Love and Other Natural Disasters (24 page)

I know that's not a recommended
dating strategy. But when presented with a sympathetic, interested male ear,
something happened to me. I didn't do it right off the bat; I mean, I didn't
sit down and say, "So my husband was having an affair." There was a
period where Ray did standard first-date patter, told engaging stories, and I
laughed in what was going to have to pass for flirting, at least for that
night. I was enjoying myself, particularly his anecdotes about the karaoke
regulars (complete with impressions that sometimes veered into serenade). Ray
had a surprisingly mellifluous voice.

Then, I don't know, he asked me how
long I'd been separated, and what my marriage used to be like, and there was
something about that unexpected question (and the Rusty Nails we were drinking)
that opened the floodgates. I told him about my vacation theory, and how maybe
that was where things went wrong, and then the MC called Ray's name —

"What vacation theory?"
Lil interrupted.

There was something just the
tiniest bit triumphant in the glance that Tamara shot Lil. "It's her
theory about how vacations trick us."

Lil looked to me for amplification.
"I think vacations warp the mind," I said. "You know how if you
have a really amazing vacation, you think it's telling you something important
about the relationship? And then if you have a bad vacation, you think that's
telling you something important, too?"

"We've tracked it,"
Tamara said with authority. "We know tons of people who've moved in
together or gotten engaged because of a good vacation, and people who split up
after a bad one."

"It doesn't happen right
away," I said. "It's just like, the seed gets planted and suddenly
you start to see things differently. For better or for worse."

"Okay." Lil seemed
unconvinced, but was ready to get on with the story.

So Ray got up and went to take the
mike. He'd been coy about what song he was picking, as he didn't want his
selection to be compromised by my reaction. When the first notes rang out, I
wanted to cover my face. It was the Eagles' "Desperado." I wasn't an
Eagles fan under the best of circumstances, but that schmaltzy mess of a song?
I looked around, sure everyone in the place must be sharing the sentiment.

I know I keep saying this when it
comes to Ray, but something happened. He was up there, all earnest brio, and
the whole audience felt it. It was like he said: He was feeding off us, we were
feeding off him. And I tell you, where normally I'd be rolling my eyes, I had
tears in them. The crowd started holding up lighters and swaying back and
forth.

"Must have been a lot of
smokers," Lil said.

"Well, no wonder you were all
teary. There's that whole 'You've got to let somebody love you' line,"
Tamara said. "It's just so obviously manipulative."

I shook my head. "I don't
think so."

"You wouldn't. You're
vulnerable. That's what he's smelling."

"None of us know what he's
smelling," Lil said. "He could be smelling a newly single woman,
ready to—"

"Can we stop talking about my
smell now?" I asked. "Yeah, the parallels between 'Desperado' and me
are striking. You can never get me because I'm always out
ridin
'
fences."

"It's metaphorical."
Tamara waved a hand. "I don't trust him, that's all."

"Well, you shouldn't trust any
of them." Lil poured another round of sake for the table. "But so
far, this one's no worse than the rest. Who knows, maybe he's better."

When Ray finished to thunderous
applause—he was right, the crowd had quadrupled in size—he came back to the
table, wiping sweat from his brow, reseated himself, and prompted, "So you
and Jon were in Mexico?"

I found I didn't want to talk about
Jon and the vacation theory. I didn't want to say that Jon and I had been
together less than a year and we'd been having a blissful time in Mexico and
then I got food poisoning and needed an IV and Jon sat by my hospital bed, and
even though we both knew I wasn't going to die, there was something about the
love and need and fear I saw in his eyes that told me I could count on him
forever. I felt my defenses crumble completely—it was like I'd been wearing
armor, only to finally
realize there
was no battle to fight—and I let
myself say, "I love you, too." I let myself feel it in every bone and
in every pore. That trip changed everything.

I didn't say that. I said,
"Why 'Desperado'?" We talked for hours, tuning in only occasionally
for the very best and the very worst performances, though we debated which was
which. There was a woman who brought the house down with the Kinks'
"Lola," and a person of indeterminate gender who
slayed
us with Britney Spears's "Oops!... I Did It Again." Ray was an
impassioned talker—whatever the subject—and I was shocked to find it was
already midnight.

He walked me to my car, and I was
relieved that he didn't move in to kiss me. I wasn't sure if I was feeling an
absence of desire, or just of sexual confidence. What was disconcerting was
that I didn't feel any longing on his part. He hugged me, waited on the curb
while I got in the car, then patted the door frame before moving back into the
bar.

"He went back to the
bar?" Tamara asked suspiciously.

"That doesn't mean
anything," Lil said. "It could be that he wants to take his time with
you because he likes you, and he just wants to get his rocks off with some girl
from the bar. It shows respect."

Tamara and I stared at her.

"The point is, we just don't
know," Lil continued. "You don't know this guy yet, so watch out for
him like you should watch out for all guys. Just see how it goes."

Neither of us could really disagree
with that, though I was still mildly disturbed by the suggestion that Ray had
gone back inside to pick up some other woman.

"It's the not knowing that
really stinks," I said. "I mean, I used to think I knew, and now I'm
back to wondering."

"You always had to
wonder," Lil said. By now, the food had arrived, and she was mixing
generous amounts of wasabi with soy sauce.

"I just don't go in for that
'all men are pigs' stuff," Tamara said. "And I specifically know that
Jon isn't a pig."

It was the first time either of
them had mentioned his name. They both waited for my reaction. I exhaled, then
said, "I don't want to talk about Jon tonight." I determinedly picked
up a tuna roll with my chopsticks.

