitous, and cheating with men. That's the worst part. You know how I feel about women who flip-flop. You're a pseudo rug muncher on holiday from dick,” she blurted angrily.

  “I want to be with you… it's over. He's gone, back to Chicago.”

  “Honesty and fidelity are the foundation of a relationship,” Jessica said, calming down, wiping a tear. In this moment I remembered when we first met, she'd been crying—her last relationship had just ended.

  “Yes, I agree,” I said tenderly, trying to wipe her tear. She pushed my hand away.

  “Without honesty and fidelity we were never building anything,” she said with conviction. “There's nothing here to talk about. I'm done.”

  And just like that she walked out the door and slammed it behind her.

  “Wait,” I screamed opening the door, to run after her. But I knew she was mad and inconsolable.

  Storming back into the house, I stomped around, first to the refrigerator, opening the door, staring inside, and then slamming the door. I was so ready to be with Jessica, now I've lost her? Just hours ago I had the attention and affection of two people. I have no one to blame but myself. This is a horrible feeling. I need a bath.

  After a half hour of soaking in hot water, I called Beth but got her voicemail. Help, I needed consolation and strategy—so I frantically dialed Julia. The phone rang and rang. I got her voicemail too. Just as I started leaving a message, she picked up.

  “I am so glad that you're there,” I barked in emotional overdrive.

  “What's up? How do you have the time to call me?”

  “I went from being the apex in a glorious love triangle to being a turd,” I remarked remorsefully.

  “What happened?” her voice was soothing, comforting, and immensely curious.

  “My Facebook page betrayed me!”

  “Let me sign on and see…”

  “I deleted it, but for two hours all of my friends could see Derrick's posting on my wall thanking me for these last few weekends.”

  “That's nice,” said Julia. “What's the problem?”

  “Jessica saw it.”

  “Ew, that's bad.”

  “She saw it after seeing me standing on a street corner kissing him goodbye.”

  “You're kidding me. Public displays of affection are a no-no,” she instructed.

  “I know that now.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Luckily my apartment is currently a Haagen Dazs-free zone. Talking to you is helping ease the
sting of dual rejection in the same day. I was loved and adored.”

  “Yes, you were, and rightly so.”

  “Thanks. Now I'm alone. I should see it as a wake-up call.”

  “To do what?” Julia asked, with the calm and authority of a therapist.

  “When the old me used to fall down rejected, I'd pick myself up and get online, to a dating site, shop for someone, and go out and date, with a burning intensity to fill the empty void that was newly created, with another live, though usually inappropriate life form. But for the first time, I don't want to meet someone new. I want Jessica. Only Jessica. Being with someone now is about being with her, not just another live body.”

  “I'm proud of you. That sounds like progress and maturity.”

  “She'll never speak to me again.”

  “But you're so charming.”

  “She caught me with a man, and thinks I'm a flip-flopper. She called me a cocksucker.”

  “Them's angry words. True lesbians don't like when their girls shop around—especially in dickville. Now you know what fiercely loyal looks like.”

  “I'm ready to be loyal,” I fired back.

  “That's not who she saw kissing a man on the street.”

  “Ew, the way you say it, it really sounds disgusting,” I responded, groaning.

  “She needs time. You need time,” Julia advised.

  “I love Jessica. I need to win her back,” I said with certainty.

  “Win? Love is not a lottery ticket.”

  “I will work to get her back,” I said, hopeful.

  Chapter 31

  Help Me to Help Myself and Help You Too

  To keep my mind off of dating, relating, and obsessing about Jessica, I dove into my work like it was an Olympic swimming pool and I was an Olympiad in training. I used this time to write and problem-solve simultaneously.

  I started by writing a series of pieces under the heading, Are You Ready for a New Relationship?

  The first article began: Are you looking for a new love too soon after splitting with an old one? I used my angst to get to my own sane conclusions and pay my rent as well.

  There's an old saying that the best way to get over an old love is to find a new one. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth: Experts say that a woman fresh from a breakup shouldn't go on a mad stampede to replace an ex with a new lover.

  As part of writing my stories, I interviewed experts: doctors, therapists, and authors of relationship books.

  A professor of behavioral sciences said, “When a relationship ends, it's important not to rush into a new one, but to spend time with yourself in self-evaluation. Develop a sense of your needs; otherwise you run from one mismatched relationship to the next.”

  A psychiatric facility treatment leader echoed his sentiments, stating, “Learning what you want in a relationship isn't easy when you're still reeling from the aftershock of a breakup. Feelings of hurt, anger, disappointment, and intense neediness can cloud your judgment and make you vulnerable to starting—and quickly ending—a string of unsatisfying involvements. That's why you should take a time-out when a relationship ends, giving yourself time to heal, even if you're feeling lonely. It's better than throwing yourself headlong into another relationship.”

  Headlong? My middle name is headlong, or is it headstrong? Hello, I'm Headlong Headstrong, the neurotic serial dater. The life span of my relationships is as long as a good haircut. I wish I would've had the good sense to write about this subject months ago—my whole life would have been different—less opera and less pain.

  To further focus my life, I went to a yoga class every day. I had about two new friends on Facebook every week. No one really reached out to instant message me or visit me, or leave their current life or wife and have sex with me. Most evenings I took a long walk and then ate a small dinner (as seen in the article I wrote for Shape magazine entitled Move More Eat Less, Just in time for Bikini Season). Eating lighter helped me sleep better. I woke up each morning (alone) refreshed, energized to start the day. I turned my introspective urges into being incredibly productive. I believed that helping others would bring me closer to solving my own relationship issues.

