Tempted (45 page)

This man is too much:
 
always loving, always cheerful, always willing to look at the good in life and to bring it out in others.
 
He’s so different from any other man I’ve known.
 
And I actually feel like a better person for knowing him.
 
Overcome with goodwill after reading his posts, I boldly venture to the private message button and make contact for the first time since receiving his beautiful condolence message.

10:34am

Claire Nichole Eden

Sweetest greetings, dear one.
 
Words can’t express the depth of my gratitude for your loving kindness.
 
I read your message about my mom’s passing at least a dozen times.
 
And each time, cried tears of gratitude, not just for having had my mother, but for having had your love.
 
You are the most extraordinary human being I’ve ever known and I am infinitely blessed by every moment we come in contact.
 
I hope things are going well with you and yours.
 
And even if they’re not, I have no doubt you will find the silver lining and make it all shine!
 
Hugs, C.

Just then my phone rings.
 
My first thought is that I don’t want to be pulled away from chatting with Alex.
 
Then I realize, I’m not actually chatting with him.
 
I merely left him a message.
 
I answer the phone absent-mindedly, still perusing his Facebook wall.

“Hello, Sugar,” Alex says kindly.

Okay
, so
now
I’m actually chatting with him.

* * *

Alex and I gab, giggle and guffaw the entire day
,
draining our cell
phone
batteries several times over.
 
We make and eat meals while on the phone together. I tend to the menagerie
,
and Alex takes out the trash while we’re on the phone.
 
Basically, it’s been all Alex, all phone, all the time.
 
I don’t remember the last time I felt so jubilant and kid-like.
 
It’s as if some sort of invisible yet heavy pall has been lifted.
 
And it’s fun to smile so much.
 
Getting off the phone at day’s end proves problematic
,
and we do one of those ‘You hang up first.
..
No, you hang up first’ things which is rather cute in its gagginess.

Less than a minute later
,
the phone rings again.

“Good grief.
 
Show some self-restraint,” I bark, teasingly.

“Cece?
 
Hey you.
 
How was your day?”

“David
...
 
Hi
...
 
I can hardly hear you.”

“C
ome back in the jacuzzi, David,
”
a sultry voice coos from the background.

“Jacuzzi, huh,” I say, feigning cheerfulness, and trying not to be needlessly jealous.

“Has anyone seen my bathing suit?”
another flirts.

“I heard that,” I blurt out, frowning.

“Haha, don’t be bugged Cece.
 
These girls are professionals.”

“You mean they work in the office there?”
 
Doesn’t sound so professional to me.

“HAHAHAHHAHAHAA Noooooooooo.
 
I mean they are professional party girls.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” I ask, incredulously.

“We’re having a business mixer.
 
There’s like seventy people. This place is crazy!”

“Yeh, I can tell!”
 
My red chakra begins to rumble
–
and not in a good way.

“C’mon Davey.
 
You promised me a shoulder rub,
”
Party girl number three whines.

“Hold on.
 
No, that was Joe.
 
Hey Joe, can you take care of Miss
...  W
hat’s your name
,
dear?
”

“Amber,”
bimbo number one replies
.

“Ha, of course it is.
 
Joe, can you give Amber here a shoulder rub?
 
Gotta run Cece.
 
I miss you!”

“I miss you too,” I shout.

“What’s that?”
he shouts back.

“D
on’t forget the champagne, Davey
.”

“Hey, grab some more champagne, will ya, Randy?
I’ll call you tomorrow Cece, love you!”

“What did you say, D?”

“That’s nice.
 
Good for you, Cece.”

“Huh?”

“Hold on girls, one at a time.
 
You’ll all get your turn.”

“I can’t wait to see you,” I yell into the microphone.

“Aww, me neither, babe.
You gotta be kidding me.
 
Really, Stan?
 
In the jacuzzi?
Ciao, bella.”
 
I hear him saying just as he hits the off button.

I have a hard time falling asleep after David’s call.
 
I never judged him for his lifestyle, but that was before we lived together, and slept together
–
even if it has only been actual sleep.
 
Still, how do you tell a woman you love her
,
and then play pattycake in the ja
cuz
zi with
a bunch of ‘professional’ girls?
 
