The Final Chapter

And you thought it would never end...

Chapter 13 of the Larry Smith Saga

Plan B

It was an unseasonably warm January morning. There was pretty music on the iPod, the mountains in the distance were quite handsome, and an attractive woman sat in the seat next to me. Al Gore might have had a problem with the temperature, but I was OK with the situation at large.

Nadine gave me one of her serious looks. It could mean that she was thinking about doing illegal things to me later. It could mean that she just remembered something insensitive I said to her last March. It could mean that I was about to run into a deer. I had no idea what she was thinking, and that was always a little frightening.

“Who are we listening to right now?”

“Death Cab for Cutie.”

“Pretty stuff,” she replied, turning away. I let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Ten seconds later, she added, “They need to write a new song called ‘I’m just using you for sex, you dumb bitch.’”

I laughed out loud, and that’s rare.

“What part do you not like? ‘She’s beautiful but she didn’t mean a thing to me’?”

“I prefer ‘Someday you will be loved.’ In parentheses they should add ‘Not by me.’”

“’Love is watching someone die. Who’s going to watch you die?’” I added.

“Asshole women-haters,” she said, not at all serious but playing it well.

I found the iPod with my fingers and shuffled over to Ben Kweller. His music was generally happy.

“You didn’t have to change the music. I was kidding,” Nadine said.

“It was time for a change,” I replied, and that was the end of it.

It’s never easy to do something for the first time. There are the obvious ones like first kiss, first day of school, first girl you slept with and couldn’t remember her name, first home…

Then there was the first that I intended on completing in the next fifty miles or so. There is no way to prepare for a first anything. You can pretend that you know what you’re doing, but ultimately that line of thought is folly.

The glory of the NFL Divisional Playoffs would unfold this weekend as well. Only one quarterback was starting in his first playoff game. That was Philip Rivers of the San Diego Chargers. He had the misfortune of squaring off against the playoff juggernaut New England Patriots, led by the luminous Tom Brady. Brady was victorious in his playoff debut. Playoff punching bag Peyton Manning lost his first three, and was back for more.

Perhaps scheduling a second so-called romantic trip on a major football weekend was a mistake. I couldn’t help that the birth of Martin Luther King, Jr. happened to coincide with the best football weekend of the year. Now that I had one of them thar regular jobs, any national holiday was a blessing.

Last year I brought an intelligent, beautiful woman to the cabin, but Ben Gibbard had it right. She didn’t mean a thing to me. I didn’t mean a thing to her either. That was the one thing we had in common.

At the minimum, I could remember Nadine’s name. I even remembered it when we barely spoke last November. For whatever it meant, Nadine knew me. It’s hard to be elusive when you have to drop your pants twice a day for nine weeks. That cyst was a real pain in the, you know, but it resulted in the growth of something else. Something relationshipesque.

We stopped at the check-in cabin. The same nice woman as last year verified my personal information while Nadine browsed the video section. I looked over and she gathered a few titles. Rumors of improved selection were true.

“Thank you, mister Smith,” the woman at the counter said, giving me the “you’re such a player” look. I smiled bashfully because that’s what she expected, accepted my keys and tin of cookies, and walked outside alone. Nadine followed me.

“What’s that?” she asked, motioning to our left. I saw a skee ball machine, an air hockey table, foosball, and a pop-a-shot game. Pop-a-shot is a simple but fun game. There are two basketball goals next to each other. Under that is a large vat of mini-basketballs. Click a button and the 60 second clock starts counting down. Both players shoot at the same time, but the mixed pool of balls means that there’s some jostling involved.

If I could do the John Belushi one eyebrow wiggle, I would have. Our hands touched momentarily as we battled over one of the balls. I yielded. Nadine rewarded my sportsmanship by throwing the ball toward my goal, knocking a ball I had thrown a second earlier off course. So much for fair play. 30 seconds into the game a made basket changed from two to three points. It was tight, but Nadine won. With two seconds left and the victory in hand I threw a ball disgustedly at the bottom of my net. I made an interesting discovery.

“Two out of three,” I said confidently. “Loser does dishes tonight.”

“Bring it,” she said confidently.

My plan worked brilliantly. I shot underhanded for the first thirty seconds, allowing Nadine to take a modest lead. At the thirty-second mark I started aiming directly for the metal sensor at the bottom of the goal. It was easier and more direct to hit the sensor than make a shot, so my score jumped ahead of hers. By the time Nadine noticed my move, it was too late. I won by a large margin.

“Cheater!” she yelled.

“A win’s a win,” I replied.

She paused, giving me another one of those serious looks. “You know what? I’ll beat you anyway.”

I grabbed a basketball and pointed it at my goal.

We started the game again. I pelted the sensor while Nadine kept trying to put her shots into the basket. Ten seconds in, I had a giant lead. Nadine paused.

“Larry?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied, still shooting.

“I don’t like cheaters.”

I didn’t look at her. Wanting not only to win, but to crush her, was my first mistake. She turned and threw the ball at my head. I didn’t have time to duck. The ball bounced off my forehead and went into my goal. Again I kept my eyes off Nadine. She dropped to the ground and pulled down my sweatpants. My underwear went down as well.

“Merry Christmas,” she said before standing up. I immediately fell over. Nadine turned to the game. I had to turn around to twist my boxers back into position. By the time I was no longer publicly nude, the game was over. I couldn’t tell if she had won, but at that point the score was somewhat irrelevant. I turned and saw her, standing over me with one of the plastic mini basketballs in her right hand. She held it over her head, prepared to go for the kill shot. Her cheeks were flushed and her narrow brown eyes flashed anger.

Ten long seconds later her face relaxed and she tossed the ball over her shoulder. It didn’t go in the goal. That’s when I saw the score. She won by one point. She then leaned down and helped me pull my sweatpants up. At least that’s what I thought she was doing. By the time I stood up, my keys were in her hand.

“Losers walk,” she said, walking to the car. She turned the engine, gave me a semi-friendly number-one sign, and drove away.

I accepted my fate and leisurely started walking a few seconds after the dust settled. She may have won, but at least I knew where the cabin was.

It was a nice day for a walk. The air was chilly, but only slightly so. Trees were stripped bare but seemed on the verge of blooming with this unseasonable warmth. As I turned onto the road that led to our cabin, I thought of the previous year’s activities. I particularly thought of what happened when she pushed me onto that fake leather couch.

I could remember quick, unexpected, very male sex, but I couldn’t remember her name. Blonde hair, pale skin, dark brown eyes, almost black, skinny in some ways but a little too muscular in others. LaDainian Tomlinson didn’t have abs as rock-hard as hers. That was one health trend that needed to get the boot.

I didn’t have long to marinate on the past. I heard tires crunching gravel behind me. The car jolted forward, stalling, before Nadine got out. She had a sheepish look in her eyes.

“I didn’t know where the cabin was, plus I can’t drive a stick.”

“Move in with me,” I replied.

Sometimes when you say something for the first time, you just say it.

“Never ask a woman a question when she’s angry, especially if you want her to say yes,” she said as we stood at the door to the cabin.

I let silence rule for a minute while I put away the rest of the provisions. I opened what the British call a Newkie Brown, and quickly surveyed the room for an ideal place to make a speech.

Standing in front of the TV worked. It was a brand-new widescreen model. Perfect for football later. “How long do you want to live in that condo?”

“I haven’t really thought about it,” she said with a frown. I was getting the kind of reception that Hugh Hefner would get in a room full of feminists.

“Exactly. You’re not worried about your future housing situation because it’s not a priority to you. You probably also don’t like paying your bills.”

“Who likes paying bills? When I can borrow your computer to pay bills online it’s not so bad.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. It would be easier for you if there were someone available who could take care of some of the tasks that you don’t like to do.”

“I’m not going to move in with you just so I can borrow your computer.”

“If that were all that I could offer you, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

“I’m listening.”

I self-consciously took a sip of my beer. I thought it better to put it down for a while. “The housing market is in the dumper. It’s an incredible time to buy. I want to get a place that would normally be way beyond my means. It’s well within the budget if the two of us do it together.”

“You can probably swing that by yourself.”

“I could, if I want to live off Ramen noodles for the next three years. I didn’t even like them in college. You have a steady job, and that means a ton when you’re talking to a bank.”

“You have a job too, mister office manager.”

“Yeah, since last November. Plus, I’m not going to be there for much longer.”

“Didn’t Tom tell you that you were doing a great job? You got a Christmas bonus!”

“Holiday bonus. Didn’t you get one?”

“A twenty-dollar gift card at Chilis from my boss.”

“That’s not bad. Listen, I’d really like you to join me here. Your steady job, along with that steady income, would be huge. I’m about to launch a big project, but it might not pay off for three or six months.”

“This has to be the least romantic proposition in history. I hope that you haven’t used your best selling points yet.”

“Not entirely. I thought it would be good to set the foundation with the economic side of it. When you sign the mortgage, that’s all the bank cares about. The bank doesn’t care if we’re deeply in love or have a lot in common.”

“We don’t have a lot in common,” she replied, ignoring the other part.

“We can talk. We’re not fans of traditional relationships.”

“I know this will shock you, but I was in a long-term relationship once. I kind of dug it.”

“What happened?” I had to ask.

“I blew it.”

“How’d you do that?”

“He really really wanted kids. He also wanted me to drop out of school and be a housewife when he graduated. Neither of those things was going to happen.”

There was more. I knew it. I also felt compelled to share rather than digging deeper, which was my normal route. I sat down next to her and touched her hand. “Right after I graduated from Wake Forest, I put a personal ad out, searching for someone to take a one-month trip around the country. I dated the girl who said yes for a year after the trip.”

“What happened?”

“I moved to Charlotte. She wanted to stay in Winston-Salem.”

“Is that far?”

“Far enough.”

“His name was Joe,” she said.

“Amanda,” I replied.

There was a short pause for me to remember why we were there. Nadine was nice enough to continue.

“From time to time, I like to be courted, not taken for granted. I can dig on some romance. That night in Piedmont Park, that was romance. Since then, bupkis,” she said. Her manner was typically evasive.

I had enough game to elongate the argument. “I got you half a day at that spa for Christmas.”

“Wait, wait a second. The half day was excellent, and I believe you were duly rewarded that night. Didn’t Tom give that to you?”

“I hate the fact that mystery is a required part of romance. Yes, the partners at Tom’s firm got half-day spa coupons for the wives for a holiday gift. Yes, Tom isn’t seeing anyone and didn’t want it for himself, so he gave it to me. Do I lose points for that?”

“Well, duh,” she replied. Again, it was half-joke, and half-serious. I paid attention to the serious part. “You spent hours, maybe days, going over the figures, didn’t you?”

“Do I have to fit into a box like the rest of America? I want this. I’m asking you to move in with me. Anything can be analyzed to death and minimalized.”

“I’ve never really lived with someone before,” she replied.

“Me neither,” I replied, taking a confident sip. Three drops went down my windpipe and I coughed, loudly.

“Watch yourself there, studly. Do you have anything stronger than that beer?”

I offered her a glass of McWilliams Shiraz. She accepted, and immediately consumed half the glass. I like my wine to breathe a bit, but we all have different tactics.

“Good?” I asked.

“I could drink the whole bottle in fifteen minutes.”

“I don’t recommend that.”

“Don’t tempt me. I’m still angry at you.”

“Was the pitch all right?”

“Your little speech? Is that why you couldn’t see me all last week?”

“There was that, and I wanted to build a little anticipation for this week.”

We have the cabin for a week. My friend who used to own the entire lot of them divested himself, but he kept interest in one cabin. This cabin. We used to be business partners. I introduced him to his wife, but only after she clearly and completely shot me down.

“I guess it’s kind of like a dry run, eh?”

“I don’t expect you to change your life for me. Keep your normal schedule this week,” I said, thinking that any change to routine would be bad.

“If you sleep nights and I sleep during the day, we might not see a lot of each other.”

“For most of the week we’re just going to be sitting on our cans, watching tube.”

