The Last Place She'd Look (23 page)

WOMEN LOVING WOMEN...STRAIGHT WOMEN SHARE THEIR SECRETS would be a round-up of anecdotes told by married, divorced, and single women who have at one time or another had an affair with another woman. Was the other woman gay or straight? Was it a one-night stand? Did they do it to please a man? Did they do it because a man had hurt them? These and other questions would be explored as well as female affairs in history and quotes from noted psychologists and therapists.

This article would be relevant for COSMO because in the November issue the article "Being a Gay Woman" appeared in your magazine. Since the majority of your readers are heterosexual women, I think my article might be closer to home for them.

I called Jessica and left a message:
Missing you, would love to see you
. But I knew that weekends were her busiest time of the week for open houses and new clients.

On Monday, Derrick called me, desperation in his voice. “I need to see you; can you meet me in the valley? Right over the hill near Laurel Canyon?”

I didn't really want to go, but I felt I owed him closure. So I agreed to meet for coffee, midday. I positioned myself at the back table of
Starbucks
in Studio City, on the corner of Vantage Avenue, with a direct view of the door, casually reading
Elle
magazine while I waited. Three pages into “Hot New Handbags”, I noticed him enter, walking towards me.

He sat down in the wooden chair facing me, gazing into my eyes piercingly and with purpose, as if to punctuate the joyousness of his delight. His facial expression said, “She's a pretty one. How lucky am I?”

His eyes continued to focus on mine, unwavering, seemingly unaware of our surroundings or the young, scantily clad actresses lining up for lattes inches away from our electrically charged optic lock.

“My day got a whole lot better the minute I sat down here.”

As I glanced up at his piercing, elated eyes, I felt myself begin to glow.

“Don't you want to get a coffee first, Derrick?”

“No, I'm good. I just had to see you.”

When Derrick looked at me, with caring eyes, he made me feel decades younger. He's such a loving soul, maybe my picker was broken and I was wrong. Was this man my answer and I was too clueless to see? Would his presence in my life be big enough to stop my wondering? Maybe the issue all along was not men or women, but finding the right person to make me feel loved, all the time. It was a heady moment. I sipped my mocha ice blended, stirring the ice, searching for more liquid, breaking his gaze, so I wouldn't be swallowed up as his eyes continued to drink me in.

During our conversation, he said “safe” and “dysfunction” frequently; no doubt remnants from therapy sessions following the dissolution of his marriage.

“I have something really important to tell you,” he said, purposefully. “Our time together has been magical; we both know that. I can never forget a minute of it. But the other night's limp soldier is proof that magic can't last. No matter what happened with us, my life is in Chicago.”

“I know that,” I responded calmly.

“Being with you gave me the courage to see myself as a new man. Our time together prompted me to get into cross training. I'm in this group with 15 others, including a web designer named Anita. She and I have gone to dinner, but haven't slept together, yet. I really like her. I think when you and I were together the other night, I was thinking about her. I could never…two women…you know what I mean?”

I sighed deeply, knowing all too well what he meant. I did not feel rejected, but instead, gently released. It was a warm, positive feeling.

“Let's go,” I said, standing, gently ushering him out the door.

Standing on the street corner, I kissed his cheek. He held me closer. Derrick smelled really good, like hot apple pie on a rainy night. I stroked his face, feeling drenched in hope, of new beginnings for both of us. Grateful for the time we'd spent together. His shoulders and arms were endless, wrapping around me, strong, cocooning me from the world. We both knew this was our last moment this close. As I kissed his cheek again, he tilted his head, so his lips could touch mine. They were big, sweet lips, enveloping. And time stood still in the middle of midday on bustling Ventura Boulevard. Then we were officially making out, as time passed and we were magnetized, smooching it up, one last time, for any passerby to see.

I heard a car's brakes screech, as if trying to avoid a crash.

“Back to work,” I said, breaking the lip lock, which felt like it could last an hour longer unless I took charge. We walked in opposite directions to our cars.

