I Love My Side of the Story (13 page)

Over The Next Couple Months

Things get better for a while. I eat my
annoyance and surprise Amber by showing up for lunch with her crazy parents,
even deal with her mom’s flirtations (designed to irritate her husband. Which
works). I charmed them both in the end though, and didn’t punch Amber’s dad for
saying that he
finally got a boy
,
when he put his arm around me. I wanted to. Oh man, how I wanted to. But it
wouldn’t help Amber. We both kept quiet and smiled, knowing it would be over
fast enough.

Sexually, I’ve been numb and
disinterested, which is very new for me. So is being in a relationship this
long, though, so maybe it’s nothing. One night we had hot sex in the middle of
the night. I woke up groping her, my body acting, needing her. She responded,
and it was fast and quick. Really passionate and awesome. Boom. Over. Us
panting and falling back to sleep. Other than that, I’ve got a layer of
resentment blocking my cock from erecting all its glory. And it sucks.

I still haven’t told her about the
second commercial. It was shot while she was at work, so she didn’t even know I
did it. Every time I think I’m going to tell her, she beats me to it and says
something like, “Any auditions today?” and “Did your agent call?” It’s like she
doesn’t give me an opportunity to
give
her the news – she keeps
asking
for
news, with tainted cheer.

I’m really good at knowing what’s going
on with other people but it sure is hard when it’s you. I didn’t even realize
until Amber got pissed, that the reason I’d brought Sylvia home to rehearse was
to make Amber jealous. She shut that down real fast, which felt good – I
can’t lie. Made me feel like a man, to have two women weighing each other.
Sylvia is nuts, and I’m not interested – but that was a fun night. I can
be kind of an asshole sometimes. But can’t we all?

I just want a sign Amber’s proud to be
on my arm. I mean, what are we doing here, if she isn’t?

The Night Apple Met Apple, The Hard Way

AKA Friday Night

I’m reading CNN.com, shaking my head at
all that’s wrong in the world, and I hear the front door open. She’s grunting
under the weight of the bags with a look that says she’s a martyr who’s gotta
do all the heavy lifting – metaphorically and literally – in this
relationship. I ask if her if she needs help, knowing for a fact there’s no way
she’ll accept it. She gets off of this stuff.

“I’ve got it,” she says. I focus hard at
the computer screen. We go back and forth about something stupid, and then she
feigns interest by asking, “You reading anything interesting?”

 
“On the news?”

 
“Yeah,” smiling so that I know she is
mocking me.

I’m so tired of this. I roll my eyes and
turn to her, “Are you serious? It’s everything that’s going on in the world,
Amber. Of course it’s interesting. What’s happening in Egypt is terrifying.
Unemployment in America is ridiculous. Our government is insane. It’s not
exactly
shopping
, but it’s pretty
interesting.”

I see I hurt her with that, but I’m past
regret; I’m too pissed.

“Sorry for interrupting,” she says.
She’s not sorry for interrupting. She’s sorry I didn’t like being interrupted.
There’s a difference.

“Honey.” Holy fuck. “Wanna do something
tonight?”

I mumble, “I’m beat, babe. I wanna watch
television tonight.”

“You sure, honey?” She said it again.
Honey
. Oh how I have come to hate that
mother-fucking word.

“Yep.”

“That’s what I thought.”

I hear this noise – the sound of
something speeding toward me. I look up and BAM. An apple slams into my
computer and knocks it off my lap. “WHAT THE FUCK!”

She grabs onto the counter and screams,
“THAT’S WHAT I THINK OF YOUR FUCKING LAPTOP,
HONEY
,” eclipsing my explosion, tenfold. Slack-jawed I stare at
her. “I’m through! I’m done! DONE DONE DONE
 
DONE DONE!!!!!” She picks up her bag and
hightails it to the hallway; grabs her coat and her keys, and runs out the door.

As it slams, I lamely call, “Amber?”
…Silence.

Flabbergasted, staring after her, I
wonder, what’s happening? Is she coming back?

With the fluidity of a robot, I look at
my computer on the floor, pick it up, inspect it without emotion. Not broken. I
look at the website I was on, read a couple more lines of news, but absorb none
of it. I look out the window, see the brick wall of the building next to ours,
and again in the window is the peeping red-haired kid. He ducks when I look at
him. This kid must think we’re his own personal TV show. I set the computer on
the coffee table, get up and shut the curtain.

