Shampoo, rinse, repeat.
Have a wonderful night together, travel out of town for work, feel boyfriend/lover retreat to his cave, come back from travel and confront increasing despondency, hear accusations of infidelity, cancel anticipated plans for romantic weekend, REPEAT.
I return from New Jersey and find zero voice messages in response to my two. Cruising down the toll road from Austin International: "Well, I'm guessing you're in another mood over some arbitrary thing you heard me say or not say so... call when you're ready to talk." Star date: last Friday in July.
Star date: last Saturday in July. Two hours of grueling advanced bikram yoga are behind me and Laine is en route so we can make a weekend of it in Houston. I'm to meet her friend, Jason, who's recently relocated to Houston from Austin to work on-site for a newly-landed client. He's 26 years her junior and 12 years mine. "Am I seriously ready to raise another child?" inquires a fellow mom-friend.
No, but then again, aren't all men children? R has the emotional maturity of a 12-year old and he's almost 50. What difference truly exists between a 30-year-old and 50-year-old man? I'm willing to bet the difference is inconsequential. Actually, I'm willing to bet this guy is infinitely more mature- if based only on Laine's description of him. Time will tell.
We check into the Hilton Post Oak and make our way to the executive suite. Thank you Hilton Honors!
From the suitcase I retrieve the red Karen Millen from earlier in the week, though I have zero intentions of being unzipped from it tonight. In fact, I could not care less about meeting Jason - let alone fucking him - considering how wrapped up I still am in the mood spectrum of R. For a guy, R is more mercurial than a 17-year-old about to start her period. Christ. Like Katie Perry's "Hot & Cold," there is no telling which man I'm going to get when I call. Time and perspective cause me to wonder whether R might be bipolar.
Anyway, into the red dress I slip and Laine in her black&white Ann Taylor business chic dress. It's off to that alleged naughty adult play-ground called Maggiano's where the illustrious NOTHING happened in June when R toppled off the edge of his emotional mantle. Tonight should bear a different outcome though, and lo and behold it does. Jason shows up, a strapping young man oozing with confidence and the ability to carry an adult conversation about something other than himself.
From Maggiano's to inside the loop it is a musically-inspired cab ride from one bar to the next until tunes blaring from cab-driver Alex's stereo inspire us to head for Drink Houston. At this four-clubs-in-one we work our way through the Latin club until we recognize the heavy bass beats of the rap room. Phew, finally something bearing a resemblance to Hits 1. A quick glance around the clubs... are we the only white people here?
At an earlier club the bartender misunderstood me when I asked for gin and tonic and somehow heard me say, "I'll take a scotch and water." It would have been simple enough to ask for another drink, Jason even volunteered to correct the error; but I found nostalgia in the glass reflecting on my ex and even ordered another. An hour later at Drink Houston we down crown shots as the DJ pumps Flo Rida through the speakers right behind us. The alcohol, club temps and sexual energy dull rational thinking.
Jason pulls Laine and me to the dance floor, positioning Laine in front and me in back. Flo Rida segues into Rihanna and Calvin Harris and we find our groove. What did Jason just say? Something about never being in this position again? What position is that? That of a dance sandwich? A possible three-way? Hard to say with that heavy bass beat coursing through my head.
We close the place down and Alex takes us back to our hotel. Jason wants to know if he can stay at the hotel so he doesn't have to drive home. Later, Laine will tell me how easily the cab could have taken him home seeing he lives less than a mile away. Funny, not ha, ha. Funny as in interesting.
The buzz wanes and room service fails to take our call. "Let's go see concierge," I suggest. Jason and I walk/run to the elevator. In the lobby we assault concierge with our need to keep the party going. "What? What do you mean you don't serve alcohol after 2? It's a hotel, are you kidding?"
Serious bummer. We walk with mild disappointment back to the elevator, but the mood shifts. Did someone just say, squirrel? The door closes and we distract ourselves with a kiss, a lovely kiss that begs the question: just where exactly is this evening going?
Back in our suite Laine wears a lovely fitted night gown. Jason excuses himself to the bathroom.