“That sounds like a great vacation, to be honest. You surprised me today, you know.” Nadine reached out for my hand and squeezed. It felt like victory.

“I’ll take that as a complement.”

“I like that when you make me angry, that you don’t try to immediately make up for it.”

“I think you like being angry at me, a little anyway.”

She sighed theatrically. “It never lasts.” She lifted her glass, perilously close to being empty. “I haven’t said yes or no. As long as you understand that, we’ll be fine. Now, fill my glass.”

I did.

“Ah, so you can take orders. I might like you again by the end of the week. How much of this wine did you bring?”

“A case.”

“I like you a little more already. I want you to remember two things.”

“Yes.”

“First, don’t forget our deal. Second, when I tell you to take me to bed, do so immediately.”

Our deal involved me watching a pile of chick flicks on Monday, the day after Divisional Playoff weekend ended. I agreed solely because my needs were met first.

I nodded. She patted me on the head.

“You’re unpolished, but there’s potential.”

She stood up and offered me her hand.

“Take me to bed.”

I took her hand.

A few minutes later she had one thing to say before falling asleep.

“Thank you for doing this.”

She was asleep before I could ascertain exactly what “this” was.

I thought about going upstairs, brooding and typing some bullshit for the world to see. Instead I rolled over on the extraordinarily soft king-sized bed and fell asleep.

Game one featured the Indianapolis Colts and the Baltimore Ravens. Peyton Manning faced the top defense in the NFL. The irony of the game was that the Colts used to be the Baltimore Colts, and the Ravens used to be the Cleveland Browns. It was widely believed that the Colts didn’t have the run defense to survive a long playoff run. Manning threw two interceptions and defenders dropped two more, but it didn’t matter. On third and long in the closing minutes Manning hit Dallas Clark, and four plays later Adam Vinatieri hit a short field goal to make the score 15-6. The game was effectively over, so I turned on the electric grill. I started a fire at the beginning of the second half, but it made me sweat, so I let it die.

I put the pork on, along with a couple of sweet potatoes. There was salad stuff in the fridge if we got desperate, and I didn’t expect that we would. Nadine joined me in watching the New Orleans Saints, America’s team, take on the Philadelphia Eagles. I tried not to think of the growing murder rate in the French Quarter as the announcers threw bouquets as the players, with a salary of a million five per on average, saved the city with a dramatic 27-24 victory.

“You can be so cynical, you know,” Nadine said as we adjoined to the Jacuzzi. I had a couple of beers during the game but had switched to water. Nadine slowly but surely emptied the wine bottle.

“I hate it how the success of one football team is supposed to change a city. New Orleans is like a third-world country in the middle of the United States and it doesn’t matter as long as a professional sports franchise flourishes.”

“You have to admit that it’s a good story. Ignore the city’s plight. The Saints have never been to the NFC Championship, and weren’t they really terrible last year?”

“They’re the first team to go from 3-13 to one game from the Super Bowl in one year,” I replied.

“Didn’t your Titans go 3-13 last year?”

“They did improve by five games.”

“Tell me about this new home,” she said. After seeing my look of surprise she added, “Give me some credit. You wouldn’t have asked me without an actual home to go to. You’ve probably already signed a mortgage with my name forged as a co-signer.”

I was impressed. I’d never forge a co-signer on a mortgage unless I was really desperate. “It’s a two-bedroom, two-bathroom town house off Lennox.”

“What about your place?”

“I have someone.”

“Tell me about that.”

“I found an incoming freshman at Georgia Tech. He signed a two-year lease and will move in on June first.”

“Doesn’t school start in the fall?”

“He has an internship this summer.”

“What about my place?”

“We’ll take care of it,” I said with a reassuring smile and a firm hand on her shoulder. She didn’t talk for fifteen seconds so I continued.

“I don’t think finding a lessee will be a problem. If that’s your main concern, seriously, it won’t be a problem.”

“There’s always a solution for you.”

“If you don’t plan your own future, someone else will be more than happy to do it for you.”

Nadine reached under water, holding me in a very special location. With her other hand she splashed water in my face.

“I can take care of myself, buddy. If I need your help, I’ll let you know.”

I spit out some of the water. She had to release me to cover her face.

“We’re both tough and don’t need anyone else. That’s established. I suggest that we cool off and talk about this like adults on Tuesday.”

“Can we wait that long?”

“I’m going to watch football for seven hours tomorrow. Chances are, you’ll be drunk. We’re going to watch chick flicks all day on Monday. I can guarantee drunkenness on my part.”

Nadine found a towel and wiped off her eyes.

“Can you make the deal without me?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Tell me that you can.”

“It’s tougher to get pre-approved if you’re a freelancer. I’m working on some things that will make my cash flow more stable, but they’re a good six months off.”

“What about the job?”

“I’m quitting as soon as I sign the papers. I took this week off as vacation and I was hoping not to have to return next Monday, to be blunt.”

“So you need me.”

I took her hand. “When I moved here, I really struggled to pay the mortgage for nearly a year. If I take on this new place without help, it won’t be much different. I don’t want to go through that again. This place is an opportunity. My condo, and your condo, are not going to appreciate in value for years. This place will.”

“You’ve made an excellent financial case. I need more.”

“You need me to say that I can’t bear to be without you.”

“Something like that would be nice.”

“That’s not how I talk.”

“All you have to tell me is that you care.”

“What do you think?”

“Tell me that you have feelings, because all I’m seeing is you calculating. I’m not ready to take this step if in a year you do the books and I’m a liability.”

“I work at a CPA firm, so it’s all debits and credits to me.” I sighed. The joke failed, and suddenly the outside air seemed much colder. “We probably need to get in soon.”

“We are turning into prunes.”

A moment later she kissed me once, stood up and left the Jacuzzi. I sat alone for a couple of minutes. It was cool but not cold. I preferred it when it was cold, snowy, and in my head, clear.

I put the cover on the Jacuzzi while she grabbed some clothes and changed in the bathroom. I put my wet towel and swimsuit on the floor and found some pajamas. When I turned around she had picked up the wet stuff and put it in the dryer. Her cheeks were flushed.

“Are you going to sleep?” she asked.

“I can stay up a while.”

“I’d like that,” she replied.

The entire week was a test. Unlike in New York, Nadine wasn’t going to change her sleep schedule for me. On the first night I stayed up until three in the morning, but on subsequent nights and days we fell into a routine. I’d go to sleep around eleven. Nadine would wake me up, mainly so I could make her breakfast, around seven. A couple of hours later she would go to sleep and I would wake her up in the middle of the afternoon. I liked to get eight or nine hours a night, but Nadine generally slept four or five hours. She told me that it worked, although she did sleep ten or twelve hours once a week to catch up. After she woke up we’d watch a movie or take a walk and I’d make dinner. Our staggered schedule worked perfectly because Nadine could read, watch TV, or peruse my Internet history while I slept and I could get some writing done while she was asleep. I didn’t see why this couldn’t work.

On Sunday we watched two more excellent games. The top-seeded Bears held off the Seahawks in overtime. I liked watching the snow on TV. In the last game of the weekend the Patriots rallied to beat the heavily favored Chargers. This led to a classic showdown between Manning and Brady the following weekend.

“Damn, boy, that’s some solid chicken,” Nadine said. The TV was off. We had a late lunch so dinner at 8:30 wasn’t much of a chore.

“It is pretty good, eh?”

“What about the sleeping arrangements?” she asked.

I put a dollop of the mango salsa over a bite of the chicken marinated in honey and soy. The flavors blended marvelously. A sip of red wine washed it all down. “Same bed, different times.”

“So you’re fine with me working the night shift?”

“Yes, I’m completely fine with it.”

“What if I decide to work days?”

“I never stop working, really.”

“All you do is hunch over that laptop.”

“A true writer is always writing,” I replied. The brown rice was a bit undercooked. Pity, that.

“That’s just what you say to keep from having a real job.”

“But I got a real job.”

“You told me that was to help yourself out of a, what did you call it?”

“A temporary financial ass-fucking.”

“It’s 30 hours a week. Big freaking deal.”

“Here’s the big freaking deal. Working in an office means depending on other people to get things done. Other people constantly fuck up and try to torment you with their bullshit issues. It’s way easier to work for yourself. You get all of the blame and all of the praise.”

“I like working with other people.”

“You have to work with people. Self-nursing is not a growth industry.”

“Other people can inspire you.”

“Other people can annoy you.”

“Then why get a roommate?”

“Because I can live with you.”

I hit a nerve. I may just have pinched it. “You don’t really know that,” she said, and we moved on.

We drove back on Friday. There wasn’t much conversation. I think we were tired of it. On Monday we watched six consecutive chick flicks. Nadine got mad at me for falling asleep during Sleepless in Seattle. Meg Ryan never did it for me. I don’t get it, I mean she was asleep when Tom Brady hit Reche Caldwell for 49 yards on that third and ten play, virtually sealing another dramatic victory for the New England Patriots.

After a much-needed nap, we got out and went for a walk. We did that every day, holding hands except when Nadine thought I was getting too sweaty. On Wednesday night, after going through about ten movies, we agreed to go out to dinner. On Thursday we checked out the local tourist trap, the Biltmore Estate. I’ve heard that it’s much cooler during the holiday season. Some day I’d like to live in an estate.

Every time I brought up moving in together, Nadine gladly talked about it for ten minutes, and gracefully shut me down with a vague commitment to talk about it later. I think we started getting on each other’s nerves by Wednesday night. We were in each other’s company constantly for the first time since New York, and New York had much better distractions.

I found out that her long-term boyfriend hit the road in part because she couldn’t have kids. I also found out why. A long, painful battle with ovarian cancer forced her to drop out of school and created a rift with her family, who wasn’t as supportive as you’d expect a family to be. I instantly knew why she left home.

I told her some of the details of my drive across America. I wasn’t shy about the details regarding the breakup a year later.

I kept the iPod on shuffle. We held hands even during “Summer Skin” by Death Cab for Cutie, a song that chronicles a summer romance. It was a year ago, this very same week that we met. She was moving into her condo. I introduced myself and didn’t offer to help. I needed her then, but didn’t know it yet.

I carefully parked in a space two slots away from any other car. Nadine looked forward, like she was concentrating on a memory that may or may not stay with her.

“Come in with me,” she said.

She ordered Chinese food, threw her bag on the floor, and we sat on chairs next to each other. Nadine didn’t have a couch. We ate a bit and I ended up spending the night. She stayed with me when I went to sleep, and got up after she was sure that I wasn’t going to wake up for a while. I woke up alone around seven in the morning.

Usually, I can’t sleep at a girl’s place. Most of the time, I leave before sleep becomes an option. I felt comfortable in her bed.

She wore a pair of pink pj bottoms and a white, see-through man’s t-shirt. Yeah me. I stumbled over in my boxers and blue wife beater.

“Let’s talk,” she said.

“You have to put on a real shirt first,” I replied.

“Now you get to be a prude?” she asked.

“Unless you want to talk about the cinematic merits of Deep Throat, yes,” I said. I can be a stickler sometimes.

She sighed, then smirked, knowing that this was the one and only time that I’d ask a woman to put on clothing. When she returned, a purple TCU t-shirt made her decent.

“I’ve been stringing you along all week, and for that I apologize,” she said.

“Don’t apologize until you give me an answer.”

She bit her lip and looked out the window. There were no blinds, so the entire neighborhood could have seen her, virtually topless. Only the bravest dog-walkers would walk the path behind her condo, and none at night.

“No.”

That was it. No commentary, no qualifier, just no. Her eyes were puffy so I knew that she had been thinking about this all night.

“Well, then there’s nothing else to say,” I replied, standing up.

Ten seconds after I stood up, completely bluffing, did she finally speak.

“Don’t go.”

“Nadine, the whole week was about getting you to say yes. I’d call my efforts a failure.”

“Was that all?”

“Of course that’s not all. But that was the point. I wanted to spend time with you, but that was because we were going to do it full-time soon.” I was ready to leave.

“Please sit down.”

