The Big "O": A Romantic Comedy (21 page)

“No, you're not,” she said firmly and laughed nervously.

“Don't tell me what to do, Emily,” Max said meanly.

Emily stared Max down. Was he losing it? Baby Max started to cry.

Max looked away from her and Emily wondered what was happening to her family. She knew that Max loved his child and her; well, she knew for certain that he loved his child, although he might not love his wife the way that he once had.

Little Max’s face was bright red with upset. The more he screamed the redder his face got. The baby cried and cried. Emily picked him up and bounced him on one hip.

Emily thought about the stories Max used to tell his friends about his son, telling cute or sweet anecdotes, as the baby learned to do something new that was funny or smart.

She tried to remember the last time that Max had told a story like that or when she’d last heard him laugh. How had things changed without her being aware that they’d changed?

Their child continued to cry and Emily felt ill.

When had he stopped feeling and being joyful about all of the little baby milestones that their child had blown past? Emily felt numb with shock by how Max had changed. What was happening to them? What would happen to their family?

Emily’s face crumpled and although she didn’t think of herself as a crier, she was weeping in an instant. Great guttural sobs wracked her body, tears of despair streaming down her face, and she felt too exhausted to debate further.

Emily sat down in the rocking chair, with their son, and she and her baby cried loudly. Emily looked away from her husband. How was she supposed to write today? Could she calm and dress the baby and get him off to preschool? She doubted it.

She hugged little Max’s small warm body. He was such a loving little thing; he snuggled against her.

Max felt ill when Emily looked away. What the hell was he doing? No new toys? Yelling at his wife? Making his baby cry? He pressed his hands to his face and ran from the room.

V
ICTOR DROVE the rental car up and parked it in the parking lot of an elegant hotel. He gazed at himself in the rearview mirror.

“You can do this, for Juliette,” he told himself and when he noticed that his heart was hammering he slapped his own cheek. He watched his face skin bloom a bright red.

“Now man the fuck up,” he added, then got out of the car.

After easily finding the MOW WOW workshop, a simple matter of following large well-branded signs, Vic slipped into and stood at the back of a large room. He looked around at the attendees and then to the front where Charlene was on stage.

“Every day people wake up from the fantasy that finding Mr. or Mrs. Right equals happily ever after. Because after you hook up, move in, or get married, and spend real time together, reality sets in, and it becomes clear we and our partners are flawed in one or more ways and may even have some serious issues,” Charlene Hanson said forcefully.

Members of the audience chuckled, sighed and groaned.

“Have you been spying on me?” a workshop attendee shouted out. The audience laughed.

Victor looked around and felt both awkward and uncomfortable.

“I'm sure you're wondering when I'm going to share my five exceedingly simple, truly powerful, secret keys to elevate your love making to a higher, deeper, better and more delicious experience of intimacy than ever before… an experience that leads to multiple orgasms for you
and
your partner,” Charlene said. Victor noticed that she was incredibly loving and also beautiful. Honesty and vulnerability made her seem lovelier.

"Yeah! Yes! Right-on!" the audience shouted.

“I'll get to that. First I want to share how I got here, boffo and fantastically happy in every area of my life, including sexually. It started with an epic sexual fail… with a man I'll call Mr. X,” Charlene admitted and gave a pretty, self-deprecating shrug.

The audience laughed.

“It was my first time, but I didn't tell him that. It didn't matter, because he wasn't interested… in getting close, or knowing that it was my first time, or learning anything else about me,” she stated.

Vic flushed bright red. Damn, she could have been talking about him. When did I get so deep in my head that I stuck my head up my own ass? he wondered. What a fucking waste.

“Get me right, the man had some skills… maybe he wasn’t a great technician, and he was getting off himself, but he was not in his heart. He was disconnected and, if you've read my book, you know that fantastic sex, multi-orgasmic or otherwise, starts with emotional intimacy, with feeling. A mutually fulfilling and satisfying sex life requires vulnerability and connectedness,” she said.

The crowd murmured and seemed struck by her words.

“Are you willing to open up with me? Are you ready to be good in bed?” Charlene asked softly with great vulnerability.

The audience mumbled a response. Charlene laughed but not meanly; it was obvious that she felt great compassion and love for her workshop attendees.

“I can't hear you, gorgeous souls,” she said.

“Yes! Yes!” the people screamed happily. They were spellbound and euphoric, entirely caught up in the potential work and fabulous rewards that lay ahead.

They wanted it, truly, madly, deeply.

