Sleepover

I woke up with a pounding headache. I rolled onto my back and opened my eyes – the room was bright. Too bright. Oh, man I’m getting too old to be drinking like this. I closed my eyes again. But what room was it? It didn’t look familiar at all. For the first time since college I woke up with no idea where I was. I tried to concentrate. I rubbed my forehead. Where the hell was I and what did I do to get here? Then it came to me – I was at Kristen’s house.

It all started the night before.

Against the collective wisdom of the blogosphere, my buddy Maurizio, and a little voice in the back of my head I made dinner for my friend Kristen. Kristen had recently been dumped by lover of about 5 years. I thought I would try to cheer her up. Having recently been through a nasty break up myself, I had a lot of empathy for her. Slightly complicating things is the fact that Kristen is the VP of marketing at the internet company that I recently joined – and, OK, she has flirted with me a couple of times. Making things more interesting is the fact that she is only a couple of years older than me, really attractive, and quite rich. She has quite a strong personality, though. Her former lover was a kept man, which I find intriguing.

If you read through some of the comments on earlier posts, the collective wisdom was that I should not do this. I decided to do it anyway, for two reasons. First Kristen has become my friend over the past couple of months since I joined the new company. I know how bad a breakup can be and I’m pretty sure that she really was in love with Paul – even though she hasn’t shown any sadness over the breakup, only anger. I’m not sure how much of that is a brave front and how much is real. So, reason number one, I really did want to help my friend who has asked for my help.

The second reason is that I thought that it was pretty unlikely that anything would happen. OK, my judgment isn’t all that great – I’ve demonstrated that. But there is no real reason that Kristen would try to jump my bones. With very few exceptions, in my life I’ve had to work hard at courting and charming and wooing women before anything interesting happens. Rarely have I fallen into bed with a woman where I did not put a lot of effort in. And Kristen was not overtly trying to court me.

I went back to read over what I had written about Kristen. I though that I might have portrayed her as a wanton sex goddess or a dangerous man eater of sorts. But I think I have done a fair job of portraying her.

I’ll add a few comments to make sure that I’m being fair and balanced. She is very smart. She has a PhD in computer science from one of the top engineering schools in the U.S. And she has the ability to take that book knowledge and apply it to real world problems where solutions can be created – something that escapes you average PhD nerd. In meetings it is clear that she has a tremendous grasp of both technology and business. She is attractive, but she wears her clothes and her hair with a style that I can best describe as hard edged. Angular and masculine, but it suits her. She is very self confident, but I suspect that most people that achieve the success that she has probably are. She is generally quite fair and reasonable – aside from the week before last. That apparent anomaly was due to the fact that she was unceremoniously dumped by her lover, so I’m going to cut her some slack on that one. All of us who have been hurt by cruel partners have probably been a bit cranky immediately after the act. She always tries to stand out in the crowd. Her car is as bright red as Mercedes makes, her clothes are always attention getting. She shuns conventionality – to gain further attention, perhaps. She would be more likely to have an iguana for a pet than a cat (OK, she told me that one). She would introduce her live-in boyfriend as “her lover”. He was, indeed, a kept man. The only thing that I find odd about the arrangement is that she did not seem to respect him, or at least did not when I saw them together – which was toward the end of their relationship.

How do I feel about her? Hmmm, well I do have a bit of a crush on her. But this should be taken with a grain of salt. Any regular reader of the blog should know by now that I am easily smitten. A glance across a crowded room is all it may take. But I don’t often take it seriously, and usually get over it quickly, if there is not a long term relationship involved. I respect her – both professionally and personally – mostly for her intelligence. I consider her to be a good friend even though we have only known each other for a short period of time. We have flirted with each other a couple of times, but in a harmless sort of way.

