Everything but the Girl

by Saxon Bennett

  “That’s a long time.” Joy’s longest relationship was a mere five and it had ended without acrimony.

  Monica lived on the other coast in New York where she was a bigshot CEO for a tech company. Pity it hadn’t worked out. Joy could’ve been a stay-at-home spouse who shopped and went out for lunch and picked up Monica ’s dry cleaning and waited on dinner because Monica had a last-minute crisis at work. Joy would’ve been leading a life of leisure. But as her mother always said, “Water under the bridge.” And she was right. By the time she and Monica had broken up they were both tired of the relationship and other women were catching their eyes. It was time.

  Joy couldn’t imagine fifteen years. To wake up one morning with your lover and then by that night she’s gone. It would be like going to the hospital with your sick partner who dies the same day and you have to return home without them. How do you get through the days and nights? This explained why Carol was sitting in the dark, crying and not sleeping.

  “I planned on spending the rest of my life with her. It never even occurred to me that we wouldn’t be spending the rest of our lives together,” Carol said. She sniffled and grabbed a tissue from the end table where it seemed to have taken up permanent residence.

  “I wish I had some advice or words of comfort, but this cut you deep. I don’t know what to say.”

  “I know. I am so sad. Not depressed, but genuinely sad. My heart actually hurts. And now I can’t sleep. Debra has gone on with her life and flourished. This mural is a big deal. She and I should be standing before it, holding hands and being ecstatic over the recognition Debra is finally getting... and we’re not.” Carol dabbed at her eyes. “She is basking in praise and I’m alone.”

  “You know what might make you feel better?” Joy said.

  “Ice cream?”

  Joy laughed. “We ate it last night in our midnight raid.”

  “It’s nice to have electricity again. Thanks for taking care of that. I’m usually much more organized than this,” Carol said.

  “I think we should go see that mural,” Joy said.

  “Why would I want to do that? The pamphlet was enough,” Carol said.

  “Because part of that mural is about you. I think if you confront it instead of hiding from it you will feel more in control.”

  “And I think you’re high.”

  “No, but we could be,” Joy said. Since it was legal now, Angela, who suffered a slipped disc, medicated with marijuana. She’d given Joy, who only smoked with Angela, a joint... or as the lingo went, ‘a pre-rolled.’ She pulled it from her breast pocket. She had almost forgotten she had it; Angela had pressed it on her for future celebrations.

  Angela believed in frequent celebrations. “Life is too short not to have fun. I believe we were put here to have a good time, not suffering and not moaning and groaning. Especially, in a first world country with its first world inconveniences. A problem is not an inconvenience. A problem is not having a place to live and nothing to eat—that’s a problem,” Angela went on. She was big into self-help books. Joy got a twice weekly update on whatever Angela was reading at the time during the spinning class they took on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

  “You’re a stoner?” Carol said.

  “Only occasionally,” Joy said in her defense.

  “No, it’s fine. I just wouldn’t have pegged you for the stoner type.”

  “Because you think I’m stodgy?” Joy said. She certainly hoped Carol didn’t think she was dull. She was exciting enough to have a pre-roll. Then she remembered Carol was probably used to hanging out with artists who smoked weed.

  “No, of course not. You just seemed kind of…” Carol was stuck.

  “Suburban?” Joy teased.

  “I’m used to being around wild types. You dress like I do. Debra’s crowd thought I was stodgy because I dress the way I do.”

  “You have beautiful clothes,” Joy said.

  “And expensive. You have to remember, in certain circles, being financially successful is frowned upon,” Carol said.

  Joy exhaled. “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”

  “That was pretty much my life when I was with Debra. I did occasionally wear jeans,” Carol said.

  “And not trousers?” Joy teased.

  “I felt inauthentic around her artist friends. I suppose the more famous she became the less well I fit into the picture. No one stopped to think who was paying the bills while Debra pursued her dreams.”

  “And bought the paint.” Joy sparked up the joint.

  “And bought the paint,” Carol said, taking the joint from Joy.

  Chapter Eight

  “OMG! You stayed up until dawn talking and smoking weed?” Angela exclaimed. They were in their spinning class at the Y. ‘Ride Fast' was the name of the class. Joy thought it was a stupid and redundant name. No kidding; it was a spinning class.

  “Not so loud,” Joy said.

  “No one can hear over the music,” Angela said loudly to be heard over the music.

  Joy set the timer of her spinning bike. She liked being able to glance down as the seconds became minutes until she would be finished torturing her body. How Angela had talked her into taking the spinning class Joy wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was that extra ten pounds she’d gained by drinking wine and eating ice cream as she and Angela bemoaned their single, sexless, states of being.

  The Mistress of Torture, as they referred to the spinning instructor, came in clapping her hands and being energetic so as to energize her students. Joy found it annoyingly exhilarating. Somehow Cheryl Lynn, the Mistress of Torture, had gotten her to do things with her body she had never thought possible. Never in her life did she imagine having her entire body drenched with sweat, aching, and craving a sports drink. It wasn’t her style, but not being able to get into her expensive realtor clothes had gotten her here. Her doctor would be pleased with her blood pressure and her improved cardiovascular health.

