The Muse (5 page)

I wondered how many more times in this man’s life I would have to endure another ‘perfect lover’ comment. “I’ve got two names for you. Randy Hines from your office party and Mike Cotters from the choral group.”

“No judging.” He pointed his finger at me. “That was our deal, remember?”

I stopped all folding and faced him. I took his hands in mine. “You look really happy, and that makes me really happy. So good for you.” I released his hands like I would confetti, and he smiled like a kid who just earned a lifetime supply of strawberry ice cream.

“Of course, there is this one thing about him.”

I rolled my eyes not surprised. “Spill it.”

“It’s nothing.” He waved off my disdain. “Just forget I said that.”

I reached out for his arm. “Oh no you don’t. Tell me.”

He squinted at me. “No.”

“No?”

“It’s no big deal. End of discussion.”

Insulted, I released him. “Fine. Then, you will not get to hear my latest news.”

He squinted more. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

I finished piling my clothes into my bag and then led us back out to his car.

On our drive back to our condos, I couldn’t help myself. I asked Larry if he hung out on Twitter.

“Of course. Everyone does.”

“I was thinking of joining,” I said, tossing a peppermint candy into my mouth.

“Thinking of joining?” He stretched his face. “You speak of this as if you’ve mulled over the pain-staking decision for weeks now.” He opened his palm up to me. “Got one of those candies for me?”

I unwrapped one and dropped it in his palm. He tossed it between his lips and continued. “Listen, you’re not deciding to join the military or a one-way space trip. It’s just Twitter.”

“I know.” I wanted his buy-in, his support, his company as I had fun with this. No one else would get that Twitter would most likely be my big ticket to a social life, even if it was a fake one. “Aren’t you even curious why I want to be on Twitter? Me? Jane Knoll? Ms. Hater of Whiners and Bullshit?”

He took his eyes off of the road and contemplated this in a long stare at me. “It’s pretty obvious to me. So, please don’t make me say it.” He looked back at the road, swerving to get back in his lane. “Twitter’s going to be good for you.”

He got me. I stared at the row of trees lining our community, comforted by their constancy. They never failed one another. They stood proudly together as a unit, beautifying the view for everyone attuned enough to take notice. This jolted me, spinning me into a state of joy. At least for this moment, all was right in the world. “You’re right. Twitter might be just what I need right now.”

“Baby steps for the socially ill at heart.”

I punched his arm. “I didn’t punch your face because I know you’re joking around with me.”

He leaned his face in towards me. “You might want to punch it because this gay boy isn’t joking. You are in need of a total social overhaul.”

I flicked his cheek and we settled into the rest of the drive through our adorable condo community on mute.

A few minutes later, when we returned from the laundromat, I avoided my computer, despite my self-promise that I’d be able to open it when I returned—the prize for being a loyal friend to Larry and being patient with my new obsession.

I didn’t open it because I didn’t want to taste the grit of disappointment. I wanted to imagine that a tweet from her sat ready for my eyes.

Hope sprinkled around me—hope that I refused to squash. So, I poured myself a glass of milk, sat down with my newest Kindle book,
Life in the Balance
, and dove into it embracing this moment in my life when happiness bubbled around me, full of possibility for a peaceful night’s sleep, the likes I hadn’t known for quite some time. In my dreams, Eva could be sipping a glass of wine contemplating the return of her reply to me. This hope for something fun, something new, and something intoxicating protected me from seeking comfort from my computer. I would wait until morning to be disappointed if she hadn’t responded. For this moment, I would cherish the anticipation of 140 characters arriving in my dried-up world like a refreshing spring rain, sailing directly to me over invisible, complicated internet connections.

# #

Not five minutes later, I popped back up and headed for the laptop.

The lure of her reply called out to me. I flipped up the screen and began typing Twitter into my browser. Before I got to the second ‘t’, I stopped myself.

I was acting like an idiot.

I would wait three days. I would not cave. Punishment for caving would be no whipped cream on my strawberry ice cream for a month.

I closed my laptop and went back to my bed. I rolled around tucking a pillow under my backside, then between my legs, then under my knees. Nothing seemed to cure my restless behavior. I folded my hands behind my head and stared up at my ceiling fan. It whirred like a hummingbird, and even that peaceful distraction didn’t stop the tease of what Eva’s tweet might say back to me. I laid there, a zombie to anything not Eva, allowing potential charms to pile up in my mind. Possibility after possibility stacked on top of each other, tumbling down and spilling into all the hollow recesses of my mind.

By two a.m., my back hurt. I got up, went straight to the medicine cabinet, poured a helping of nighttime anti-inflammatories into my mouth and swallowed them bone dry. Rest would soon come.

When my alarm blared at seven a.m., I hit the snooze button. When it rang again, I whacked it with my pillow. By the fifth time, I ordered myself out of bed and into the shower. I prepped for the rough day ahead with two generous scalp scrubbings using my tingly, minty shampoo followed by a long pause under the stream of water hot enough to scald my skin.

Forty-five minutes later, as I drifted into my cubicle, my mouth watered for one of Doreen’s blueberry muffins. Why couldn’t it be blueberry muffin day?

