So last night I couldn't sleep at all. It seems that the perpetual noise of Posadas is determined to wake me up every hour, on the hour. I am now ready to fight with the garbage man who seems to really like coming back SEVERAL times. How much garbage could there be? To be honest with you, I'm not even positive he is the source of all the ruckus. Anyways, funny day teaching--Imagine me actually raising my voice. Que Fuerte. It's kind of funny, the meanest, most assertive thing I say to my students is "Why are you being rude?"
So anyways, in regards to my work in progress. I decided Delaney cannot have a boyfriend anymore--Jason's gotta go. In order for her to be really stuck between three guys she must be available to test the waters, you know? Anyways, so i'm working up to it. I just wrote the skeleton for the next part, introducing James and the questions about relationship ruts--stick with it, or get out? Here is the next part, a very primitive draft.
***
With so much confusion about the male species, I knew in order to get the answers I was searching for I had to go directly to the source. James Shaw, he was my source and my rentable boyfriend. He was the person I could go to movies with, have adventures and deep talks with, without the drama that comes with real dating.
Have you ever walked into a restaurant and there is one guy that every woman can’t help but notice? James had that appeal and the confidence to match. Somehow he and I had become the best of friends, yet I was still fully aware of the fact that hundreds of women were dying to trade places with me. I knew that if I wanted the truth about a man’s hidden agenda, James would tell it to me like it is. I was almost scared to talk to him about it, scared to tell him about the mess I was emotionally tangled in.
I slid into the booth at Red Robin, folded my hands on the table and started confessing, “I let another man kiss me, and it wasn’t my boyfriend. What does that mean?” I bit my lip and braced myself for the truth.
“You’re horny?” was all he said before looking at the menu. It was simple and not at all what I had wanted to hear.
“What do you mean, ‘I’m horny.’ That’s such a cop-out!” I sucked in an exasperated breath and rolled my eyes at him, “That’s just, just..I’m so disappointed. What a lame answer. Here I came thinking that you would tell me what was really going on.” So much for a rentable Buddha.
“Okay then, so he’s horny.”
Now I was really reeling. What a boy thing to do, over simplify everything, “You know James, not everything is about s-e-x.” I studied his response, no facial twitch, no sign that what I said had struck him as rational.
“No. I hate to be the one to tell you this, when it comes to guys--it is just about sex. You’re hot, he was horny and he thought he could get laid.” He continued to order a cheeseburger, completely oblivious to the fact that the waitress was drooling over him.
“How would you like your burger?” She looked up at him from her notepad, smiling flirtatiously.
“Medium...Medium-well. With a side of french fries, please.”
“Absolutely. I’ll put medium-well, that’s how I like mine.” She drawled, closing her book and walking back towards the kitchen. I couldn’t believe it, she actually forgot I was even sitting there. What if I had been his girlfriend?
“Excuse me, miss? Excuse me?!” I called after her, raising my normally quiet voice. She giggled, jogging back over, “Oh my bad, so sorry,” she replied more to James than to me.
“I’d like the chef salad with an extra side of bleu cheese dressing.”
“Low fat bleu cheese?” She asked. I felt like I had suddenly entered into an old-fashioned duel with a ditzy high school waitress. Not only was she ignoring the fact that I could possibly be James’ girlfriend, but now she was making me look like some kind of unhealthy, calorie loving, wallflower. No, I refuse to let some valley talking bimbo make me feel inferior. I had a great figure and I didn’t need to order low fat dressing that tasted like crap to keep it.
“No, your low-fat dressing tastes asinine,” I let the words drip from my tongue like acid, “but thanks.” I smiled sweetly and then shoved the menu at her. I cannot stand girls that feel the need to put you down and make you look bad, particularly in front of men. Maybe I was overreacting and imagining the whole thing in my mind. Just before I could start to feel bad about my juvenile behavior, she turned over her shoulder and winked at James. Seriously? Women.
“Not to beat a dead horse, but James, I’m not the type of girl a guy would just try and sleep with. I’m not like that.” It felt like a personal attack to limit my encounter to such a physical thing--as if all there was nothing more between us than a cheap hook-up.