"I don't know for sure, but I'm thinking he might want a threesome. What do you think?" Am I really asking this? A lifetime ago my ex made this request of me and I could NEVER go there. Now suddenly I'm throwing caution to the wind... maybe because I'm older, maybe because I have nothing invested in this person I met less than five hours earlier. Significantly more sober, Laine shuts the idea down and frankly, I'm relieved. Things are 99% over with R back home, but they need to be absolutely complete before I move on with someone new.
Jason returns from the bathroom as Laine walks back to finish her night-time routine. "So, I was thinking maybe we could all snuggle," Jason proposes to me.
"Uhm, yeah. Well... talk to Laine. I'll be right back."
I exit for a bio break. Moments later I hear the two of them talking as I wash my hands and face. "I'm going to take the pull-out sofa," Laine tells him.
"Nooo, come snuggle." I change into my night shirt as they continue their discussion on sleeping arrangements. I brush my teeth and exit to find them both in one of the two queen-sized beds.
"All right you two, I'm just gonna... " what? this is a little awkward.
"Come snuggle with us," he invites.
"No, I'm good. I'll just sleep over here."
"Nope, you're coming over here. Come," he commands.
I crawl into bed and our positions aren't much different from the dance floor with Laine in front, Jason in the middle and me in back... all of us falling asleep on our sides. I close my eyes and feel Jason reach back to touch my hip. It's sweet in an odd kind of way. I quickly fall to sleep, but only to stir off and on over the next few hours. An urge to pee wakes me providing the perfect exit strategy from a very crowded bed.
I fall into the empty bed with room to stretch out, cool off and fall asleep once and for all. Jason departs a few hours later, mumbling something about conference calls and brunch with Laine. My head pounds but water sends pain running for the hills and stops the cramping in my left calf.
It's a long drive home following a big brunch and pleasant goodbye at the Grand Lux Cafe. Laine and I say our goodbyes in my driveway back in the ATX and then it's back to the at-times-engulfing loneliness I feel in a post-divorced world. I think about R and anger quickly supplants despair.
I call R's cell wondering why he had to let what would have been a delightful weekend disintegrate into dust. "Look," he says. "I think you're terrific." Oh Christ, spare me the placating about to ensue.
"But, I told you before I'm not going to fall in love with you. I mean, I can come over there and fuck you if want me to but that's all. I just want to fuck you."
And there it is. The ugliest most hateful thing a human being has ever said to me in my entire life. He is completely and utterly dead to me.
Three weeks later a text comes in on a Sunday night:
R: You are laying on your back on my bed. Head falling back and my cock so far down your throat your eyes water. You gag but you welcome my cock. You cannot wait for the punishment you know is coming and you surrender completely.
Me: (seriously?) Hello to you u too.
R: ; )
R: I still desire you...
I think of a message he sent months before when I expressed my disappointment over his desire to return to Austin Dinner Club while we were still dating: "TFB." TFB I texted back then, confused by another digital age acronym. "Too fucking bad" he told me. I think about texting that to him now, but refrain in the spirit of politeness.
Me: And I you (if he was remotely emotionally stable and mature)
R: Come over, while I'm in the mood. You will not be disappointed.
Seriously, "while I'm in the mood?" Isn't that the crux of it all right there? In a second each moment we shared flashes through my head. What I believed was connection and intimacy was only my projection, a fantasy only in my head. I made up it was about us when it was only ever about selfish, childish R. What a narcissistic twerp, but better to learn that in a few months than in a few years.
Me: I have an early flight tomorrow (I lie)
R: Crapooooola. You would have suffered so well.
Me: (Yawn).
R: I miss punishing you.
Me: Yes, I'm sure it would be a blast, but then I'd leave in the morning and the afterglow would eventually fade because I want more and you can't give me that.
R: Live for the moment...
And he drones on and on in such a boring fashion.
R: The wand misses you.
Me: I bought my own (whatever)
The next day a weak apology comes over in a text. Too fucking bad, I think. R can find someone else to punish in the bed as well as out of the bed with his hateful, ugly rants. I don't even want a friendship with this poop stain of a human being.
And like that, the door is unequivocally closed forever. Shampoo, rinse... get out of the shower.
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