“I’m upset, and I like to be alone when I’m upset. Frankly, I can’t do this now. I have to find someone else to sign. I have to sign by Sunday or the deal’s off.”

“Big deal, you’ll probably get Tom to do it. He’s loaded.”

“How did you know that?”

“You always have a backup plan, Larry. When you invited me to trivia, I talked to Tom, Larry. He didn’t need an office manager, but he knew that you needed money and wouldn’t take a handout. He’s a sweet guy.”

“He’s a real peach,” I replied. I couldn’t recall Tom and Nadine talking. I don’t even remember them sitting next to each other. Was I that drunk?

“My mother’s sick, Larry. She can’t run the house like she used to. I need to be there. My dad can’t even boil water by himself.”

“And you’re a cook?”

“It’s time for me to learn. I was an oops baby. My mom was 46 when I was born. There isn’t much time.”

“Do you really want to go back to Detroit?”

“This is family,” she replied, giving me serious. “No, I really fucking hate the cold.”

“What about this place?”

“I got on the lease list as soon as I bought the place. There’s a bulletin board at work. I have to interview some candidates next week.”

“Good for you.”

“I’m giving you the green light, Larry. Dive back into that dating pool. I think it’s where you really want to be.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“It means a lot that you can say that. You always have a backup plan, Larry. I don’t think I want to be Plan A when there’s a Plan B.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I said, not completely convinced. What was wrong with having a backup plan? It certainly wasn’t romantic, and Nadine saw that like a beacon.

She didn’t immediately respond, and I couldn’t handle the silence. “I can see that you feel like you have to do this,” I said, looking away. She got me and she was going.

“I do,” she said, finally giving me serious. The playful side washed over her face like the first rays of the sun at dawn. “I also feel like you and me going into that bedroom and making a mess. What do you say?”

She wasn’t going yet. We made a mess. It was the best breakup sex ever.

I walked back to my place. It reminded me of the walk of shame in college. In Atlanta it generally was the drive of shame. It was chilly, but I liked it. I grabbed my bags out of the car and went home. As I walked, I took my cell phone out of the pocket of my jeans. A quick scan got me to the number I desired. A little research on my old phone records found me what I was looking for. I pressed the talk button.

“Hello?” said a female voice after the third ring.

“Nicole? Hey, it’s Larry. Larry Smith.”

Chapter 12: Pass the Tostitos

It kind of rambles, but I'm a ramblin' man...this is the second-to-last chapter.

Chapter 12 – Pass the Tostitos

The oven beeped. My timing couldn’t be better. The chicken tenders doused in Frank’s hot sauce, “healthy” olive oil and sea salt French fries from Whole Foods, and roasted veggies were ready. My afternoon snack of fresh grind peanut butter and an apple barely tided me over. I had the cooler filled with Newcastle and bottled water next to the couch. I TiVo’d the game, which technically started at 8:15, so I could fast-forward through the pre-game garbage and skip the boring, repetitive commercials. TiVo is a magical, wonderful thing.

I heard a knock on the door.

“Come on in!” I yelled. I had the remote in one hand and the first beer of the evening encased in a Tennessee Titans koozie in the other. I needed a third hand to eat.

“It’s the football fanatic in his native environment,” said a cynical female voice behind me.

“You’re just here for the free grub,” I replied, not daring to look away from the pretty pictures. “Coming up next, Ohio State versus Florida,” the announcer said. I fast-forwarded to the moment when the University of Florida kicker put foot to ball and pressed pause.

Like any Atlanta resident on the interstate passing a flaming wreck, I couldn’t help myself. I looked. Nadine had eyeblack under her eyes.

“You’re mental,” I said, suppressing a laugh.

“I’m getting into the mood. Haven’t you ever dressed like a moron at a football game?”

“Not in this universe,” I replied. “Nice jersey.”

Nadine wore a throwback Tom Brady Michigan jersey. It was a nice looking jersey. To add to the authenticity, it had a Fed Ex Orange Bowl patch. I had to give respect to the three-time Super Bowl champ, even though an unfortunate Titan defensive lineman was flagged for “roughing the quarterback” when he barely touched Brady’s foot last week. Brady led the Michigan Wolverines to an overtime victory over Alabama in the 2000 Orange Bowl. His reward was being selected 199th overall in the following year’s NFL draft. Nadine filled out the jersey in a way that Brady never could.

“It’s really nice. Did you use the cookbook?”

She referred to dinner. “Tonight’s fare is a Larry Smith original. As soon as I steal a grill I’ll start making some of Bobby’s best.”

We agreed to buy each other one Christmas gift. Nadine bought me a Bobby Flay Boy Meets Grill cookbook. It was kind of a joke since the closest thing to a grill I’m allowed to have in this fascist condo complex is a George Foreman. I got Nadine the jersey.

Nadine took a tender and bit. She nodded while chewing. A small dollop of sauce remained on the right corner of her mouth. I decided not to tell her about it.

“Are we going to get this party started?” she asked.

“I think you need a beverage.”

“Water me.”

I did. I pressed the pause button and the BCS Championship game started. Ted Ginn Jr., the star wideout for The Ohio State University, took the ball, avoided one tackle at the 30-yard-line and ran past the entire Florida team for a touchdown.

“Holy shit,” Nadine said, tender number two in her mouth. Normally the host gets to eat at least one.

Ohio State was highly favored in the game. They had been the number one ranked college football team since the preseason. College football has the strangest championship system in sports. At the end of the season the top two teams according to various polls and a couple of computers play for the title. The other teams play in semi-useless exhibitions called bowls. There’s almost always a controversy about the two teams selected for the championship game because of the subjectivity. Florida was number two, but was only one of six one-loss teams in the country. Ohio State was favored by seven, and most experts thought that Florida might hang around for a half if they were lucky. Giving up a game-opening kickoff return for a touchdown wouldn’t help.

I fast-forwarded through the first set of commercials, but ran into real time after a decent kickoff return by the Gators.

“How much do you hate Ohio State?”

“Why would I hate Ohio State?” she replied. The sauce was still there.

“You’re from Michigan.”

“This whole line of questioning is over my head, and therefore boring. By the way, my college boyfriend was from Ohio.”

“Sounds like an ass.”

Nadine looked at me. “He wasn’t.”

I gave her a look.

“Don’t push me on this. Besides, can you really hate another football team?”

“People can hate for all kinds stupid things. Hating a football team isn’t the end of the world.”

“Who’s that?” Nadine said, pointing to the Florida quarterback.

“Oh, that’s Chris Leak. He’s been the starter for four years.”

“I spent five years in college.”

“Couldn’t stretch it any more, could you?”

“I’m still paying for it, so no,” she said, giving me a quizzical look. “Oh yeah, tell me more about that Leak guy. I can’t wait.”

“Florida fans hate him.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s not an ideal fit for Urban Meyer’s offense.”

“Wait, there’s a guy named Urban?”

“That’s the coach. He was named after the pope.”

“I should know that.”

“I’ll try to make this brief,” I said, pressing pause on the remote. “Chris Leak signed with Florida right before Steve Spurrier left for the NFL. He had to deal with a new coach and started as a true freshman, which is pretty hard. The new coach was fired two years later, and Florida hired Urban Meyer.”

“I’ll just call him Oscar,” Nadine said, killing her first water a moment later. I passed her another.

“Meyer runs the spread offense, which requires a quarterback who’s a good runner. Leak didn’t fit the offense. Still, he started his junior year and the team didn’t have a great year. Heading into his senior year, Florida brought in a heralded freshman QB who ran the same offense in high school. He’s Tim Tebow. In short, Tebow has shared snaps with Leak. He comes in on obvious running plays and looked so good that Florida fans wanted Leak benched.”

“He’s what, 22?”

“Probably.”

“22 and over the hill.”

“If you say so. Leak led the team to an SEC Championship game and a berth in this championship game. He didn’t play well in the team’s only loss at Auburn. There’s a lot of pressure on him.”

“OK, I’m officially rooting for Florida now.”

The Gators must have been listening. Leak went five for five, including a nice touch pass between the cornerback and safety for a touchdown.

“You’re going to have to buy me a Leak jersey for Christmas next year,” she said. A second later her entire face turned crimson.

“Duly noted,” I replied, smiling.

Ohio State went three and out. Heisman Trophy winner and all-around swell guy Troy Smith stood too long in the pocket on third down and took the sack. Smith had a near-perfect season but wasn’t considered a major NFL prospect because he was listed at six feet even, which meant that he was probably 5’10. For an NFL quarterback, that’s a midget.

An Ohio State penalty gave Florida excellent field position. For the second time in the evening Leak converted a third down with a pass. On the following play he was replaced by the giant freshman.

“Boo,” Nadine said, clearly enjoying herself. Two plays later Florida scored again.

My cell phone rang before I could fast-forward through another series of commercials.

“I am loving this,” Tom said.

“You have a dog in this hunt?”

“I hate the Big 10.”

“Why, because they can’t count?” I rhetorically replied. The Big 10 conference, Ohio State’s conference, has eleven teams.

“Exactly,” Tom replied.

“There’s room for one more over here,” I said. Nadine flashed me. “On second thought. . .”

“Listen man, I wanted to tell you that tomorrow’s meeting has been moved up.”

“The breakfast meeting?”

“Yeah. It’s at eight.”

“Dude, the game isn’t going to be over until midnight. Maybe one a.m.”

“You were the one who signed up for this office manager gig. That means you have to manage some breakfast. Don’t forget James’ gluten allergy.”

I shuddered. “The things I have to do for an honest wage.”

“You were in need a few months ago. Tomorrow morning, I need bagels. Good ones.”

“You’d think that I never did anything for you. I seem to recall an evening last March when you were in the middle of a big slump.”

“Oh yes, the redhead at Limerick Junction. You really took one for the team that night.”

I had to think for a second. Simone? Bridget? All I remember was a French name on a girl who was easily the third-prettiest girl from whatever small town in Oklahoma from which she had just escaped. She had an easy manner to her, the key word being easy. I had a killer hangover the following morning and deserved it.

“I know, meeting a redhead at an Irish bar the week before Saint Patrick’s Day. It was quite the stretch.”

“She was easily worth a hundred years in purgatory.”

Nadine was about to hit the TiVo button and turn on something hideous like Best Week Ever. That was a clear violation of football day rules. All rules were void if I spent more than five minutes on a call.

“What happened to her?”

“She had to get that tattoo on the small of her back removed.”

“Was the tattoo a target?”

“There were initials. I didn’t ask. Are you watching the game alone?”

“No.”

“Oh, this is interesting. If Joseph’s not going down on you right now I can guess who probably is.”

“Tom, you know that’s what halftime is for.”

“Say hi to Nadine. Tell her that we missed her at trivia last week.”

“I didn’t go to trivia last week.”

“Exactly. 8 a.m., buddy.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

I ended the call. Go fuck yourself is male for “Have a good evening.”

“Eight a.m. is when I go to sleep,” Nadine said.

“I have to get breakfast for 12 people tomorrow morning, which means I need to get enough for 15. Maybe 20.”

“You’re getting good at this. Maybe you can start a catering company.”

“I’d just get doughnuts and coffee, but there’s an OC so I need to think of something else.”

“OC?”

“Overweight client.”

“Wouldn’t that be the target audience for fried bread?”

“You’d think so,” I said, sighing. “I liked talking about work a lot more when I didn’t have to go to an office to do it.”

“Speaking of work, aren’t you supposed to be blogging this game or something?”

“I’ll do it later.”

“Oh really?”

“I’ll consult the play-by-play online. There’s no need to be first to post when there are about ten thousand people doing the same thing.”

“Let’s get on with it, then.”