Anyway, I’m rambling (I’ll probably edit this out). The second reason that I went to make her dinner is that I really didn’t think that anything would happen. I have had dinner and drinks with lots of folks and have not ended up in bed with them. If that was all it took for me to get the girl I’d be doing a lot more dining and drinking. In the movies, guys can do that (e.g. “handsome Rob” in the movie “The Italian Job”, or James Bond in anything) – meet a girl and end up in bed with her. But, sorry folks, this is real life. And in real life – despite what guys brag about in bars – very few of us have that raw sex appeal that lets us get the girl that easily. In all my life I have only known one guy who could do that – and that is Maurizio. Girls will actually walk up to him and give him their phone number. It even happened last week when we were drinking beer at the Tied House. In a cruel twist of fate, this incredible specimen of a man - is gay.

Anyway, on to the events of the evening. I went and got the fixings for dinner and a good chardonnay the night before. These I took with me to work and stored them in the fridge. Kristen stopped by my cube around 7:30 and suggested that we head out.

In my defense I did ask Pete and Teri to join us. I first asked Kristen of this would be OK. She kinda laughed at me and told me to go ahead and try. It turns out (I learned this later) that Pete and Teri had dated some years ago. It ended badly – although they seem friendly enough now. In fact, they seem to almost have a thing for each other. So I thought the pair of them joining us for dinner would be a good thing. Turns out that Pete had a convertible corvette, an older model that he had restored and souped up with a 500 horsepower engine or something ridiculous like that. When he was dating Teri, he let her drive it. She was at a stop sign – the first stop sign she came to. She let out the clutch a little too fast, she was used to underpowered Toyotas and wasn’t very adept at handling a clutch. This slip caused both back tires to spin violently out of control. The car to slid sideways as it went through the intersection, accelerating quickly. Ultimately, the car wrapped itself around a telephone pole across the street. The fiberglass body was shattered and the frame was bent beyond repair.

No one was hurt.

It took many years for Pete to forgive Teri.

Kristen feels that it was just plain wrong for Pete to breakup with Teri over the accidental destruction of a hunk of fiberglass and steel. This was before Pete was really wealthy, and an automobile was an irrelevant expense to him. But I’m with Kristen on this one.

So no one would be joining us. We would be alone, with alcohol and without adult supervision. We took Kristen’s car. She climbed in the passenger side and asked me to drive. Once again fumbling for keys, I realized that the card was in her purse and we could just drive away.

Once we got to her house Kristen took a bottle from the fridge and handed it to me. “You asked for champagne.” I uncorked it and poured it into two flutes. She raised her glass and said “here’s to legendary abs.”

I know I was blushing (I have a bad habit of doing this at inopportune times) “Excuse me?” I asked (for those confused, see my “That hurts” post). How could she know? Maybe she did see me with my shirt off when I was cleaning up the kayaks in her yard. But the abs weren’t that well defined then, I didn’t think.

“Legendary abs. I finally have the motivation that I need to get legendary abs. I’ve been meaning to spend the time at the gym to work on my abs – but with balancing work and a social life I never had the time. I’m just angry enough to throw myself into it. You want to be my gym partner? We could get them together.”

OK, at this point, if I was drunk I probably would have pulled up my shirt and showed her. But discretion prevailed. “Uh, you know, I’ve got my own sport. It works pretty well for me.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re already skinny enough.”

We moved out to the living room, where I made a fire in the fireplace and she put on some music. “What do you like?” she asked referring to music.

“Some jazz would be great”

“Oh, shit” she said. Well, OK, if you want something else, I thought to myself. “More crap from unmitigated beast. These are his CDs.” She grabbed them and ran out of the room. I followed her to the garage. The cars were parked outside. She threw the CDs into the middle of a large pile in the middle of the garage. “This” she pointed at the pile, “This is all of his shit. Can you believe this?” There were clothes, books, furniture, papers, it was a big pile. “How could he do this? How could he do this?” She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Oh, shit, Rich.” She turned to me and started to cry. She hugged me and cried on my shoulder. I patted her back.

