Balancing Acts (22 page)

Wiping her eyes with her gloves, Naomi continued her trek across the park with her head down, oblivious to the green buds on the trees and the flowers just beginning to poke their heads out of the thawing ground.

J
esus, slow it down!
Sabine realized that she had been running to meet Zach. She wasn't late by any stretch of the imagination, so even a quickened pace was irrational. She simply couldn't wait to see him. She dug in her bag for a mint. She was about three minutes away from the bar. She looked at her watch. She would be exactly on time. Such was the curse of her anal retentive tendencies. She couldn't be late, even when she was trying her hardest to do so. She also could never leave a dish in the sink when she left the house. Once, she had given it everything she had not to wash her breakfast dishes. She had forced herself to leave the house, only to make it one block before turning back around.
If a dish cleaning compulsion is the worst of my flaws, then I'm doing all right.
She looked up. She was at the bar just in time to chew the last scrap of mint and swallow.

She walked in. There he was, sipping a beer on a stool near the door. He was so. . .perfect. Dark, mussed hair, a slight scruff, a gray sweater with a white T-shirt underneath that conveyed the coveted “I'm not trying too hard, I just happen to have decent taste” message, slightly scuffed jeans, and the pièce de résistance, chocolate brown Rod Lavers. Sabine had a very strange, unparalleled affinity for brown sneakers. She had tried to figure out why after a particularly steamy encounter with a brown Adidas Gazelle on a very unattractive man at Whole Foods. The man himself did zero for her, but the shoes. The shoes! She had managed to track her obsession back to Tyler Sellers in the seventh grade. He had been Sabine's first, full-blown, “doodle his name on her notebook paper and then immediately throw it out” crush, and he had worn brown Nike Air Force Ones. Sabine wasn't sure which came first, the crush or the shoe, but now they were inseparable entities. Hence the flush that crept up her cheeks the moment she had seen Zach wearing his Lavers on the subway. And now, here she was, on her second date with him.
Will those shoes end up on my floor tonight?
She imagined them littering her living room floor.
Or maybe he'll leave them outside my door, like my neighbor's boyfriend does.

Zach looked up from his beer. A huge smile emerged as he noticed Sabine in the doorway. Her heart sloshed around in her chest at the sight. “Hey!” he exclaimed.

She made her way toward him. “Hello,” she replied, hoping her voice sounded level. He moved to hug her.

“How are you?” she asked, as she unzipped her jacket and hung it over the bar stool.

“Great, now. You look pretty.”

“Thanks, Zach. You don't look so bad yourself. Whatcha drinkin'?”

“Blue Moon. It's delicious. Can I get you one?”

“I'll have a glass of wine, I think. Maybe a Shiraz?” Zach ordered it for her as she made herself comfortable. “Thanks,” she said when she had settled in. She lifted her glass to toast and he did the same. “To—”

“To the longest week and a half ever,” he finished. “I'm really happy to see you again.”

Sabine took a sip and nodded. “Me, too. And to your case being over. Or is it?”

“It is. Our client won, too, which is a huge relief.”

“Congrats!”

They smiled at each other goofily.

“How's yoga treating you?” asked Zach. Sabine had tried to mask her soreness on their first date, but eventually she had had to cop to her aching abs. Every time she laughed, her core had screamed in pain.

“You know what, I'm actually getting the hang of it! This week's class wasn't nearly as difficult.”

“That's great. I've always wanted to get into yoga, but I'm afraid my flexibility level is pretty bad. I run and stuff at the gym, but I can barely touch my toes.”

“No, no, I was the same way! You couldn't have convinced me that I would be able to actually enjoy it. But my teacher is awesome and I really feel like I've gotten comfortable, you know? As soon as I quit worrying about whether I was good at it or not, I started to enjoy it.”

“Oh, you hadn't done yoga before?” asked Zach. “I thought you were a regular.”

“No way! Why?”

“You have really nice posture,” he explained. “You stand up straight when you walk. It's almost. . .regal.” In the dim light of the bar, Sabine could see him blushing.

She laughed. “Really? Thanks. I never thought about my posture before.” She eyed her glass of wine nervously. Zach brushed her hair back from her face. She looked up to see him staring at her tenderly.

“I'm not a ‘make out at the bar' kind of guy. But I want to kiss you right now.”

“Okay,” agreed Sabine, her insides turning to jelly. And he did. Soft but authoritative, aggressive but not overbearing, wet but not slobbery. Perfect. Sabine put her hand on his thigh. She pulled away and they rested their foreheads against each other. She was looking directly into his raisin jewels. “I like your eyelashes,” she whispered.

