Lauren Takes Leave (27 page)

He looks my way and I feel my heart lurch. I know I
shouldn’t dance with him. Dancing is the first step toward my romantic
downfall. I lose all inhibition when confronted with disco. It’s like, gimme a
drink, play some Gloria Gaynor, and watch my pants magically disappear. There
are several college men from the class of ’92 who will attest to that.

I shake my head at Lenny. He makes a sad face.

Poor Lenny. So far, I am not worth the price of a plane
ticket.

I watch him find a new dance partner, a perky blonde who
looks like me twenty years ago. I momentarily feel a pang of jealousy.
Partially for him, but mostly because I wish I still looked like her.

The thought makes me panic. Where did the time go? I mean,
one minute I was twenty, and in the next, my lifespan has doubled.

The issue is, I don’t
feel
forty. I still feel
twenty, or maybe twenty-five, and I think I always will. That disconnect
between my biological age and the one I feel inside is what’s so confusing.
Most of the time, I walk around thinking I’m young. It’s not until I look at
this girl dancing with Lenny that I remember that there’s an entire
generation
of adults out there that are younger than me.

Which is what I’d call a buzzkill.

But then Kat grabs me and forces me to dance with her as a
circle forms in the center of the floor. I pretend to push Kat into the circle for
a solo and she pretends to push me back, because we’re lame like that.

A few guys move in to breakdance a bit. We clap and hoot
and raise our fists in solidarity with them.

Then Lenny enters the circle and Kat and I whistle at him
as if he’s a stripper. He winks our way and then presses his torso against the
floor, moving his body up and down in waves.

“Go Lenny, go Lenny, go Lenny!” we cheer. Without so much
as bending his knees, he pops back up and busts a few more moves for the crowd
before bowing and then disappearing back into the circle. “That was awesome,” I
gush at Kat. “If Doug did that I would so have sex with him right now.”

“You’d fuck a guy for doing the worm?” Kat asks dubiously.
“That’s all it takes?”

She stares at me, then adds, for effect, “
The worm
.”
She stops before saying the rest, which I believe would be something to the
effect of:
Your life really is sadder than I thought.

Kat doesn’t understand, because she hasn’t been married to
the same man for over a decade. She doesn’t understand that a man who
breakdances is sexy, and a man who flirts with you online is sexy, and a man
who follows you down to South Beach and drops everything
just to be with you
is sexier than hell. She doesn’t understand how incredibly, overwhelmingly sexy
a man can be when he does for you all the things that your husband just
doesn’t
.

I push my way out of the circle and go in search of Len.

When I find him, I lean into him with my whole body, my
hands pressed firmly against his chest. His heart is beating fast. He looks
down at me with something like laughter, but then sees my expression. His face
turns serious, matching mine, his eyes asking me something like
now
or
yes
or
really
and I know that if I don’t act fast we’ll end up speaking to
each other and the last thing I want right now are words.

So I kiss him.

And I am instantly on fire. And then the club starts
spinning and I’m standing—I know I’m still standing—but I feel like I have
tilted sideways and I can’t get enough of Lenny, and yet I know I need to stop,
all at the same time.

Everything around me fades away, all sound, all movement,
all people, and there’s only us.

There is something electrifying about slipping my tongue
into the mouth of another man. There is a current, a charge, that makes it very
hard to break free.

Until a moment later, when all sound and movement and
people come rushing back and remind me of who I am and what I am doing.

And that there’s only one way for this to end.

I shove Lenny away from me. He looks confused and reaches
out for my hand. I slap it away.

“Don’t ever do that again!” I snap.

“Me?” he asks.

“I was talking to myself!” I yell. “But, yeah, now that I
think about it, you, too!”

I turn and push through the crowd, hoping to forget the
way anger and heartbreak distorts his handsome face.

I need to leave. I need air. Even though the Clevelander
is an outdoor club, the place is making me feel claustrophobic.

I need to push this woman out of the way, this woman who
is talking to the Artist Formerly Known as Tim Cubix.

“Hey, Artist!” I call. “I’ve got to get going!” I put my
hand to my ear in order to gesture a telephone call. “Tell Jodi and Kat to call
me, will you? I’m going to take a walk back to the hotel.”

