(no subject)
People Watching
Swerving the car onto the highway, late for work again, I practically screamed into my phone, “DARLA?!” I could hardly hear her above the roar of what sounded like zoo animals. “Hey Luce! Hold on just a second, let me shut the door.”
“Where the H are you? It’s 7:30 on a Monday morning. It sounds like you’re at the damned Busch Gardens or something.”
“Oh, haha, it’s animal day at the kids’ daycare. They’re practicing their animals noises.”
“Right. Listen, I was thinking about it last night and I don’t know what to do about James anymore. He bought me flowers AGAIN and this time, there were some cheesy lyrics that he wrote on the card to go along with them,” I sighed dramatically. I know it’s not typical to complain about a boyfriend being perfect, but I’m just not cut out for this.
Darla paused, I think thoughtfully, but she could have been wiping jelly off her shirt. Her three children tend to get a little rambunctious.
“Lucy,” Darla began, “you know I haven’t liked this guy for you from the beginning. You don’t need perfection, you need quirks. Besides, the way he parades around, you’d think he was George Clooney or something.”
“Well, he is disturbingly good-looking. You even said so.”
“Alright, I said it ONE night, and it was when I was drowning in Cosmopolitans, you know me-I think anyone’s attractive at that point.”
“Right. Well, we’ve gotta figure something out here, because I don’t want to lead him on, but every time I’m just about to tell him ‘it’s not him, it’s me, ‘ he invites me to a party or tells me he loves me, and I just can’t take it anymore.”
Darla laughed and once again, pointed out that I don’t need perfection, that she told me so, and all those other things that best friends of ten plus years do best.
I could hear the animals looming over Darla’s shoulder again, so I let her go with a laugh.
“Talk to you later!”
I heard a muffled giggle and the phone line went dead. Shaking my head, I swung into a parking place in front of my boutique, “To the Nines.”
I had met James at a cocktail party at the aquarium downtown. I usually go to those things mostly for the people watching and I remember that night being no exception to the rule. I had just finished my second caramel apple-tini and was watching with interest as an old man tried to seduce a rather drunk middle-aged woman. (At least I assumed she was drunk, based on her increasingly rhythmic hiccups.) I snorted as “the Groper,” a nickname I’d not-so-affectionately dubbed him at the last party, reached toward her and she toppled to the right, nearly falling off her stool. This was made infinitely more comical as she realized she was about to fall into the small petting area of manta rays, the Groper reached towards her to save the day. She huffily got up and brushed his apparently dirty paws off her silky dress, seemingly sobered by her near-soaked experience.
A hand tapped my shoulder and I lurched in surprise. I turned around to see an extremely handsome man whom I had been trying to avoid eye contact with from across the room. It was one of those situations where someone’s gaze is so strong, you have to tear your eyes away and it’s more than a little unnerving.
“Hello,” he said, “What are you watching?”
“Oh, nothing,” I mumbled, no one ever understood my habit of people watching other than Darla. He proceeded to introduce himself as James Caldwell, I found out later he’s a successful attorney in town; he drives a large Mercedes and lives in an expensive two bedroom condo overlooking the river. Now, almost a year later, I’m not sure we ever graduated out of the original small talking of a new relationship. He still takes me out for expensive dinners, is always dressed perfectly and he’s never even passed gas in front of me. My only confusion is how he finds all this time to be the perfect boyfriend, run a successful business and yet always have time for food and drinks. I hate to say it, but I think he’s kind of boring.
* * *
Three hours later, I continued to ponder my relationship with James, knowing I wasn’t happy, but somehow unable to justify breaking up with someone who I didn’t even really have any problems with. I had the voices of single women everywhere in my head telling me I was crazy, that they’d kill for a man like this, that I should be happy to have found a man with a steady paycheck at all, let alone a partner in his own firm who showers me with flowers and gifts. I was daydreaming about a hoard of angry singles chasing me down the street into an alley of cats where I woke up alone forty years later when the welcome bells shook with excitement as the first customer of the day strolled in.
A tall woman with a dimple on one side of her smile chatted into her cell phone. She began methodically sorting through my merchandise. Picking up a French Connection shirt, she cocked her head, it must have passed the test because she threw it over her arm and continued her conversation.