We did. Ohio State got one first down before Troy Smith threw an ill-advised third-down pass that was intercepted. Leak took the ball most of the field but Tebow finished with a hand-off to the running back for a touchdown. The score was 24-14 when Ohio State’s sweater-vest-clad coach surprised everyone by going for it on fourth and one from his own 29. I’ve seen this happen in too many NFL games. It’s fourth and less than a yard. The best move is to try the QB sneak. The Patriots run it like a charm. Instead the Buckeyes ran a slow-developing handoff, allowing Florida’s fast defensive line time to hit the running back before he had a chance. The failure didn’t demoralize the Ohio State D, which held firm and only gave up a field goal. What completely deflated the squad was a Smith fumble on the ensuing drive. The score was 34-14 at halftime.

“I have a halftime show for you,” Nadine said.

I pressed pause. The halftime show in Glendale, Arizona, home of the Tostitos BCS Championship game, was long and lame. I did note that the Ohio State band played the love theme from Titanic. I had to write that one down.

“Why are we watching the second half if it’s a blowout?” Nadine asked.

“We’re not changing the channel,” I said.

“That’s not a good answer to why are we watching the second half if it’s a blowout?”

“I Love New York doesn’t come out until Wednesday,” I replied. “I Love New York” was the title of a reality show. Flava Flav, rapper of Public Enemy fame, had completed two seasons of a dating show where he was the “prize”. Yes, he was the guy who wore a clock around his neck. It’s comedy genius to keep doing it when you’re in your 40s. He gave each of his potential betrothed a fake name, and one woman was called New York. She was certifiably insane, and twice got the boot from Flav on the final episode. She was going to get her own show, which would allow her to choose from a pool of 15 men. What did people do before a million TV channels?

“You know that Ohio State doesn’t have a chance.”

“That’s not the point. This is Troy Smith’s final college game. His future as a professional quarterback starts tonight. If there’s any chance of them making a rally, I have to watch. If Florida does pull this off, it’s going to be one of the greatest bowl upsets in history. A few years ago Ohio State came into the title game in the opposite role and upset Miami. Turning the tables, in the same state no less, would be amazing.”

“Why don’t you just write that down and call it a blog?”

“I might.”

“You don’t care about that crap. This game’s just reminding you that football season is almost over.”

“It is at that,” I reached for another Newcastle. “Maybe I should just stop by Krispy Kreme tomorrow morning.”

“I can’t believe you’re obsessing over a breakfast menu.”

“It’s the most important meal of the day.”

Ohio State had favorable field position for the entire third quarter. They couldn’t get beyond the Florida 40-yard-line. Florida struggled as well, but midway through the fourth quarter they sustained a game-killing drive. Tim Tebow scored the touchdown.

“Oscar’s a freaking genius. This game blows,” Nadine muttered.

“I thought you were cheering for Florida.”

“They won the game when Ohio State didn’t get that fourth and one. You know it. I know it. The stupid announcers know it. Sometimes you just have to move on.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Life moves on whether you’re ready or not.”

I paused the TV. It was time for another set of commercials.

“Are you saying that you’re not ready?” she asked.

“I’m going to stay up all night. Wanna help?”

Nadine smiled. “Staying up all night is what I do. Why exactly do you want to do this?”

“No reason.”

“Baloney.”

“When you have a job, you give up your time in exchange for money. A company can tell you what to do when you’re on their time.”

She pressed two fingers against my lips. They smelled like hot sauce.

“A rebel, you’re not. Think about it. What are you going to prove by going to work drunk?”

“I’ll sober up by then,” I said after leaning back.

“When you don’t sleep, it’s no different than being drunk.”

“Then you can drive me to work.”

“You haven’t given me the why yet.”

“I only have to be there for six hours, including lunch.”

“Don’t sell, just tell me why.”

“Because I work at a CPA firm and I’m not a CPA. Because ordering pens and notebooks is not why I went to college. Because I’m getting a little too good at fixing a paper jam. Because I’m convinced that one of the partners created a gluten allergy just so my ordering of lunch has to be a production.”

“See, was that so hard?”

“I feel like I had to ask for permission.”

“The only way you’re going to stay up all night is with my help.”

“I’ll take that action,” I said, offering my hand. She took it.

“So what are we going to do? Roast marshmallows? Tell ghost stories?”

“We could tell stories.”

I thought about the last time I stayed up all night. It was the evening that Nadine and I went out on our first and only date. She came over the following morning to give me her most emphatic answer to my unspoken question. After that I slept for ten hours. This time, I was going straight to work.

We watched the rest of the game, or more accurately the game unfolded on the TV while we more or less made out.

“Don’t you wish that we met in our teens?” Nadine said, taking my cue to rest.

“Why do you think that?”

“When you’re a teenager, sex and love get so tangled up that you forget to have fun with it. I think we’d have fun without all of the drama.”

“But teenage love is all about drama.”

“When you’re nineteen, you can drink and do just about anything in Windsor.”

“Windsor?”

“Just across the border in Canada. I thought you were worldly. I went with some of my friends a few days after my nineteenth birthday. I kissed a boy in a bar and drank about ten Long Island Iced Teas.

“If that boy had been you, it would have been a whole lot better.”

“I would have stopped you at five. Then I would have taken you back to my place.”

“You had a place in Windsor?”

“Any 19-year-old would consider a Holiday Inn to be a pretty sweet place for a hook-up.”

“As long as the sheets were clean. I had a boyfriend then.”

“Did he find out about the kiss?”

“When it’s your first time, and you’re that young, I mean being in love and doing it is nice and all, but when you’re just plain hot for each other, that might be better.” Nadine smiled at the thought. She stopped smiling when she saw my goofy grin.

“We weren’t official yet. That happened in January.”

“Where was he?”

“Orlando.”

“Citrus Bowl?”

“That sounds familiar.”

“I’ll have to look that one up later.”

“Why does it matter who played in a bowl game six years ago?”

“It doesn’t matter. I still want to know.”

“Where’d you go to high school?” Nadine asked, clearly in the mood to shift the conversation away from football. I have no idea why.

“Kickapoo High School in Springfield, Missouri.”

“Let me guess. You haven’t been back since graduation.”

“Since twelve days after graduation. To save you the question, I’ve made peace with Springfield, Missouri. For high school, it was fine.”

“Where you the class clown?”

“I got by.”

“Where’d you go to college?”

“Wake Forest.”

“That’s a long way to go for college.”

“If the University of Alaska had given me a scholarship, I would have gone there.”

“I didn’t go too far. I think like 40 kids from my high school class went to Michigan.”

“Were you close with many of them?”

“Some, but my best friend didn’t go.”

“Why not?”

“Got pregnant. About, I don’t know, nine months after a doctor told her that she couldn’t get pregnant. Her mom let her have the kid, but only if she stayed in school. She graduated, barely, the summer after I did.”

“That couldn’t have been easy to do.”

“No shit. What made it even more amazing is gave birth to Lynn, her second child, six days after the ceremony.”

“Wow.”

“I know. The first dad split. I mean, his family actually moved him to Toledo. Tammy didn’t mind. She knew this was a solo project. She met Steve a year later, and as soon as he proved his diaper-changing skills it was a done deal. They got married the day after she graduated. They had two more after that.”

“Four kids? Yikes.”

“I know. I lost track with just about everyone else, but I still talk to Tammy pretty often.” Her wistful smile faded quickly. “Who’s your best friend?”

“Probably Tom.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Three years, give or take.”

“Do you have a scortched-earth mentality when dealing with friends?”

“When I move, I generally leave all that behind.”

“I didn’t mean to be harsh.”

“I don’t really go back and examine what went wrong with friendships in the past.”

“Most of them just fade away.”

“OK, it’s your turn.”

“My turn for what?”

“To ask me about anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yes.”

“What have you done that you’re most guilty about?” I asked. I was ready for some high-school drama, or at least a good college story.

She sighed. My questions didn’t seem too personal, but you never know. “I killed a man in Reno just to watch him die.”

“Excuse me?” I asked. My mouth must have opened wide enough to fit my universal remote.

“In November I had sex with Jack.”

Now things were getting interesting. “That would be the recently engaged Jack.”

“The still engaged Jack.”

I preferred to think of him as Radiology guy. “How did this happen?”

“We started talking when you and I weren’t exactly talking. I missed the male point of view. We’d usually just meet in the cafeteria or see each other in passing. One night we went out to dinner.”

“Did he invite you?”

“No, he told me that he was going for sushi, and I invited myself.”

“Intriguing.”

“I didn’t eat sushi, if you were curious.”

“I wasn’t curious about that.”

“Don’t be an ass about this. We ate, we talked, and his place was close, too close. We didn’t talk, we just did the deed. It happened again a few times over the next couple of weeks. Usually I’d go after we were done, but one night he wanted me to stay. All he was going to do was fall asleep, and for me it was the middle of the day, so to speak, so I started to get dressed. He grabbed me and told me that he was going to dump Susan. He needed me. I told him that I only needed him for sex, and it was more of a want when you really narrowed it down.

“He just stared at me like I was an alien. It got uncomfortable real quick, so I left. He didn’t try to stop me.”

“Nadine,” I said, patting her on the shoulder. “Do you feel bad about it?”

“I’m a shit,” she said. “I knew when I went back to his place that we were going to fuck, and that’s all I wanted. He was engaged and I didn’t care. I think I even enjoyed it a little bit that he said he was going to dump his fiancé. It scared me to be so callous.”

“If you feel guilty, you’re pretty bad at callous.”

“I guess so,” she replied, offering a slight smile. “You weren’t there for me, and it was really hard.”

“I know,” I replied.

“So, when we were on our break or whatever it was called, did you…?”

I nodded.

“Of course you did. I spilled my guts; now it’s your turn.”

“If you want to know, Tom I went out the second weekend of October. Every once in a while we like to do something called Buckhead Destruction night.”

“Sounds intriguing.”

“We park at a bar called Modern Drunkard. I used to hang out there a lot so the owners don’t care if I park there, as long as we either start or end our evening there. We had a couple beers there but it was too early.”

“Is there a strategy to Buckhead Destruction night?”

“Not really. We try to stick to beer since it is a long night. We’ll flirt and talk and maybe get a phone number but we don’t try to hook up too early.”

“You’re pretty sure of yourself when it comes to meeting someone.”

“You could also call it Operation Fish in a Barrel. Tom had just ended a relationship, so it was all for him.”

“Tom doesn’t seem like the go-steady type.”

“Not generally, but he’ll surprise you. He bought a couple of drinks for women but it didn’t go past that. I caught someone’s eye and as fate had it, her friend was compatible with Tom.”

“Do you even talk?”

“It’s hard sometimes, but it can be done. We went back to Modern Drunkard, where it was a little quieter, to finish up the night. Tom was a little overeager, so he got a cab back to my place, where his car was. I went with Beth.”

“Should I start humming some porn music now?”

“We didn’t have sex. I got her undressed, and she was really drunk so I just left.”

“Just like that.”

“There are times when I don’t care if someone’s drunk or not. If I’m lucid enough, I usually come to the conclusion that I could be a dozen other guys and it wouldn’t matter. That’s when I have the option to retreat.”

“So you’re a gentleman when it suits you.”

“It does. Beth called me a few days later and we went on a few dates.”

“She remembered you.”

“I put my number in her cell phone. Let someone find you if they really want to, I always say.”

“And these were romantic dates?”

“We never left her apartment. After the third time I think we came to a mutual understanding.”

“No loose ends.”

“It doesn’t always have to be complicated.”

“I’ve never really done that.”

“What’s that?”

“Picked someone up in a bar.”

“It usually works the other way around.”

“I don’t think I could do it. How comfortable do you feel with someone you’ve known for a couple of hours?”

“It only has to be comfortable enough.”

“I’ve got an idea. I’ll go to a bar one night. You come in and pick me up.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“No, you don’t get it. We’re role-playing. I’ll pretend to be a sassy girl looking for a hook up and you’ll be the guy with a drawer full of pick-up lines. We can make up fake jobs and everything.”

“Costumes?”

“I don’t want to make this a high-budget affair. It takes a lot of guts to come up to a stranger in a bar and start chatting. I think I’d like to try it, but only with someone I know.”

“Remember when I called you mental earlier?”

“Sure.”

“Double that. If you know the other person, it defeats the person of meeting someone in the bar.”