  I breezed through writing Transitional Relationships, the perfect medicine to soothe self-esteem:

  It's not realistic to believe that the first person you meet will be the man of your dreams. Don't underestimate the value of a transitional relationship; this type of casual but healthy involvement can do much to prepare you for your next serious relationship. In effect, you can “practice” in a transitional relationship all the things that went wrong in the last one, and feel emotionally ready when the real thing comes along.

  One sex therapist said: The transitional relationship is highly valuable to the emotional mending process, and also gives you the opportunity to explore different types of men. You'll see what you need and want from a man, as well as what you don't. Knowledge may boost your self-esteem. Valuable things can happen that make a person ready for a good, strong relationship.

  All of these experts' insights fueled my articles as well as my personal growth. My relationship series got great feedback and raves. My fees per article were increasing. I was offered a syndicated advice column that appeared in newspapers three days a week and simultaneously on a website. I had now ascended from self-help diva to relationship royalty. Since I was never someone who could take a good thing and accept it without picking it apart, I still wondered: If I was such an expert, where was my relationship?

  But I kept my head down and kept writing. A few months later, my friend Rachael, another writer who focused on sexual addiction issues, used excerpts of my work in a women's anthology that made it to the New York Times best seller list, and also on a site where people paid per click to read the content.

  One day Rachel met me for coffee at Kings Road Café on Beverly Boulevard. We sat outside, each drinking café mochas out of giant white cups. I couldn't get over the gorgeous pair of Grecian sandals she was wearing. “Your shoes are so great; they make your legs look endless. The leather is soft and yummy,” I said admiringly.

  “Glad you like them. You could get a pair too,” she said, while reaching into her purse for a letter-sized envelope. “This is for you.”

  I opened the envelope and took out a check for 22,000 dollars! I put my hand over my mouth to soften my gasp of delight. “What's this for?”

  “Australian rights to the book, U.K., Japan. The blog is taking off too. Women in Europe really clamor for your advice,” Rachel exclaimed.

  “My angst is a gold mine?” I said smiling, bringing the cup to my lips, sipping and feeling the warm sweet mocha slide down my throat. The only thing that would make this moment more glorious was if I had someone to race home to, to tell my news and good fortune.

  Rachel and I said our goodbyes. I strolled home, smiling, wondering who I could call, who I should call. Beth was having marital and money problems, so dialing her would seem like gloating. Diana might ask for a loan. Who would be happy for me and might even benefit from my newfound flash of cash?

  Chapter 32

  Big Fat Check

  What could I do with 22,000 dollars? How should I use that money to change my life? I could deposit it in my account and draw from it when I needed help paying my rent. That's a sensible, conservative woman's approach to money. That won't make me happy or change my life. But it will keep me safe. Wasn't it me who really valued being safe and sane just a few months ago? What happened to that, Sara? She gambled on two lovers and crapped out.

  I held the check in my hand, feeling it could burn a hole in my skin. I couldn't bring it to the bank till I spoke to someone, shared my news, and explored possibilities. I felt overjoyed and invincible. This was my lucky day! I picked up the phone and dialed Jessica. The phone rang four times. She picked up. Her hello sounded hesitant.

  “Jessica, it's Sara, calling you as a potential client. I might be in the market for a condo,” I blurted. Before I could
think about what I'd said, and how stupid it was, she put me on hold. I used this time to figure out what I'd say next. My mind was blank.

  “Sara?” she said, clicking back to me. “My three o'clock for tomorrow just canceled.”

  “Meet me for coffee at three tomorrow,” I insisted. “I know you're free now.”

  “It would help if I knew what you were looking for?” she asked, in a highly professional demeanor.

  “Looking for?” I said tentatively, knowing that what I really wanted was her, in my life again.

  “What size condo, amenities, gym, terrace, pool?”

  “I don't need a pool,” I answered, feeling stunned to be having this conversation.

  “Your price range is under a half million… or more?”

  “Oh, under, definitely,” I said, realizing she was serious and only focusing on the work aspects. I didn't want to piss her off…again.

  She paused, and then with an ounce of reluctance said, “Okay. How about meeting near Bob's Doughnuts at Farmers Market?”

  “Deal. Bob's Doughnuts, three p.m. See you tomorrow.” I hung up the phone and danced around. Then I prepped the tub for a luxurious bubble bath. I needed to soak and rehearse what I'd say.

  The next day at 2:30, final preparations: good hair, clear face, looking good, not too excited. Who am I kidding? After trying on four or five different shirts and finding the one I liked, I spilled coffee, which created an obvious stain the size of a baby's fist, right near the left boob on my favorite blue blouse. After changing that shirt and triple checking that the right buttons were in their designated holes, I turned to walk out the door. Hand on door knob, the phone rang. An editor was checking on my progress for an article due next week.

  “Uh-huh, uh-huh, talk to you later, uh-huh, good, can we--uh-huh, talk later? I'll call you back? Bye.”

  Finally, out the door, walking two blocks to The Grove to meet Jessica, I heard the screech of two ambulances, followed by a police car. They're all heading where I'm going! Walking another two blocks I realized I'm walking towards the scene of a three-car collision. Glancing over to make sure none were Jessica's BMW, I kept walking, heart pounding, in anticipation of our meeting.