The Muse (13 page)

I played a game with myself. If I opened my email and she had not responded, I would never tweet with her again because my heart couldn’t take this kind of pressure. I would chalk it up to destiny. If the universe wanted me to continue flirting with a girl I never planned to meet, then she would email me within the next hour. If the universe planned to protect me from being sucked into this intoxicating vortex, then I would know by my empty inbox. I’d let fate decide.

I set my timer for one hour and then drew a bath.

I lounged back against my bath pillow and soaked up the steam. My head swirled, so I closed my eyes and inhaled deep, rejuvenating breaths. I placed my hand to my chest and relaxed with its beat. I pictured Eva sitting behind me, holding me in her arms. Her hands grazed around my waist, her chin cradled in the crook of my neck. She’d tickle my neck with her lips, dragging her tongue against my skin. She’d tickle my belly button with her fingers and caress me tighter when I giggled. She’d forfeit the tickle for my serious escape into her hands where we’d fondle each other’s palms as we stared into each other’s eyes. She’d say to me in a breathy whisper, “You are so beautiful, my princess. So beautiful.”

My tummy rolled.

I cradled a handful of bubbles and blew on them. Then, I spread some bubbles over my arms, my chest, my breasts, circling my nipples and watching as they hardened. My breathing quickened, my vagina buzzed. The air lightened. The bubbles smelled stronger. My skin felt softer.

Eva Handel, what have you done to me?

An hour later, I emerged, puckered and wrinkled. I sat in front of my computer, scared for what my eyes would see. I opened my email and braved all.

There before me, shiny, new, and bold was my beautiful present, an unopened email from my unknowing muse, the beautiful Eva Handel.

From:
Eva Handel
[email protected]

To:
CarefreeJanie
[email protected]

Sent:
Wednesday, July 25, 2012 8:46 PM

Subject:
Re: a little something I promised you, if you have the time…

If I have the time? Are you kidding me? Janie, it is okay if I call you Janie? Janie, my heart is swelling right now. I wouldn't even know what word to type to express what your story just did to me. I am flushed. I am in love with these characters. I want to hang out with these characters. I want them as friends. The kiss moved me like you can’t imagine… oh Janie, the kiss. You are brilliant. You are talented. You need to tell me where this was published so I can run out, buy a copy and have you autograph it. Where is this available?

Hop on Twitter. PLEASE!

Your newest fan,

Eva

Before the clock could click through a second, I landed on Twitter.

“You are so sweet,” I wrote.

“Oh my gosh, honey, I’m still reeling from reading.”

She called me honey. The word chimed like a beautiful song. “You’re too kind.”

“How do you do it? How do you place words together and make them come alive like you do?”

“See, now you’re making me blush.”

“I wish I could see you blush,” she wrote.

“You realize you’ll always have to flatter me this way now, right? There’s no cheapening out on adjectives after all this gushing.”

“I want more,” she wrote.

I soared high. I floated way past the confines of my condo, somewhere up where eagles hung out. “You’re super inflating my ego.”

“It’s well deserved. You’re very talented.”

We tweeted for almost an hour nonstop. She told me all about her favorite pastime—acting—and how she dreamed of a career in front of the camera. She told me about all of the plays she acted in and how she enjoyed performing in dinner theatres in front of full audiences that clapped and cheered. She asked me questions about my writing process and I made things up as I typed, citing wine as a great muse for stories that required I go deep. She told me about her cat, Jarvis, a Siamese who liked to eat lettuce and hang out on the top of her couch while she read each night. When she spoke about this, I imagined sitting next to her curled up, Jarvis tapping our heads with his paw.

She had just explained her new job to me, and how excited she was to be a part of something fun and stimulating, when she suddenly tossed out a tweet that rocked my world.

“I wish I could kiss you,” she wrote.

“I would love that.”

“Mwah.”

My tummy flipped. “I liked that.”

We continued flirting and chatting about our writing and acting dreams when she said, “So far everything I’ve acted in has been kind of silly. I need something powerful, emotional to get me in the door.” She continued. “I need something more compelling.”

“Who’s been writing your stuff?”

“Me. It’s not my strength. Hey—want to be my writer?”

“Ha. Sure. I’ll just jot a script down on the backside of a napkin next time I’m at Starbucks and send it to you.”

“I’m not kidding. I need something deeper and more meaningful to work with. I’m thinking Sundance Film Festival worthy.”

“Maybe I’ll squeeze some writing in between my other projects and surprise you one of these days.”

“If you write one like your story, I definitely have a future.”

“That is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” I broke into a big smile. “You made my day.” Then for the sheer thrill, I added, “Babe.”