  She told herself this while Cheryl Lynn yelled encouragements and Joy’s body protested.

  “Let’s get this up and running, folks,” Cheryl Lynn said. She clapped her hands to the beat of the music which was a heavy techno beat. Joy hadn’t heard any of the songs before, but the music did serve as a distraction.

  “Ugh,” Angela said, pumping her legs.

  “Your idea,” Joy said. “If I recall.”

  “Ladies, are we here to ride?” Cheryl Lynn inquired, tapping Joy’s handlebars with one finger. Like it wasn’t enough they had come and put their butts on the hard seats. Of course, they were here to spin. More hand clapping. “Okay, people get your spin on.”

  “More ugh,” Angela said. “I think I might have a hangover.”

  “You were the one consuming champagne straight from the bottle,” Joy said, her breath coming in gasps. It always took her lungs a bit to adjust to the intensity they were about to endure.

  “I’m regretting it now. Why are you in such good shape? You drank as much as I did,” Angela said.

  “I paced myself.”

  “But you didn’t sleep much. I slept,” Angela whined.

  “Perhaps it was the excellent cappuccino that Carol made me this morning,” Joy said, feeling good that Carol had been kind to her. When Joy had dragged herself from bed for her eight-thirty spinning class, Carol had it ready for her. Joy recalled mentioning she had class and Carol had paid attention and made her a coffee. It was sweet. Joy remembered Carol’s puffy eyes. She hadn’t looked like she’d slept at all.

  “I want to thank you for helping me get through last night and for the smoke,” Carol had said. She smiled. “That was fun. It made me feel like an errant teenager.”

  It had made Joy feel glad that she could help. Breakups were hard enough, but Carol’s sounded truly awful.

  “So, she’s not the bitch you thought she was,” Angela said, her breath ragged.

  “Come on, women, pick up the pace,” Cheryl Lynn said as she passed on by. Part of her motivational strategy was to p
ublicly shame people in the class for not keeping up. Angela and Joy got shamed at least once a session. They had normalized the scolding. It no longer phased them.

  They pedaled faster. “And she’s not a serial killer,” Joy said.

  “Sometimes they stalk their prey. You’ve only been living there less than a week. We’ll see after this weekend and putting the furniture together... that’s always the test.”

  “A test for what?” Joy asked, between her ragged breathes.

  “Some couples have big fights or at least a spat over how to do household projects. You should know that. How many houses have you sold that the couple broke up during a remodel?”

  It was true. Remodeling did tear couples apart. The houses were easy to sell, but Joy always felt bad that her good fortune sometimes came at the cost of lost love.

  “I’m viewing that as a rhetorical question,” Joy said, feeling herself slowing down so she could catch her breath.

  “Women, less talk and more spinning,” Cheryl Lynn said, as she walked past with her tight ass and perfectly sculpted arms.

  “She’s an exercise Nazi,” Angela grumbled. She didn’t pick up the pace. Hangovers and spinning class were evidently difficult for Angela. Joy wasn’t doing much better.

  “What were you talking about in the middle of the night?” Angela said.

  “She saw the mural her ex-girlfriend painted. It’s a big deal down in the Castro. Carol saw a pamphlet announcing the opening.”

  “How do you unveil a mural? Aren’t they huge?” Angela asked.

  “There’s some kind street party,” Joy huffed. She kept up the pace, but it was getting harder and harder to breathe and talk.

  “We should go look at it,” Angela said excitedly, still spinning like a turtle crossing a street with little or no urgency.

  “Why would we want to do that? I don’t like what that woman did to Carol,” Joy said. She wondered how she could care so much about a person she had just met and was now living with. She supposed it was better than having a standoffish roommate that was endlessly contentious. Joy didn’t need that stress. Besides, she was discovering that Carol was a nice person.

  “To see what this heartbreaker is like and the mural, silly. If it upset Carol that badly it must be quite the mural. Aren’t you curious?” Angela said. She glared at Cheryl Lynn when she came by. Cheryl Lynn didn’t say anything more, probably figuring they were a lost cause today.

  Joy thought about going to see this viper of an ex-wife. Carol intrigued her. She wanted to know more about Carol’s life, but would it be disloyal to go? Did it constitute stalking? What if Carol found out and it ruined their burgeoning relationship as roommates? She wanted to be friends with Carol. After their two candlelit evenings, Joy had surmised that Carol had a soft belly under her hard exterior.

  “I don’t know how Carol would take it. I tried to get her to go and face down the thing and her feelings for Debra. She was totally against it. I might look like I’m a weirdo stalking her ex-partner and poking around something private. It’s her lost love affair. I don’t think she’d like it,” Joy said.

  “Then don’t tell her. We could just be walking by and see it. The Castro is full of murals. We could be tourists for all anyone knows. The place is full of them.”

  “I’ve never seen the murals.” Joy said, slowing her spinning as they were in the cool-down period. Cheryl Lynn gave her usual pep talk about how wonderful they all were. It was her way of getting them to return for the next class—false praise.

  “Then it’s high time you did,” Angela said. “You haven’t even seen Clarion Alley?”