In the first day of my three-day commitment to stay controlled, I succeeded by volunteering to adhere mailing labels to five thousand letters going out to new subscribers of our loyalty rewards program. I sat in the mailroom at a metal folding table with a stack of mailing labels and boxes of envelopes and smiled to myself. I enjoyed the empowerment of self-control.

That night, I went to the movies solo to see a new Jennifer Aniston flick. I stood in line to get my usual movie treat—a large bucket of popcorn, buttered, and a jumbo Coke. I eyed the popcorn guy as he drizzled butter on his customer’s popcorn. The longer I stood there, the more conscious I was of the oversized shirt I wore to conceal the fact that I could no longer fasten my top button. I hated the way I looked. I looked down at my loose shirt and cringed as if I’d only just opened my eyes and saw its pink-and-white vertical stripes for the first time.

I backed away from the line and watched the movie hungry, stirred by another incredible dose of empowerment.

By day two, I could’ve faced a sea of buttered popcorn and not have been tempted.

I swam in self-control paradise.

The internet didn’t even tempt me. Well, at least not for the first thirty minutes of my workday. At right about the point that I typically logged on to check for an email from my mother, I started questioning things, like what if Eva had responded and waited for me to reply? I would never
not
respond to someone who walked by and said hi. I would never ignore someone’s smile without reciprocating. I would never in a million years wave off someone’s effort to dig deeply and understand the complexities of hating Old Bay seasoning if asked. I was not a bitch. Neither was CarefreeJanie going to be.

I logged on braving all for the sacrifice of whipped cream and clicked right over to my mentions to be the bigger person in this situation and answer the lovely girl if she had mentioned me. I hated being ignored and I refused to start playing that bitch who did it to others as some sort of payback for being wronged throughout her entire life.

So, there I went to my mentions tab. Wouldn’t you know it? I didn’t have one lousy mention from anyone, especially from Eva Handel. My heart sank. I tossed my head down on my desk and groaned. Not only was Eva just like every other unattainable person in life, but now I couldn’t even mourn this fact over a bowl of strawberry ice cream smothered in whipped cream.

By my afternoon break, anger seeped through my bloodstream. How dare she ignore my tweet? I didn’t get it. Maybe Jane Knoll would be afraid to confront her, but CarefreeJanie was no wimp. No. I created her to be equal to the likes of someone who could carry a room full of people despite wearing mismatched shoes. I created a super woman who was not only a hottie, but someone smart, witty, and someone who didn’t take anyone’s crap.

I put on my best CarefreeJanie hat and retweeted my tweet to her. If that didn’t blanket her with some guilt, what would? CarefreeJanie didn’t need selfish tweeps in her social circle. She would only accept interactive, friendly, and maybe the occasional debater to show off her challenging side. That’s right, CarefreeJanie was not only beautiful and worthy of interaction, but she would also become someone whom others would not want to miss. She’d be listed on Twitter. Listed under such categories as ‘tweeps not to miss,’ ‘twitters of influence,’ and I would never leave off from this list ‘successful writers.’

A smile stretched across my face. My head buzzed. My heart galloped. I loved being CarefreeJanie so much more than plain Jane.

I dove head first into the fun with my retweet.

Larry would be so proud of me.

# #

Within two minutes, I rechecked Twitter. I hovered over the mention button for several seconds then finally clicked it, squeezing my eyes shut, inhaling deeply. Then, shaking off my fear of not seeing her tweet, I braved all and opened my eyes to a squint. There before me, rested a tweet from Eva Handel.

My heart ballooned.

“Does it help that I adore Baltimore’s beloved colors, orange and purple?” she asked. Her picture flirted with me, beckoning me to answer right away.

A smile too big for my face blossomed. I bit down on my lower lip, easing up on its pull across my face. That didn’t help. I read her tweet five times before looking away to find Sanjeev standing behind me with a clipboard in his hand. I jumped forward in my seat.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “You looked deep in thought and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

I arranged my head in such a way that it covered my screen. “No problem. What’s up?”
What’s up?

“Katie mentioned that you were interested in speaking at the next quarterly meeting. I just wanted to come by and thank you for that.”

“Did she?”
Did she also tell you that she can’t spell the word ‘definitely’ or ‘separate’ and that I have to correct her each time? Hmm?
Ms. Graphic Designer of the Year messed with the wrong girl. She knew I’d rather die than make a fool of myself.

He draped his arm over the clipboard. “I’ll send you the topic points to cover for the marketing division in a few days. I’ll try to make it fun.”

Fun?
Fun was watching Adam Sandler in “The Water Boy.” Fun was watching Larry try to pick up a straight guy. Fun was not humiliating myself.

“Fun. Yes. Great. Uh. I should get back to work.” I managed a weak smile.

He nodded. “Right, then.” He turned and walked away, bouncing in his long stride.

Two seconds later, Doreen rounded my cubicle wall. “That bitch.”

“I know, right?” I mirrored her dropped jaw. “I’ll figure out some way to get back at her.” I winked at her and spun back around to face Eva’s tweet again. Her cute words played on my eyes. I adored how they sat next to my @CarefreeJanie Twitter handle.