I was now ready to move forward, devoting myself to building a relationship with Jessica, certain of smooth sailing given our harmonious personalities.

When I arrived home there were five missed messages, all hang-ups on my voice-mail. I explored further—all from Jessica. I went to my email, nothing from her. On
Facebook
I had two new friends. Meanwhile, Derrick posted this on my wall:

Thank you for these last few weekends together, some of the best times of my life.

“Shit!” I screamed out loud, realizing he'd posted it for all of my 266
Facebook
friends to see…including Jessica! I deleted his comment, and realized why Jessica might not have wanted to leave a message. I raced to the fridge for a diet Coke.

My doorbell rang. I took a long swig of soda before answering it.

“Jessica,” I said smiling, while opening the door, trying to act like nothing was wrong. “How are you?”

“Who are you, is more like it,” she raged at me. “I was almost in a car accident. I was driving along Ventura Boulevard on my way to show a house, and I saw a woman who looked like MY girlfriend, standing on a street corner swallowing the tongue of some guy. I was so stunned by what I saw, I almost rear ended another car. Luckily my BMW has great brakes. That screech could have shattered glass. Then I go home and learn from
Facebook
, not from you, that some guy, probably the same guy, thanked you for wonderful weekends! Which weekends were you with him, if you were with me the last few? Or were you?”

“I can explain,” I said, clumsily and weakly.

“While you're making excuses, that night you emailed me that you were out “researching” yes, you said researching…is that your word for being a cocksucker!” she yelled, ready to strangle me.

“I love you. I've finally learned that. I was going to tell you tonight. You are the most important person in my life, in my world. I just want to make you happy,” I said calmly, slowly, trying to ease the moment.

“You're dishonest, duplicitous, and cheating with men. That's the worst part. You know how I feel about women who flip-flop. You're a pseudo rug muncher on holiday from dick,” she blurted angrily.

“I want to be with you… it's over. He's gone, back to Chicago.”

“Honesty and fidelity are the foundation of a relationship,” Jessica said, calming down, wiping a tear. In this moment I remembered when we first met, she'd been crying—her last relationship had just ended.

“Yes, I agree,” I said tenderly, trying to wipe her tear. She pushed my hand away.

“Without honesty and fidelity we were never building anything,” she said with conviction. “There's nothing here to talk about. I'm done.”

And just like that she walked out the door and slammed it behind her.

“Wait,” I screamed opening the door, to run after her. But I knew she was mad and inconsolable.

Storming back into the house, I stomped around, first to the refrigerator, opening the door, staring inside, and then slamming the door. I was so ready to be with Jessica, now I've lost her? Just hours ago I had the attention and affection of two people. I have no one to blame but myself. This is a horrible feeling. I need a bath.

After a half hour of soaking in hot water, I called Beth but got her voicemail. Help, I needed consolation and strategy—so I frantically dialed Julia. The phone rang and rang. I got her voicemail too. Just as I started leaving a message, she picked up.

“I am so glad that you're there,” I barked in emotional overdrive.

“What's up? How do you have the time to call me?”

“I went from being the apex in a glorious love triangle to being a turd,” I remarked remorsefully.

“What happened?” her voice was soothing, comforting, and immensely curious.

“My
Facebook
page betrayed me!”

“Let me sign on and see…”

“I deleted it, but for two hours all of my friends could see Derrick's posting on my wall thanking me for these last few weekends.”

“That's nice,” said Julia. “What's the problem?”

“Jessica saw it.”

“Ew, that's bad.”

“She saw it after seeing me standing on a street corner kissing him goodbye.”

“You're kidding me. Public displays of affection are a no-no,” she instructed.

“I know that now.”

“What will you do?”

“Luckily my apartment is currently a Haagen Dazs-free zone. Talking to you is helping ease the sting of dual rejection in the same day. I was loved and adored.”

“Yes, you were, and rightly so.”

“Thanks. Now I'm alone. I should see it as a wake-up call.”

