Obsession, Deceit and Really Dark Chocolate (20 page)

“You are so wrong. I wanted to
simplify
things by giving you a title.”

“Husband,” Anatoly said quietly.

“What? Where?” I searched the crowd, suddenly afraid I’d find my ex-husband there.

“That’s how it works,” Anatoly muttered, then glanced at the crowd once again. “We
need
to take this somewhere else.”

“Fine, I’m going to stop by Ooh La La to give Marcus the new
Drama Queen
I bought him. If you come with me we can talk about all this in the car.”

I glared at the tourists and then stormed off toward the parking garage, Anatoly at my side. We didn’t speak again until we were in the car.

“Where’s the
Drama Queen?
”

I gestured at the Cody’s bag by his feet.

Anatoly raised his eyebrows. “I thought Marcus preferred his queens a little bigger than that.”

“Marcus isn’t interested in sharing his throne with any queen that isn’t securely confined between the covers of a book.” I drove the car down the multiple floors and then turned onto the street. “Now, what was all that about husbands?”

“You wanted our relationship to progress at a steady rate, correct?”

“I guess so.” This was beginning to sound like a story problem. I sucked at story problems.

“So what would have happened after I became your boyfriend? What would you have wanted next?”

Yeah, this was a story problem. At least it wasn’t geometry. If the next question was
What is the circumference of my penis?
I’d be screwed.

“Sophie?” Anatoly said, prodding me for a response.

“I’m thinking.” I mulled it over for another half a block before answering. “This is a trick question.”

“No, the question is very straightforward.”

“It’s so not. You’re asking what I would have wanted if you had agreed to be in a committed relationship with me, but I didn’t want anything more than that. There is no
next
for me.”

Anatoly scoffed. “For women there’s always a next. Eventually you would have wanted marriage and I’m not the kind of man who is cut out to be a husband. If I had agreed to be your boyfriend, it would have been the equivalent of promising you a future that I knew I couldn’t deliver.”

“Ah, I see. So you couldn’t give me what I wanted because you didn’t want to disappoint me, is that it?”

“Something like that.”

I gave him a sidelong glance before turning my eyes (if not my full attention) to the road. As sexist as Anatoly’s remarks were, it was true that most women wanted to get married. I had been married once before and it had been a huge mistake, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t do it again and do it successfully. Anatoly wasn’t Scott. Oddly enough his refusal to commit proved that. Scott didn’t have a problem with telling people what they wanted to hear and then breaking his promises later. But Anatoly clearly wasn’t going to agree to anything he didn’t think he could follow through on. If we started seeing each other again, would I eventually want to marry him?

I thought about my life and the wonderful times I had had with Anatoly during the year we had dated. I had loved arguing with him and laughing with him. And I had really loved sleeping with him.

If I married Anatoly I could have the very things the average girl on JDate dreamed of: a sexy,
tall,
Jewish husband and a mother-in-law who lived on another continent. Did I want what the JDate women wanted?

No. Absolutely not. Some people were meant to be married. My sister was one of them, and I had no doubt that Mary Ann would eventually tie the knot with some Prince Charming. Marriage was right for them. But the very thought of putting on a long white dress gave me hives. It just wasn’t me. Right now I didn’t even want to live with Anatoly, but that might change given enough time, say five or six years from now when Mr. Katz had gone senile and I needed help getting him back and forth to the kitty-litter box.

We were only a few minutes away from Ooh La La at this point, and it was clear from his glazed over expression that Anatoly thought the conversation had ended, so I probably should have let the whole thing go. But instead I blurted out, “I want to be Susan Sarandon.”

Anatoly’s glazed expression was replaced by one of complete confusion. “Did I miss something?”

“I want to be Susan, and in a few years I might want you to be my Tim Robbins.”

Anatoly gave me a funny look but didn’t say anything as I turned the car onto Fillmore. I held my breath, waiting for him to say “Yes! I want to be Tim!” but it didn’t happen. I should have known we weren’t going to work anything out. Why had I ever wanted to be with this person? And why wasn’t I over him?