Victor couldn’t take it any more.

He wasn’t sure what was wrong but he felt a kind of pressure in his chest, like a panic attack or social anxiety.

I need a glass of water, he thought. I need to check my phone and see if I’ve missed any calls, take a quick look at the markets, maybe check my email, and then have a drink of water. In total denial about his issues, about how being in the room had triggered him, he slipped out.

It was only later, at home, after getting some work done, after taking a long nap, that Victor dreamt of and remembered Charlene.

She'd been Charlie, then. He'd known her in college. She'd been a psych major. They'd dated briefly. She'd been one more conquest on a long line of blondes.

Back then a beer bong and a babe was the height of his ambition. He hadn't known anything about relationships, or women. His dad had raised him, after his mother left. Not that he blamed her for leaving. The old man had been a real asshole, whaling on her for as long as Victor could remember.

But growing up without a mom, without parents who taught him about life and relationships, community and other people, meant he knew next to nothing about such things.

Back then, he'd tried to fit into the group of guys that he liked and had dated any women who expressed an interest in him. Everybody was having parties, sex, all night beer fests, getting by in school and studying hard, depending upon their proclivities. It had been all he could do to balance school and play.

He'd always been a great student and school was nearly as challenging, mentally, emotionally, and otherwise, as his social life.

Women had been exotic creatures and, from what he could remember, his biggest fear was that he would really and truly like one and she would leave like his mom had. He knew, rationally, that it wasn't the case. Still, he paid attention to the cues of women and pursued those who expressed interest.

He hadn't thought much about how much sex he was or wasn't having, how women came and went. Everybody seemed to be living like that, at least until senior year. Sure, a few people seemed to permanently couple up sooner. Most, however, dated, screwed, and played around.

“Sow them wild oats,” his dad always said.

His mom, when he saw her albeit infrequently after highschool, didn't seem to have an opinion about his romantic life. They met every now and then and he was just so grateful to see her at all. He had to sneak around to see her because the old man was still a dick about everything. He blamed her for leaving.

Everybody else was, so he did too. It wasn't til he met Juliette that he thought about staying with someone. He'd really liked her and she'd really liked him.

Juliette had left him when she thought he was cheating on her and he said he didn't want a permanent relationship. He hadn't been cheating but he was a real asshole in response to her concerns. He'd somehow gotten the idea that she was testing him in some way.

He'd told her that he hadn't cheated but that he still felt attracted to other women, so she clearly wasn't "the one." She had sobbed. After being a real dick to her, saying a bunch of nasty shit that would have made his father proud, she'd stopped seeing him or taking his calls.

After he realized that he'd been acting like his old man, he'd called, send flowers, and even begged her to take him back. She wouldn't relent.

To try and get over her he had banged every woman who was interested.

It didn't help. It all seemed so meaningless. He kept thinking of Juliette. At first he thought it was a sex thing. Then he realized that it was her eyes and her face, her sweetness, her kindness, that he craved and missed. The woman had really and truly loved him.

So he'd seen a counselor. The guy had been sharp from the getgo. When Victor wouldn't make a three month commitment to therapy the guy had called Vic on his bullshit.

Victor, who had had felt a burst of rage, threw his checkbook at him.

Then the therapist, who was exceedingly calm the entire time, had asked him to spell "commitment."

Victor, who had been a fucking Scripps Howard Spelling champion, and won with a word that began with the letter "C," and knew every "C" word in the goddamn dictionary, couldn't for the life of him spell the word.

He'd been shocked. He'd sat back down and tried to understand what was happening to him. His ears had been buzzing. He'd felt overly warm, and like he might pas sout. Then the therapist had asked him about his mother and to his shock he'd started to cry.

Victor had talked about his mother leaving when he was three, and never seeing her again until he got out of high school and moved out. He'd sobbed about how hard it had been to never see her as a kid, ever. Then he'd talked about what an asshole his dad was, not thinking much of women and hitting his mom.

The therapist had finally commented that Victor's "the one" theory was a sophisticated subconscious tool to prevent intimacy.

Then Victor had realized that he was afraid to commit to Juliette because he was terrified that she would leave. After he'd had his epiphany, he'd written a check for three months of therapy. Then he'd bought a ring, shown up at Juliette's and convinced her to go to dinner. After dinner he had dropped to one knee and proposed.

The rest, as they say, was history.

But now, unless he figured out his shit, his history of failing to satisfy women and their leaving him would repeat itself.

