Liar
January, 1998
After applying Neosporin to my scuffed knees, I dress myself in my most comfortable and sexy outfit. Lucky brand jeans, a white tank top, and my super low v-neck merino wool sweater. It’s the most beautiful color of lilac, and I just love how it hangs off of my left shoulder. Even though he won’t be able to see me through the phone, I still take extra time to pick out my prettiest bra and panty set and, of course, spritz on the same Carolina Herrera perfume I wore last night. The smell makes me woozy with excitement. I light a fire in my obnoxiously massive fireplace and pour my favorite St. Francis Zinfandel into an even more obnoxiously massive wine glass. I’ll need it. Before I make the call, I sit on the hearth and wonder how many other women are feeling just like I am right now, struggling with doing the right thing and the thing that feels right. I’ll never know, because this is isn’t the sort of thing you find a support group for. What a nice idea though. I mean, wouldn’t it be great to sit in a circle with other cheaters and ask things like:
“Why’d you do it?”
“Do you ever get over the guilt?”
“Does the desire to do it again intensify or fade with time?”
It would be comforting to surround myself with women who’ve been at this same crossroad, to question those who have made the same mistake as me and listen to why they’re grateful, or not so grateful, that they chose as they did. Unfortunately, it’s a free pass from resolution that I’ll never have because as far as I know, there is no support group for good girls gone bad wanting to be good again.
Attractively dressed and wine glass full, I’m ready to make the call. But I better not call him from the house phone; he might have that new caller identification thingy that people keep talking about and I can’t chance him stalking me when this is done. Dammit, I left my cell phone at work! I have to call him though…I gave myself permission, and I can’t wait until tomorrow, the suspense will kill me! I’ll take my chances that he’s not a psycho stalker and use the house phone. It should be okay since this is the only time I’m ever gonna call.
Right, Chrissy? Right.
My hands are trembling as I dial. What if he thinks I’m crazy for calling him so quickly? My single girlfriends say they always wait a week before even returning a call from a guy. Jesus, there are so many dating games these days. But I guess I shouldn’t let that bog me down because it’s not like I’m dating or anything. I just wanna hear the sound of his voice, feel beautiful one more time, and then forget all of this ever happened.
Ringing, ringing, ringing, and then… oh shit.
“Hello?”
His voice is deep and hopeful. I hear music in the background, but not the youthful angry kind I expected to hear like Rob Zombie or GodSmack. This music is charming.
“Hi, is this…Leo?”
Oh Lordy, here we go.
“Chrissy?”
Am I really doing this!?
“I know I told you I wasn’t gonna call but…“Yep…I’m doing this.
“No, I’m glad you did. I’ve been dying to hear your voice again.” No games with this guy.
“I guess that’s why I’m calling…to hear your voice just one more time.”
“Explain again… What’s up with this one more time business?”
“It’s kinda obvious isn’t it?”
“No.”
“We had a great time last night, but I’m twenty-eight and you’re only twenty-two. I have a career and you have…well, you have college.”
I was shooting for cute honesty, but I think I sounded condescending.
“So what.”
God, this was a mistake.
“Leo, how on earth would I explain you to people…my friends and co-workers? They would think I lost my mind.”
“Funny. Last night you didn’t strike me as the type of person who gave a shit what anyone else thought.”
Actually, it’s not as funny as it is sad. I usually do care what everyone thinks about me, but not last night, not when I talked to him. I mean, he was just some young guy out with his buddies, and I was a married chick having a cocktail with a co-worker. I didn’t think he mattered much. There was nothing I wanted from him and nothing I could give him. But, almost immediately after we started talking, I knew something was wrong. I was a version of myself I had never experienced before. A version that felt incredibly natural and dangerously exciting. Oh God, what the hell is happening to me!?
“Tell me where you are. I wanna see you.”
“Now?!”
“Why not?”
Think fast, girl.
“Well, for starters, I’m exhausted from last night, and I have a big day at work tomorrow.”
“C’mon, I just want to talk to you in person. I promise that’s all that’ll happen.”
He makes me feel dizzy and delightful.
“What’s that music from?”
“Braveheart. And don’t change the subject. What’s your address?”
“Leo, there’s no way! Besides, isn’t it a school night for you?”
“Very funny. Look, I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal about college. I would’ve been done a year ago if I wasn’t working full time.”
It really is admirable. He goes to one of the most expensive private colleges in the Bay Area and he’s financing most of his education on his own. What he’s overcome to get this far is amazing. I wanted him to tell me more last night but we ran out of time.
