MAGPIE (26 page)

“What the hell time is it?” I must have asked the shower curtain, because no living thing occupied the bathroom besides me. “Shit, shit, shit.”

In less than five minutes I’d managed to dry off, throw my robe on and pour a glass of wine. Phone in hand, I texted Daniel,

Today, 9:42 PM

MAGS: I’m squeaky clean, cozy and feeling oh so coquettish!

DANIEL: I’m hard, hungry and oh so horny

MAGS: Can we start with hungry

DANIEL: Absolutely, been craving your pussy for a long time

MAGS: She’s been dying for you, too

DANIEL: I’m gunna call you, want to hear your voice, send me a pic?

MAGS: Only if you send me one

DANIEL: On its way …

We fell into our familiar rhythm; Daniel coaxed, teased and expertly led me to an insanely passionate orgasm. Just minutes later, he came with even more intensity, a shock ripping through my body as I heard him cry out, almost in agony. Neither of us spoke in the moments following one of our best fantasy fucks. We listened to each other’s heavy breathing, gradually slowing; there was no rush to talk, to confirm or compliment. It was the first time I truly desired Daniel’s body next to mine. I wanted to feel his hands roaming every inch of my flesh, his mouth on mine.

Pillow talk was rarely on our agenda, but tonight was an exception. Both of us had something to say.

“I had a ‘first time’ tonight,” I said flatly.

Jokingly, Daniel said, “Oh yeah? You’ve been faking it all this time?”

“No, seriously, Danny. Normally, I’m so damn satisfied. In most cases, I can’t remember ending our call—I fall asleep that fast. But tonight I missed you, physically I mean. I wanted to feel you next to me. Is that strange or what?” I hoped making light of my remark would lessen potential tension or awkwardness.

“Not strange at all. I’ve had those moments, Mags, several in fact. Didn’t want to say anything because, honestly, you seemed so indifferent. I often wondered how a guy like me could get so wrapped up in something so distant, so impossible, really. I’ve mastered the art of staying on the surface, Maggie. I’m not proud of it, but it’s how I’ve coped, especially now that Sami is gone. I have no one in my life who I care deeply about…except you.”

Complete silence encased the virtual space we shared. Irrational thoughts filled my mind, leaving little room for objectivity. What was Daniel really saying? Did he expect a response?

Barely audible, I said, “I am not sure what to say right now. Funny, I’ve felt the same way at times. So, this picture comes to mind whenever I think about ‘us.’ It’s not erotic, so don’t get your hopes up. It’s an image of a graph, with sine waves. Silly, I know, especially since I hated math in school. Bear with me…there are two waves that are not in sync, ever. This infinite graph shows two waves that miss each other at every bend and turn. They never line up.”

More silence, deafening and emotionally debilitating.

I was ready to end the call when Daniel spoke up, “But how do you know they never line up, Mags?”

“I don’t, I suppose. But the pattern is so damn consistent, never
ever
in sync, you know? God, I hate sounding so scientific. I have no idea where all this shit is coming from. What I’m saying is that you and I have this thing, it comes and it goes. In between, our lives go on, we meet people—we fuck ’em if we’re lucky, maybe we even get close. But all of that is
real life
Danny, ours isn’t. And I think we have to accept that your ‘up’ is my ‘down’ and vice versa, and that we are so damn lucky to have each other in times of need. We provide a port for each other’s storms.”

Exhausted, I shut up and welcomed my newfound friend,
Silence
. She didn’t hang around long, though.

A little angry this time, Daniel interjected, “A port? Like a shelter, where beaten up dogs are kept awaiting some fucking do-gooder’s good deed, and if that doesn’t happen then he’s fucking euthanized? Geez, Mags, that’s just awesome. So glad I could be of service.” I was stunned by his interpretation and couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I’m a fool to have opened up, Maggie. Disregard everything I said. Jesus Christ.”

“Danny…”

“Don’t fucking call me that, Maggie. Just don’t. You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Pissed didn’t even come close to how he sounded. Daniel was lashing out, his intention to inflict pain quite clear.

“Okay, okay. I just wanted to clarify something. You have to know me better than that. I didn’t mean it that way. You are much more to me than that, more than a ‘shelter,’ I mean. It’s just that we have to be realistic, you know? We live a zillion miles away from each other…”

“Sixteen-hundred, Maggie, not a zillion. Who’s being unrealistic now?”