“Yes, well. It’s not that he’s not attractive, he definitely is. He’s just a little off, you know, Soph? I mean, he spends his life reading all the time and he laughs at the strangest things. I don’t know; I just feel like he needs to grow up.”
Alright, so you can add eavesdropping to my list of hobbies. Especially in the store, I don’t have any company except on weekends, so I spend a lot of time overhearing conversations. I always try to imagine the story behind what I’m hearing. This one sounded mildly interesting.
The woman threw back her head and laughed, “Yes,” she drawled in some sort of European accent, “maybe a Mercedes would help.” I sighed, wondering if we could work out a trade off. Well, at least a donation. She could have James and his Mercedes and seeing how she was beautiful in that tall, thin waif-y way that I’ll never be, I didn’t think he’d have any real problems with the arrangements. She bid adieu to whoever she was on the phone with and I used that opportunity to go up to her and find out if she was looking for anything in particular.
Her appraising look did not miss my own observation and I inwardly shook my head.
“Can I help you find anything today?”
“Well, I think I’ll be okay,” she said with her twinge of accent.
I took her French Connection selection and started a fitting room for her. I watched as she circled her way around the store, her Chanel tote prominently displayed on her shoulder. The phone shrilled pulling me out of my thoughts and back to reality.
“Hello, “To the Nines” this is Lucy, how may I help you?”
“Hey gorgeous, I have a dinner meeting tonight, I know it’s short notice, but do you think you could come along?”
“Uhhh,” I stuttered, trying to think of a reason to say no, “sure, what time? What should I wear?”
“I’ll be over at six. Don’t worry about what to wear, just look nice.”
“Okay, see you then.”
My customer sauntered up to the counter carrying an armload of clothes; she smacked them unceremoniously on the counter and pulled out her credit card.
“Did you find everything you were looking for?” I asked thinking the answer was kind of obvious.
“Yes, you have amazing things here, I’ve found a new favorite boutique, I believe.”
“Wonderful, I’m glad I could be of help! Any time you need anything, just come find me, and I’ll make sure you find what you’re looking for.”
“Great. Thank you.”
I handed her the three large shopping bags now straining full of expensive clothing and sent her on her merry way.
* * *
Around 5:55 that evening, I had just hung up the phone with Darla when the doorbell rang. I swore to myself as I hopped through the hallway on one foot trying to jam a pointy-toed sling-back onto my foot. I hurled the door open, teetering backwards onto my now half-shoed foot, nearly losing my balance. James stood there with a large box in his arms.
“Come in,” I said, smiling. He took a step in and thrust the box toward me, “here.”
“Oh,” surprised, I took the box, carefully untying the lavender bow. I sucked air in as I saw the dress I had been eyeing up in Vogue, tea length and perfectly pale peach, I wondered once again how I could even think about breaking up with someone who obviously cared so much about me.
“I wanted you to wear it tonight,” he said, looking at me hopefully.
“Of course, I’d love to!” With that, I ran upstairs, making sure to grab my cell phone.
“Darla,” I hissed, hoping James couldn’t hear me.
“Hey!” she shouted into the phone.
“Shhh. I need help. I finally decided tonight was going to be the night I break up with him and he freaking bought me that peach dress from Vogue that I’ve been obsessing over.”
I could hear her suck her breath in, “Well, you’re going to have to do it sometime. There’s no such thing as the perfect time when you’ll be breaking someone’s heart.”
“Great,” I grunted grumpily, “thanks for the uplifting advice.”
“Sure. Hey-Where are you?” she asked, suddenly curious.
“I’m in my closet, hoping he doesn’t hear me,” I said, straining to sound reasonable.
Darla burst out laughing and I snapped my phone shut wondering what I do to get myself into these situations. I stepped out of the closet, which-by the way-is not a walk-in--and started to laugh as I caught a glimpse in the mirror of the sock static clinging to my ample breast.
* * *
An hour and a half later, we sat in the middle of a very posh, obscenely expensive restaurant. I was about two and a half in on the Cosmos and feeling great. It had turned out that this was not, in fact, a business dinner, he had only said that to add to the surprise. A jazz band had just finished setting up and the lead singer was enthusiastically introducing herself and the rest of her band. I still had been trying to figure out exactly how I was going to break this off with James; I did genuinely like him. Just not in the way that I was supposed to. I picked up a spoon to help myself to the fresh mocha mousse that had been set in front of me and looked in it as if it were a hand mirror. I snorted loudly. Startled, James asked if I was okay.