“Forget my age and think about our conversation last night. Connections like that are either total luck or made by a higher power. Don’t we still have to figure out which one brought us together?”
I kinda do want to get to the bottom of that myself. But, there’s no friggin’ way he’s coming to my house. It’d take three hours alone to take down all of the pictures of me in a wedding dress.
“I’m serious. Last night you refused to give me your phone number and your last name, and you told me you wouldn’t be calling me, which I don’t understand at all. But here you are now, and I just want a chance to get to know you better, go on a real date. What’s wrong with that?”
There was nothing wrong with that, it’s how things are supposed to be. Girl meets boy, girl is crazy for boy, boy asks girl out on date, girl accepts and hopes he’s “the one”. For the first time, I understand the anxiety my single friends feel when they meet someone new, someone with “husband” potential. They’re constantly questioning how much of themselves to give, always scared it’s too much and they’ll scare the boy away. So, they hold back, never revealing their true heart’s desire, only to get short changed in the end. You’d think a twenty-something-year-old single gal on the hunt for love would lay it all out on the line to get true love. But NOT the ones I know. Instead of speaking to the “husband” potential from the heart, they refer to their cheesy dating books and try to pre-plot his next move so that they can one up his probable lame behavior. I see the same song and dance all the time. No single person I know has the courage to break the cycle. No one has the guts to be vulnerable!
Leo thinks I’m a single girl, and right now he’s wearing his heart on his sleeve for me to laugh at or to take (no lame behavior with this guy). I wonder, how would I respond to his pleas to date me or his request to come over and talk if I was single? Would I reciprocate and show him my heart or would I doubt his sincerity and play with his? Gosh, I think I would show him my heart but that would be so scary because what if, somewhere down the line, he rejected it. It seems safer to be the one to hold back a bit, to be the one in control of the game. But isn’t that why I know so many unhappy single people? Come to think of it, isn’t it what my husband has done to me for so many years?
“You there?”
“Yeah, I was thinking about what you just said, and while it’s tempting, it’s just not that easy.”
“I’m not trying to make this hard for you.”
Jesus! Why does his voice have to sound like that!? It makes pretend single girl want to show hot college boy a lot more than her heart! This is insane!
“You know what…I should probably go. I’m sorry…this was a…”
“Okay, okay, okay, since you won’t let me come over and you won’t commit to a date with me, I’ll have to do whatever I can to keep you on the phone for as long as I can.”
“Oh yeah…how do you plan on doing that?”
“Tell me what you’re wearing.”
Before I know it, pants are off and hands are in places never before traveled…since before my bath anyway. He’s doing the same, but for some reason I get the feeling he’s a frequent flier to his South Pole. Is this how young guys are these days? Most guys my age think it’s “gay” to masturbate (or at least they pretend it is). But, judging by the sound of things on the other end of this phone, I’d say they’re missing out big time! This guy’s not shy about what he’s doing to his body, and it’s the single most erotic thing I’ve ever been a part of. His breath is steady, not exaggerated, and it’s letting me know exactly what he’s feeling. When he speaks there’s a confidence in his commands that makes me blissfully obedient. I do everything he tells me to do, and for once, I don’t fake a single move. He truly wants me to satisfy myself and finally, for the first time in my life, I cross the line. I feel it coming on like a tsunami, and it’s so much better than I’ve read about or heard my friends talk about. In fact, an orgasm is damned amazing, I think my friends have been lying about having as many of them as they say they do. If this happened to me on a regular basis, I’d be Skippin’ to my Lou, singing Zippity Do Dah and handing out Fourth of July sparklers to anyone and everyone. I’d be one happy mother-f*cker. But regrettably, this has never happened to me before. I’m trembling, and tears are flowing at the realization of having waited twenty-eight years for this feeling. I can barely breathe thinking of a lifetime ahead without it.
“Are you okay?”
“Oh my God yeah, that was amazing Leo.”
“Are you sure? It sounds like you’re crying.”
“Just overwhelmed, I’ve never done that before.”
Obviously, he thinks I’m referring to the phone sex.
“Me neither. I loved it.”
And then, out of my euphoria and completely out of my ass, I say the words I’m fairly certain one is never supposed to say to a stranger they just had phone sex with.
“I think I could fall in love with you.”
Noooooooooo! I did NOT just say that!
Silence and then, “I don’t feel the same way.”
Uh-oh there’s that humiliated feeling vulnerable people hoping for true love get.
“I know I could fall in love with you.”