After a couple of minutes she backed away. “I’m sorry, Rich. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m really sorry.” She wiped her eyes with her hands. “Oh god, I’m a mess.”

“Don’t be sorry. That’s the first time I saw you sad about this.”

“Oh, Rich.” She sniffed. “It just never came out before.” She started to cry again. “I’ve been keeping it inside. I just couldn’t…” and on came the water works. I actually started to feel better as we walked back to the living room. This was definitely not sexy, and the fact that she was human and sad about losing him made me feel better. Her anger was sort of scary.

After a good cry she went to wash her face. She came back composed. “I need a scotch. Do you want one?”

“Sure. Shall we start on dinner?”

“Yes.” We moved into the kitchen. I proceeded to assemble some flour and salt and pepper on a plate. I heated up a skillet with olive oil and butter. Unmitigated beast did have some good cookware. I did bring my own meat pounder, not sure if she had one. I put a chicken breast on the counter between two sheets of wax paper.

“OK, you need to pound this down to about 3/8 of an inch thick – thinner if you want.” She took the mallet and gave it a little girlie smack. “No” I told her “You need to hit it hard.” She pounded a bit harder. “Come on, put your back into it.”

She started to dent it. “It’s something you hate.” She pounded hard. And again. And even harder. She started to laugh. Tears were working at the corners of her eyes. She pounded a hole in the middle of the chicken breast.

She laughed at it. “I ruined it.”

“No, it’s fine – just even it out a bit.” She pounded out the rest of the chicken to a ¼ inch with real ferocity.

She laughed “That felt good.”

“I’ve got 3 more.”

She pounded them all. “You’re right.” She said when she was done, “That is better than a month of therapy.”

I cooked the chicken and was about to deglaze the pan. “Here’s where we need the champagne.” I took the bottle and poured about ¾ of a cup into the pan. It was Moet and Chandon – from France. A bit more extravagant than I am used to for a cooking wine. It boiled and steamed spectacularly. It made a great sauce.

When we sat down to eat it. She commented “This almost seems cannibalistic.” She had beaten the crap out of her unmitigated beast.

“Think of it as devouring your problems.”

“I’m sure that on some parts of New Guinea they really do that.”

The chicken was wonderful and more tender than I think I have ever had.

After we cleaned up the kitchen, we sat in the living room with the bottle of wine that I had brought. “Would you take him back?” I asked.

“Not in a million years. Would you take her back??”

“In a New York minute.” I don’t even know what that means, but it seemed like a good thing to say. It seemed the opposite of ‘not in a million years’.

“You hate him, don’t you?”

“Yup. It’s not the opposite of love, you know. I’ll be over him when I am indifferent. You love her, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why? I don’t get it. She hurt you so badly. I would want to kill someone who did that to me.”

“I want to kill Tim. How can I turn off my love for her?”

“How can you love someone like that? Feel passionate yes. That doesn’t go away. Damn that you can’t make that go away. But love? That’s reserved for people who are good to us.”

“I just love her. I remember all the wonderful things we did together. I remember her friendship. There was so much that was good.”

“And she pissed all over it, all of that. What happened to you? I mean, you’re a smart guy. But this reaction of yours is unnatural.”

“What do you mean ‘unnatural’?”

“Rich, when you are hurt that’s nature’s way of showing you something’s wrong. Pain is how we learn what not to do. You put your hand on a hot stove – it hurts. So you don’t do it again. I mean if you have a learning disability, you do it again. But even the thickest person learns. You want to put your hand right back on that stove? If you don’t learn you’re going to put your hand on that stove over and over again. And you’re going to get burned over and over again. Until you don’t have a hand left.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is. You’re passionate about her. Great, be passionate. But let your feelings go. I bottle up my sadness – but you stomach your anger.”

“My anger is at Tim. And it’s out there.”