He laughed softly. “Thanks. I like yours, too.” They stayed like that, foreheads together, for a minute more, before Zach sat up straight and smiled. “Want to get something to eat?”

No, I want to take you home and rip your clothes off.
“Okay,” agreed Sabine. She was further from being hungry than she had ever been in her life, except maybe once, when she had promptly spiraled into stomach flu after ingesting a salad swimming in Ranch dressing. She had never been able to look at that condiment the same way since.

Zach settled the tab and they walked hand in hand to a little Italian joint down the street. A bottle of wine and a few shared nibbles later, Sabine was tipsy and irrefutably horny. Every time his knee brushed hers under the table, she felt jolted by an invisible electric current.

“You want dessert?” he asked, as the waiter cleared their plates.

“No,” Sabine replied. “I want to take you home.” She was surprised by her forwardness, but she couldn't help it. She wanted him. Now.

“Check, please!” Zach yelled to the waiter. He stroked her jaw and smiled. Sabine thought about what his chest would feel like against hers.
Warm.

Upstairs, in her apartment, Lassie lurked in the kitchen, peering out from behind the counter with curiosity. His little cat eyes didn't often see Sabine in such a compromised position. She and Zach were shirtless, pawing each other like wild tigers.

“You feel so good,” Zach murmured. “Jesus.”

“Mrmrmrm, mrmrmm,” Sabine mumbled back. He felt better than she had ever imagined he would. All those months of subway longing, and she had never thought that her imagination was right on the money. She unbuttoned her pants.

Zach sat up suddenly at the sound of her zipper making its way down. “What?” she asked. She knew that they had talked about taking it slow, and in principle she did agree, but this felt too good. To stop now would be a crime against humanity!

“Sabine, I. . .I can't. I want to, believe me, but I just don't think it's a good idea. I think it's too fast.”

Sabine sat up, too, suddenly longing for her shirt. “Zach, I mean. . .I understand your point, but come on! Don't you like this?”

“Sabine, I love this. You feel amazing. You're beautiful, believe me. My feelings for you have nothing to do with not wanting to have sex tonight. Trust me.”

“Then what is it?” Sabine was embarrassed and annoyed simultaneously.

“No, that's not what I meant to say. My feelings for you have everything to do with not wanting to have sex tonight. I like you. I want to take it slow.”
What the hell?
She wondered if he had a tiny penis. She hadn't really felt any sort of tell-tale lump when they had been wrestling on her couch.
What if it's the size of a jelly bean? I knew there was a catch!

She attempted to regain her composure. Yelling at Zach about the validity of his manhood was not a good idea. That she knew. “Okay. I mean, I guess I understand where you're coming from.” But she didn't. Something wasn't kosher here. What kind of guy denied himself sex? “Do you want to talk about it?”

“There's really not so much to talk about,” answered Zach. “I've made the mistake of having sex too soon before, you know? I just think we should wait a bit. I mean, we have time. I'm not going anywhere. . .. Are you?”

Just to bed alone, jackass,
thought Sabine. She was surprised by the intensity of her anger. She really liked Zach, too, obviously. She just thought that the waiting thing was a load of horseshit. She couldn't help but feel that there was more to the story than Zach was letting on. Was he grossed out by her stomach roll?

“No, I'm not going anywhere,” she finally answered. She grabbed her shirt off the floor and slipped it on over her head. After she pulled her head through, she added, “Except to bed.”

“Do you mind if I stay over?” asked Zach. “I really want to sleep in your bed with you. Feel you.” He laughed. “Do I sound like such a mangina right now, or what?”

Sabine laughed. “Sort of.”

“Seriously. Wow. ‘No sex but can we snuggle?' Who am I right now? I'm sure you're pretty over me at this point. Sorry I'm acting like such a weirdo. I just. . .I want to try to do things differently this time,” he explained again, but it still sounded like he was holding something back.

“It's okay,” Sabine answered, softening slightly. His humility was endearing, even though she still didn't get it. “You can stay over if you want.”

She gathered her things and gave Lassie a pet as she deposited them in her hamper. She washed her face and brushed her teeth, still dazed by what had just happened. She emerged to find Zach lying on her bed in his underwear. Long and lean.
Okay, so he's not a total chick,
she thought. She eyed his crotch.
How could someone this tall have a jelly-bean dick?
“You can use my toothbrush if you want,” she offered.