Flustered, I answered, “Fuck, okay. I’m all twisted here. God, why can’t you understand what I’m trying to say, Daniel?”

Much more calmly this time, Daniel said, “Because I think you’re afraid to say what you really think and feel, Maggie.”

My friend returned. She was generous this time, affording me several minutes to think carefully about what to say next.

I began, “Daniel, I care for you, a great deal in fact. I think I’ve said that before. But you and I come in and out of each other’s lives, and that’s not what a relationship is built on. A friendship, sure, but not beyond that. God knows I’m no expert, but I am a realist. I believe that what you and I have is a very fulfilling
virtual
connection, but it’s not something that will eventually grow into a long-term thing. How
can
it?”

I really didn’t want Daniel to answer that, but he did.

“Gee, let’s think about this for a sec. I think if two people want it bad enough, they’ll find a way. Hell, there are books, songs and movies that tell that story—that very old, indisputable and applicable story. But hey, I guess I’m no expert either, and it appears I’m irrational and unrealistic. We better defer to your rational analysis of our situation, right?” Daniel made sure to lace his surrender to my position with acid.

I closed the conversation by simply saying, “Thank you for understanding, Daniel. Though your tone suggests that this may, indeed, be the end to us, is that so?”

“No, Maggie, it isn’t. The end of us came by way of your fear of love after loss, and your resignation that your life is as good as it will ever be. I won’t take the fall for this stalemate, you have to own it, darling.”

Daniel didn’t wait for a reply; he ended the call just like that. I held my phone out to confirm the disconnect, staring at the screen that read, “Call ended, 11:19 PM.”

***

I couldn’t sleep after the call with Daniel. Torn up and splattered with emotional blood, I felt like I’d been in a boxing ring with no access to the rulebook. My awkward punches missed the mark while the mark laid perfect punches at me. I knew I was to blame; Daniel’s remark about my fear and resignation was the knock-out punch needed to win. And there was no possibility of a re-match; I’d have to deal with the loss permanently.

It was two o’clock in the morning, Sunday, so I wasn’t worried about work. Coffee sounded good, so I slogged to the kitchen with Cody at my heels. He was groggy, and I saw the confusion in his eyes.

“Cody buddy, it’s not time to get up yet, go back to bed, okay?” He knew the word “bed,” but his confusion remained. I walked over to the sofa and coaxed him up.

“Here you go, hang out here for a while, it’s ok.” My sweet old dog didn’t protest and instantly fell back asleep.

“Okay, Maggie, what the hell are you going to do with your life?” I’d asked out loud, a recurring question for which I’d offered no meaningful answer.

Feeling exceptionally vulnerable, I gave in to the longing for the way things used to be and for the people who occupied that particular space and time.

“You can’t have it back, Mags. Jack’s dead. Michael is
dead
! And you keep killing off men like bowling pins.” I woke Cody with my angry rant and lured him back to the sofa, promising to keep it down.

As the coffee brewed, I grabbed my tattered notebook and a pen. My problem, I concluded, required a thorough and objective examination of recent encounters. I scratched out a list of questions first,

Who?

Relationship status

When do I think about him?

Why do I think about him?

Am I crazy (Y/N)?

Then I began to elaborate,

Tom

Never was a “status”

Occasionally

Wonder about sex with him

N! Just horny

Bill

It’s over, but I really miss him

More than occasionally

I think I loved him and vice versa

N, he needs time

Brett

SO done!

Picking up dog shit

Smell reminds me of him

Nope, NO WAY!

Greg

REALLY done!

Never

I don’t

Hell no!

Adding one more, I finished the list,

Daniel

It’s really over

24/7/365

He moves me

Y, cuz he’s a
zillion
miles away and I still want him!

A fresh cup of joe in my hand, I stared at the results of my pragmatic analysis. Thinking back on a correction he made just hours ago, I made quick change to my adolescent embellishment,

Daniel

It’s really over

24/7/365

He takes me places I’ve never been

Y, cuz he’s 1600 miles away and I still want him!

Furrowing my brow, I examined my scribbles then inhaled sharply, “Holy shit. I love Daniel.”