  “No,” Joy said, having no idea what Angela was talking about.

  “Then you should know your city better.”

  “I work all the time and I sell mostly outside the city and sometimes in Oakland.”

  “Pish,” Angela said. “Not since you’ve started your own business.”

  Cheryl Lynn turned the music down. “Until next time, ladies.”

  Angela and Joy got off the bikes stiffly. The small seats on the spinning bikes were hell on a gal’s private parts and butt. “We need to get some of those padded shorts,” Joy said.

  “Let’s. My vagina can’t take much more. I swear she’s getting calluses,” Angela said, unceremoniously pulling her shorts out of her butt crack.

  “We can check out a sports store on the way home,” Joy said. There was a smoothie bar and an exercise gear store next door

  “Please,” Angela said as she stiffly walked toward the door.

  They went downstairs to the store that sold every kind of exercise gear. They both chose black bike shorts and went to try them on.

  “I don’t think I can wear these things,” Joy said, as she exited the dressing room. She pulled down the legs trying to get the shorts out of her butt crack. It also felt like she was wearing a diaper from the built-in gel pads that protected her private parts.

  Angela was admiring her butt in the three-way mirror. She had a nice butt. The shorts looked good on her. Joy avoided the mirror.

  “The only place anyone is going to see you is in spinning class where all the smart people are saving their lady parts and ass by wearing the same thing,” Angela said.

  It was true. And Joy’s lady parts were sore. She sighed heavily. “All right, I’ll get them.”

  “We’re not going to regret this decision,” Angela said.

  Joy wondered if Carol regretted ever meeting Debra. She regretted meeting a few of her past girlfriends. She paid for her gear, wondering why she spent so much time thinking about Carol.

  “I want to see your apartment. I don’t have an appointment until eleven,” Angela said. She was a hairdresser in an upscale hair salon. She rented her space which meant she was self- employed. She and Joy often discussed the virtues of being self-employed.

  “Can we have a smoothie first,” Joy said. “I’m famished.”

  “All right, just no kale,” Angela said. She didn’t trust the smoothie bar, so they had yet to try it.

  “They have all sorts of flavors. Get a strawberry one. You like strawberries,” Joy said.

  “Correction: fresh strawberries from the farmer’s market,” Angela said.

  “Where’s your sense of adventure?” Joy asked, as they stared up at the menu.

  “I’m living vicariously through you,” Angela said.

  “How’s that?” Joy said.

  “You’re living with a perfect stranger,” Angela said.

  “She’s not a perfect stranger. We’ve spent two nights talking about our lives,” Joy said defensively.

  “It sounds more like Carol talking about her life,” Angela said. She raised her eyebrows.

  “I’m not currently broken-hearted. I find being single is a whole lot easier. I’m rather enjoying having another friend.”

  “Except for the sex,” Angela said.

  “Except for the sex,” Joy agreed. “Now, can we get smoothies?”

  “All right, I’ll give them a try.”

  ***

  “Oh, my god, so much white,” Angela said, bouncing on the white couch.

  Joy prayed the lid to Angela’s strawberry smoothie stayed on. Joy had yet to sit on the couch, afraid she would spill something and ruin it. Who in their right mind bought an uncomfortable white couch?

  Carol looked perfect on it, the sleek chrome and straight lines of the couch accentuating her personality. She supposed elegance came with package that was Carol. Maybe the couch gave Carol a sense of order in her now-disordered life.

  “Please be careful,” Joy said.

  Angela stopped bouncing. “It sucks in the comfort department. Why would anyone want this?”

  “Carol sublet her apartment and left everything behind. Maybe the new furniture is a sign of her mental state,” Joy said philosophically. She sat back in her comfy chair.

  “I don’t think people buy furniture that indicates their mental state. When people need a pick me up, they
either get their haircut or go see a shrink. Perhaps I should offer Carol my services,” Angela said.

  “She’s got nice hair,” Joy said.

  “You seem to spend a lot of time thinking about her,” Angela teased.

  “I do not. I find her intriguing, that’s all,” Joy said.

  “She is intriguing, I’ll give you that. I want to go to this opening party thing,” Angela said, tapping the brochure on the edge of the table where Carol had left it. Joy considered this. Had Carol left it sitting there to further torment herself?

  “What? I thought we were just going to look at it,” Joy said, alarmed. She wanted to see it, but she didn’t want to attend the opening. She figured they would pop down there one afternoon and look at it.

  “We are and we’re going to check out this Debra person.”

  “I don’t know,” Joy said.

  “Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?” Angela said, wagging her smoothie.

  Joy thought about it. Where was her sense of adventure? She and Angela used to be wild. They had calmed down in their early thirties when they got serious about their careers.

  It would be interesting to observe the woman who broke Carol’s heart. “Okay, we’ll go. But I want us to be discreet. Can you promise me that?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die.” Angela picked up the pamphlet and checked the date. “And it just so happens I don’t have any plans this Saturday night. You can put your furniture together some other time. This is more important.”

  “We were going to do it on Sunday. Carol and I work Saturday. I’ve got an open house in the Desert Springs subdivision.”