I was having loving thoughts of Matt all night. I hate having to think so much about him, but it feels so good. I’m still flabbergasted by the park incident though, I mean, his change was so abrupt. And I don’t think I like that much familiarity. I have no idea what to make of it, I don’t even know if I should make something of it. Perhaps I shouldn’t dwell on it; I’m probably making a big deal out of the whole thing anyway.
I spent the whole night pondering over whether or not I should tell Matt how I feel about him. I have decided not to tell him—for now. I want to know if our friendship is solid enough to handle this type of confession. I also want to see if his interest in me goes beyond a professional level. Besides, I think it’s too soon to tell him anyway. It’s reasonable to wait; my purpose is to charm him, not scare him away.
I am skipping this morning on my way to work. The rays of the morning sun are blinding me and I’m squinting into the chilly autumn breeze. Puffs of cold air come out of my mouth as I make my way to Park Avenue. I feel exhilarated. I can’t wait to see the man that makes me melt with lust—and trusts me enough to pee in front of me.
When I arrive at Matt’s, I notice a long and thin arm dangling from one of the chairs in the main room. I walk slowly toward the room and see a woman lying in one of the recliners. Her eyes are closed. She is very beautiful. She’s wearing a white silk nightie, which complements her milky white skin. Her red, wavy hair is slightly rumpled and disheveled. Her full lips are a lovely shade of pink. I suddenly have an urge to kiss those lips. What am I thinking? I’ve never been attracted to another woman, and I can’t say that I’m attracted to this particular woman, but she seems so enticing. She looks like a human mannequin. Who is she? And what is she doing here? No need to guess. I suddenly have a sensation of impending doom.
“May I help you?” the woman asks, noticing me for the first time. Her eyes are a pretty shade of blue.
“Where’s Matt?” I ask coldly.
“He’s taking a shower. Who are you?”
I should be the one asking that question. Bitch! “I work here. I’m Matt Steiner’s assistant.”
Her pale blue eyes light up. “So you’re Karla Lopez! I’ve heard so much about you!” Matt’s told her about me? Jealousy suddenly becomes smugness. Matt tells people about me! Me!
She gets up and shakes my hand. “I’m Penelope Perizchova, I’m a friend of Matt’s.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say uneasily. Friend? What kind of friend? A childhood friend, or a…
friend?
“Good morning girls!” Matt says as he walks into the room. His hair is dripping wet. He is topless and has a towel wrapped around his waist. The towel is covered with clowns smiling broadly. One of the clowns is centered right over his crotch. He’s got a rather nice body. I admire his limbs from a distance. Yummy!
“Good morning,” Penelope and I say in unison.
She laughs.
I don’t.
He walks up to me and kisses me on the cheek, which does wonders to my smugness—he came up to me first! And then he goes over to kiss Penelope. On the lips. I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face. They kiss, but they’re not holding each other in a passionate way. She’s holding him firmly by his waist and her face is in his hands, but he is holding her reluctantly, almost forcefully. Her thrusting holds no answering heat from him—or at least that’s my perception. I’m standing right next to them. I feel intrusive, like an uninvited guest at a dinner party.
I should just leave.
I should just walk away and leave them to it.
Leave idiot leave!
As if sensing my discomfort, they stop kissing and glance over at me. Penelope smiles bashfully.
“Matt has told me lots about you!” she says, wagging her finger at me. “He tells me you’re this brilliant journalist. Is that true?”
“I don’t know,” I say, with a grimace I hope resembles a smile. “He might’ve embellished my personality a bit.”
“Don’t be so modest.” She makes a dismissive gesture with her hand. “I’m sure you’re great.”
I marvel at her friendliness. She tries to be charming—and is. She’s the kind of woman that I’d love to hate, or hate to love, or whatever. I want no part of her. She will not fool me with her apparent kindness. She’s my rival—trying to steal my man.
After a moment of awkward silence, she says, “I should get dressed. I have a photo shoot in two hours. It was nice meeting you, Karla.”
“Ditto,” I say dully.
Matt stares at her as she walks into his bedroom.
“So, who is she?” I ask, feigning casualness.
“A long time friend of mine. I ran into her at a nightclub the other night. In fact, it was the same night you and I had dinner together.”
I bite my bottom lip and ask the stupidest question in the world. “Before or after dinner?”
“After.”
I feel nauseated.
He goes on: “She’s very nice—sole to the earth. And lots of fun.” I’ll bet she is. “You’ll like her.”
“Is she an actress?”
“No, a model.”
“A model,” I say hopelessly.
I feel all sorts of strange things around my body. I feel as though a poisonous substance is running through my veins and chilling my blood. I also feel as though a hot bubble is welling in my head and it’s about to burst against my skull. My eyes are bulging like a zombie. I feel my muscles tightening in despair. I lick my lips maniacally. I probably look like Linda Blair in
The Exorcist.