This is a no-win situation for me. I was damned if he said it and damned if he didn’t. I have to put a stop to this! But I can’t tell him I’m married because then he’ll think I’m some suburban trashy whore who got bored one night and picked up a college kid for shits and giggles. That’s not who I am, but I won’t be able to convince him otherwise. There’s no way out of this. I just need to suck it up and tell him the truth.
Finally, after two hours of delaying the inevitable with conversation that does nothing more than confirm the fact that I could fall in love with the guy, I decide it’s time to drop the M bomb.
“Leo, I have something to tell you, it’s the reason why I can’t see you, and I have a feeling you’re gonna hang up on me.”
“I doubt that.”
“No really, listen to me. I didn’t expect to meet you last night. I’m not in the position to hang out with a guy at a bar and talk to him until the sun comes up. Not to mention all of the other stuff we did in my car. You were just there last night talking about something fascinating and you drew me in for what should’ve been a short conversation. But then…”
“What’s your point? Because so far I still want to see you again.”
“Leo, I’m, I’m, um, I’m… engaged.”
Engaged!? Did I just say engaged!? I was supposed to say married!
What the hell is wrong with me? No, no wait, this is good! It’s not a total commitment like marriage and although it’s sleazy, it’s somewhat conceivable that someone could slip up before tying the knot. I may be able to escape this with a morsel of dignity. I proceed to tell him that I’m engaged to be married in July to a guy who I’ve been dating since high school, and I’ve never cheated on him, until now. Other than the engagement part, all of the other stuff is true.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry for what? For meeting me? I’ll admit the timing is bad, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that we probably have something better going on than what you have with that other guy.”
Leo’s claim that my relationship with my husband isn’t all that special makes me irritable. I married a good guy, a guy that would never do to me what I did to him. All of my energy has to be on repairing the damage done to him and not on this insanity. Right now I need to end this, this game I’m playing alone.
“Leo, regardless of how crappy my relationship with him might look, I have to figure out where to go from here. We’ve been together a long time, and I have to show some consideration for that right now.
Can you understand that?”
“I understand your world turned upside down last night. I understand you never thought you could spend eight amazing hours with a twenty-two-year-old guy you met at a bar. I understand we have more in common than either of us thought was humanly possible. I understand that you called me tonight to say goodbye but ended up telling me that you think you could fall in love with me. I understand all of that, Chrissy, but don’t ask me to UNDERSTAND why you would ever consider marrying some other guy.”
“I think it’s best if I go now.”
“Just give me your phone number.”
“I can’t.”
“C’mon, I want a way to reach you.”
“You can’t.”
“Do you live with him?” If he only knew.
“Please stop. On top of feeling terrible, I feel like a fool.”
“Chrissy, think about everything that happened last night and tonight. Do you think stuff like that happens every day?”
No. And it’s making pretend single girl feel like one f*cked up married woman. This is over…now.
“I meant everything I said to you Leo. I really hope you believe that.”
“Just tell me where you live…please.”
Why is this so hard? I don’t even know him.
“You have so much to look forward to. So many years of your twenties ahead of you…your last year of college. All of that needs to be your focus right now. You can’t get wrapped up in my stupid mistakes.”
I made the call. I heard his voice. I felt beautiful one last time. The deal I made with myself is done.
“You’re only twenty-eight, Chrissy, not that much older than me. Don’t give me the “enjoy your young life” speech. Just give me a chance.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t.”
He says nothing, but he doesn’t hang up either. After a few seconds, I press the end call button. Slumped on my Ethan Allen couch, I stare into the perfect fire and sob uncontrollably.
Is Leo a message sent to me to repair a marriage that I didn’t even know was broken? Or is he a sign to run as far away from it as possible? I definitely need a therapist! I put my pants back on and scramble for the phone book. After running down the list of family and marriage counselors, I settle on the first woman I find. Like my gynecologist, I gotta have a woman. How the hell is a man supposed to know what I feel, medically or mentally? Never mind that it’s the middle of the night, I call her anyway.
“Hi, uh my name is Chrissy. It’s, oh geez, its three o’clock, Monday morning. I need some help. I made a horrible mistake. I’ve been married for three years, and I love my husband very much. I, I met someone in a bar on Saturday night and I… I crossed the line. Jesus, I don’t even go to bars! I’m a good person! I have to fix the damage I’ve done. I need help. Can you please help me?”
I leave my contact information on her voicemail and set the tear-encrusted phone back on the charger. I’m so tired but I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again. I repeat his name over and over again in my mind. Leo, Leo, Leo, Leo, Leo. I reach for my wine glass. It’s still full. Apparently he was all the stimulation I needed tonight.