My eyes fall on the purple fairy that
sits on our coffee table. I sit down and pick it up. We’d been in Central Park,
getting to know each other better, when I bought this for her. A street
artist’s table of goblins and handmade fairies caught Amber’s eye. She pointed,
said they were cute. I thought they were kinda silly, but I think Amber likes
extra feminine things to make up for lost childhood time. I watched her as she
told the street artist, “You’re so talented! I love these,” as she picked up
this one I’m holding now. She looked so cute, the expressions she made, as she
scanned the details of the dress, the wings, the bare feet. “How much for the purple
one?” I’d asked and Amber looked to me, surprised. I paid for it and the old
lady said, “You two... I see good things.” I’d put my arm around Amber’s
shoulder, feeling that the old lady was right.

Setting the memory carefully back on the
table, I stand up and pace the apartment, wondering how we lost that. What
we’re doing here is not good. I’m not happy. She sure as shit isn’t happy. We
can’t do this. She’s right.

I scan our home, memories everywhere.
Our housewarming party where we got that fake palm tree as a gift. The night
we’d stayed up late, binge-watching episodes of
Homeland
. The day she baked pumpkin bread for Jessica and burned
it, how we never told Jessica she even tried, because she was embarrassed she
doesn’t cook well. The morning we made love after we moved in. The poster being
hung on the wall while I slept.

I pull out my phone and call her. Her
voicemail comes on immediately; her phone is off. My throat starts to close. A
cold hand grabs my lungs, forces them shut. I get up for a glass of water,
holding onto the counter and drinking it. I run my hands through my hair and
dial again. Hear only the voicemail message, “This is Amber Monroe, please
leave a message.”

I dial again and again, leaving messages
asking her to call me. I send text messages, too. And then I call some more.

Freaking out, I plant myself on a chair
at the dining table and stare off into the emptiness in front of me. How will I
find her? How did we get here? How do I get us out?

Amber

Friday Night

Mark shakes my hand. I look down, bite
my lip, look back to his eyes, lip still tugged by my teeth. I should let go,
but I hold on a second longer than I should.

“Um.”

“Uh,” he agrees.

A Thesaurus would be fantastic right
about now. I pull my hand away. “Mark,” I say. It’s almost a question, but not
quite.

“Amber.” That was definitely a
statement.

“I don’t...” I shake my head. “I can’t.
I have a boyfriend…”

I feel his hand before I see it. He’s
reached out and is touching me, his fingers pressing onto the top of my wrist
on the counter. There’s an amused smile tugging at his mouth, but his eyes are
kind. “Amber, I’m not hitting on you.”

I blink. “You’re not?”

“No. You’re obviously upset and you’ve
got that look that says ‘boyfriend trouble’ all over it.” I stare at him.
“What’s his name?” he asks. I shake my head, tears welling up. “It’s
okay…What’s his name?”

“Josh,” I choke and two tears stream
down.

He reaches for the stack of cocktail
napkins to his left and hands one to me. I take the napkin and blow. Loudly. I
reach down for my phone. I need my girlfriends. I can’t wait anymore. This has
gotten ridiculous. After I power it on, during that moment of silence it takes
to reach the satellite signal, I am sure he hasn’t called. Then I jump on my
seat, and shoot a look to Mark as it blows up with beeps; text and voice
messages with Josh’s name all over the place, and Nicole, too. No Jess. I don’t
read any of them, don’t listen either. Instead I type a group text to only
Jessica and Nicole:
Need Help
. As
soon I hit send, Josh’s name jumps onto the screen with a new call. I shoot
another look to Mark – and turn the phone back off to set it on the
counter, dark again.

 
“Did you text him?” he asks.

I look at him like he’s crazy, take
another napkin from him, and blow my nose again. “My girlfriends.”

“Ah…So…?”

“We had a fight.”

“How do you feel about him?” he asks.

I’m very surprised by his frankness.
“Really?”

He nods, his eyes dancing. “Really.”

“I love him. I love him more than I’ve
loved anyone.” The impact of this admission is hard to take.

“Even more than your job?”

I shoot a frown. “What does that mean?”
I squirm under his look. “You don’t even know me. I have to go to the bathroom.
Save my seat.” It was an order more than a request, I know, but he’s got some
nerve.

I grab my bag and push my way to the
ladies room. “I really have to go,” I tell a couple women in line and for some
reason they don’t argue. I expected more of a fight, but as soon as I get in
and lock the door, I see why; I look like something out of horror film –
ratty hair, running makeup, and tomato-red raccoon eyes. The bartender wasn’t
thinking anything except
what a mess
.
And Mark – of course wasn’t trying to pick up on this. I mean, God. Yuck.

