by Laurie Graff
“Everyone show me the relationship/marriage corner of your apartment and tell me what you have there,” said Jenna, holding up the feng shui bagua and pointing a finger to the upper right hand side.
Okay, think...the relationship/marriage corner of my apartment.
I mentally walked into my apartment through the front door realizing I had yet to decipher if it was facing north or south, already forgetting which side was good and how it affected the yin and the yang. Jenna had talked about the specifics, but I hadn’t listened. So what if I faced the wrong direction, or if Gomez, the super, had messed up the chi in the lobby when he cracked the mirror with his mop. What was I going to do? Move? Let’s face it, there was feng shui for apartments, and then there was feng shui for New York apartments. And if you lived in New York and were lucky enough to even have an apartment, let alone one that was rent stabilized, you already had some pretty cool chi.
I waved Jenna over to show her my drawing, pointing to an asterisk that located the relationship/marriage area of my apartment which turned out to be the corner of my kitchen that housed the stove.
“An appliance!” I said, thinking it serendipitous that I had booked this spot. I counted my blessings as to just how fortunate it was going to be. Although the commercial would not be running national, it was a buy with two of the three major markets, New York and Los Angeles. And it would earn enough money for me to qualify for health insurance. Between that and my unemployment I would be fine for a while, not to mention the added benefit of my friends on both coasts getting to see me on TV.
“Oh,” Jenna said, gazing down. “You have a very nice apartment,” she said, looking over my shoulder at my blueprint.
“Wait till you see it by someone who can draw.”
“So, what’s around the stove?” she asked. “Any pictures, plants, colored potholders...what?”
“Nothing,” I said, picturing my window and next to it the stove. “Oh wait, I do have a picture hanging on the wall over the stove.”
“Great! Of what?”
“Clinton. Bill Clinton’s up there.”
“Still?” asked the wardrobe assistant, pleased that her bed was in her relationship/marriage corner even though it was pushed up against a wall allowing for only one night-table, a no-no for anyone lobbying to be a twosome. “We’re coming up on the second election without him. Let go, Karrie. It’s time to let him go.”
I had not been able to let go of Bill so easily. And I loved the autographed color photo the White House had sent to me because of a letter I wrote when I worked on his campaign. I’d kept it up all these years as more than a memory, but as a reminder of better political times to come. To this day, whenever I heard him speak I was overcome with a sense of pride and well-being I’d lost. I missed the Clinton years profoundly, and his picture created a yearning as if Bill were the one that got away.
“I can’t do it, Jenna. I’m too attached.”
Jenna did not move. Jenna’s face froze. After she composed herself she pulled up the chair next to me, taking my hand and talking as if I were in counseling.
“You have to get Clinton out of that corner,” she said in a low steady voice one might use on a mental patient. “Tonight. As soon as you go home. Bill Clinton’s photo cannot hang in your relationship/marriage bagua.”
“But why?”
Aside from everything else, I thought the picture suited my old-fashioned kitchen adding just the right touch of Americana; the flag waving in the background behind, and Bill, in a navy suit, adding an extra splash of blue to the already blue-and-white decor.
“Do you want to attract a man like Clinton?” asked Jenna, illustrating the severity of my feng shui faux pas.
“Gee, let me think about that. Handsome, sexy, brilliant, accomplished, funny, family-minded, compassionate, rich... Nah. Why would I want to attract a guy like that?”
“You left out an intern,” she said. “And a wife.”
“Oh, please.”
“Karrie, I do understand,” she said, and I believed that she did. Living in New York City was thankfully to be living among like-minded souls. “I’d vote for him again in a heartbeat, but we’re not talking politics. Tonight, when you go home, get Clinton out of the kitchen.”
I didn’t answer.
“Karrie. You want to meet someone available. Change your karma and change your chi and get Clinton out of that corner.”
“But he’s so cute, and I like looking at him when I cook.”