“Of course, I was just checking myself out.” I said, laughing.
“Oh, yes, of course.” He looked more than a little confused.
I ordered another drink.
A half hour later, I tottered into the bathroom and called Darla.
“Hello?”
“Hahloo? Darla, isth thath yooooou?”
“Oh, God. Lucy, you’re loaded. Have you said anything to him yet?”
“Nooooo,” I sang, “Nooooot yeeeeet.” I made a face at myself in the mirror.
“Well, you better get on it. You have to do this soon. Although, I don’t know if tonight’s the night, now that you’re smashed.”
Darla sounded exasperated. Still staring in the mirror, I rolled my eyes.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. He’sth jusht sooo niceth.”
“Lucy,” Darla said firmly, “Nice is not what you want, you’ve never wanted nice. You want quirky. Fun and goofy. You’ll both be better off. I don’t even know why I’m trying to reason with you right now,” she sighed, “I’m going to go, but have a good night and call me if you need anything. Okay?”
I stared in the mirror, noticing my glazed over blue eyes.
“Lucy?” Darla questioned.
“Ah, yesth. Okay. I’ll tawk to ya tomorrow.”
* * *
The next morning, I woke up to my alarm buzzing in my ear. My head was throbbing, my throat was parched and I think something was stuck in my hair. I wiped what I assumed to be dried saliva off my chin, trying to remember what happened last night after I talked to Darla. I was pretty sure it included vomiting.
“Oh. GOD,” I said aloud, realizing I was alone. I’m pretty sure something went horrifically wrong last night, because I’m still wearing my beautiful peach dress. I searched my memory for glimpses of last night. Looking through the fog, I think I remember dancing with a cute waiter, maybe singing with the jazz band, and I think-I THINK, breaking up with James. This must be a bad dream, I thought as I fought to bring back what happened. “OH MY GOD. Oh God. Oh God.” Picking up the phone to call Darla, I realized I had six missed calls from her.
“Hello?”
I’m pretty sure it wasn’t my imagination that she sounded somewhere between concerned and amused.
“Darla!” I wailed, “What did I do last night, do you know?”
Darla tried to hide her laughter, but she was fighting a losing battle.
“All I know is that James called me to tell you he was taking you home and putting you to bed. Apparently, you were quite the performer. He didn’t really elaborate, he just said that he’d see me around. Which I assumed to mean you two had broken up.”
“I think we did, but I can’t remember how. I have to call him and figure this out. I hope to God I didn’t embarrass myself as much as I think I did.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure you did,” giggled Darla.
I hung up the phone and dialed James. No answer. I slogged my way out of bed and into the bathroom. As I gazed into the mirror, I saw black eyeliner and mascara streaked down my cheeks, my hair was molded into a standing straight-up position, my eyes bloodshot, my dress wrinkled and creased.
I sat down on the floor and sobbed. How could I be this childish? James will probably never speak to me again and I don’t deserve it. I know we’re better off not being together, but this was never how I meant to behave. I stood up and stepped into the hot shower, hoping the water would wash away all the humiliating memories that were starting to sharpen in my mind. By the time I had gotten out of the shower, I was pretty sure I remembered breaking up with James. And how I did it.
“Shit.”
Picking up my phone again, I dialed James. No answer.
This time, my end rang. Grabbing it off the nightstand, I flipped it open.
“Hello?” I squeaked.
“Hey, did you figure it out?” asked Darla.
“I think so,” I muttered meekly, “I think I ended it on stage. In front of everyone. I think I sang him a song with the band. I’m pretty sure the song was “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” and I think I ended it by saying something about how he’s too perfect and that we’d be better off as friends.” I groaned. God, this is painfully embarrassing.
“Oh my God,” said Darla, laughing and horrified. “Well, that’s probably the funniest, most pathetically endearing story I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth…”
* * *
Three days later, I received a large bouquet of yellow roses at the store. Attached was a card that said, “Friends.” I laughed to myself, and wiped a tear from my cheek, relieved.