“It’s not about being a slut. You were drinking, things happen. Just let it go.” He was infuriating me.
“So you’re saying that when a girl is at a club, that’s like having a stamp on her head that she’s easy? I don’t dress like a slut, I don’t act like a slut, so why would you lump me together with the sluts?” I could picture in my head those women, the desperadas. The women who drink a little too much to compensate for their bad behavior--as if being drunk was the free ticket to hang all over every cute guy you met, or after a few drinks..every not so cute guy you meet. Why was he talking about relationships as if they were so black and white? Since when was it all or nothing? Where was the middle ground, the gray area?
“Well, what do you want me to say? If he wanted you to be his girlfriend or anything more in his life, you would be.”
“I just thought..” I felt myself trailing off, lost in my own thoughts. Had I been thinking so much this whole time that I hadn’t seen what was right in front of me? The obvious, cold hard truth, “I don’t know what I thought.” His words had stung. I felt like an idiot. James was so matter of fact about it, as if it was completely obvious. Was that all Evan ever wanted? Had I been thinking about ending my relationship with Jason over some guy that had just wanted to get into my pants? The questions began and I just couldn’t find the off button. It is true, what James was saying, I believe in the fact that men still have some aspect of Alpha male or cave man in them: Boy sees girl, boy wants girl, boy gets girl. It was very simple and it seemed painfully true. I paused, pulling my wounded ego together, “I guess I see your point. I mean the book He’s Just Not That Into You spelled it out for me. Brutal honesty. I guess, it just..mm I don’t know,” for the first time in 48 hours I didn’t want to think,“Anyway, what’s been going on with you?” Changing the subject was the only thing I could do to salvage my confidence and get the image of a desperate woman dropping a blow dryer into a bathtub. Maybe we were all desperadas, depending on what man you asked over lunch.
“Not much, same old, same old. I’m still seeing that girl.” He said it as if I should know exactly who he was talking about. We had been friends for over a year and this was the first reference to that girl.
“Excuse me, James, who is ‘that girl’ that you are still seeing? When did this happen?”
“A few months now, maybe 3? I’m not sure where it’s going. She gets uncomfortable when I mention where this is going,” his voice attempted to camouflage the pink elephant in the room. Was it possible James was being overly critical of my kiss because he was attempting to rationalize the same epidemic--mixed signals?
“What do you mean? She doesn’t want to be in a relationship with you?” Immediately I began picturing some dime piece knock out that had men eating out of the palm of her hand. It never occurred to me that someone could have the upper hand in a relationship with James. He was the guy, the guy that guys wanted to be and girls wanted to be with. He was James, and he was great.
“She says she doesn’t want to put a title on it, you know how it is,” he sighed lightly rubbing his forehead as the waitress placed the food down on the table, never taking her eyes off his mouth. This was getting a little ridiculous. James had women falling all over themselves and he was all about a girl who didn’t want to be his anything. There must be something in the water. It seemed all around me, people were all about people who didn’t want to give them the time of day.
“So basically.. she’s milking the cow for free,” I retorted, it felt good to say something brutally honest to him. I smiled and patted his arm, “Never thought I would live to see the day.”
He laughed, recoiling his arm, “Hey hey, don’t jump to conclusions. I never said I wanted to be in a relationship, I have no idea where I’m going to be in a year. I agree with her, it’s just not a good time to be putting a lot of time into a relationship that may not have time.”
“Then why are we talking about her?” I raised my eyebrows suspiciously, he may be able to fool his guy friends with the nonchalant comments, but I saw what was really going on. He had been dating a girl for a few months and she was wearing the pants.
He shook his head and shrugged, helpless.
“It just seems to me, that it shouldn’t matter if you don’t know where you are going to be in a few months..I mean if you meet a girl who really peaks your interest--isn’t it worth seeing where it goes before you say it can’t go anywhere?”
“No, I mean, I don’t know. I guess if I was going to consider being in a relationship with anyone-it would be her. But I’m not going to bank a future with someone when I’m not even sure what my future is.” His rationalization was legitimate, but it got me thinking about the beginning of relationships. We all have expectations but no guarantee, how would we ever start a relationship if we knew it was going to end?