“What’s going on?” The actor who played Husband swaggered up behind us, putting a hand on my shoulder as he leaned over it to look at the drawing.
I had been surprised when I arrived at work that morning and saw Dirk Benson sitting in the makeup chair next to mine. Dirk mainly lived in Los Angeles, but considered himself bi-coastal. While we’d run into each other at an audition now and again, I’d mainly hear from him a few times a year, early in the morning, when he’d phone with a flirtatious wake-up call. I hadn’t actually seen him for a while, and suddenly there he was.
“Karrie!” he had said, throwing down the Daily News, leaping up to give me a big hug. His dark blond hair was still tousled from sleep. He wore an oversized sweatshirt with “Montauk” written across the front that hung with the perfection of a model in an ad. “Wow. Today’s going to be cool.”
We had not seen each other at the callback, and I was surprised and excited to spend the day playing Dirk’s wife. With a casually honed charm, Dirk looked like a TV star you might see hanging out in the Hamptons. Someone who claimed his fame playing a good boy gone bad. I could picture him on The View, captivating the ladies while plugging a new one-hour drama. But today he was here, plugging washers and dryers, and captivating me.
“Hey—it’s you!”
“Sure is,” said Dirk, not letting go of the hug right away, holding on to me in that touchy-feely way that is often the tendency among actors. “So you’re the one who got booked to be my wife. How about that?”
“They say it’s better the second time around,” I told him, both of us grinning, clearly remembering when we had first met.
We shot a commercial together almost twenty years ago for an insurance company. Dirk and I played a young couple planning a family and buying their first house. That morning, the van picked us up and drove us to a bowling alley on Long Island where we shot. We spent the day giggling, bowling, working and flirting. For every gutter ball thrown by Wife, Husband scored a strike. We knew he would strike right when choosing insurance, and score as a big provider.
On the return trip home, the production assistant made the first drop-off on the East Side, to deposit Dirk. He and the P.A. had gotten stoned in the van on the way home. About the time we exited the Queensboro Bridge, Dirk had passed the joint to me, and to be polite I took a toke. A few minutes later he asked if I wanted to jump out with him and grab a bite. After the toke he didn’t have to ask twice. I jumped. I grabbed. I was a goner.
“So, we made it. We’re still married.”
“Yes, we are, Dirk. And we finally saved up for a new washer/dryer.”
The morning shots had been going well, the door thing aside. Dirk was a goofball and fun to work with. We chatted between takes. He’d come back East for the summer. He wasn’t married. And he wasn’t dating. Anyone.
“Want to join us?” asked Jenna, who gave Dirk a brief rundown of what we were doing.
“You have feng shui for couches?” asked Dirk, who told us he was spending the summer sleeping on his brother’s. “You think if I rearrange the throw pillows I’ll attract some big movie role?” Dirk asked the women before shifting his attention back to me. “So, Karrie, you really think you have to move all your stuff around to get a little action? Come on.”
He flashed that sideways grin that got me going. Almost. While Dirk as pretend husband wasn’t such a hardship, it was definitely pretend. Over lunch I got the real scoop about who got him away from L.A.
“I went out with this
woman who owns her own Internet business and she makes a lot of money, and I haven’t been working as much, so she had the money. And because she had the money she was very controlling,” said Dirk as we finished the cold poached salmon and endive and goat cheese salad, saving room for a taste of the pesto ravioli before diving into the peach cobbler for dessert.
Note—the importance of major markets extends beyond making major money; the better the buy on your commercial, the better the catering will be on your shoot.
“So every time I didn’t do something the way she wanted, she withheld sex. But the sex was the best thing we had. So why’d she do that? She wanted it, too. Why couldn’t we have enjoyed the good things, instead of posturing and pretending? We weren’t ever going to get married. I didn’t want her. She didn’t want me. But we had a good time. I wasn’t committed to her, but I wasn’t running away, either. And believe me, if she would have dropped the control and allowed herself to get what she needed, we both would have been happier and maybe...who knows.”