I get the feeling it will take me a lifetime to understand David.
 
And if I ever do understand him
,
will I be able to live with what I learn?

The next morning
,
I see something online that cracks me up and makes me think of Alex immediately.
 
I call to tell him about it, too lazy to try to explain it in a typed message.
 
The quick call I’d intended turns into another full day phone marathon.
 
I keep my cell charged, looking forward to speaking to David again, and to ribbing him about the professional jacuzzi girls.
 
I’m disappointed when I don’t hear from him, but don’t want to disrupt his ‘business,’ so I resist the temptation to call.
 
Finally, just before turning in for the night, I ring him.
 
It goes to voicemail immediately.
 
I don’t leave a message.

Falling asleep, I can’t help but note the irony of my situation.
 
A few months back
,
I was in the tenuous position of loving two men
at once, both in different ways –
Alex as a long-dis
tance lover and potential mate,
 
David as a roommate and
...
well, I don’t know what the ‘and’ would be, but it would be something substantial.
 
Now I’m in the same position
,
but sort of reversed.
 
Both of these men are still in my life.
 
But now it is David who is my intended lover
,
and Alex who’s my buddy.
 

I have taken to stalking Alex’s Facebook wall again.
 
Frankly, it just makes me feel good
–
not just because I enjoy things that he posts, but because the content is always so inspiring and uplifting.
 
It’s like breathing pure oxygen, or so I assume, never having inhaled it in its 100% pure state.
 
I randomly click on a spot on his Timeline
,
and come across a poem.
 
At the time he post
ed it, no one knew he wrote it
for me
–
no one except me, that is.

Ask

If you'd but ask I'd stop the world

Trip stealthy time in his nimble gait

I'd seize the moon in her midnight haunts

Rein Phoebus' steeds in 'til they bow.

If you'd but ask I'd still the tides

And every wave that stirs the sand

I'd raise one hand, command the wind

To stand like ghost-stone frozen fast.

If you'd but ask, I'd halt the spin

That twirls the dizzy earth about

Quench platinum countless fiery stars

Make life itself retreat from birth.

If you'd but ask I'd silence song

With one keen glance make Mona frown

Make Redwood forests bend and break

'Til splintered they defile the ground.

But you'd not wish such things from me

And all I might risk comes to naught

I'd settle calm within your palm

Smile dwelling there forever more

For you, write endless passion's psalms

'Til every muse retiring, fawns

If you'd but ask
.

AVA

Tears trickle down my cheeks, and in my watery stupor, I pat myself on the back for buying that Kleenex stock.

It feels like forever since David’s been gone.
 
His calls have been less and less frequent
,
and though it saddens me, I dare not jump to any conclusion.
 
I’ve worked hard to stop being an ‘ass-u-me’ type, and even if there is something off-kilter going on, I am not going to let my imagination run roughshod over me.
 
I’ll wait and let the bold-faced facts do that instead.

I have been filling David’s absence by spending more time with the menagerie.
 
Ever since David and Mom moved in, I have been with them less and less
–
mostly because they preferred their new
,
exciting housemates to their boring old mother, me.
 
I’ve also been doing a whole lot of domestic detailing
–
making the place sparkle and shine and smell good for David’s return, with full intention of seducing him the minute he walks through the door.

Alex has been a doll
, keeping me company via video
chat the last several days.
 
I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me to chat by video instead of phone sooner.
 
He says it did occur to him, but he didn’t want to push the issue.
 

The day bef
ore David is to come home, I receive
a FedEx package.
 
I
never get deliveries
at the house, since
I use a post office
box for all of my show and fan-
related mail.
 
My knee-jerk reaction is to
fear
that the
pa
cket
is
something unwelcome
from Nimo
, given that he is one of the people who has my home address
.
 
But I realize that is unfair and, most likely, unfounded.
 
As I sign for the pa
rcel
, the worry crosses my mind that it might be a goodbye letter from David.
 
Again
,
I dismiss it as silly.

Once
inside
, I open it to find it’s from Giselle
–
David’s Giselle.

I double
-
check the recipient name.
 
Yes, it’s addressed to me, not David.
 
Tentatively, I open it.

Dear Claire,