Humbled and feeling really dumb, I comb
my hair and wash around my eyes with a disinfectant baby wipe that I always
carry in my bag (for germs). I carefully apply lipstick and whiten my eyes with
a couple cold drops of Visine that feel really soothing. Looking in the mirror,
I recognize myself again. There. I look a little more presentable.

When I get back to my seat, I smile, but
he continues, rather than dropping it. “I’m just asking because a lot of women
put work first these days.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, sounding anything
but. “You mean the way
men
have, for
centuries?”

 
“We had to do that. We had to provide for
you, protect the castle and the land from other men. That
had
to come first.”

I snort and shake away the idea with my
hand. “Look. It’s been a long time since those days. We have every right to
have a passion and a purpose. Something of our own, that isn’t dependent on
another person for happiness.”

“Thank you,” he says to the fresh beer
the bartender sets down. To me, he says, “Yes, but we aren’t meant to be alone.
And if you don’t put the relationship first during the big decision days, you
don’t have anything else. In the end, both men and women have to choose their
partner over career.”

“This is a very layered problem and
you’re over-simplifying things.”

“What levels am I right on?” he asks,
his hand set on his knee.

“Well, with me and Josh, for example. I
was working on this project, a film, and I had to make the choice of whether or
not to bring him in to read for it. He’s an actor, I’m in casting,” I add,
filling him in. He nods, so I continue. “I chose not to bring him in, because I
had to put the relationship first, but
he
thought I was putting the job first. And either way, it came out bad.
So…I’m not sure if I made any sense, but there you have it.”

“How was that ‘putting the relationship
first’?” he asks.

I look at my glass. My answer, as yet
unspoken, feels flimsy. “It… I… I thought if he didn’t get the part, it would
be really awful for us. Between us, I mean.”

“And if he did?”

I whisper the answer, “It would have
been good.”

“What?” he asks.

I look up and say again, more loudly,
“It would have been huge for him.”

“So, you sold him short on two levels…
all for your job.” When I angrily look forward and don’t say anything, he
explains, “Amber. You didn’t give him the ability to show you what he could do,
with failure or success. What happened with the part doesn’t matter. What you
showed him is that you didn’t think he could handle it.”

I stare. And it’s as if I’d always known
and had never known. “Oh my God. You’re right.”

“Why didn’t you?”

I gulp. The truth crawls out and sneers
at me. I say slowly, “I… wanted the film so badly. It was the biggest project
I’d ever gotten.”

He nods and his body shifts as he looks
away. I stare at him, mortified.

“Amber,” Mark says.

I sit up straight; stare at his profile,
waiting.

“I don’t know if he would have
embarrassed you. I don’t know if he’s good or not. But I do know that –
that’s not how you treat someone you love. When an opportunity comes that can
help their lives, you give it to them.”

“What do I do?” I breathe, scared he
doesn’t know the answer.

He turns and looks me straight in the
eye. “You have to make it right.”

Prickles run down my body. A crick in my
neck forms out of nowhere and my hands feel hot. “I…”

Mark reaches out to touch my hand again;
a friend, a brother, or even an angel sent here to wake me up. He lays his hand
on mine and says, “You have to apologize, because there is nothing in life
without love. It’s been a long time since I’ve had somebody. It sucks. If you
love your boyfriend, then do what you women seem to want to do so badly…
man up
.”

I start with, “Okay…” but I don’t get to
finish because a fist comes out of nowhere and punches Mark in the face,
throwing his hand off mine, his body knocked into the bar, his head thrown to
the side. Stunned I look and see Josh beside me, red-faced and furious. Nicole
is behind him and her eyes are huge. It’s obvious she got the same deduction as
Josh.

“Josh! Oh my God! Nicole! No! No! No! Oh
my god. Mark, are you okay?”

“Amber!” Josh says, incredulous.

“Josh! Hold on! This isn’t what it looks
like. You could go to jail for this. Hang on!”

Mark holds onto his jaw and rights
himself on his stool. He sees Nicole and is almost as surprised at the sight of
her as he was by getting decked. He looks back to us and says, “I’m alright. I
wasn’t hitting on her, Josh. It’s all good. Really.”

Josh is beside himself and practically
panting, doesn’t know what to think. Nicole steps forward. “Josh. If she says
it’s okay, then it is.”