On the one hand, Dirk usurped this woman’s power by telling her they would never marry. On the other hand, her money had bought her a certain power with Dirk, and their sexual rapport had brought her another. So all she had to do was continue, and it might have turned into something more. But she couldn’t because Dirk said they would never marry, which made her resent him. And withholding sex made Dirk resent her, which happened because of his withholding words about commitment. They canceled each other out, and nobody won.
“And so you came East, young man,” I said. “Is that it?”
“That’s it,” he said. “And that’s over.” He paused. “And you? Who’s got you?”
“Ah. Sadly, no one. Most boring year of my life,” I said, feeling this scenario to be only slightly dramatic. But I told it to Dirk who loved to act.
“A girl like you not seeing anyone?” he asked after lunch when we got back into wardrobe. “My little Karrie, all alone,” he taunted as hair and makeup reclipped my hair and unglossed my lips. “You’ve got to be kidding!” I heard between takes. “A sexy girl like you not seeing anyone?” he whispered, while I stayed on my mark, surrounded by laundry.
Dirk continued to ask, continued to taunt, and continued to whisper. Sure. It was easy for him to say! Easy for Dirk to flirt since all he had to do was bustle through the door. Home from work in a Brooks Brothers suit, I was the one with the disheveled hair and the baggy shirt who spent all day doing housework. I was the one surrounded by laundry. Dirty laundry. So overwhelmed by our loads of dirty laundry, that if hubby didn’t break down and buy me a new washer and dryer soon I was just going to pull every disheveled hair out of my head and, believe me, it felt anything but sexy.
“Come on,” said Dirk in the charming voice when I told him I simply hadn’t met anyone I liked. “I know you’ve met men,” he said, somewhat missing the point. “You always attract men,” he said, when the director called it a wrap. “A woman like you can get plenty of male attention. But you already know this,” said Dirk. I think as a compliment.
Have you ever noticed when men give a compliment they often package it with the assumption that it’s something you already know? Sometimes I think my compliment has made its rounds to other women in the city. But it goes to waste as no one ever takes it, because they don’t think it was ever meant for them to begin with.
“It’s not about male attention, Dirk,” I said, an hour later when, taken in by Dirk’s good looks, attention and compliments, I agreed we share a cab back to the city, where we wound up in my apartment, allegedly, to take Charlie for a walk before heading out to eat. Finding myself in this position, I headed straight into the kitchen to remove Clinton from that corner. I found Dirk blocking my exit when I turned around.
Gazing down through his huge hazel eyes he pulled me into him. I could smell the fabric softener on his sweatshirt. He was tall, his arms were strong. He nuzzled his mouth against my ear and whispered, “So...you been auditioning a lot lately?”
Huh?
“It’s kind of sucked here since I’m back from L.A.,” said Dirk, slowly, seductively.
He turned me so my back rested against his chest. The top of my head almost reached his shoulders, and he reached down so he could rub mine.
“I told my agent I don’t want to waste my time going for these print gigs that pay a day rate of five hundred bucks.” Dirk circled his lean fingers into the top of my neck, as they slowly worked their way down. “And I read for a line on Law and Order,” Dirk cooed while he complained. “A line. Two years ago I was guest star. I played an executive who murdered his wife. Now I’m supposed to run down there for a line. What kind of bullshit is that?”
He had touched a sensitive spot. I wasn’t much in the mood to talk about Dirk’s career, and I certainly didn’t feel
like talking about mine. Dirk went on to touch another, but this one sent a chill down my spine.
“That felt good,” I said, rolling my head around in a circle, letting go of the kinks in my neck, in my career.
Dirk picked me up and brought me over to the couch, laying me down on my stomach and straddling me so he could continue to work on my back.
“Show hubby where it hurts,” he said, lifting my T-shirt so I could feel his warm hands climbing up. “You worked hard today, honey!” said Dirk, in a 1950s sitcom voice while his fingers massaged away.