“Well, no relationship has a guarantee. I can’t go out with a guy and ask ‘so are you going to be a dick in about 2 months?’ or ‘in 3 months are you going to get bored and start checking out other women in front of me?’ That’s the thing about relationships, it’s kind of like jumping off the deep end and just hoping the water won’t be freezing.” I paused thoughtfully and then continued, stealing one of his french fries, “But I mean if it is freezing or you manage to break a leg upon contact, I’ll be here to help pull you out and hand you a towel. Or take you to the hospital, which I guess in this metaphor would be some kind of strip club to take your mind off things.”
He laughed easily, “You lost me, are you saying she’s going to break my leg or something?”
“No, nevermind. It was just a metaphor I took too far. What I’m saying is, I just think it sounds shady that she isn’t willing to give you the commitment but has no problem taking all the benefits.”
He paused thoughtfully, “I guess. I guess for right now being happy together should be enough. Right?”
I nodded, “It’s just weird. Instead of playing house, your playing relationship.”
Maybe he had a point. Maybe instead of worrying and over analyzing about what that kiss meant--I should just be happy in the moment. Granted, I would love to have a little bird sit down on my shoulder and tell me everything Evan was feeling and what he thought when he saw me. Sadly, that is not realistic. I looked over at James and smirked as he told me an embarrassing story about one of his co-workers, offering me another french fry. I realized as I ate it that in spite of all the confusion--in this moment I was happy.
Chapter 5
“There is a more important question to be asking yourself. Why are you spending so much time thinking about another guy, that isn’t your boyfriend? Listen to yourself. I haven’t heard Jason mentioned much, Dump him,” her voice came in loud and clear in spite of all the background noise over the phone. I paused, sinking further into the bath tub, swirling the bubbles around with my finger, “Dump him? I know there are problems. If there weren’t problems I wouldn’t even be noticing other men in the room. But, is the problem between us or is it just me?” I sighed, staring up at all the cracks in my ceiling.
Truth be told, Jason was Prince Charming. He was successful, smart, thoughtful, the list could go on and on. He just wasn’t sexy, the excitement was lacking on the weekends and in the bedroom.
In perfect timing, her question interrupted my bubble-bursting, “So when was the last time you had sex?”
“Mm..sex or good sex?”
“Sex should always be good.”
“Not when you have to get up early in the morning.”
“Dump him.”
“Oh come on. All couples go through a rut. It’s not realistic to be in a serious relationship with someone and not have the sex dwindle a little bit. Life happens.”
“Married couples! For couples who have been married for 10 years. Who have already had 10 years of mind-blowing, amazing, sex. They are entitled to a rut. Not a couple who has only been dating for a few months. Snap out of it, you sound like some kind of Park Avenue spouse who has popped out 4 children. Hello, who are you and what have you done with my hot friend Delaney?”
I sighed again, closing my eyes. I could not remember the last time I had felt incredibly sexy. I have always had this fantasy of a man walking through the front door, pushing me up against the wall and ripping off my clothes: Buttons flying, heavy breathing, cantwaittogettothebedroom amazing sex.
“Unrealistic. I think we’ve just seen too many movies which in turn lead to Hollywood inspired fantasies of what life is like. What relationships are like. I’m not Hollywood and I’m not Park Avenue. I’m..well i’m totally lost.”
“You’re not lost, you’re lacking lust.”
“True. Painfully true. So what do I do?”
“Do what any self-respecting girlfriend does. Knock a couple cocktails back, put on your sexiest underwear and pounce him when he gets home. Show him your Hollywood fantasy.”
“With Jason? I just can’t imagine him being passionate.” The words hung in the air, like the bubbles I wanted to pop them. It hit me, that not only was my relationship in a rut--so was I. It just wasn’t going to work, “This is so bad isn’t it?”
As my bestfriend for over 10 years, I couldn’t believe she could stand me. I had never been a girl who would settle for someone while I waited for the one. That is how people got hurt. As the truth washed over me, I still knew I wasn’t ready to give up on my someone when I had no one, “Black bra and panties, or red?”
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