“Are you okay?” Matt asks worriedly.
“Actually…no…I’m not feeling very well today. Is it okay if I take the rest of the day off?”
“Yes, sure.” He rubs my neck gently with one hand. “Take as many days off as you want. I’ll call you if I need anything.”
I leave the apartment without uttering another word. He wants to get rid of me so he can be alone with her. And it hurts.
Well, well, well, what an unpleasant twist of fate! Yesterday, after Matt peed in front of me, I realized that I was in love with him, and today, he has a girlfriend. I feel like a fool. But I have no right to object. Oh, God, what shall I do? Should I just walk up to her, yank her by the arm, pull her hair and warn her to keep her mitts off my man? No, that would be degrading. Besides, I don’t think a person should be considered someone else’s property. Instead of wallowing in jealousy, I’m going to accept the fact that he’s got a new girlfriend. Do I have a choice? But I can’t fight the tears from rolling down my cheeks. Serves you right for falling in love, Karla. I am crying with tears of rage. Serves you fucking right!
Unbeknownst to him, Matt’s already broken my heart.
Sometimes I ask myself: what’s the point in loving someone?
I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason for it, otherwise people wouldn’t make such a big deal out of it. But everyone knows what happens to people who fall in love. Someone breaks the other person’s heart—shred it to pieces, more like. Why would anyone want that? Why?
When I was a little girl, Ma told me many stories. She didn’t tell me stories about men and women falling in love and living happily ever after; it was actually quite the opposite.
This was one of the stories:
“One time, a year before you were born, I woke your father up in the middle of the night. I stroked his hair, kissed his neck, put my arms around him, whispered loving words to him, anything to arouse his attention. He did not respond. He had his eyes closed, but he was not sleeping. He didn’t want to reciprocate my affection. I shook him lightly, so as not to annoy him. He didn’t budge. ‘I know you’re awake,’ I whispered into his ear, ‘and I know you can hear me. Why won’t you hold me tightly in your arms? Why won’t you caress my body and make love to me the way you used to?’ He opened his eyes, looked blankly at me and said, ‘Because you repel me. Your body repels me, your face repels me, and even the smell of your skin repels me. If I had it my way, I wouldn’t be here with you. I’d be with another woman.’ I was speechless for a moment. ‘What other woman?’ I asked, horrified. ‘A woman I’m incredibly attracted to,’ he said. ‘I met her a few weeks ago. She’s amazing. I can’t stop thinking about her.’
‘What’s her name?’ I asked.
‘I’m not going to tell you,’ he answered. ‘What matters is that I want her.’
‘Is she prettier than me?’ I ventured.
‘Yes,’ he replied hesitantly.
‘Is she sexier?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Do you think about her every night?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you think about her when we kiss?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you think about her when we make love?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have the two of you made love?’
He paused. ‘Yes.’
‘I can’t believe what I’m hearing.’ I covered my face with my hands and cried. He went back to sleep as if nothing had happened.
The very next day, he packed a suitcase and left. I didn’t try to stop him. Even though I loved him with all my heart, I still had some pride left. I’ll be fine without him, I told myself. My children and I don’t need him. We’ll be just fine without him.
Three months later, he came back. He let himself in without saying a word and sat on the couch as though he was the king of the household. ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked. ‘I’m back,’ he said nonchalantly. It was pointless to argue with him. As far as he was concerned, he could come in and out of the house as he pleased. It happened again and again, and every time he did it, the more aloof I became. My heart grew hollow and indifferent. But deep down inside I was hoping he would change. But he never did. I went through hell with your father, Karla. Don’t let it happen to you,
nena
. Love equals happiness, but in most cases, it equals misery.”
That was one of her many stories and anecdotes about my father. I’ve been thinking about that particular story since I left Matt’s house.
It’s 3 a. m. and I can’t sleep. I try not to think of Matt and his new girlfriend, but it’s hard not to. I’m miserable. Ma’s right about one thing: love equals misery.
When I enter Matt’s apartment the next morning, I hear some mumbling coming from inside his bedroom. I tiptoe my way to the bedroom door and eavesdrop.
“I intend to get my time’s worth,” Penelope says.
“Not right now,” says Matt.
What are they talking about?
“I want us to spend as much time together as possible. I’m aware of our arrangement—”
Arrangement? What arrangement?
“—which is why I want to devour you as much as I can.”
Matt laughs. There’s a silence in the bedroom. The silence turns into giggling and moaning. I suddenly don’t want to eavesdrop anymore.
I quietly leave the apartment.
Later that night I get together with Ben, Bianca, and Ricardo at a café on Broadway. The café is decorated with posters of
Les Miserables, Cats, Showboat,
and
Grease.