“Thanks.” He got up and walked into the bathroom, giving her butt a little swat on his way in. Sabine took off her clothes and pulled a tank top over her head. She climbed into her bed and shut out the light. Her mind was racing. Her libido, which had been a raging inferno just an hour before, was now reduced to a blown-out birthday candle—a stream of flimsy smoke trailing from its tip. She turned on her side.
Is he really going to spoon me?
she wondered. She just wanted him to go home.

Zach climbed into her bed beside her and answered her question immediately. With his arm over her and his chest to her back, she did feel warm and protected. But she also still felt uneasy. How could he be so capable of going to sleep beside her when her braless breasts were just a grope away?

“Good night, Sabine.”

“Night,” she replied.
Dummy.

Moments later, Zach was asleep, his breath heavy in her ear. His arm suddenly seemed to weigh a million pounds. She didn't want to snuggle, damn it! She gingerly removed the offending limb and he rolled over in response.
Ahhh, freedom
. She stared at the ceiling and rehashed the night's events. Had she inadvertently used her finger to scoop food onto her fork instead of her knife? Was her muffin top particularly offensive in her jeans? They were a little snug. Had he smelled the emergency, anxiety-provoked cigarette she had smoked that afternoon on her breath? Had she gotten spaghetti sauce in her hair? She sighed deeply. There was no point in torturing herself any longer. She wondered if dating was even worth it. All of the drama, and for what? When it was just her, she could do whatever she wanted. She didn't have to shave, she slept like a baby, she could eat cereal for dinner with no judgment. . ..

She listened to Zach's breathing in the darkness and felt his body's warmth two feet away. Despite her anger, it was a nice feeling to have him in her bed; and one that trumped cereal any day of the week. She closed her eyes and drifted off, her doubt temporarily silenced by sleep.

B
ess squinted as she stared out her little porthole at the tarmac. LAX loomed, sun-dappled in the near distance. She was here. Even through the plastic window, she could feel the sun warming her face. She had left 20 degree slush-land and now, just six hours later, was about to break out her flip-flops. She sat up as straight as she could in her cramped seat and stretched her arms to the ceiling. Despite the red-eye and her close quarters, her body felt good. Yoga was working. And in more ways than one—while she was packing, she had pulled out a tank top that hadn't seen the light of day in years because of her dreaded bra-bulge. She had tried it on, just for the hell of it, and had been shocked and surprised by the results. The bulge was no longer a bulge. It was more like a slight swell. Naturally, she hadn't taken it off since.

As they pulled into the gate, Bess's heartbeat quickened. She couldn't wait to see Dan. She had never been picked up at the airport by a boyfriend in her life, but had always secretly dreamed of it. In the movies—how they always flew into each other's arms with abandon, her hair blown back by a wind machine and he carrying a bouquet of fresh wildflowers. . .Bess's inner girly girl always swooned at the sight. Not that she would ever admit it.
I have a reputation to uphold,
she thought, as she stood up to yank her bag out of the overhead compartment.

As she left the plane, she practiced her deep breathing.
Bess, get a hold of yourself! Jesus, you just saw him less than a month ago. Take it down a notch.
She wondered what her insane level of excitement was all about, really. Probably the fact that this was a huge trip for her—a huge trip for them. Whether she openly admitted it or not, this trip was about her feeling out LA as a possible new home, not to mention that he was meeting her parents. The fact that she had even gotten on the plane realizing her true intention was huge. Two months ago, the idea of relocating was ludicrous to her. It had been the combination of love, yoga, the article, and the women themselves that had opened up her mind to the possibility that she could chase her heart while accomplishing her goals.

At baggage claim, she searched as subtly as she could for Dan.
Where is he?
she wondered.
Did he forget that today was the day? Shit.
She scanned the area and turned around to do the same on the opposite side. There he was, grinning his lopsided, goofy grin and holding a single balloon. “Hi, lovely.”

It was all Bess could do not to burst into tears. The anticipation of seeing him and now, actually seeing him, was the equivalent of an emotional punch to the gut. “Dan!” she squealed and hugged him tightly. “Hi,” she whispered into his neck.

“Hello, my love. It's so good to see you. Damn.” Dan released himself from her grasp. “To see you
here.
In LA!”

“I know. It's a trip, right?”

“Literally and figuratively,” Dan added.

“Hardy, har, har. Mr. Clever!”

Dan pulled her back into an embrace. “You smell good. Like airplane peanuts and hyacinth.”

“Mmmm. delicious. Let's get out of here!” She pointed to her carry-on bag. “I'm ready to roll.”

“You got it,” answered Dan, taking its handle. “But take your balloon, damn it!”