“I’m trying to share that I am comfortable enough with you that you can pick me up in a bar anytime.”

“That’s good to know, I guess.”

“Is it your turn to ask me something, or the other way around? I kind of lost track.”

“It’s my turn.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“I know.” I paused. “Want to go to Asheville with me?”

“Asheville?”
“It’s in North Carolina. I can get a cabin for a week. I know a guy.”

“You know lots of people.”

“It’s very simple. You say yes or no.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” I theatrically yawned. “Want to join me in the bedroom?”

“No, I still have Beth on the brain. If you need a few minutes alone, I can turn up the TV volume.”

I grimaced. Yeah, it was going to be one of those evenings. I reached for the laptop and decided better of it. Nadine really didn’t care. She already was working through the TiVo list.

As I closed the bedroom door, she yelled out “Say my name when you finish!”

Women.

Chapter 11: Goodbye and Hello

Chapter 11 – Goodbye and Hello

Saturday, November 4

The door was unlocked when I got there. I carried a large load of dry cleaning and some supplies from Target. The store opened a couple of months ago and it changed my life. My commute to Target used to be ten minutes. Now there was a location across the street. I could walk, if anyone in Atlanta walked anywhere.

Nadine joined me at the door. She took the dry cleaning from me and went back to the bedroom. I put my supplies down in the laundry room. It was the usual $60 worth of stuff: Kashi cereal, Pria bars, laundry detergent, shaving cream, razors, pasta sauce and soy milk.

Nadine walked out of the bedroom. The clogs were gone. So were her shorts. She wore a one-size-too-tight white man’s t-shirt and nothing else. I admired her pluck.

“I put the clothes away,” she said in a much softer voice than usual.

“Thanks,” I replied.

“There’s something in the bedroom that I’d like you to see.”

“I’ll check it out later,” I replied, walking to the couch. As much as I dreaded the outcome, I had to watch when the University of Missouri football team was on TV. At 7-2 they were poised to have their best season in 25 years. All they had to do was beat the University of Nebraska on the road, something that had not been accomplished in my lifetime.

“Why won’t you fuck me?” she demanded.

I turned around with a sigh. The game was on my TiVo to-do list, so I wouldn’t miss a play. She had her hands on her hips and tried to look confident. The sexy was there, but I could smell the desperate. “No,” I said as calmly as possible.

“How low maintenance do you need me to be? All I want is for you to take me to the bedroom and screw me.”

“I won’t do it, Nadine.”

She slowly walked to me. Her eyes were moist. “I don’t want you to tell me that you care about me. I want you to fuck me. This never used to be a big deal.”

“Duly noted,” I said, turning around.

I heard her feet on the wood floor as she caught up to me. Her hand was firm on my shoulder, even borderline painful. I turned around.

“I used to love it when I’d come over to watch TV. It was the highlight of my day. I’d watch Flavor of Love and you’d sit behind me the whole time. I always acted coy while my show was on. You should have seen my face. When you first put your hands on my shoulders to rub them I would get excited, like it was Christmas Day and I knew what was under the tree. You’d take time before pushing the shirt off my shoulders and give me some of those small kisses on the back of the neck. I didn’t want you to know that you’d gotten to me.

“Sometimes, when Flava gave out his last clock, I’d decide not to have sex with you because I wanted to hold onto that anticipation for a few more hours. I think you took that as rejection. I always came back to you, though.

“Now you’re just fucking with me. You’ll rub my shoulders and even though you don’t kiss my neck anymore, I know that you want to. I really want you to. It’s been a month, and I think that’s plenty of foreplay. Come on, Larry, I’m the easiest lay you’ve ever had,” Nadine said. She finished her speech with a final enticement spoken quietly into my ear. I could smell her vanilla body lotion.

“You’d let me do that now, even though you wouldn’t before?”

She nodded.

“Well shit, I might as well hold out another month and see what I get then.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“I have a game to watch. It’s not often that I get to watch Missouri get humiliated on national TV.”

“I am talking serious, so you better swallow any more smart-ass comments. This offer is for a limited time only. You may think that you can take me or leave me, but I’m not replaceable. If you’re out of my life, I’ll just spend more time reading. If I’m out of your life, you will compare every girl you date to me. And it won’t be favorable.”

The room was very quiet. I gently placed both hands on her soft cheeks. “Maybe I don’t like you that way anymore.” I finally said.

“Then stop staring at my tits,” she replied.

And I’m the smart-ass. “Don’t you get that I’m angry with you?”

“Don’t talk about it. Express yourself physically.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it still hurts too much.”

She put a jacket over her shirt and walked to the door. Before opening it, she turned around, lifted the shirt enough to give me a full frontal, and turned around. “If this is the worst you’ve ever been hurt, consider yourself blessed,” she said before the door closed.

I turned and went to the couch. I started watching the game and turned up the volume as high as I could. There was no need to hear her, if she lingered outside, which she didn’t. Maybe I didn’t want her to hear me yelling at the Tigers and their dumb-ass coach as the Cornhuskers took a 27-6 lead.

Drama. Who needs it.

Sunday, November 26

The natural-gas powered Marta bus pushed off in front of me. I wore red sweatpants, a t-shirt under a bomber jacket, and a Columbia blue Titans hat. It was chilly but the high was supposed to be 70. All in all, it was better than being in Springfield, Missouri.

Nadine walked out from around a corner. She was bundled like a person who had just arrived from a cold-weather city. The pink hat with a tassle didn’t fit, but there you go.

I popped the trunk and she put her red suitcase in. She got in the passenger seat and gave me a long, enthusiastic hug. It was warm and welcome.

“Thanks for picking me up, mister,” she said. “I don’t have cab fare, but I think we can work out an arrangement.”

***

The Day After New York (Nadine’s Perspective)

When I told Larry that he didn’t have to walk me to my door, I wasn’t completely serious. He can be romantic as long as no one he knows is looking and the gesture is optional. Those bags were heavy, and even though I only had to walk 100 feet, it seemed longer than that.

I dropped the bag in the living room of my pigsty. When I get a few bucks (if is the better term, I’m afraid), I’d love to hire a cleaning service like Larry does. It’s doubly depressing to end a vacation when your place isn’t picked up. Even though I had vacation time, I ended up working the last three days before the trip. Being awake during the day for 72 hours was weird, too.

Before I could do anything, I had to dig out my facial cleanser and scrub up. My skin gets oily when I get too much sun.

“Like I want to know that,” Larry said. He can be an ass. He also held me in a spooning position, which felt really nice.

“I’m setting the mood here.” Everyone’s a critic. I had just finished lathering up my face when my phone rang. It was probably Larry, calling for some booty.

“Honestly, I was tired of your booty at that point.”

Like that’s possible. Only after I finished my lather did I realize that I didn’t have any clean towels. I rinsed as best I could and blindly felt my way to a t-shirt in my bag. I had to dig a bit to get there, and when I did, it was the shirt that I wore on the first day of the trip. It was funky like a monkey.

Larry made a “gag me” face, so I punched him in the arm.

I immediately forgot the smell when I heard my phone beeping. It’s really loud when I have a message. I keyed in the code to get voice mail and listened.

“Could you tell me the code?”

“Listen, dude, you had enough time with my phone. In case you’re curious, it’s 1224.”

“Is that your birthday?”

“It is.”

“Mine too.”

“Just be quiet for ten minutes, or however long it takes me to finish, capiche?”

“Spell that.”

If it weren’t for the murder one charge, I think that smothering that boy with a pillow would be a big favor for the both of us. Becca, my sister, was on the phone. I could barely understand what she said. Her voice was more high-pitched than usual and she sounded like she was out of breath. I had to listen to it three times to get the whole thing. Mom had a stroke. Becca, who has yet to find the event that she can’t overplan, already booked me on a Delta flight to Detroit that took off in three hours.

It’s really hard to diagnose someone over the phone. That much I’ve learned in my short medical career. Mom was fine the last time I talked with her on the phone, which was two days ago. She wanted to know about this young man who took me to New York. I told her that he was a great lay, but all in all I’d rather be with Donald Logue. The Tao of Steve guy. I think he’s on a new ABC show. Don’t look at me like that!

I called Becca six times in the next ten minutes and got a busy signal. My messages ranged from “what the fuck?” to “at least tell me Mom is alive.” I got nothing. My finger slipped and I called a Chinese delivery place by accident, and all of the sudden Sesame Chicken seemed like a good idea. I also called a cab to give me a ride to Marta.

Yes, I could have asked Larry for a ride to Marta, and maybe even the airport. I didn’t want to talk to him about this. We never discussed family, and I got this weird vibe when I mentioned my mom during the trip.

Becca called me back ten minutes later. She was frantic and I started crying as soon as she told me that mom was in the hospital. I tried to remember July 5, the last time I saw my mom, but it’s a bad idea to diagnose a memory. I finally hung up, since I would be there in a few hours. I put the phone down. This detail I remembered only after I got to the airport. In the next five minutes the Chinese guy showed up, and two bites later the cabbie showed up at the door. Our security gate was broken so both were at the door. I hadn’t even thought about packing. It would be colder in Detroit than the late summeresque weekend we just had in NYC. I kept a small bag packed in my bedroom because someone once surprised me with a last-second trip and I wasn’t prepared. I grabbed that and was at the Marta station five minutes later.

I was too worried to read or sleep on the flight. Dan, my older brother, picked me up at the airport and took me directly to the hospital. They were holding my mom overnight as a precautionary measure. She didn’t have a stroke. She walked up some stairs too quickly, went to the couch in the living room to rest, which she never does, and my sister, who lives two streets away but is a constant presence, found her an hour later and panicked. She called an ambulance then called everyone to come home. Dan and Steve and their Midwestern house frau wives were a short drive away. Dan was about to turn around and go straight home before Becca had a tantrum that changed his mind in a hurry.

I spent the night in a waiting room next to my dad, who read through five or six magazines during the night. We said less than five words between us. Dan and Steve talked all night about how Matt Millen should be drawn and quartered for dragging the Lions down. Becca paced the floor, tormenting everyone who wore a set of scrubs. She was the kind of patient’s relative that made you wish that you had joined the National Guard and were sent to Afghanistan. It took three doctors to tell her that nothing was wrong with mom. I tried to make friends with some of the nurses but they didn’t recognize me as part of the sisterhood. I waited.

After nearly passing out with worry for four hours, I only got to see a glimpse of her before getting ushered back into the waiting area. She needed to rest. Heck, my mom probably was just tired. She kept the three-bedroom house in top shape. Dad could help, because he’s retired, but he doesn’t. I don’t know why they haven’t sold the place and moved into a condo. When I moved in, Dad told me that my condo felt “just right.” I didn’t think he was talking about me.

It took me another 18 hours to get a few minutes alone with mom. She was fine, although I think that she might be coming down with Alzheimer’s.

“If that’s true, it really sucks,” Larry said.

“I know,” I replied.

“So you’re the youngest.”

“I’m the youngest by decades. My parents had three kids and stopped. Mom was 27 when Becca was born. I came along a few days before her 45th birthday.”

“Wow.”

“Exactly. I’m a generation behind my siblings.”

“So your parents, brothers and sister all treat you like a child.”

“I am still a child. I will always be a child. You treated me like ass when I got back to town.”

“You left me.”

“I thought my mom was dying, you inconsiderate fuck! What right do you have to lay claim to me as anything to you!”

“When did I do that?”

“Every time you put your dick in me. At least now I know why you stopped doing that. You were punishing me for hurting you. How very fucking mature of you.”

“I thought we were past that.”

“Maybe you were. Larry, if two people mutually decide to not talk about a subject, that doesn’t mean the subject’s dead. It means that one or both of us couldn’t deal. I’m dealing now.”

“You hurt me, and no explanation would have made up for it, at the time. Obviously I was wrong for being so hard on you.”

“Obviously.”

I knew he was dying to ask a question along the lines of “so is a blowjob is out of the question?” . We just finished having sex for the first time in a month, and Larry does not recover quickly. I used his refractory period as an excuse to tell my side of the story. The things a woman does to shut a guy up, eh?