Tim excuses himself and comes my way. It’s so loud in the
club that he has to shout in my ear. “Lauren, you look wigged out.” I feel his
warm breath on my neck and I think I might just pass out. Give up and pass out
right here. Because, really, these amazing men are too much for one suburban
housewife and middle school teacher to handle. In the future, if ever I find
myself in need of a small adventure, I should just keep it simple and go in
search of a high-end European toilet.

“Um…” I begin. “Kissed a man…not my husband…might pass
out…need backup…girlfriend 911…job, husband, children all driving me
insane…loved you in that
Macbeth
remake set in Portugal…”

“I’m not gonna lose ya!” Tim Cubix assures me, sounding
like a commander in a Vietnam War movie. “No girlfriend left behind!”

He scoops me up and carries me over his shoulder like a
wounded soldier, pausing here and there as he scans the crowd for my friends.

Instead, he finds a seat for me at the end of the bar and
plops me down on the high, backless stool. Brushing some sweat from his brow,
he sighs. “Too crowded. For now, you’re just going to have to settle for me.”

At first, I think he means that I should kiss him instead
of Lenny, and I want to shout, “Uncle!” I’ve had enough, I give up. And then I
come to my senses; he means he’ll stand in for Jodi and Kat. “I’m not sure I
can explain,” I say. “But, you know, thanks for playing.”

Tim smiles, a big full-on grin. “What? You think because
I’m a guy, I can’t relate to whatever it is you’re going through right now?”

I consider this. “It’s more the movie-star factor,” I say.
“You make me feel really uncomfortable. Physically. Like my insides are
actually melting into a gelatinous mess.”

“Jeez.”

“I know,” I say, “It isn’t pretty. Just trying for truth
here.”

But instead of walking away from le freak that is me, Tim
Cubix starts talking.

“My eight- and six-year-old sons, Slim and Leo, they’re
always fighting these days. Wresting and getting into each other’s space. One
will be like, ‘Dad, he’s hurting me!’ and the other will be like, ‘He started
it,’ and I’m like,
Can’t you
just stop touching each other for five
minutes, people?
And the big girls, Leyla and Bette, same thing…my house
has, like, a thousand small forest fires everywhere. You think you have it bad,
Lauren? No offense, but I’ve got six children,
three times
as many as
you.” His eyes are wide and he’s holding up six fingers as proof of the math,
in a Nixon-like pose. It’s comical, but I try not to laugh, because I want to
keep our heated debate on track. It’s the first time I’ve felt really
comfortable around him and I don’t want to break the spell.

“No offense, Lex Sheridan, but you’ve probably also got
ten
times
the staff.”

He orders us some water from the bartender. “True, but the
other day Ruby caught one of our nannies using her straightening iron and was
really grossed out. And in terms of discipline or love, no hired help is a
substitute for a mom or a dad.”

I can’t believe it. Ruby Richmond has a babysitter as
hair-centric as mine!

Which means I’m totally missing the point of his tutorial.

“Ruby and I have tried everything with the kids, from star
charts to special days with just one of us, and we’ll hit on a strategy that
works for a while, but nothing seems to work consistently. It’s like as a
parent, I’m a magician, a tap dancer and a parole officer all in one.”

Got it. So the Rubix Cubes know that raising a family is
exhausting and not always particularly rewarding. I open my mouth to speak, but
Tim just keeps on venting.

“Plus, we’re trying to toilet train the twins, now that
they’re turning three. Bubba is all right with it. He’s an easygoing little
dude. But Didi
just won’t take a shit
. She holds it and holds it,
driving me and Ruby nuts, until we think we’ll have to take Deeds to the
hospital. Then, finally, she’ll go into the bathroom and close the door behind
her and strain and cry until she’s landed
the biggest dump you’ve ever seen
in your life
. Didi actually clogs our toilets.”

I am rendered speechless.

“Not to mention, there’s all the usual stress of parenting
with the added scrutiny from the paparazzi. I might be fiercely angry with my
child, but, in public at least, I have to look like the perfect father. Leyla
likes to go to the children’s shoe store for the helium balloons, you know? And
so we left the store one time and she accidentally let go of the balloon and,
naturally, started to chase it.
Into traffic
on Wilshire! I grabbed her
arm really hard and yanked her back from the curb. My heart was beating wildly,
adrenaline rushing. I could hear the paparazzi calling after me, and so, in the
middle of making sure my child was unharmed, and simultaneously wanting to
scream at her and smack her butt, I had to think,
Remember, the cameras are
flashing
.”

“Is this my breakdown or yours?”