Bess grabbed its string. “Thank you for this. It's a nice touch.” She tilted her neck to gaze up at the pink sphere. “What does it say?” She tugged sharply at it to bring it down to eye level.
IT'S A GIRL!
had been manipulated to read
IT'S A MY GIRL!
Bess laughed. “You are ridiculously clever and cute.” She kissed him firmly on the mouth.

“Well, thank you,” Dan replied with a satisfied grin. “I thought that was way better than the whole recycled red rose experience.” He took her bag. “Now let's get the hell out of here before the paparazzi swarm.”

Driving down Sunset Boulevard, Bess gazed out the window and relished the sunlight already browning her pale, New York–winterized arm. Being in LA brought back so many memories of her adolescence.
Can I really make a new start here?
she wondered. Adolescent Bess really wasn't that much different from Adult Bess. Yes, she had grown up in LA, but the whole experience had never really seduced her. No fake ID, body glitter, beach blanket bingo, or beer bong moments for her. It had been all about school. And journalism. Maybe one or two boy-related slips, but they never lasted long.

“You know, it's crazy, Dan. I'm sitting here staring out the window, thinking about growing up here, and I realize that there was nothing truly Californian about it—at least in the general sense.”

“Whaddaya mean? Because you were such a nerd?” Dan smiled.

Bess laughed. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, the only time I came to Sunset was to buy CDs.”

“You never OD'd at the Viper Room? Or snuck into any of those hellacious clubs?”

“Nope, not ever. I barely went to the beach.”

“Do you regret it? Does part of you wish that you had embraced your inner Paris Hilton?”

“Not at all. At least I don't think so. I mean, I honestly can't remember wanting to do the sunny California, surfer girl type shit. It just didn't appeal to me.”

“Were you the class freak?”

Bess ruminated on the question for a minute. “No, I don't think so. My looks saved me from that superlative.”

“Yeah, you might not have had an ounce of California in you, but you definitely look the part. My hot, blond, beach bunny.”

God, I'm only an hour into the trip and already I'm having flashbacks,
she thought.
Would living here again submerge me in the past? Or would it give me a chance to enjoy the things about LA that I basically ignored growing up?

“You okay?” Dan asked. “Your brow is all crinkled up like you're deep in thought.”

Bess relaxed her face and immediately thought of Charlie. She loved it when she massaged their faces at the end of class. She'd be lying on her back, with her eyes closed—certainly feeling relaxed—and then Charlie would knead her forehead and jawbone gently. Bess had no idea that she held so much tension there. “I'm great, Dan. Sorry, it's just that being here brings up all these questions and memories. It's pretty wild.”

“I bet. Listen, we'll get back to my house, you'll take a shower—”

“I'll jump your bones,” interrupted Bess.

Dan guffawed. “Jump my bones! What is this, 1989?”

Bess gave him her best vixen smile and dug in her bag for her sunglasses. Why hadn't she put these on before? It was part of the LA uniform. Minutes later, they parked on the street in front of his apartment. “Here she is,” Dan announced. “Home sweet home.”

“I can't wait to see it!” gushed Bess. “Is your roommate home?”

“Alas, no. My good man has taken one for the team and gone elsewhere for the entire weekend. The palace is ours.”

“You're kidding me! He didn't have to do that. I feel like an asshole for kicking him out.”

“But you're also sort of psyched, right?” asked Dan as he climbed out of the car. “C'mon, let's be real.” He grinned at her. “We can make all the noise we want now.”

“Walk around naked,” added Bess, as she grabbed her bag from the trunk.

“Use his sex swing,” added Dan. He took her bag from her hands.

“Get out! He has a sex swing?”

“Dirty girl! No, I'm just yanking your chain. Let's get in there already. Follow me.”

I
n bed, Bess lay on Dan's chest, relishing her bliss. “I like your place,” she said. With three bedrooms, a living room, a bathroom and a half, and a kitchen with an island, it made her apartment in New York look like a dressing room at Target.

“Yeah, the third bedroom makes a cool office, right? When I first moved in here I was like, there's no way we're going to be able to use all this space! But Jesse looked at me like I was nuts. He's never done the whole New York, live in an apartment the size of a bathroom thing.”

“Lucky man,” said Bess.

“Is he, though? I think everyone should have to endure the abuses of New York real estate at least once in their lives. Puts some hair on the chest.”

“If you're implying that New York men are particularly manly, you are out of your mind.”

Dan laughed. “Point taken. Maybe it just puts hair on women's chests, then.”

Bess pinched his thigh.

“Oww!” he shrieked. They burst into contented laughter. “You know, if you moved here, we could get a place just like this, for like, half of what you pay in rent now.”

“I know that, Mr. Trump. Thanks for the real estate sell.”