I say, “I’m not interested in this guy,
I’m really not,” and Mark smiles despite himself.

Nicole nods to him to apologize for my
rudeness and to me she says, “Josh kept calling so I left my date and went to
your place to help. When your text came through…

“Ah. Okay.”

“Hi,” she says to Mark, with a
ridiculous wave to make up for everything. I would laugh, except for Josh’s
face. I know that look. He’s about to run. I don’t know what to do. Then I get
an idea.

“Josh,” I reach out and touch his
jacket. “Can I talk to you a minute?” He blinks. Quickly, I reach for my bag,
pull out my driver’s license, and push it out for Mark and Nicole to see. “I’m
Amber Monroe. I’m taking Josh home. Take a picture of this license so you know
where he is.” My hand shakes, hanging in the balance. I shoot a look to Josh to
see if it’s working. His eyes dart to the license and to me. He’s not running.
So I have that much.

Nicole grabs for her own phone to take
the picture. “Okay. Make sure you bring him home safe. You’re tiny, so I’m sure
he’s in good hands.” I see a reluctant tug at the corner of Josh’s mouth. Mark
doesn’t know what to make of this, but he’s very interested. Nicole snaps the
picture.

“I will. You have my word,” I say, in a
deeper voice. Josh melts. I love him so much for his expression. He shakes his
head and reaches out to shake Mark’s hand, “I’m sorry,” he says and pride wells
up inside me. That took a lot of dignity and grace.

“It’s okay. Interesting meeting you,”
Mark says, with a half-smile.

“Ha. Thanks. You too,” Josh says. I take
his hand and feel his fingers weave through mine.

“Nicole, could you grab my coat for me.
It’s fallen on the floor there.”

“Sure. Here.” Nicole gives me a silly
little thumbs up, as she hands it to me. I nod goodnight to them both and tug
Josh’s hand to lead him toward a wall on the opposite end of the room. He
follows me to a space in a corner. As soon as I put my back to the wall, and
take an overly coy look at his crotch, he catches on. A smile dances in his
eyes and he says my line, “What’d you want to talk to me about?”

I smile, “I saw you through that glass.
It’s very clean.”

“Oh you did, did you?”

“Yep,” I take both his hands and get
serious. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” he says.

“No. Not about that,” I say, referring
to the apple. “I’m kind of glad I did that.”

He looks confused. “About what, then?”

This is so hard. “I’m…uh…I’m sorry I
didn’t give you the respect of letting you audition for that film. It’s just a
film and I put too much importance on it. More importance than I put on you and
us. Whether you fell flat on your face, or booked the part, I should have given
you the chance.”

“I’m a really good actor. You should
know that.” Off my face, he says, “No… you wouldn’t know that, because I’ve
never showed you.”

“No, you never have.”

“Well, we’re a couple of fools, aren’t
we?”

I laugh, “I guess so.”

He continues, “You also don’t know I
booked another commercial.”

My mouth falls open. “You did?”

“Last month. I didn’t tell you… because,
since we’re being honest – I was holding a grudge. You never give me the
benefit of the doubt, always assuming I’m a do-nothing slob and you know how
that makes me feel? This big.” He releases my hand and holds up his index
finger and thumb to indicate an inch. Then he holds it to his crotch to
indicate his shrunken size, thanks to me.

“Oh my God. I’m an asshole.”

“I could have told you. It’s my fault,
too. And all night tonight, when I was trying to find you, I realized I’ve been
a total idiot. I’ve acted like a baby.” He admits, shakes his head like he
wishes we weren’t having this conversation. No matter how necessary it is.
“Look. Here’s the thing. You don’t have to worry about me, or how I look to
your parents because the truth is, I’m making more money than you are now. I’ve
made fifty-thousand dollars in three months.”

“Shut up!”

He smiles. “It’s true.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me
that.”

“Well, I wanted you to respect me if I
had nothing – as long as you weren’t paying the bills for me, of course.
But you know - there’re all these shows out there about rich people, and
romantic ideas about billionaires, and yet no one is saying it; respect is more
important. Being a good person who takes care of his own, goes after his
dreams, can take care of his woman… ”

“That sounds pretty good, when you put
it like that.”

“I’m really bad at this.” He motions
between us. “But I can do better. I’ve got the basics down. I don’t cheat.”

“I need more than not cheating.”

“I know. And I’d love to spark things up
between us again but there is no way – no way at all, that I can do that
if you don’t respect me… And acting, Amber… it’s my dream. I need you to
respect it, even if it takes time.”