“You just made my day by calling me babe. Mwah.”

“I'm glad.” I stared at her word mwah. Its meaning blew like a gentle breeze across my face. “By the way, maybe it's just because I'm a word girl, but I love the word mwah.”

“Do you just like the word mwah? Not necessarily my mwah?”

My head swirled. I loved flirting with this woman. I surprised myself with how I so easily reached up and plucked wit from the air. de mWords alone mean nothing to me without passion behind them.”

“Can you elaborate? You know, I’m a bit low on understanding deep meanings (wink).”

Her toying tickled me. “I highly doubt that you’re low in understanding anything with deep meaning.” I continued typing. “Okay, here goes: your mwah carries passion; therefore, I like YOUR mwah.”

“Ah, my heart is flipping. Hey, can I get a mwah, too?”

My heart galloped. “Of course. I can't just take and not give. I'm so not the selfish type. So, here you go: mwah and XOXO.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Who? Me?” I asked, giggling like a fool in my condo. The rush intoxicated me. “Do you like it?”

“It’s making it hard to resist you.”

“Who said you have to resist me?” Even my fingers pulsed.

“I wish I could meet you in person,” she wrote.

I couldn’t inhale deeply enough to catch a breath. I needed to exercise some restraint before CarefreeJanie lost complete control and landed me in a heap of trouble. “I must rest this beating heart of mine.”

“What is your beating heart saying? Is it telling you to come close to me?”

My underwear had never been so wonderfully wet before. “Hmm, some thoughts are just better left to remain a mystery.”

“I like mysteries. You know what else I like?”

“Don’t leave me hanging.”

“I really like talking with you,” she wrote.

I moaned and fell over for a brief second to take it all in. “I’m not going anywhere. I enjoy this, too.”

She sent me a wink.

“You know what I really like?” I asked.

“Writing a script for me?”

“Ha. One track mind,” I wrote. “I like your mwahs a lot.”

“Come close, so I can give you a big mwah.”

I closed my eyes and sealed in the warmth of her. “Mwah and a big hug.”

We signed off and I remained glued to my stool, squeezing my legs together to enjoy the trembling and mounting pleasure.

I would never be the same again.

Chapter Seven

I’ve never been a health nut. In fact, describing me as a couch potato wouldn’t be too far of a stretch. I much preferred sitting in a sauna and pretending that body fat melted off on its own than I did mounting a treadmill or pedaling on a stationary bike to nowhere.

Of course, all that would change now I suspected after reading through Eva’s online profiles on various social networking sites. Pictures of her covered in mud, climbing up rope mountains, skiing down steep hills, and pounding volleyballs at other people drove me to this conclusion. Eva was athletic. She ran road races, swam open water, cycled up and down hills, crawled through mud, and tackled every sport known to man, even martial arts. What did this woman not do?

I wanted to be fit and healthy suddenly.

I had joined many gyms in my lifetime only to look like a fool walking in the places. Pretty girls with toned muscles pranced around acting like if they weren’t working out, they’d all of a sudden gain ten pounds of fat and look, heaven forbid, like me. My romp into a gym always started and ended in much the same fashion. I’d sit in my car for a good half hour planning my circuit. Once all people cleared from the parking lot, I’d dash out and hope no one saw me walking in because surely they’d laugh at me for even trying to compete on the level of these beautiful girls and chiseled men. I could just imagine the hushed voices whispering in their heads saying things like ‘this girl better not get in my way.’

I carried an extra twenty pounds and it all gathered around my middle. A convention of fat cells met and partied on, clinging to the hopes I’d keep sitting around watching television and eating yummy treats that dripped of sugar and salt. I didn’t want to be a size two, but I also didn’t want to be one of those who pretended to be in love with my above average size.

Whenever I had entered a gym and stared at all that complicated equipment with its shiny metal and dangerous curvy fixtures, my self-conscious whistle always played a cacophony of noise where reason and logic should’ve chimed in. Upon entering, I typically walked directly to the locker rooms where I’d hide behind the curtain and persuade myself that not everyone stared at me or waited to have a good laugh at my expense. Bullying brought on strange, compulsive behavior like this. It forced people like me to sit in stalls behind curtains and hide until all people vacated the locker room and I could enter without humiliation. Fear of humiliation shrouded me constantly. If someone stared too long at me, cocked her head too much to the side, rolled her eyes too quickly in my direction, I braced for an attack.

The longer I mulled over Eva I ms athletic pictures, the more I decided against going the gym route. I’d start with DVDs and work my way up to gym member. Or maybe just forget this whole stupid idea of working out and Eva Handel and go back to safety mode where my fat tummy and dull hair didn’t matter.