I Love My Side of the Story (11 page)

Fuck him.

She peeks out of the bedroom. “Oh wow.
Look at those, huh? They’re beautiful!”

I’m embarrassed. I can’t help it.

I drop the sweet-smelling symbol of my
inadequacies and walk right out the door. I don’t know where I’m going. My feet
know what’s best and they’re saying it’s time to go –
save yourself
– Run.

“Josh!”

They hit the first stair.

“Josh, hang on.”

Second, third, fourth.

“JOSH!”

“Amber, I’m really pissed off right now
and I just need a minute to think.” Fifth. Sixth. Seventh.

“I love you.”

I freeze. My heart pulses. I feel tears
pulling. “What?”

She touches the banister. “I love you.”

Goosebumps, relief and hope. Like magic.
“I love you, too, Amber.”

Her hand reaches for me, breaks me.
“Just because we’re fighting, doesn’t mean I don’t love you, okay? I need you
to know that.”

My feet walk
to
her now, because there’s nowhere else they want to go. “Wow. I
can’t believe we’re fighting like this.”

“Me neither.”

“I’m sorry, Amber.”

“Me too, baby.”

I’m overwhelmed, humor as armor. “Can I
put the poster up in the hallway?”

“No.” That’s my girl.

Fuck, this is hard. Inhale. “I’m just
mad about the film and finding out that you…”

“Yeah. I know. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s your job. Work is work. I’m sure
you just thought it would come between us.”

“I did!” She looks so relieved, I almost
feel like a dick for having been so mad.

 
We talk for a little while and she
promises to never lie to me again… but I can’t help but think,
this is something you can’t promise
.

The Next Morning

When I wake up, I look up at the ceiling
I’ve seen dozens of times, only now it’s my ceiling, too. Moving in with
someone is a strange feeling. This is the first time I’ve done it and
truthfully, I’m not sure what to do with myself. I feel good, though – physically.
My hangover is gone. Sleep must have done me some good. I turn my head, and see
my sleeping Amber lying beside me, one arm splayed out with the other under her
head as she lies on her stomach. Her face is toward me and her mouth is
slightly open. No drool though, so that’s good. I smile. What if after our
fight, she was lying there drooling? Chuckling, I throw my feet off the bed and
shuffle off toward the bathroom to drain the lizard.

Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I yawn and
start at the sight of my
Taxi Driver
poster. Oh… wow. She hung it while I was sleeping. I step back toward the front
door so I can really take in its beauty. She did a good job; it’s straight and
I can’t see any marks on it. I’ll have to get a frame for it someday. I can’t
believe she did that.

I shake my head, scratch myself through
my boxers and, feeling like a million bucks, go into the bathroom to do my
business. As I brush my teeth, I look at her toothbrush standing up inside a
cup on the counter. After I spit, clean it off, I slide my brush in next to
hers and look at them. They look good there. I could get used to this.

Inspired, KING of my jungle, I stroll
out, tap my poster and whistle myself into the kitchen. I’m gonna make my baby
some breakfast. Oh man, she is gonna love this. Ha ha!! YES.

I clear off the dining table. I dust off
the chairs. I lay the best glasses, plates, napkins. All of it. I do it like if
it were in a restaurant, a film, or a magazine. I can do stuff like this and
make it look good. Maybe it’s the artist in me; who knows. I do a little hop
when I drop grapes in a bowl, thinking someone should paint this whole scene. I
even slice the apples. I feel the excitement building. I know for a fact she is
going to be so happy when she wakes up and sees this! And today? All I want to
do is make her happy.

Pulling out the bagels, I realize it’ll
impress her even more if they’re fresh and hot, so I have to wait. I can’t
toast them ‘til she’s up. Which means it’s time to wake Sleeping Beauty.

As soon as I step out of the kitchen,
I’m assaulted by the fucking flowers glaring at me from the floor beside the
wall, where I left them. How did I walk by these suckers and not see them?
Grogginess? Nah…more like denial. Whatever. I sure as hell see them now. This
mass of fluff has got to go.

I crouch. They side-eyeball me,
whispering a plan, but it’s too late. I pounce, wrestle them into submission
and shove them in a corner, stuffed and gagged by the TV. I point, say out
loud, “Stay there and shut up. I’ll deal with you later.” A Pepto-Bismol-colored
rose flips me off… I shit you not.

“Josh?” Amber calls from the bed.

I jog over, happy she’s awake. “Yeah?
I’m making a bagel. You want one?”