I stood up, put on my clothes, and walked out the door. I had to be at work in thirty minutes.

***

We arranged quickly. Nadine had to work that night, so I assumed that she would go straight home. She didn’t. I held her for a few minutes while she told me what happened the day after we returned from New York. It was fascinating and all, but after she got up I went to sleep.

I woke up around noon. Nadine had returned. After her shift she must have come over, turned on the TV, and passed out on the couch. She pulled off the transition from dayturnal to nocturnal with her usual 36-hour stretch of not sleeping.

I started to carry her to the bedroom so I could watch my football in peace. She resisted the carry, which was fine by me. I swaddled her with covers and went back into the living room.

My fantasy teams were in no need of a last-second tweak. I put some fuggets in the oven along with some French fries that had to be semi-healthy since I got them at Whole Foods. I was “assigned” to blog the Vikings/Cardinals game, but I stuck with the Saints/Falcons and Jags/Bills and used the play-by-play ticker to give most of the facts. I’d turn to the game every few minutes and comment on the ugly fans in the stands to prove that I was indeed watching. The Titans didn’t come on until 4:30, and I only posted to my Larry Smith, Sports Geek blog when watching the home team. A stunning upset over the Eagles had me feeling bullish about this weekend’s matchup with the Giants and golden boy Eli Manning.

I timed it so that the fries and fuggets came out at the same time. Fuggets were breaded to look like chicken nuggets but were actually made of some kind of tofu-like protein. They were fine if doused in Frank’s hot sauce. The fries got the garlic salt and ketchup treatment. Ketchup was my vegetable.

Matt Leinart had just missed Obafemi Ayanbadejo in the flat. The Cardinals were going to settle for a field goal and a three-point lead. Leinart and Vince Young were looking like solid picks for dynasty leagues. I didn’t have either of them. Nadine came out of the bedroom wearing the too-small man’s white t-shirt and the clogs.

“You’re watching the Cardinals? Were the Lions not on yet?”

“The Lions played on Thanksgiving, like they always do.”

“Unlike you, I worked on Thanksgiving.”

“Was it a bad shift?”

She sat down next to me. “The 18 hours seemed like only 12.”

“And then you got on a plane and went to Detroit.”

“I did my time,” she said, grabbing a fugget. I offered the hot sauce but she shook her head. Nadine liked her fuggets naked.

“Was it a good visit?”

“Good and short.”

“I thought that you liked your parents.”

“I like my parents just fine. It’s my siblings that I can’t stand.”

I glanced at the TV to see Brad Johnson complete his third consecutive pass. I made a short comment about him being pretty good for a guy on Social Security.

“You don’t hate your siblings.”

“They’re in their 40s. I can’t relate to people who still think that Bob Seger is cool.”

Johnson threw incomplete to Marcus Robinson on second down. On third down the Vikings ran what looked like the exact same play and it worked.

“This game is affecting my will to live,” I said and typed at the same time.

“Don’t you have all the games?”

“I was assigned to this one.”

“Assigned?”

“I write what’s called a Nlog.”

“Nlog?”

“It’s a blog about the NFL, so they call it a nlog.” Pause. “I didn’t come up with it.”

“And they pay you how much?”

“Mainly I get this setup for free.”

“The Sunday Ticket thingy?”

“Yes indeedy.”

“Isn’t the point of having it so you can watch all the games?”

“Why don’t you go back to sleep or something?”

“Thanks for picking me up at the airport,” she said, kissing me quickly.

“You asked,” I said, shrugging.

“So we’re good now?”

I pressed the pause button on the remote. “I was angry at you. I got over it.”

“You were more horny than you were angry.”

“It seems that I only have room for one of those emotions at a time.”

“Is horny an emotion?”

“It usually leads to sleepy.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what came over me. I haven’t slept in your bed since.”

“Our first time together.”

“It’s nice to do that every once in a while. Say, how long can you keep that thing on pause?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“We won’t need that long.”

Nadine mumbled something about wanting to do this before I changed my mind as I found my way between her legs. I have heard of lovers purposely teasing each other to increase the anticipation of their next time together. We played no such games. There was tiny bit of additional urgency to our coupling. Every single guy has dry spells, and breaking one is a relief. It’s so much better to do it with a familiar partner.

We completed the act in time for me to fast forward through the rest of the first half. Nadine played the guy role and almost immediately went to sleep. It was her usual sleep time. The Vikings led 14-13. Even though the game was competitive it felt like two mediocre squads playing out the string. Adrian Wilson, the Cardinals’ all-pro safety, returned a fumble 99 yards for a touchdown, but that would be the last score of the day. I made my last joke about Dennis Green, the Cardinals’ lame-duck coach, and switched to channel 713 for the Titans game.

Joseph arrived at 4 p.m., as planned. My situation wasn’t quite planned, and I wasn’t going to turn a friend away just because of an unexpected roll in the hay. He came through the front door, which is never locked on a Sunday afternoon, deposited some things in the kitchen and joined me in front of the TV.

“Those weren’t your panties on the chair, were they?” he asked, completely serious. Most of my friends are smart-asses to the death. Joseph is refreshing because he always says what he thinks.

“They belong to my good friend Nadine, who is asleep in the bedroom. I trust that you don’t mind.”

“She’s the girl from draft day?” Joseph asked.

“She still makes house calls.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Joseph was one of the first people I ever met in Atlanta. I went to a sports bar to harass some Steeler fans. There also was a pretty bartender who thought my generous tips meant that I was a man of means. He was one of the less obnoxious fans, so we got along fine. I spent half the afternoon jotting notes in a pad and he told me, out of earshot of his buddies, that he was working on a novel.

Joseph was an editor at a general-interest weekly that competed with the more left-wing Creative Loafing. He liked his job much like I enjoy a good piece of French Toast. It’s easily my seventh-favorite breakfast option. Joseph saved some money and signed up for a month at a writer’s commune in Arizona. He stayed with a friend while preparing to go to the commune. It was during this trip that he met a young woman named Natalie. Her deep insights, which I like to call tits, helped Joseph focus. They married soon after he returned to Atlanta, and in the fall of 2002 Hazy White Line published. The book begins when a young man, driving in a terrible rainstorm, Katrina-esque if you ask me, loses control, flips off the road and smashes into a car on the side of the road. The car happens to contain a 16-year-old girl and her seven-year-old sister. The older girl dies instantly but the younger one survives long enough to die in the hero’s arms. The rest of the novel is an ode to guilt. Joseph told me that the idea came from a dream.

Even though the book was set in rural Alabama it got plenty of local press. It didn’t make him rich, but that was fine because his wife took care of that. Natalie is your average goddess with supermodel looks and an odd sense of humor. She always has a wry smile on her Scarlett Johannson lips. Joseph once told me that she has a perfect memory, but when I pried for further detail he started to get uncomfortable and changed the subject. I helped hook Joseph up with a new publisher after his first one refused to publish his follow-up novel about a guy who meets a stunningly beautiful woman who happens to be an alien. The shift from moody, depressing fiction to sci-fi was apparently too much for his dozens of fans.

After that favor, Natalie magically hooked me up with Mo, and the fateful blog deal that almost ruined my writing career. I was much happier writing for many different clients who didn’t want to change my work or present it in a context that changed the meaning. Part of me thinks that she set me up for a fall because technically I’m competition for her husband. I would be if I had the attention span for a novel. I can write 1,000 words about the pre-draft ritual that turned Matt Leinart from two-time national champ and Heisman winner to weak-armed robo-QB with the personality of a bowl of Frosted Flakes. I can’t produce 300 pages consisting mainly of a man staring blankly into space.

Joseph was especially welcome because he brought food. One of the advantages of calling oneself a novelist was that anything you do can be considered research. Joseph ditched the second novel, at least until he was famous enough to dump it to fulfill a contract later, and took on a story of a Jewish boy who joins a huge Italian family. He also happens to be the star quarterback of the Pittsburgh Steelers, and black. Joseph called him Kordell Stewart with six inches of height and the ability to read a defense. He got the idea after the meteoric rise of Ben Roethlisberger, who led the Steelers to last year’s Super Bowl title. Roethlisberger had a rough offseason. He got hit by a car while riding his motorcycle, without a helmet naturally. After making a full recovery he had his appendix rupture the week before the season opener. He set a career high in interceptions halfway through the season.

Joseph wasn’t from Pittsburgh. He was from Kansas City, but thought that setting the novel in Pittsburgh would fit his premise better. Pittsburgh fans would be slower to embrace a black quarterback. Four Super Bowl championships in the 70s followed by nothing, until last year, gave the city’s football fans a sense of entitlement, and the working-class fan base would find it harder to relate to a middle-class guy of any race.

Joseph already knew the football stuff. He didn’t know the Italian stuff. To catch up, he learned to cook. Now that his wife was a big-shot international consultant, whatever that meant, Joseph was home a lot. Since I stopped seeing Nadine over the past month, we bonded. The pot of marinara sauce with sweet and spicy sausage was enough for me. Joseph planned to serve it with some linguine cooked in Chianti. He’d make the salad during halftime.

Sometimes my life didn’t suck.

When Travis Henry fumbled five minutes into the game, allowing the Giants to get good field position and eventually take a 7-0, I had a feeling that things were not going to end well. In the second quarter the Giants’ humongous goal-line back Brandon Jacobs plowed into the end zone. On the following offensive play Vince Young fumbled. Six plays later I screamed like a little girl as Jacobs converted a fourth-down run for a touchdown. It was 21-0 and we weren’t even halfway through the second quarter.

During the games I occasionally chatted with some of my fellow fantasy football junkies via Yahoo Messenger. Today the crowd was sparse for part of the day other than Rod. Mister Knight helped me get my first fantasy football writing gig. He’s a die-hard Giants fan.

“Eli Manning still get carded in Manhattan?” I asked him. Eli is the soft-spoken younger brother to Peyton Manning. He’s been part of an excellent roller-coaster ride for Giants fans over the past few years.

“I’m going to buy him all the Heiniken he wants after today’s performance,” he replied.

Joseph checked his cell phone. His wife also has world-class ability to send text messages. He smiled. If I were reminded a dozen times a day that I was married to a woman with alleged superpowers, I’d smile too.

Joseph knew when he walked through the door that I would be multitasking. There’s nothing more fun than watching your friend suffer through a tough football game. It’s much less fun when you are the friend.

I seriously considered pouring Franks into my eyes after Vince Young failed to convert a fourth and goal at the Giants two-yard-line. A thirteen-play drive ended up with zero points. The Titans used all their timeouts to force a Giant punt. They got into field goal range and missed.

“Three’s not going to help you much anyway,” Joseph said helpfully.

“The Saints sure beat the dog out of the Falcons today,” I responded.

“They sure did,” Joseph replied solemnly. He didn’t officially have a team, although his heart was with the Atlanta Falcons. He owned an Alge Crumpler jersey but didn’t bring it to my house. Alge, full name Algernon, was the tight end and the only guy who could consistently catch a pass for the Falcons. The team had lost four straight.

A yawning Nadine approached me as I switched to the Bears/Patriots showdown.

“I’m going to go home, take a shower, and go to work.”

“Hi, Nadine,” Joseph said politely.

Nadine’s entire face turned crimson. She had added a pair of boxer shorts to her previous outfit. “Joseph, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“One of these days I’d love to talk to you when I’m wearing clothes.”

“My wife’s out of town, so parade all you want.”

“You’re a peach, Joseph.” She leaned down to whisper in my ear. “A little warning would be nice.”

“You could shower over here,” I whispered. Joseph kept his eyes on the TV.

“I like my shower. Watch your game. Have fun,” she finished, kissing me on the ear. She was out of the room five seconds later.

Joseph went to the kitchen to work on dinner. Nadine came back into the room, looking like she was going on a date despite wearing the dumpy sweatshirt and jeans that she wore on the plane this morning. There was a stash of makeup somewhere in my bathroom. Her hair was dry and teased nicely.