“And then, there’s always the issue of fidelity,” he says,
raising his eyebrows knowingly.

“You’re quite the conversationalist.” I’m mesmerized by
his dimples and will continue to say anything to make the man smile, even just
the teensiest bit. Score.

“Every few weeks,
Star
magazine or
People
or
TMZ.com runs some piece about how I was caught cheating, or how Ruby is
flirting with some celebrity on the set of her new movie and I’m jealous. They
make up quotes, attribute them to ‘someone close to the actor’ or ‘sources
say.’ It’s all bullshit. Ruby and I aren’t married, but we have made a
commitment to each other and to our children. Sexual fidelity may or may not be
a part of that equation, but that’s for us to decide. So the point I want to
make to you, Lauren, is that your life is in your hands. You’re a grown-up,
making mostly good decisions. Parenting sucks, fidelity sucks.
Sometimes.
But isn’t that real? Isn’t that messy and awful and confusing, and therefore,
worth every bit of the struggle?” He says it like he’s asking himself the very
same thing, like he’s rehearsing for the biggest role of his career. We’re both
drunk enough to have tears in our eyes. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

I blink mine away and nod my head. “I kissed Lenny.”

Tim swallows a gulp of water. “Shocker.”

“And there’s no erasing that, no Superman reversing the
globe to make time rewind, to undo the event. And now I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?” Tim Cubix, posing as Dr. Phil, asks.

“Of…well…” The music is still blasting, a typical Eminem
rap, and I align my thoughts with the heavy beats of his refrain.

I’m scared of liking the kiss,

I’m scared of wanting more,

I’m scared of losing Doug,

that he won’t love me anymore…

I’m scared of so many things; those are only the ones that
rhyme. It’s all there, and Tim sees it in my face but doesn’t make me speak it
out loud. Instead, he pulls me into a brotherly hug. “Own it. Reflect on it.
You’ll figure it out.”

Spoken like Dr. Grossman.

Tim flags down Jodi and waves her over. He debriefs her
quickly, then disappears back into the crowd, giving me a thumbs-up and a wink.

I tell Jodi the whole story, how I went in search of Lenny
and how I kissed him, and how Doug and I don’t get busy very much these days. “And
when we do, it’s so boring and mechanical that I just don’t even see the
point!” I blurt, my face growing hot under her scrutiny. As close as we are, my
friends and I hardly ever talk about the specifics of our marital sex lives.
“And kissing Lenny was…amazing.”

“
That’s
your problem?” she asks. Like I’m
complaining about a stick of bubble gum having lost its flavor. “Welcome to the
real world, Lauren! Where married people fall out of lust!”

She finds an empty stool and perches herself next to me at
the end of the bar.

“Here’s the thing,” she says. “Let’s just follow this
through to its end point, to the worst-case scenario, or best-case scenario,
depending on how you want to look at it.”

“Best case,” I say.

“Well, best case, in your warped little mind, you and
Lenny fall
madly
in love and you have this
amicable
, easy divorce
from Doug. Lenny
loves
your kids and you live happily ever after in some
sort of Barbie Dream House version of real life.”

I’m already sad just hearing the word
divorce
.
“That sounds more like worst case to me.”

Jodi shakes her head at me. “No way. Worst case is the
same scenario, only it’s ten or so years down the road and you realize that you
no longer want to have sex with Lenny either. That he’s become your new, old
Doug.”

“But I like my old, original Doug. I don’t want to grow
tired of anyone else.”

Jodi reaches across the bar, grabs a maraschino cherry from
the bartender’s garnish setup, and pops it in her mouth. “Exactly. So, my point
is,
marriage gets old
. It’s the nature of the beast. Lee had all this dental
work done once and, for a while there, the thought of kissing him really
skeeved me out. And, meanwhile, we hired this gorgeous electrician—named Fabio,
I swear—and I was having all these lustful thoughts about Fabio’s plugs and my
sockets and shit. So all of this is going on and I’m like, Jodi, what are you
going to do? Have
sex
with the
electrician
? Really? Just to feel
a momentary charge? I mean, Lee’s a bit of a gonif, and his family is totally
dysfunctional, but I love him to death. I would never want to hurt him. So,
instead, I waited it out. And after Lee got his bridge permanently replaced,
and he smiled at me during Lindsay’s travel soccer game one Saturday, it all
came rushing back. I felt like jumping his bones in the back of my Escalade. Ebbs
and flows. End of story.”