He poured a bowl of cereal and it was weird, how it all came back to him. Him awkwardly fumbling with Charlie. He'd thought maybe she'd had too much to drink, and was somehwat unresponsive because she was sleepy, but, oh, my God, she was stiff with fear... because it was her first time and he was too stupid to notice.

And then, it had been horrible. He'd fucking screwed her, came into the condom, pulled out and that was it. He didn't even know if they'd seen each other again. He could remember seeing her in some classes but he doubted that he'd wined and dined her or treated her with any serious respect.

Goddamn, it burned Vic's ass to realize he had been such an insensitive prick. Fuck. He screamed with rage at himself, and a tear slid out, even though he tried not to cry, thinking about what a dolt he had been. Fuck. He was practically a walking, talking, fucking, eating, shitting, sleeping, studying, robot in his 20s.

It sucked to realize that Charlene had been talking about him in her workshop. He'd been the freakwad that was her worst first, the asshole with whom sex was so bad that it had changed her life trajectory. Sickened, he felt intense shame.

He resolutely ate his cereal and shook his head. Well, I'm not a serial killer, he told himself. There are worse things to do and be in life, than purely suck at sex and be an insenstive asshole. But it was small consolation.

Well, I guess it all worked out for her, he finally told himself, when he considered that her entire career, a best-selling book, a multi-million dollar business, a life of great sex with a man who loved and treasured her and had fathered her children. It was a relief to consider the upside.

What was that she had said? To have great sex, you had to open up and be emotional and vulnerable? To be connected?

Vic immediately wrote an email to Juliette and shared some of his worst fears and concerns. He included personal and professoinal concerns, in case either of them might affect their intimacy. He knew that he was a bit of a chickenshit to email but he concluded his missive with his intention to discuss this with her in person.

Victor included a brief summary, accurate to the best of his knowledge, of his pathetic history with women. He detailed some of the reasons why he thought that he'd become the person that he was. He acknowledged that he was childish, in many ways, because in some ways he felt that his childhood with his mom had been stolen.

He knew that Juliette would understand. They saw his mom, every so often, and she knew about that part of his history.

He let her know that he wanted to talk with her about these things and also to better understand the thoughts and concerns that weighed upon her own heart and mind. He let her know how weird it felt for him to be making a happy family, when he'd never had one before.

After he pushed send, he felt a million times better. Then he sent a text, letting her know how much he loved and missed her. She sent a cute little emoticon back.

He spent the afternoon meditating upon the concepts of vulnerability and intimacy. You couldn't acquire things that you didn't recognize. He knew that for damn sure. He hoped that all of these things would have a positive impact upon his relationship, marriage, and ability to pleasure his wife.

Within a couple of hours, Juliette sent back a very sweet email. She kind of mirrored back the things that he had written about himself, adding her own interpretations, and then let him know how much she appreciated and loved him and his efforts to be an even more wonderful husband. Then she wrote some very nice things, that made him grin and blush, about what she loved about him.

Juliette promised to be home early for dinner, so that they could eat take out, before she worked on her disseration. Feeling incredibly grateful for his wonderful wife, he went out and got her a bouquet of flowers, he hand selected each bloom personally, and her favorite red wine.

After stopping off to pick up the MOM WOW book, he went home, cleaned the kitchen, set the table, and read Charlen'es relationship communication techniques, life anecdotes, and so forth, until his wife came home.

That night, they had the sweetest time together. He gave her a neck rub and shared his absolute worst fears. He even cried in front of her. He couldn't remember a time when he'd ever cried in front of another human.

Then they'd kiss and he felt his heart skip a beat. She'd had work to do, so he'd curled up next to her, warm, content, and happy, until he fell asleep.

Leslie Chan, a headhunter dressed in a slim-fitting pencil skirt, peach silk top, and fitted jacket, faced Xavier, the CEO of Astro Cafe.

“I've been calling her,” Leslie said to Xavier.

“And?” Xavier asked.

“She wasn't interested,” Leslie said.

“Keep calling until she takes your pitch. She's got something. I want her here at Astro,” Xavier replied. Chan nodded.

Isis sat upon her bed, surrounded by cash and checks, swatches of fabric, thread samples, sketches of designs, her laptop, look book and more, and tried not to panic.

She felt her chest tighten with anxiety and fear. She tried to do the math.

She separated out her credit card statements and stared at them. Had she really bought all of that stuff?

Being in business for oneself meant the debt racked up fast, she realized.

She’d had a bunch of fabric and notions already, that she’d collected over the years, but there had been so many other recent costs.