“How’s the game going?”

“It’s a disaster.”

“Are they losing?”

“21-0 at the half.”

“I’m sure you can make a Russian novel out of it.”

I reached back and grabbed for her arm. I got her hand instead. The gesture turned out more romantic than I had intended. “It’s good to see you again.”

“I missed you too.”

She left. I heard her saying good-bye to Joseph before shutting the door.

Joseph came back with a mixed-greens and tomato salad with chopped walnuts. I was two beers into the afternoon but made the switch to Sangiovese when my guest offered a glass.

“I like this phase of yours.”

“Girlfriend?” Joseph asked.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen her in three weeks.”

“She’s really into you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Body language. She wasn’t shy about showing you affection.”

I made a gesture showing that he was number one. Joseph shrugged. The salad was good. We ate and drank and I ignored Rod’s online taunts. It was true that I had not spoken to Nadine since our fight three weeks ago. It didn’t make sense that she would ask me to pick her up at the Marta station. It made even less sense that she made up for our absence in the bedroom. I wasn’t going to think too deeply on the subject until I saw her again. It could be in 2007 for all I knew.

Joseph looked at his phone again.

“What would you do without that thing?”

“I’ve been married four years, and until the past couple of weeks we haven’t been apart for more than 24 hours at a time. It’s an adjustment.” He looked down one more time. “Turn back to the Titans game.”

I changed the channel just in time to see a replay of Eli Manning missing a receiver on a fourth-down play. The Titans responded by going three and out, including a sack of Vince Young, trying to do too much as usual. I was disgusted when they punted, but two plays later Pac Man Jones intercepted an Eli Manning pass.

“How’s your savior now?” I wrote to Rod.

The Titans faced a fourth down and nine from the Giants’ 20. There were about eleven minutes left in the game, so they had to go for it. Young ran for his life and was crushed by two defenders short of the first down.

“Motherfuck,” I said curtly.

“Penalty,” Joseph replied.

Replay confirmed that one of the defenders hit Young in the head. First down. They scored three plays later.

“Big deal,” Rod replied.

“I agree. At least the shutout is over.”

“Vince Young really has transformed the team,” Joseph said. I was too busy biting my fingernails to reply. The Giants went three and out.

“Getting nervous?” I typed.

“A little,” he replied.

With five minutes to go, Young swept around right end for another touchdown. The defense held and they got the ball back with three minutes left.

“This reminds me a little of the Rose Bowl,” Joseph said. In his final college game Vince Young led the Texas Longhorns from eleven points down in the final five minutes to win the game and the national championship. He suffered from the same detractors as any athletic black quarterback. Athletic black NFL quarterbacks have never won a Super Bowl. A lot of columnists thought that was the fault of guys like Steve McNair, Michael Vick, and now, Vince Young.

The series started poorly, as Young missed receivers on three straight plays. On fourth down a Giants’ defensive end had him wrapped up for a second. Young escaped and took off for a game-saving first down. Four plays later, he hit Brandon Jones for the tying touchdown.

“I’ve heard that pills are an easier form of suicide than hanging,” I typed to Rod.

“If I ever meet you in person, I will strangle you,” Rod replied. The spelling was impeccable for a man who might be having a heart attack.

Joseph was typing on his Treo. “The Giants won’t play for overtime,” Joseph said.

I opened my mouth to protest then looked at Joseph’s source. The smart play would be for the Giants to run the clock out and play for overtime. In the NFL, the winner in sudden-death overtime is usually the team that wins the coin flip. It’s generally better to take those odds against a team with momentum.

Eli Manning showed his brother’s penchant for choking in the clutch by throwing another interception to Pac Man Jones. Mr. Jones was a much maligned first-round draft pick who had been arrested many times since signing with the team. His ability to get into brawls at clubs was about as good as his inability to make plays on defense. Suddenly that had changed. Young completed two passes and the kicker came on the field. Two time outs and three chewed fingernails later he made the kick. The Titans had scored 24 points in the final ten minutes. It was the greatest rally in franchise history.

“Congrats,” Rod said before abruptly signing off.

I smiled and accepted Joseph’s high five. He quickly confirmed my hunch that it was the greatest comeback in franchise history.

“You want to share this with her, don’t you?” he asked.

“You’re becoming more like a chick every day,” I replied.

He frowned. “I’ll get dinner.”

Joseph set up the spread on TV trays while I turned to the post-game show on NBC. The Eagles and Colts were the Sunday night game. After losing Donovan McNabb for the year, not to mention losing to the formerly pathetic Titans at home in the previous week, I didn’t expect much of a fight from the Eagles.

I was about to take my first bite when Joseph handed me a zip loc bag full of grated parmesan cheese.

“I didn’t know if you had a grater,” he said like it was an apology.

“I don’t know what to say about my relationship,” I replied before dumping half of the bag’s contents on my food.

“You can’t read her mind. You can only go by what you know.”

“I would call her, but she just started her shift at work.”

“She’s a nurse?”

“She works 12-hour overnight shifts at the ER three or four nights a week.”

“At least you know her schedule.”

“This is freaking amazing,” I said. The sausage was a wonderful blend of sweet and spicy and I could taste the garlic and basil in the sauce. “How did learning to make Italian food help you write Italian characters?”

“Food is so integral in their culture. My family’s idea of Italian cooking was to get a jar of Ragu.”

“I always preferred Prego.”

“As we get older, our tastes get more refined.”

“Assuming that our wallets can keep track.”

Joseph Addai took an outside pitch for a touchdown. The Colts, aka Peyton Manning’s team, took the lead.

“The Eagles have a dead man walking look about them.”

“Don’t count them out. Jeff Garcia has a lot of experience in the West Coast offense.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” I said, taking another bite.

Joseph left at halftime. The score was 24-7 and Addai would finish the night with four touchdowns.

I later attributed my final effort of the evening to the Sangiovese. I put a few of my thoughts down on the ol laptop, cleaned myself off and headed to bed. Before falling asleep, I sent a text message to Nadine’s phone. It was the first text message I ever sent to her.

“Titans win. Miss U.” If it weren’t for the letter U instead of the fully spelled second-person pronoun, I doubt that Nadine would have commented. I didn’t see it until the following morning.

“U R hopeless.”

Chapter 10: Missing

This one picks up almost immediately after Chapter 9.

Chapter 10: Missing

At 8 a.m. I thought that she might not be coming over. At 10 a.m. I was certain of it. By 3 p.m. I gave up on seeing her that day. Maybe she got hooked up with that Radiology guy again. She did tell me that they were finished, but sometimes that old flame can look pretty tempting.

It was day three of Operation Networking and so far it had turned into Operation I’m Fucked. Simone, the graphic designer who I blew off in more than one way last June, had apparently found a short-term writing and bedroom partner. I had to safely wait one month for that to fall apart and another for her to be ready for another go at it. My level of desperation was apparent enough that I was even calling her. 15 months ago we followed an excellent working relationship with an even more excellent sleeping arrangement. What I didn’t understand was that she expected exclusivity in dating and working, and I kept pursuing partnerships in both arenas.

Desmond, whose offer of work I had so artfully declined four months ago, laughed when I asked if he had anything for me. Word of my haughty attitude had traveled well, and memories hadn’t faded yet. I knew that I’d find enough to stay afloat, but the fact that it hadn’t happened in the first 72 hours was worrying.

My recently terminated relationship with a right-wing think tank hurt my prospects as well. While the work was rewarding and challenging, I didn’t keep my portfolio balanced by taking on additional projects, even if they would pay much less. My focus had been narrowed, and in the freelance world that was death.

I sometimes felt that way about my relationship with Nadine. Honestly, I wasn’t missing much by being out of the dating game. I didn’t need to attach myself to any more emotionally stunted females just for a few minutes of pleasure. If all I got out of it was material for my blogs and good stories to tell at the next poker night, that was fine, but I wasn’t any less interesting otherwise.

By 6 p.m. I had given up for the day. I didn’t mind being alone on Monday and Tuesday after a weekend of almost nonstop time with Nadine. Two days without sex was making me somewhat peckish in the shorts. I decided to stop by for a visit.

It was a rare shift that exhausted Nadine so much that she went straight home. Still, it happened from time to time. I walked to her unit and knocked at the door. No answer. I decided to be clever and call her cell phone. There was a faint sound on the other side of the door, and I recognized the generic rock tune that was her phone’s ring. That was interesting. She never traveled without the phone. I found the spare key under the conspicuous garden gnome. I pocketed the key and went home.

I hadn’t cooked since I returned home, and that evening wasn’t going to be any different. I went to Thai Bowl and picked up two orders of chicken panang, extra rice. I only go when I get the buy-one, get one free coupon that arrives monthly in the mail. The old Larry would have consumed one of the orders and made a decent stab at the second. I ate about half of one container and sopped up the rest of the sauce with the rice. After that I browsed online long enough to ensure that I was no longer peckish in any way.

Before diving into my TiVo stash and heading to bed, I checked one more thing on my computer. The last electronic payment from Rove Enterprises was there, along with another somewhat surprising transaction.

I went back to her place. It was a mess. She had it cleaned up, not spotless but close, when I picked her up last Friday. There were clothes on the floor, and she wasn’t the type to leave clothes lying around. She was the type to leave a large pile of laundry in her giant basket until she ran out of clothes. The bag she packed for NYC was open on her bed. I pulled out her green camisole and thought of happier days. If she was gone, she left in a hurry. Her toiletries were still in the bag as well, and when I walked to the bathroom it looked no different than when I stopped there prior to our trip.

While in a moment of weakness, as I was as fat, happy, and sexually satisfied as I could remember, I made an electronic transfer of two grand into Nadine’s account. Since her bank sucks, the funds came to her in check form. My check had been deposited on Tuesday. If she had left in a hurry, it didn’t make sense that she would stop at her bank and drop off my check. It was a befuddling development.

I found an open container of Chinese food in the kitchen. It looked like Orange Chicken and smelled like death. I went to drop the Chinese food in the trash and saw a receipt. It was from Grand China, and was dated Monday night, just an hour after I left her at her apartment. Whatever happened didn’t happen as soon as she got home, but it could have been close.

Walking into the living room, I found her cell and flipped it open. The only call in her “received” folder was the one that I made an hour ago. The “dialed” folder was also empty. Curious. Most of the names in her “contacts” folder were unfamiliar to me. I smiled when I saw my entry. Sore butt boy. The entry under mine was Tina. She worked at the hospital with Nadine. I pressed the call button.

“Nadine?” a high-pitched voice answered. Tina was a short, compact blonde with a great smile who would be my number-one pick in the hottest Nadine co-worker draft.

“Hey Tina, this is Larry.”

“Larry, why are you calling me on Nadine’s cell?”

“Was she at work last night?”

“Tell me why you’re on her phone.”

“She didn’t show up this morning.”

“Show up where?”

“At my place.”

“You had that cyst, didn’t you?”

“Um, yes.”

“Nadine speaks well of you. Are you her boyfriend?”

“Right now I’m a concerned friend. Was she at work last night?”

“I was off last night. I’m actually about to clock in, so I can ask somebody who was there.”

“That would be great.”

I heard some voices in the background. Tina returned in a minute. “Jack says that she didn’t show up last night. Nadine doesn’t blow off shifts, but he thought that she might still be in New York.”

“We got back on Monday.”

“We, eh? You sure sound like a boyfriend.”

“Thanks Tina.”

“When I met you at Jane’s party, I couldn’t tell if you two were really together. You don’t act like a couple in public.”

When I met Tina, it was at a gathering on Lake Lanier. She wore a very revealing red tankini and licked her full lips nearly every time she caught me looking in her direction. Tina had a date at the party. I guess it went poorly.

“Maybe we’re just private people.”

“If you’re really not her boyfriend, I have tomorrow off.”

“You’re rather forward.”

“What Nadine told me about you is something that I’d like to experience for myself.”

“I’m a little busy right now.”

“That’s too bad. I’m ecstatic about receiving, but I like to give as well.”