I did well with the breakfast and we
start our morning the way we should on such a big day as this one. We talk and
laugh and I tickle her and it’s fun. When she gets the call that her film is
put on hold, I can see how wrecked she is. When I see the look on her face, the
fear that the best job she’s ever had just went out the window, I want to help her
and make it all go away. I joke with her a bit and then carry her into the
bedroom, lay her down on the bed.
Let me
take care of this, baby
. I pull off her shorts and she does that thing she
did the first night, raising her arms up so I can take her shirt off. The
feeling in my cock when I see this is always unbelievable; the shaft pushing
out from my body as fire rushes in and the muscles just under my stomach,
pulling tighter. I slide her tank top off her body, exposing her breasts fallen
to the sides and beautiful. It feels like I haven’t seen them in a year. I tug
off my boxers and kiss her, tasting cream cheese, toothpaste, and Amber.

She spreads her legs and I pin her arms
enough to let her know I’ve got this, she can let it all go, give it to me to
carry. I press my chest onto her, and feel her nipples harden into me. I push
in, my cock firm and growing by the second. Her eyes lose their edge, the worry
fading. I feel shivers of pleasure roll through us both as her frown
disappears. She breathes and gets wetter around me, the slippery heat hardening
me to full capacity. My eyelids threaten to close, but this is not about me. I
focus on her as she moans beneath me. I ram my tongue into her mouth as soon as
I see her start to get in her head again, bring her back to me by swiveling my
hips in time with my kisses, and move my lips on her in a rhythm matching the
one in my hips. I feel her tighten with each thrust, her pussy gripping me hard
as her breathing shakes and quickens. She grabs my ass and molds it with her
nails, losing herself. I release her mouth, gasp as we separate. She lets out a
yell I know she’s not aware of. She releases control, gives it all to me, to
her body. No more fear. No more anything but us.

The way she sounds. The way she looks.
The way she feels.

I am in awe.

A Sunday Night, Spring

The amount of dishes it took to cook
that salmon and veggies is enough to make me want to kill myself. Me? I like to
eat dinner out as often as I can. It doesn’t have to cost big money. It can be
take-out Chinese food, whatever. I don’t care. But here we are, again doing the
dishes. At least we have a dishwasher. Truth? I hate that, too.

“Hey…Let’s go out for dinner tomorrow.
Thai food, maybe.”

She walks in, carrying the salt and
pepper with our used cloth napkins.

“It’s too expensive to eat out all the
time,” she says, predictably.

“We don’t have to go somewhere
expensive.”

“Everywhere is expensive in New York.
You know that.”

She’s right. But there is something
about doing the dishes that I can’t stand. This and laundry. Man, do I hate
doing laundry. What a tedious bunch of bullshit that is. Tedious necessary
bullshit.

Amber looks over my shoulder and says
that word, “Honey.” I grit my teeth, and wait. “You’ll scratch the pan using
that side of the sponge.” I stop spinning the suds around and look straight
ahead, knowing now she’s going to really spell it out for me. Sure enough…“Use
the soft side. It’ll take longer, but it saves the pot.”

It’ll take longer. Great. Exactly what I
want to hear. I flip over the sponge and she’s right again. It’s taking longer.
Then
genius
happens. I have an idea
that will change my life. As I see her go back out to wipe down the table, I
flip the sponge back over. She walks in, sees it and lets out a big sigh. I feign
ignorance – mouth open, big eyes, the whole bit.

“Let me do it,” she says …and takes
over.

Boom.

Over the course of about a week, I
stretch out this new strategy so she doesn’t catch on, bit by bit. I start
putting the dishes away all wrong. “Honey, the plates and bowls need to be
separated. They can’t go on top of each other like the Leaning Tower Of Pisa.
Here. I’ll do it.” Then the silverware. “Josh…these are in the wrong
direction.” Then, Boom boom boom boom. “Now you’ve got them in the
right
direction, but they’re not in the
plastic dividers they’re meant for. See how the knives are too long for this
space? That’s where the spoons go.” “You’ve put a coffee mug next to a wine
glass. It has to go over with the coffee mugs, so we don’t think we ran out of
them.” “You left suds on the pot.”
“Here.
Give me that.”

Next thing I know, I’ve got a lot more
time to rest up and watch the news.

A Wednesday, End of Spring

Amber walks into the living room wearing
a yellow robe, towel-drying her hair. “How has class been?”

I look up, surprised. She never asks me
about class. “Good. Really good. Thanks.”

She nods and smiles. “Oh, I’ve been
thinking about the theory you have, that everyone’s an animal, and all the
different types and so on.”

I lean back on the couch. “Oh yeah?”

“But I don’t think you’re a Lion. I
think you’re a Horse.”

I laugh. “Oh you do, huh? I can’t wait
to hear this.”