“I'm just saying,” said Dan. “We'd be living together, but not living on top of each other a la New York.”

“I know, I know. And we'd go for hikes every day in the morning and swim in the ocean at night. It never rains in sunny California, blah blah blah.”

“You sound like such a New York cliché right now,” said Dan, visibly annoyed by her brush-off.

“I'm sorry, Dan. I do think that LA is beautiful, I really do. And the idea of moving here does not repulse me.”

“Really?!”

“Slow down there, sparky. The slightest bit of overexuberance from you could send me into an anti-LA spiral. I'm taking baby steps, here.”

“Okay. I will be as unenthusiastic as possible. One step up from an amoeba.”

Bess laughed. “Dan, I am starving! Do people eat brunch here?”

“Sure they do. Egg whites only though, across the board. Carbs cost three dollars extra an ounce.”

“Seriously, do you have a favorite spot? I'm about to eat your comforter.”

“Yes, my little love crumpet. It's down the block a bit. Put on some clothes and we can be there in thirty minutes max.”

“Oh, good.” Bess leaned over and gave Dan a kiss. “Magic words. Let's go.” She rolled out of bed and searched the floor for various articles of clothing. She reassembled her outfit and washed her face.
Yikes,
she thought, gazing at herself in the mirror. A long flight was always brutal. You board the plane looking like the travel-ready version of yourself, but then disembark as Keith Richards. She patted on some eye cream in an attempt to de-puff.

“You ready, Bess?” yelled Dan from the living room. Bess turned out the light and made her way to him, her stomach growling violently.

“Yep. We can walk, right?”

“Walk?” Dan asked. He looked at her like she had just told him to go fuck himself. “Bess, no. Walking is a no-no.”

“But didn't you say the place was just down the block?”

“Yeah, so? That's not how we roll here.”

“It is today,” retorted Bess. “Let's walk, come on. It will be nice to get some fresh air.”

Dan looked at her in horror. “Really?”

“Really. Come on!” She led Dan out the front door and into the warm sunlight. A slight breeze ruffled the leaves of the palm tree in the front yard. “I can't believe this,” said Bess to a pouting and shuffling Dan as they made their way to the restaurant. “When I left New York last night, it was freezing and damp and just generally winter sucky. Now, I'm in flip-flops and getting sunburned.” She shook her head in wonder. “I had forgotten about what a difference nice weather makes. I'm actually smiling! Smiling, outside, in March!”

She looked at Dan, who had accepted his walking fate. He smiled back and took her hand. “I can see that, Bess. It looks good on you.”

S
o, are you excited to meet my parents tonight?” asked Bess at lunch, her french fry halfway to her lips.

“I really am. I think I might even be nervous.” Dan chewed a bite of his omelet and swallowed, watching Bess's reaction. “What if they don't think I'm good enough for their precious baby girl?”

“Oh God, please. My parents love me, but there's no ‘precious baby girl' thing going on. I'm sure they'll like you, if you act like a gentleman.” But would they? And if they didn't, would they even tell her? They were so low key about everything. Or at the very worst, passive-aggressive low key, which would mean a response like:
He's nice,
followed by silence.

“I am always a gentleman! Should I get your mom some flowers or some wine?”

“Hmmm. Wine, I guess. My mom's a fan of the wine spritzer, so maybe a white.”

“Got it.” Dan gazed at her. “Do you look like your parents?”

“I do. Mostly my mom, though. We're both blondies.”

“Ooh, a MILF.”

“Gross! Dan, she's. . .shit, how old is she? Oh, sixty-four.” Sixty-four felt like a big number. Next year she could get the senior discount at the movies. And her dad was three years older. Sixty-seven. How did this happen?

“What would you be doing tonight if you weren't sipping wine spritzers with my parents?” she asked, eager to change the subject. “Out at some bar, ogling women with plastic breasts?”

“No way,” said Dan. “Most of the bars out here sort of suck. When I get together with people, it's usually at someone's house.”

Bess considered his statement.
How depressing. The people here suck so bad that the bars aren't fun?
She ruminated on it for a minute.
But wait, when's the last time I went to a bar in New York and had the time of my life?
She had had fun the other night with Charlie, Naomi, and Sabine, but that's precisely why. She was with
them
. She wasn't looking to meet people, she had come with her posse already assembled. “Dan, are we officially old?” she asked.

“Why, because we hate bars now?” He smirked. “Yeah, I guess so. But somehow I don't mind it that much, you know? I mean, maybe if I were single it would be more of a bummer, but I'm with the most amazing woman in the world. There's just no need for the whole bar scene.”