Tempted (50 page)

When the time comes for today’s broadcast, I go to Youtube to make the pre-taped show available to the public, then go back to bed for an erotic menage a trois with my two favorite men, a pair with whom I intend to spen
d a great deal of intimate time –
Messrs. Ben & Jerry.
 
I decide to work my way through their flavors list alphabetically this time around.
 
So far
,
I am up to Chocolate Peanut Buttery Swirl.
 
And I’m just fine staying there for a
while.

Days go by without my cognizance, and I really don’t care.
 
It occurs to me that I truly am alone, except for the menagerie, who have all been on their best and sweetest behavior since I fell into despondency.
 
For the first time in my life, I understand the fulfilling glories of being a catlady, and count myself as one of the proud few, a noble sisterhood of felinity.

I’ve not gone on Facebook since my goodbye to Alex, and frankly have no desire to.
 
What would be the point?
 
The activity there would seem so trivial to me right now, so meaningless, and I would feel like a fraud trying to chime in cheerfully on this or that post.
 
No, I am not ready, and a
m not sure if I ever will be, o
r that I would even want to be.

This morning
,
I make a point to check the date in order to ensure I’m prepared for this week’s show.
 
Woops, it was 2 days ago.
 
Oh well, nothing some B&J’s Mission to Marzipan can’t fix.

* * *

Wallowing alone has its merits:
pajamas for days on end, a distinct lack of basic grooming without another human around to object to the stench, old movies on the AMC channel, reading, napping, chocolate for breakfast.
 
It almost makes utter heartbreak worth it
...
almost
...
sort of
...
not even close.

As the days roll on, I find that not only is time not healing my heart’s gaping wound, but it is, more accurately, pouring in salt, squeezing in lemon juice, and putting out cigarettes in it!
 
How could I have been so daft as to let a man like Alex get away?
 
I took him for granted and I will rue it the rest of my life.

For all of my self-righteous forgiveness, my efforts to not assume or judge David, I made up my mind about Alex’s posts on The One without even giving him the chance to explain
–
not cool, and not fair.
 
It’s a clear case of ‘burn me once, shame on you
–
burn me twice
shame on me.’
 
But in this sit
uation, I ga
ve the benefit of the doubt and additional chances
to the wrong person
.
 
Alex deserved them, but David received them.
 
And
look where it all has landed me –
 
drowning in a pool of frozen dairy products, puffy eyed, miserable and very much alone.

* * *

A day comes when I feel there is a chance I may be able to take a breath without conscious effort.
 
I get the hint that it’s time to bathe when Jasper starts kicking his kitty litter onto my feet
.
 
Persephone, on the other paw
, finds me infinitely more interesting and sniffable since I took up slovenliness.

It’s a Tuesday, which means that I should be able to prepare a broadcast for tomorrow.
 
In truth, I have no idea if the show has any fans left to tune into it.
 
Nonetheless, I work for several hours putting together a show on the topic of gratitude.
 
My self-pity party guest has worn out her welcome
,
and I am ready to rejoin the living.
 
I shower, shave the fortnight’s worth of forest growth off my legs, dress, and even put on some eyeliner.

I head out to the garden to see if there are any vegetables that have not withered and died like the rest of me.
 
Thanks to Frank Jergins and his girl Jill, the garden is thriving.
 
As for the interior of the house, well, it’s been on lockdown the last couple of weeks
–
no one coming or going.
 
After gathering some veggies and herbs, I take a drive to Trader Joe’s.
 
It’s the first time I’ve been out since reading Alex’s news
, and I could
really use a change of scenery, as well as some contact with humans.
 
And frankly, I need a serious visit to the samples bar.

I return home, loaded dow
n with a bevy of foods that God-fearing
, decent folk would consider healthy.
 
I’m not sure if I know what to do w
ith half of it, but I feel rosy-
cheeked and brimming with vital energy
,
just for having made the purchases.

I’ve treated myself to some of the grocer’s out-of-this-world eggplant parmesan and justify it by not buying a single ounce of ice cream.
 
I eat my dinner while watching the previous season of
Californication
online and spend the remainder of the evening sipping hot caramel apple cider.
 
Watching the rain outside the sunroom, I’m exceedingly thankful that torrents of water are no longer streaming from my own eyes.
 
I strive to ponder my life unsympathetically, and realize there is nothing more I desire from life at this point.
 
I have been successful in my career, have had friends and family, and even had a perfect love
–
well
,
maybe being separated by thousands of miles and blowing it while chasing the wrong guy was less than perfect, but as for Alex himself, he is still peerless in my eyes.
 
By evening’s end I am calm, happy, and my soul is at peace.