CHAPTER 12

S
omething’s in the Err

“A
re you sitting down?”

“I’m still in bed, Katie. Christ, what the hell time is it, anyway?”

Katie was obnoxiously intrusive since the day she officially began planning her wedding. Quaint enthusiasm had turned into excessive micromanagement, and I was quickly tiring of it.

“Here we go again, ol’ lady. It’s almost six o’clock and I know for a fact you get up at five during the week, so don’t give me a hard time,
sis
.” How Katie could be so oblivious to my mood was beyond me.

“Can I get a fucking cup of coffee first, or is that task not included in your wedding plan?” Each word was hurled with precision.

“Okay, fine, make your coffee and I’ll be over in a few. And enough of the ‘F’ bomb.” Katie hung up before I could object.

It was Saturday and cold as hell outside. I wanted to stay in bed, maybe turn on the tube and watch a movie, or dust off the paperback on my nightstand and finally finish the damn thing. The one thing I
didn’t
want to do was deal with Katie at six in the morning. Shit, the sun hadn’t even come up yet.

Cody sensed my agitation and offered a sweet wake-up kiss—a gesture I rarely took for granted.

“Thanks, buddy, I love you too.”

Wiping the slobber off my leg with my robe, I found my slippers and lumbered to the kitchen.

January turned into February as uneventfully as I turned fifty-six. My folks couldn’t make it to Denver, and Katie was overly consumed with where, exactly, her destination wedding was going to take place. She’d emailed an apology, haphazardly embedded in a message about the location of her nuptials,

Mags, help me! I love the idea of Napa, but not in July. It’s getting too late anyway. The venues book up so fast. What do you think about somewhere sunny, with lots of beaches, like the Caribbean? Would people travel there? Would you? Oh shit! Today’s your birthday! I’m sorry, Mags…do you have anything planned?!

In fact, I did. I’d made reservations (for one) at my favorite little Italian place. After a fabulous four-course experience, I’d ducked into an indie movie theater and saw a charming foreign film,
Gloria
. Apparently, life can begin at any age, in Chile anyway. Home was my destination after the movie, though I was tempted to stop off for a glass of wine. Not comfortable throwing a pity party in public, however, I drove past The Grille, secretly wishing I had someone to share it with. Birthdays had become a nuisance, and I made a pact with myself that night: Only two more birthday celebrations for me—my seventy-fifth and ninetieth (if I’m lucky), amazing milestones worthy of celebration.

The buzz of my phone roused me from my daydreaming. It was Katie.

Coating my words with persuasive sap, I said, “Hi Katie. I’m almost put together, just come on over.”

“Mags, it’s Daddy. He’s in the hospital,” Katie followed her dry announcement with wet sobs.

“What? Katie, what happened? Please tell me.”

My heart raced, and I sprinted to the bathroom with the phone held to my ear. I ran my fingers through my hair, stripped out of my pajamas and jumped into yesterday’s attire. I’d be at her house in less than five minutes.

She told me he was at University Hospital, the new one; its fancy name had escaped me, too. Denver’s roads weren’t bad, but it was so damn cold. All I could think about was the long and dangerous ambulance ride from Georgetown, where they’d been visiting friends. And then there was the record snowfall we’d had in the mountains. Consumed by fear, stark images of a lifeless man being pulled from the still screeching van taunted my raw emotions. I raced to Katie’s house, hoping to elude the grim mirage.

I didn’t know how long I’d been holding my breath when my mother called, “Maggie, where are you? We need you here, dear.”

Mom’s few words triggered ages-old feelings of insecurity. My mother was extremely critical, a trait that had only intensified. She was the last person I wanted to talk to.

“Mom, I know, I’m on my way to pick up Katie, almost there in fact. Then we’ll be on our way. Do you need anything? Have you eaten?”

Changing the subject sometimes worked. Not this morning, however.

“Oh Maggie, what makes you think I could eat anything right now?”

Unexpectedly, I was teleported to the time I suggested that we plan a surprise party for Dad while Mom dismissed the idea and continued washing the dishes, reminding me that he hated being surprised.

“Ok, Mom, I’m just concerned about you, too. We’ll be there in thirty minutes. While I have you, though, are there any updates? Have you spoken with the doctors yet?”