She releases her wet hair and it falls
over her shoulder, the towel hanging from one hand as she holds out the other in
a stop-gesture, laughing, “No wait. Hear me out. Horses are strong…”

“Lions are strong,” I interrupt.

“
Horses
are tall, strong and always there for you. That’s like you.”

I think on it. “Huh. Well, thank you.
It’s hard to find fault with that… except, I know I’m a Lion.”

She holds her tongue, obviously not in
agreement, but amused. “Okay.”

“I am!”

“You’re a horse, Josh. I’m just saying.”

I throw up my hands. “I’m a Lion.”

“You’re a horse.” She walks back to the
bathroom.

I wait a comedic beat, then, “I’m a
Lion.”

I pick up my laptop and open it to find
Inside The Actor’s Studio
on YouTube. I
consider watching Robert De Niro, Sean Penn, or Hugh Jackman, weighing my mood.
Watching these guys is like having a one-on-one mentor session. They’re
amazing. I click on De Niro and put in my ear-buds to hear what he’s got to
say. I look up to see Amber standing in the room and it’s obvious she’s been
trying to get my attention. Yanking out the ear-buds I say, “Sorry, what? Were
you saying something?”

 
“No. Forget it.” I watch her walk out of
the room and think, okay, with a shrug. Put my ear-buds back in, but keep the
volume quieter, just in case. Pretty soon, I hear her call from the bathroom
where she’s getting ready, “Josh?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, you’re listening. So when my mom
and dad are here for lunch…if they ask you about work, can you tell them you’re
working on a play?”

I look up from the laptop. “What? Why?”

She pauses. “Well…they may not
understand rehearsals for class. Just say you’re rehearsing for a play. And
that it pays.”

I look at the screen to see De Niro
smiling that famous scrunched-up smile that seems to tell me,
Women – they’re a mystery
. I hit
pause, drop my ear-buds on the laptop, and follow her into the bathroom. “Why
do I have to say it pays? My
imaginary
play, I mean.”

“It’s just they don’t really understand
the business and they won’t know why you’re not working…”

“
They
meaning
your dad
,” I interject.

“And
they’ll
wonder how you’re going to pay the bills… and you know… they might
ask me if I’m paying them.”

“Oh.” I say and turn away. I stop. Turn
back. “But you don’t pay all the bills.”

Through a forced smile, she nods. “I
know. It’s just, you know how my parents are, Josh.”

“Oh,” I say and turn away again.
“Uh-Huh.”

I go back to the computer. But I don’t
hit play. I know how her parents are…but that’s a cover. Those aren’t questions
she thinks
they’ll
ask.
She’s
asking them…to herself. She thinks
I can’t provide for her. There hasn’t been one month where she’s needed to
cover me, so what the hell is she worried about? Talking about money makes me
uncomfortable. I set the computer on the couch beside me and close it, go to
the window and see the little redheaded teenager looking at me from the
building across the way. He shuts the curtains quickly. Little spy. A text
alert beeps.

David: Let’s grab a beer.

Me: Done.

“Amber! I’m goin’ out.”

As I walk into the hallway, she pops out
of the bathroom, surprised. “What?”

“I’m going to meet David for a beer.”

“When did this happen?”

“When did what happen?”

“You and David going out for a beer?”
she asks, irritated.

“Just now. He texted me. See?” I pull it
out and show her. “Is there a problem with me going out? You go out with your
girlfriends all the time, without me.” I inform her, grabbing a jacket.

“You don’t need a jacket. It’s summer,”
she says, as if I don’t know this.

Truth is, I forgot. The weather’s
finally gotten better. Grabbing the jacket was from habit. But I’m not telling
her that. “I have my keys in the jacket,” I lie.

“Oh,” she says, looking to the bowl
where I always leave my keys. There they are, betraying me. This girl is too
smart for her own good.

I snatch them up. “I thought I did.” I
still have my jacket in my hands because I’m a grown man and can bring my
jacket if I want to.

She looks at it, then at me, then bites
her lip. She reminds me of Reese Witherspoon sometimes – the character
she played in
Election.
She’s a
little go-getter and often pretends she’s stronger than she is, but I see her
as she
really
is: imperfect and trying
her best. It doesn’t help that she was raised in a home that didn’t support
her, not with her dad’s attitude problem and her mother’s co-dependence. It’s
no wonder she tries to control her environment so much. I just don’t like to be
on the receiving end. And ‘don’t like’ is putting it mildly.

She can’t help herself, and it’s almost
cute to see her struggle. Almost. “You should leave that here.”

I open the door and mutter, “I’ll be
back soon.”

 
“When?”

“Soon! Oh… and I can’t make it to lunch.
Because I’m not lying to your parents.” She opens her mouth; no words come out.

I leave.