I took a few minutes to search for nonmetered parking since neither Anatoly nor I had any change, but I wasn’t having any success. Eventually I gave up and pulled into a metered spot on one of the side streets. I leaned over Anatoly to grab the Cody’s bag and my hand brushed against his leg. The man could win the Tour de France with those legs. Well-defined calves, solid thighs. I used to love watching those muscles tense when I—

“Having a hard time?”

“Huh?” I looked up at Anatoly, who was smirking.

“Are you having a hard time getting the book? You’ve been down there awhile.”

I grabbed the book and jerked back up. “Just stay with the car in case a meter maid shows up. I’ll be back in a minute.” I left the keys in the ignition and jumped out, slamming my door a little harder than necessary.

My cell rang right as I turned the corner. The words on the screen read Unknown Number.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Sophie.” It was Darth Vader. “I may like to dress up like a koala bear, but I have the temper of a wild grizzly.”

“Okay, who—” But before I had a chance to finish my question there was a beep. Someone else was calling me. “Hold on for a second,” I instructed, and then clicked over. “Hello?”

“Hi, Sophie, it’s Johnny.” He sounded much less cheerful than usual.

“Johnny, I’m on the other line right now, can I call you back?”

“Yeah, okay, but I sort of have some bad news. Well, not bad news exactly, but it’s not good. I can’t believe I’m doing this—I don’t want to do this.”

“Johnny, what are you talking about?”

“I just talked to the boss man, you know, Fitzgerald. I had invited him and his wife to come to my housewarming party and he had said yes, which is great because it could really help my career if Fitzgerald starts to consider me a friend, I mean assuming I stay in politics, which I might.”

“Johnny, can we hurry this up?” It seemed rude to keep the leader of the dark side on hold.

“Oh, sorry. Like I said, I just talked to Fitzgerald and I happened to mention that the woman who interviewed him for the
National Review
was coming to the party and he got all wiggy and kind of mad. He said he wouldn’t come if you were there and I know I should stand up to him, but I really need my job, Sophie. The rent on my new place is super high and I just signed the lease and—”

“Johnny, it’s fine.” Weird, but fine. “We’ll talk more about this later, okay?” I clicked over without waiting for him to answer. “Are you still there?”

“You put me on
hooold!
” Darth Vader shouted. Well, he didn’t really shout, Darth Vader doesn’t have those kind of vocal chords, but his voice box did seem to be on a louder setting. “How could you put me on hold when I was in the middle of threatening you?”

“Oh, is that what you were doing? Because normally when someone threatens you, they don’t mention koala bears, or cats. And here’s an FYI, if you want to leave someone an ominous note you shouldn’t sign it with a Pink Panther sticker. You know what you need? An image consultant. Who does Cheney use? He always comes across as
really
evil.”

“Just stay out of my business, or else!” he said.

And then there was a dial tone.

When I got to the salon, Marcus was walking a client to the door. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite authoress.” He introduced me to his client, Dee Dee something, and then, after exchanging a few air kisses, sent her on her way. “I hope you aren’t trying to whisk me away for a late lunch. My next client is in the girl’s room as we speak.”

I handed him the book.

“You bought me a new one?”

I nodded.

Marcus studied me for a moment. “Why do you seem discombobulated? Is there something else?”

“Darth Vader likes to dress up like a koala bear.”

Marcus paused for a beat. “He said that?”

“Yes, but he has the temper of a grizzly.”

Marcus toyed with one of his dreadlocks. “Maybe this guy isn’t Darth Vader after all. Maybe he’s an Ewok with a cold.”

“Ewoks are nice.”

“Not always. They almost cooked Luke and Han Solo when they first met them.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Sophie, how can I help you with this? This is nuts!”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Um,
yeah!
”

“I’ve been threatened by a cat-loving Ewok with a cold.”

We were both quiet for a minute and then simultaneously burst into peals of laughter, attracting the quizzical looks of the other people in the reception area.

“I assume you have no idea what number the Ewok was calling you from,” Marcus said once the giggles had subsided, “since you are the last person on the planet not to have caller ID.”