“I did,” I said, letting the relaxation take over. Letting Dirk.
He stopped talking while he pressed his fingers into me, each touch breaking up more tension. His touch reminded me how good it was to be touched, and also saddened because I hadn’t been but for a few weeks at the beginning of the year. Sex is a lot like money. It’s only a problem if it isn’t there.
I must have dozed off under the spell of Dirk’s magic fingers, because I awoke to find Charlie’s white tail covering my eyes. The dog was perched on the arm of the couch and had fallen asleep by osmosis.
“Awake?” asked Dirk, talking when I finally stirred. “Relaxed now?”
“Yes,” I said, in a mixture of sleep and seduction. “Better.”
As I turned my head Dirk pulled me up by my hair, turning me on my back to face him before he leaned in for a kiss. The kiss was nice, it created stirrings and that was nice, too. I smiled. The less I said the better. I wanted to hear from Dirk. I wondered what was going on.
“Feel good?” he asked.
I nodded. Still relaxed. Still good. Still unclear.
“Hungry?” I asked, wondering. Were we going to lie down, get up, go out, or what!
“For...?”
Dirk moved in a little closer. The dance had really begun.
“Thai?” I asked, purposely making the misstep. “Unless you’re up for Chinese.”
“I’m up for... ” Dirk kissed me again. “Karrie,” he whispered in my ear. “I’m very turned on to you right now.”
He tucked me into his tall, toned frame. I suddenly felt safe. Cared for. Attracted. And it became important to know if all this was a beginning, or just a means to an end.
“You’re very turned on to me right now,” I repeated. “Now being the operative word in that sentence?” I asked, leaning in and kissing Dirk before he could even answer me. Total mixed message, very coy, shouldn’t have done it, great kiss, who cared, so what?
“Now being the moment,” Dirk mused. “Now just being now,” he said, still kissing my lips while massaging my neck.
Not fair, I thought, liking Dirk, liking his touch. Not fair at all, I thought, lunging into him and making the most of the moment, the most of the now. Enjoying the neck rub, enjoying the kisses that were very okay for now, but would have to be closely monitored as not to turn into later.
“I can talk to you like this, Karrie, because we’re friends,” said Dirk, knowing me and reading my mind. “And we just spent a nice day and... Hell, this feels good and... Man, I haven’t had sex in a really, really long time,” he told me, “and I just like bei
ng here with you. I’m lonely.”
“Me, too,” I said. Okay, if nothing else, the lonely part made it all make sense. My head, my heart and my body were in conflict, but Dirk and I now had something in common. We’d been lonely. “How long for you?”
“Oh,” said Dirk. “Let me see, a long time. Like...” He paused to give it some serious thought. “Two weeks.”
“Two weeks? Are you kidding me?” I sat up, quickly moving away. “Two weeks? That’s nothing. That’s only days,” I said, annoyed, I said, jealous, I said in disbelief.
Men.
I spend the two weeks they’re spending without sex waiting for them to call. I think they’re just on hiatus, spending the time thinking about me. But they’re not thinking about me. There is no hiatus. They have just moved on. They have moved on and are now calling new women, so at the end of those two weeks, with any luck, they’re dating someone new. Back in the fold, back to having sex. While I have only just figured out that they are never going to call.
“How long for you?” asked Dirk.
“Two weeks.”
Dirk grunted, shooting me a look like I was a sly little devil.
“Two weeks times whatever adds up to like almost six months. Not fourteen days, Dirk. Fourteen days is not exactly a very long time.”
“Well you must really feel the need to be touched then, Karrie.”
“How altruistic of you! I’m good enough for today but not for tomorrow?” I called out having picked myself up off the couch, moving across the living room. “Do you think that makes me feel less lonely? Screw you.”
“Hey,” said Dirk, jumping off the couch and coming after me. “Do you think we’re going to walk off into the sunset? Look at me,” he said, grabbing my hand as it swung by. “No bullshit, we’re buddies.”