“To do what?” Julia asked, with the calm and authority of a therapist.

“When the old me used to fall down rejected, I'd pick myself up and get online, to a dating site, shop for someone, and go out and date, with a burning intensity to fill the empty void that was newly created, with another live, though usually inappropriate life form. But for the first time, I don't want to meet someone new. I want Jessica. Only Jessica. Being with someone now is about being with her, not just another live body.”

“I'm proud of you. That sounds like progress and maturity.”

“She'll never speak to me again.”

“But you're so charming.”

“She caught me with a man, and thinks I'm a flip-flopper. She called me a cocksucker.”

“Them's angry words. True lesbians don't like when their girls shop around—especially in dickville. Now you know what fiercely loyal looks like.”

“I'm ready to be loyal,” I fired back.

“That's not who she saw kissing a man on the street.”

“Ew, the way you say it, it really sounds disgusting,” I responded, groaning.

“She needs time. You need time,” Julia advised.

“I love Jessica. I need to win her back,” I said with certainty.

“Win? Love is not a lottery ticket.”

“I will work to get her back,” I said, hopeful.

Chapter 31

Help Me to Help Myself and Help You Too

To keep my mind off of dating, relating, and obsessing about Jessica, I dove into my work like it was an Olympic swimming pool and I was an Olympiad in training. I used this time to write and problem-solve simultaneously.

I started by writing a series of pieces under the heading,
Are You Ready for a New Relationship?

The first article began:
Are you looking for a new love too soon after splitting with an old one?
I used my angst to get to my own sane conclusions and pay my rent as well.

There's an old saying that the best way to get over an old love is to find a new one. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth: Experts say that a woman fresh from a breakup shouldn't go on a mad stampede to replace an ex with a new lover.

As part of writing my stories, I interviewed experts: doctors, therapists, and authors of relationship books.

A professor of behavioral sciences said,
“When a relationship ends, it's important not to rush into a new one, but to spend time with yourself in self-evaluation. Develop a sense of your needs; otherwise you run from one mismatched relationship to the next.”

A psychiatric facility treatment leader echoed his sentiments, stating,
“Learning what you want in a relationship isn't easy when you're still reeling from the aftershock of a breakup. Feelings of hurt, anger, disappointment, and intense neediness can cloud your judgment and make you vulnerable to starting—and quickly ending—a string of unsatisfying involvements. That's why you should take a time-out when a relationship ends, giving yourself time to heal, even if you're feeling lonely. It's better than throwing yourself headlong into another relationship.”

Headlong? My middle name is headlong, or is it headstrong? Hello, I'm Headlong Headstrong, the neurotic serial dater. The life span of my relationships is as long as a good haircut. I wish I would've had the good sense to write about this subject months ago—my whole life would have been different—less opera and less pain.

To further focus my life, I went to a yoga class every day. I had about two new friends on
Facebook
every week. No one really reached out to instant message me or visit me, or leave their current life or wife and have sex with me. Most evenings I took a long walk and then ate a small dinner (as seen in the article I wrote for
Shape
magazine entitled
Move More Eat Less, Just in time for Bikini Season
). Eating lighter helped me sleep better. I woke up each morning (alone) refreshed, energized to start the day. I turned my introspective urges into being incredibly productive. I believed that helping others would bring me closer to solving my own relationship issues.

I breezed through writing
Transitional Relationships, the perfect medicine to soothe self-esteem:

It's not realistic to believe that the first person you meet will be the man of your dreams. Don't underestimate the value of a transitional relationship; this type of casual but healthy involvement can do much to prepare you for your next serious relationship. In effect, you can “practice” in a transitional relationship all the things that went wrong in the last one, and feel emotionally ready when the real thing comes along.

One sex therapist said:
The transitional relationship is highly valuable to the emotional mending process, and also gives you the opportunity to explore different types of men. You'll see what you need and want from a man, as well as what you don't. Knowledge may boost your self-esteem. Valuable things can happen that make a person ready for a good, strong relationship.