“I’m not the last person on the planet without it, there’s still my mother. Besides, it wouldn’t have done me any good. This guy called me on my cell and his number came up as unknown….” My voice faded out as the full significance of what I was saying dawned on me.

“He has your cell number now?” Marcus’s smile disappeared and he took a step closer. “Sophie, when you said you got a note from Darth Vader did you mean he
sent
you a note or did you find it somewhere?”

“I found it taped to my front door. He knows my home phone number, he knows where I live and now he knows my cell number.” I swallowed and stared down at the Nokia that was still in my hands. “This is one resourceful Ewok.”

Neither of us laughed this time.

“Do you think I should report this to the police?” I asked.

“Maybe.”

“They won’t do anything.”

“Not a damn thing,” Marcus agreed.

“Do you still think that these threats are related to what happened to Eugene?”

“At first I did,” Marcus said, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “But now I’m not sure. Politicians are crazy, Sophie, but they’re not usually this kind of crazy. This is more San Francisco-State-stoner-college-student brand of crazy. I’d chalk it all up to a prank, but the fact that this guy took the time to find out your cell phone number
and
your address shows that he’s at least somewhat serious.” He put a hand on my shoulder and his face was painted with concern. “Sophie, you may have another stalker on your hands.”

I bit into my lip. Last time I had been stalked it had led to a near-death experience. “Why does this always happen to me?”

“I have no idea, honey, but I’m thinking you must have been a serious bitch in a past life.”

“Great, Marcus, that’s just great.” A woman came out of the restroom and, upon seeing Marcus, removed her hair from its ponytail. “I’ll let you get back to work,” I said, and turned to leave.

“Wait. Do you really think you should be alone right now?”

“I’m not alone. I have my nemesis waiting for me in the car.”

“Your nephew?”

“Anatoly.”

“Anatoly’s with you?” Marcus’s tone reflected his relief. I wasn’t so sure that I shared the sentiment. Alone I was more vulnerable to attack, but with Anatoly I was just more vulnerable, period.

I found Anatoly and my car exactly where I had left them. I slipped behind the wheel just as he was hanging up his cell phone.

“You’re not my koala bear, are you?” I asked.

Anatoly gave me a funny look. “Is that some kind of sexual innuendo?”

I shook my head and started the engine, but before I could push the car into Drive Anatoly put his hand over mine. “Sophie, when is the last time you talked to Melanie?”

“She called me around five o’clock last night, but I didn’t get the message until after eleven. I haven’t been able to reach her since. Why?”

“She called me several times yesterday,” Anatoly said. “She wanted to know what I found out about that letter. I was waiting until I met with Tiff to call her back, but she hasn’t been answering her phone. She still isn’t.”

My hand mechanically clutched at the strap of my seat belt. “How many times did she call yesterday?”

“Four,” Anatoly said, “and now she’s not responding to my messages…or my e-mails. This visit to Marcus reminded me that one of her messages said that the only time she would be unavailable was between two and three-thirty today because she was getting her hair done at some place called Changes Salon.”

“Maybe we should call there.”

“I just did. She never showed up.”

I was silent for a very long time.

Finally Anatoly cleared his throat. “Would you like to go to her house with me?”

“Yes,” I whispered. It was the only word I could manage.

Anatoly nodded. “Why don’t we go back for the Harley. It’ll get us there faster.”

14

I used to be a perfectionist, but not anymore. I finally realized that it’s much healthier to just live in denial.

—C’est La Mort

ANATOLY WOVE HIS HARLEY THROUGHT THE TRAFFIC ON HIGHWAY 101
while I embraced him from the back of the bike. I was trying to figure out what I was feeling. I wanted to be angry—angry at Melanie for scaring us like this—but that didn’t work because I wasn’t going to allow myself to be scared. Melanie was one of those people who always sent her Christmas and birthday cards out on time and always returned her phone calls. Unless she had undergone a personality transplant, there had to be something very, very wrong.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to calm myself. “Wrong” was such a loose term. If Melanie, who had never indulged in more than two drinks on any given day, had, in a moment of despair, gotten hammered, she would have considered that wrong—so wrong she would have likely locked herself in the confessional with some priest to repent. That was the kind of “wrong” I could live with.