It was pretty obvious that Tina and Nadine weren’t great friends.

“That should serve you well in your chosen profession. If you hear from her, give me a call.”

“You have her cell phone. How exactly would she contact me?”

“Good question.” I left my number. Tina repeated it three times.

Tina’s offer should have intrigued me more than it did. I guess that meant that I cared about my missing friend. Considering my current freelance situation, I was not going to automatically blow off an opportunity for future work, even if it was unpaid.

I pressed the off button and pocketed the phone. It was nine o’clock and I hadn’t seen her for 52 hours. I went home.

The alarm was not welcome the following morning. Tom knocked on the door two minutes after it went off.

“Hey there, buddy. You look chipper.”

“Let’s get this done.”

As usual, we hit the treadmill to warm up, did a few stretches, and transitioned to some free weights. I was in the middle of my third set of dumbbell curls when Tom broke the silence.

“How was your trip?”

“It was fine.”

“You took Nadine, right?”

“I did.”

“How did that go?”

“I didn’t ask her to go steady.”

“I see that you’re touchy today.”

“My top client gave me the boot, but other than that it was swell.”

“Oh shit. There are other opportunities out there.”

“The pickings are slim this week.”

“Is it bad?” Tom asked, handing me the 20-pound weights as he went to work on the 30s.

I grunted.

“Are you the type to look for honest work?” Tom asked. I started on my third, and hardest, set of arm curls.

“At this point, I’d consider it.”

“Are you serious?”

It was hard to talk and flex. “If life’s taught me anything, it’s to keep my options open.”

“I hear that.”

I wiped my forehead with a towel. “So, are you going to tell me about it?”

“Give me a couple of days. You can make it that long, right?”

“Until they pry the credit card from my cold, dead hand.”

“Good,” he said, momentarily lost in his own world.

“What’s up with Sarah?” I asked, moving on.

“I think that ship has sailed.”

“Women, eh?”

“I think it’s time for another Buckhead Destruction night. I’ll need a new wingman, apparently.”

Once in a while Tom and I would partake in an event called Buckhead Destruction night. We’d have contests, like how many phone numbers we could get or how few words we could say to a girl before kissing her. The night usually ended at Waffle House. “Don’t speak too soon.”

“Seriously? Despite efforts to keep her locked up, I think you have something with Nadine.”

“Why would you say that?”

“You like to show off your conquests. Nadine has been notoriously absent from our trivia nights, or anything for that matter.”

“There’s nothing strange about that.”

“It’s OK to give a shit,” Tom said. “If she’s just keeping your bed warm, that’s fine. I know how useful that kind of woman can be.”

“We’re not too conventional.”

“Who needs convention? Women like her tend to hit the road if you don’t pay attention.”

I nodded.

We kept quiet and worked ourselves into a frenzy. Tom looked as worn out as I did.

“You didn’t go soft in New York. That’s good.”

“I can’t stop now.”

“So, did anything else happen in The Big Apple?”

I thought of Ground Zero and the waterworks. “I transferred two thousand dollars to Nadine’s bank account.”

“Interesting. You wouldn’t give me a dime to make change at Wendy’s.”

“Am I that much of a cheap bastard?”

“Most of the time. I don’t blame you. After all, I don’t have a vagina.”

Tom was such a dick. That must have been why we got along.

“Are you saying that you’re tapped out?”

“In a matter of speaking, yes.”

“I’m your accountant. You are not broke.”

“My entire discretionary fund is gone.”

I heard Tom’s weights clank against the bench. “You are bone-sucking broke, aren’t you?”

“I’m about to turn the couch over and hunt for change.”

He looked at me. As if he made a personal decision that I need not be privy to, he nodded once.

“In ten days we’ll talk again.” Tom’s good about dropping sketchy subjects.

“Gotcha.”

Tom used the shower and went to work. I went upstairs, cleaned up, and spent another fruitless morning on the phones. I did this while wandering around Nadine’s building. People walk with their cell phones all the time, so I thought this wouldn’t be seen as suspicious. I eventually found a cheap plastic chair under the stairwell and positioned myself in the woodsy area behind the entry to Nadine’s place. She had a second-floor unit so my view wasn’t great. It would be pretty obvious if someone walked in, and no one did.

Eventually I had to pee. I went back home, grabbed my laptop and spent the afternoon writing mostly unpaid stuff from my post. I put the chair back around 4:30 when people started coming home from work. It was almost 72 hours from when I dropped her off.

I thought about Cindy for the first time as I ate leftover panang for dinner. Our last dinner went spectacularly bad, so I didn’t call. I guess when you take someone out for dinner, and after paying the check you tell her that you don’t want to have sex with her anymore, which pretty much means that you’ll never see each other again, the reaction isn’t going to be positive. She wanted one for the road, so to speak, and only now did I consider my rejection callous. It wasn’t as callous as when I dropped by her place three days later, played out a scene I read in the Penthouse Forum, then left. That was the last time I saw her. It was unlikely that she would offer me the same kindness.

I only thought that because my primary, and currently only, lover was missing. Where was that guy from Without a Trace when you needed him?

Ten minutes later I was back inside her place. Everything was where I had left it. The phone in my pocket beeped. Nadine’s cell phone was about to run out of juice. I flipped through her contacts and stopped at the name Jack. I smiled and pressed the talk button.

The phone rang three times before a male voice answered. “I didn’t think that you’d call me again,” he said.

“Why not?” I said.

“Who is this?” he replied.

“A friend of Nadine’s. How’s the girlfriend?”

“Susan is none of your business.” Nadine told me that Jack, the Radiology guy, got engaged to his long-term girlfriend who lived in D.C. after they broke off their short-term affair.

“Fair enough, Jack. Nadine let me borrow her phone while she was out of town, and I got bored.”

“She’s out of town? She called me on Tuesday night.”

“She did? I thought you two broke things off.” This would be the last time anyone had heard from Nadine, as far as I knew.

“It was quick, OK?”

“Where was she? Did she sound nervous?”

“I don’t know, buddy. What’s your name?”

“Just consider me a friend. Do you have the number that she called from?”

“I deleted it.”

“But there’s a record somewhere, right? Susan would be devastated if she knew that you were cheating on her.”

“It’s over.”

“What’s over?”

“This conversation,” he said.

“I hoped that it wouldn’t come to this,” I said quickly, raising my voice.

“Spill it.”

“Susan would be devastated if she knew that you were cheating on her.” Susan was the fiancé. As far as I knew, they had an open relationship prior to the ring purchase. It was worth a shot.

“What do you want?”

“Tell me what Nadine said to you.”

“We talked for a minute.”

“What did she say?”

“Not much. She seemed a little distracted. I asked her about New York and she said it was fine.”

“You knew that she went to New York? I thought you cut things off.”

“We still talk. We’re adults, unlike the way you’re acting.”

“How did the conversation end?”

“I heard voices in the background. She said that she had to go. She said she was sorry.”

“Sorry about what?”

“I don’t know; she hung up the phone before I could ask.”

“You didn’t try to call her back?”

I heard a sigh. “I did. The phone rang 12 times and someone else. The person didn’t know who Nadine was.”

“So it probably was a pay phone.”

“I don’t know and I don’t care.”

“If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t have called her back.”

“Fine. Are you going to talk to Susan?”

“Not yet. If you come up with anything else, call me.”

“What’s your number?”

“Call this number.”

I think he had one more rebuttal, but the phone died.

It took me nearly an hour to find her cell phone charger. During my thorough search of the place I found nothing of note. There was a slight tinge of disappointment that she didn’t have a secret diary, or old love letters from an ex-boyfriend. The battery-operated “novelty” device, in her bedside drawer, was not a surprise. A woman who lacked such a device would be more of a question in my mind.

There was one small photo album with family shots. She had a large family. Two brothers, one sister, lots of aunts and uncles, salt of the earth types. The move from Detroit alienated her a bit from the family and her life-long friends. The lack of personal effects testified to that.

The cell phone charger was in drawer in the kitchen. It was more fun to look through her bedroom drawers. My back was turned when the door opened behind me.

The first punch came from outside the perimeter but I wasn’t prepared to defend myself. His knuckles grazed my forehead. The second punch was a strong left to the gut. I didn’t like that one.

“What the fuck?” I yelled. I grabbed his fist when he went for punch number three.

Jack sat on the couch, fist wrapped in a zip-loc bag full of ice.

“I really thought that you were going to tell her.”

“I only know her first name. I’d have to be a much better detective to track her down.”

“You’re a detective?”

“Considering my performance over the past two days, I’d have to say no.”

“She’s been gone for two days?”

“It’s been more than 48 hours since she called you.”

“She really did have something on her mind.”

“I’m sure she did.”

Jack wasn’t a bad guy. He was trying for the one-day stubble look and it didn’t quite work. He wore unrimmed glasses and teal scrubs.

“Do you have to buy those things?”

“Hospital provides them.”

“Nadine always wears different colored ones.”

“They look better on women.”

“Are you going to move to D.C., or is Susan moving here?”

“We haven’t talked about it.”

“You’re engaged and haven’t talked about where you’re moving?”

“She’s in law school at Georgetown. We’ll see what happens when she gets a job.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Relationships aren’t easy. I’ve known Susan for six years, and we’ve only been in the same city for six months.”

“Does that make it easier or harder?”

“A little of both. I do wonder how we’ll be when we live in the same place.”

“You won’t be able to hack it. Is it too late to get a refund on the ring?”

“You’re really harsh.”

“I’m a realist.”

“Is that because you’ve never tried to be in a relationship?”

“Don’t project.”

“Why not? You think that you know me.”

“I just know people and how they act. Don’t think that it’s a personal dig.”

“So it’s an impersonal dig.”

“There you go.”

“You don’t care about her,” he said, staring me down.

“Be a man. Say ‘give a shit’ instead.”

“It’s OK if you do.”

“I don’t know where she is. I think that tells you a lot about her feelings.”

“Then I guess she doesn’t want to be found.” Jack stood up. He found the sink and left the ice there. Jack left the place cleaner than he found it.

“Tuesday night, come to the Modern Drunkard.”

He turned around, flexing his fist like it was part of a brand-new robot arm. “Why?”

“I have something that might help with your relationship.”

“I won’t tell Nadine.”

“Tell her what?”

“That you give a shit.”

That Jack wasn’t so bad after all. “I appreciate that.”

“The number she called from, it wasn’t local.”

“Thanks,” I said, and he was gone.

I checked Jack’s phone records the following day. The call was from a pay phone in Detroit. She went home. As I started to look up her family’s home phone number, I paused. It had been four days since she left. She hadn’t called me. She had called another guy who should have meant less to her than me.

I left her cell phone on the counter where she left it. I found the novelty device in her bedside drawer, placed it next to the phone, and wrote a three-word message on the device with a permanent marker I found in a kitchen drawer. The exclamation point was overkill, but I was emotional.

Monday, October 1

Nadine walked through the door at 7:13 a.m., wearing peach scrubs, red crocs, and white ankle socks. She immediately walked to the couch and found the remote. I was pretending that my bowl of Kashi cereal was Count Chocula.

I didn’t move as she turned on the TV and started watching something on MTV. Donovan McNabb needed to stay under 12 points for me to win in the EHFL. The overtime touchdown for Santana Moss put my dynasty team over the top. The Titans were crushed by the Cowboys on Sunday and would play the 4-0 Colts the following week. I tried to not remember the bet I made with Mo on the Redskins game in two weeks.

45 minutes later Nadine turned off the television. She walked to the sink, poured water into a plastic Titans cup, took a sip, and put the cup on the marble counter. That was when she saw the red thong spread out on the kitchen table.

Nadine turned and stared at me. She shrugged her shoulders. I shrugged back.

Nadine turned, finished her water, put the glass in the sink, walked to the door, and left. I waited a minute, got up, dumped my milk in the sink, and picked up her discarded cup. I looked at it for ten seconds. Opening the dishwasher, I put the bowl inside. I put the cup in the trash.