"I can understand that,"
Tamara said, "but I still see Jon. I see how he's suffering when you're
out dating."

"You think I haven't
suffered?" I glared at her. "You think the fact that I had one date
means I'm not suffering anymore? Are you fucking kidding me?"

Lil put her hand on my arm. She was
trying to keep things even-keeled, but Tamara must have seen it as Lil
asserting our closeness. She turned to Lil and said, "I don't even think
she'd be dating if it wasn't for you."

I could not believe this. I was
thirty years old, the mother of two, and was possibly going to be both the
object of and the participant in a catfight.

Lil stood up. She said,
"There's a lot of history and a lot of emotion between you two. It's got
nothing to do with me. So I'm going to go." She looked in her purse.
"Shit, I don't have enough cash to cover my part. Could you let me know
what I owe later, and I'll pay you the next time I see you?"

She was being so adult that both Tamara
and I felt chastened. "I'm sorry," Tamara said. "It's a touchy
subject, but you're right, it has nothing to do with you. I'll leave. Besides,
I have cash." She got to her feet and started rooting in her purse.

"This is silly!" I said.
"I don't want anyone to leave. I just want to restart this night. I want
to restart this year." With both of them towering above me, I felt like
kids must when they watch their parents argue.

Tamara and Lil looked at each
other. Lil was the first to smile. "How about," she asked, "we
both sit back down on the count of three?"

Now we all laughed eagerly.

"One...," I said.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Charlie was waiting up for me. It
wasn't hard to do, since I was home by nine-thirty, but I could tell that was
why he was positioned on the couch, idly flipping through TV channels. His eyes
loped over to me and then back to the TV, and he said, "Oh, hi." The
"Oh" was the dead giveaway.

"Oh, hi to you, too," I
said, sinking down on the couch next to him.

"It's not like I'm not glad to
see you. I'm just tired. I was helping Jacob with his homework."

"He's five. How much could it
tax you?"

"He's almost six. They grow up
so fast these days." He grinned at me. "How was your dinner?"

"Complicated." I reached
down and undid the sensible T-strap on my shoes. Sensible or not, my feet
ached. "Everything okay with the kids?"

"No problems. I've got this
child raising thing
down."
He took a swig from the beer can which
was resting on the coffee table. "So tell me about your dinner."

"Let's just say Tamara's not a
fan of Lil's."

"What's her problem?"
There was no mistaking the defensive tone in his voice.

"Like I said, it's
complicated."

"Lil's a good person. What's
Tamara got against her?"

"It was just a vibe I got.
It's fine. There won't be any more group dinners, that's all. I'm more of a
one-on-one person anyway." If you looked past the outright hostility early
on, it was just a vibe. Once Tamara and Lil sat back down, we all made a
concerted effort to talk about neutral subjects and laugh whenever possible,
but it just never coalesced. They weren't each other's type.

"What did you guys talk
about?" Charlie asked, pretending it was offhandedly.

"We talked about Ray for a
while. I told them about the date."

"What did they say?"

"They both said not to trust
him, but with Lil, it was more of a general rule, and with Tamara, it was more
specific. She saw evil in his song selection."

Charlie laughed. "I saw lame
in his song selection."

"I told you, the audience
loved him."

"Right." He furrowed his
brows slightly. "Lil has a general rule about not trusting men?"

"Yep."

"So she doesn't trust
me?"

"It's safe to assume."

"She's been hurt pretty bad,
huh?"

"I'm neither confirming nor
denying. She'll tell you what she wants you to know."

"Oh, come on," he
wheedled. "What's the good of dating your sister's friend if you don't
even get the inside track?"

"There's no good in dating
your sister's friend."

"So you've got a problem with
Lil, too?"

"No, I don't. But I'm not
giving you any insider information."

"So you won't tell me what she
said about me tonight?"

"No, I won't." I got to
my feet, picking up my shoes.

"Aha!" he said
victoriously. "So she did say something!"

The truth was, Lil had said two
things: "He's cute" and "He's young." You've got to give it
to her, the woman's discreet. It seemed like Charlie was a whole lot more
invested than she was, which would have been a greater source of concern right
then if I hadn't been dead tired. Two nights out in a row was a lot for me. Two
nights away from my babies, whom I suddenly ached to smell and touch. And
instead of Jon here to ask about my night, it was Charlie, pumping me for
information on Lil.

For about the millionth time since
I'd first found out about Laney, I felt the sudden, sharp pain of How
did we
get here?
No one had ever told me that "How did we get here?" was
an emotion, but it is.

"I'm neither confirming nor
denying," I repeated. Better to let him go to sleep believing everything
was reciprocal. What did I know, maybe it was.

"You want to hear something?"
he asked.

"Can you say it fast? I'm
about to collapse."

"Mom's with someone, and it
sounds like he's actually good for her."

"Based on what?"

"She said it. I guess they've
been together a few months, but she didn't want to tell anyone until it seemed
to be going somewhere."

I shook my head in disbelief.
"Where would it go? She doesn't know anything about relationships. Why do
you think mine's so fucked up?" When it came to my mother, the things that
came out of my mouth always surprised me. I sounded like such a victim.

"Well, everyone gets it right
sometime."

"Do you really believe
that?" I asked.

I could see in his face that he
did. He hadn't been able to keep a job or a relationship, and now he actually
seemed to be putting his eggs in Lil's basket—clearly a grievous error in
judgment—but at least he was capable of misplaced optimism.