“No, you know it was her that hurt you. You’re in denial. You’ll never get past it until you acknowledge it. No matter how many chickens you pulverize. Rich, she’s the one who gave you all this pain. Get pissed.” She shook her head.

“Why do you hide your sadness?”

“It’s a man’s world.” She signed. “I can’t compete and show my weakness. I pretend to be strong. After a while, it’s not a pretense anymore. I don’t really like it – but I have to.”

“You’ve achieved more than most people ever will. Why keep competing? Why not just enjoy what you’ve earned?”

“I am enjoying it. And, frankly, it’s the competition that’s the fun part. Winning is the enjoyable part. The money is nice – but it really doesn’t make that much of a difference.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so competitive.” I didn’t mean that as an insult, it was just an observation. I think I may have offended her.

“I don’t think I’ve met anyone so non-competitive.”

“Um, unmitigated beast wasn’t really a driven man.”

“Yes he was, he was passionate. Not about technology, or business. But he loved his art. He wasn’t very good at it. He couldn’t pay the bills. But he needed to win. His failures ate him up. Let’s not talk about that beast. You, you’re laid back. Agreeable almost to the point of being annoying. Pleasant to the point of being vacuous. The only thing you have shown any passion for is a girl who put you through hell. God, Rich. I just want to shake you and wake you up.” She signed. I think I was being insulted and ridiculed.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Rich, I’m not trying to insult you. You have so much potential. You’re smart, you’re witty, you can be charming, and you can get a room full of egos to agree and work together. I’ve seen it. You’re amazing. Middle child? Am I right?”

“Yup. You’re good.”

She laughed. “Rich, what do you want out of life? You can get it, you know. You just need to work for it.” She emptied her glass. “Oh, shit – you’re not here for a motivational speech. We’re here to bitch about our lovers. Wine or Cognac?”

“Oh, how about a nice cognac, please?”

“There you go again, being pleasant.” She said in a singsong voice as she went to the kitchen to get a bottle of cognac.

We sat and drank more. I was amazed at how different our responses were, to essentially the same situation. We both had lovers that ran off with someone else in a rather rude fashion. She blamed her lover, while I blamed the person my lover ran off with. Hmmm, is it a guy/girl thing? Am I wrong to blame Tim, is she right to blame Paul? I don’t know. If you have been wronged – did you blame your lover, the interloper, or both? Why?

After that things start to get fuzzy. I definitely had too much to drink. We killed two bottles of wine, some scotch and some cognac.

Which brings me to the morning. I sat up and looked around. My head swam. I was in Kristen’s guest bedroom. I was wearing the same boxers I had on last night. I started to remember the events of the late evening. Nothing happened. Nothing was offered, nothing was asked. The guest room was already made up for me before I arrived. Her plan all along was to keep me at a distance.

I made my way to the bathroom. I had already retrieved my spare clothes and bathroom things from her car. I had moved them from my truck before we left the office. I showered and brushed my teeth and changed into fresh clothes. I took 3 aspirin to calm my pounding head.

I wandered out to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. I read the morning paper for a while while I waited for Kristen to wake up. I perused through the fridge to see what there was for breakfast. It was about 11 when Kristen came out wearing her bathrobe. “oooh” she moaned.

“Coffee? Aspirin?”

“Yes, both, please.”

I brought them to her at the kitchen table. She smiled at me. “Thanks, Rich. I mean it. I really needed a shoulder to cry on. Despite the hangover I feel a lot better.”

“That’s what friends are for.”

“I still think you’re pretty confused about Lynn.”

“Yeah, I probably am.”

I made her a frittata from some eggs and leftovers she had in the fridge. Her kitchen was deteriorating to that of a bachelor. I noticed the garden in the backyard starting to become overgrown with weeds.

After breakfast we drove to the office. Most folks were already there. I put in a full day – consuming most of a pot of coffee and trying to re-hydrate from the prior evening’s drinking. I think I’ll lay off the booze for a while.