Next morning, I’m not only ready for the show, but actually excited and looking forward to it.
 
I haven’t felt this way about a show in far too long
,
and it’s marvelous to be so enthused about my work again.
 
Everything is going swimmingly, and I‘m tickled when Kelly Putnam calls into the show.
 
For the briefest of moments, I feel the pang of longing for Alex, but I dismiss it as quickly as possible since we’re live on-air.
 
I ask how things are going with her and Alex’s friend Ken Warner, with whom I fixed her up.
 
Evidently they are going very well!

“We’re getting married!
” she gushes, and my heart plummets at her good fortune.

“Congratulations, Ke
lly.
 
That’s wonderful news,”
I say, choking back tears from a well I thought I’d cried dry.

“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you on Facebook, but you haven’t been around.”

“No, I
...
ehrm
...
”

“I wanted to ask you to be a bridesmaid in my wedding.”

I am flabbergasted
...
and speechless.

“Kelly, I’m honored.
 
I don’t know what to say.”

“Then say yes, you’ll come out to New York and be in my wedding.
 
You can go with Alex!”

I can hold back my anguish no longer.
 
My mouth begins to go dry and my fingers shake.
 
I know any second I am going to go on a
Guinness Book of Records
caliber
crying jag.

“Kelly
...
I
...
 
Alex
..
He’s met someone else.”

After all the years of doing the show and ending i
t with my signature “You Could B
e the One” segment, it occurs to me that I had my chance to be the one.
 
I had it within my grasp.
 
I had Alex.
 
And I blew it.
 
I hold my breath, too fearful of what may occur if I try to exhale.
 
And then it hap
pens –
I commit career suicide.

My on-air melt
down is something university broadcasting students will be quizzed on for years to come.
 
It is just that epic.

Following many, many minutes of my sobbing hysterically, sweet Kelly finds the wherewithal to ask why I’m crying.
I explain that it’s because Alex has found another, he’s found the One, all
the while thinkin
g to myself,
‘
d
uh!
’

Kelly begins to chuckle and I begin to weep again and we have a sort of yin yang of emotional serenade
going for a moment or two.

When her sniggering subsides
,
she manages to blurt out, “Oh, C
laire, yes I know he found The O
n
e, silly.
 
Don’t you know that T
he One is you?”

My phone has been turned off ever since I blocked Alex on Facebook.
 
After all, if you’re going to do something, you may as well do it right.
 
With Mom gone and now David and Alex, there really is no reason to have to deal with the darn thing.
 
Frank Jergins’ people are here daily if they need to ask me anything.
 
The only thing I really use it for currently is listening to music while I’m out walking, but I haven’t been out doing anything for weeks.
 
So wouldn’t you know, when I go to turn it on, it is absolutely dead.
 
What’s more, in my original zeal to pack up and g
o, I somehow managed to pack
or misplace the charger
cord
,
or
...
Grrrrrrrrrr
...
I don’t know but I need it now!

I’m in a frenzy to reach Alex, and I storm around the house accusatorily, convinced one of the menagerie has hid
den my charger
for sport.

Plan B:
 
I go onto Facebook for the first time in weeks.
 
The number of notifications is staggering, but I pay them no heed as I am on a mission.
 
I head straight to Alex’s page, then send him a friend request.
 
His page settings are such that you can’t see what he’s posted unless you’re a friend.

Plan C:
 
Nah, that won’t work.

Plan D:
 
Cry.

This time yesterday
,
I was a recovered victim of heartbreak, a
lbeit the heartbreak was my own
darn fault.
 
Today
,
I’m nearly as much a wreck as when it all started.
 
I determine to take a brisk walk to clear my head.
 
Getting out of doors really will do me good.
 
I throw on my trekking clothes and grab my shoes.
 
There’s an extra house key in one shoe
,
which I always tie onto my laces when I go walking
,
so that I don’t have to carry
my keys.
 
In the other shoe is
a set of earbuds, which I keep there to remind me to take my phone along for music.
 
A lot of good that will do me today, since my phone has zero power.
 
The wad of wires is a knotted mess and I can’t figure out how two little cords could get so tangled.
 
I think similar thoughts every Christmas when trying to unwind the carefully put away tree lights that have managed to interweave themselves in strange and complicated ways while stored and hidden from human view.
 
I really don’t need to bother with these unruly wires this very moment, but it feels good to fix a problem and make some order of my chaotic life.
 
I tug and yank until the snarl comes apart.
 
Oh no!
 
I wrecked them and they are in two pieces now.
 
Wait a minute.
 
One of these wires is not earbuds.
 
It’s my phone cord!