And Fluffy knew.
I grab the jug by the handle, give the cat a good scratch under the chin.
“Thanks, guy,” I say. Then, “Hey, Helen!” I call out to the wife, who I left doing some last-minute stuff on her laptop before she heads off to work. “You’re not going to believe what the cat just did!”
Silence.
I shrug. “He literally stopped me from leaving the house without my water jug. I guess he’s memorized my morning routine and, I don’t know, he must have been worried I’d get dehydrated. Isn’t Fluffy amazing?”
Silence. Then: “Yeah. The cat’s a real brain surgeon.”
Huh. She doesn’t sound impressed like I thought she would be. Maybe she’s still, I don’t know, miffed at the conversation we were having earlier?
Oh, well. Nothing I can do about that now, I realize, glancing at my watch—shit, I’m late!
I get a 50-50 luck-out with Sam. The lucky 50 is she doesn’t give me a hard time about being late, plus she is duly impressed by the tale of the cat’s concern with my hydration. The unlucky 50 is that she does give me crap about the Martin kitchen, which is the job we’re starting with first thing this morning.
“Let me get this straight,” she says, chomping on the sugar thing I bought her at Leo’s. “You’re now living with a Canary Yellow kitchen at home, a kitchen color you hate, but when Mrs. Martin told you that’s the color she was determined we paint her kitchen, you talked her out of it no problem and now she’s going with the far more soothing and tasteful Hampton Haze, which may be a little dull but at least not clichéd?”
The temptation to say I know, right? is so strong in me right now, I literally have to bite my own tongue.
I’m careful not to bite hard enough to draw blood so that’s not nearly as idiotic as it sounds.
“How come,” Sam presses, “you couldn’t work that same magic with your own wife?”
And there’s that temptation again.
We pull up in front of the Martin job, start unloading the vehicle: stepladders, paint, tarps, that kind of stuff. Next, we knock on the door, schmooze the customer (“No one has taste in color like you!”), mix the paint and get down to work.
A couple of brushstrokes in…
“Hey, Sam,” I say, “do you ever think I’m, I don’t know…selfish?”
“Are you selfish?” she muses. “Hmm…”
She stops painting as she considers this which, I must confess, bugs me a bit. A professional painter should be able to hold down a conversation while working. Plus, she is on the clock here. Plus, if we take too long at our jobs, we could miss the beginning of GH.
“I mean,” she continues to muse, “how are we defining selfish here? You’re generous with your beer.” This is true. “Your house is my house, your chips are my chips.” Also true. “And I’d like to think that, if there were just one slice of pizza left in the box, you would at least make a half-assed attempt at offering it to me first before grabbing it for yourself.” Yes! That is so me! “So no,” she concludes, “I’m not seeing selfish there.”
I know,—
I mean, me neither!
“On the contrary,” she says, “I’d say that based on the man I just described, you’re generous to a fault.”
“Thank you.”
“So,” she says, finally taking up her brush again, although I do notice, she doesn’t do anything with it, “what brought this on?”
“Me and Helen were having a discussion this morning,” I start.
“Oh, you mean a fight?” she helpfully interjects.
“No,” I say annoyed, “it wasn’t a fight.” I don’t know why I’m feeling so bugged. The word she said, it’s just a word, right? But I’m still bugged as I clarify, “It was a discussion.”
“OK,” she says, “gotcha. So, what were you and The Wife discussing?”
“She said we only ever do things with what she refers to as ‘my people.’ Well, actually, she says ‘your people,’ but if I said that, it would sound like I was saying ‘your people’ meaning ‘Sam’s people’ which would make no sense —Helen doesn’t even know your people! Who are your people, by the way?” Sam just stares at me, not unlike the look Fluffy gave me earlier while standing in front of the fridge, and I shake my head at myself. “Anyway, Helen says we always do stuff with my people.”
“Always? That seems a bit strong. How long have you two kids been married—about two minutes?”
I think about it. “More like a little over two weeks.”
“Is that it?” She’s clearly shocked.
And, when I think about it, so am I.
So much has happened: the wedding, the honeymoon, getting used to the new house, painting rooms the wrong colors, having her join the poker game, having friends over, visiting relatives, getting clocks. When I put it like that, it sounds like a lifetime. Can it really be just a little over two weeks? But that’s so short. And in that time, things feel so…different?
“What did you guys do this weekend?” Sam asks.
“Well, you already know about Friday,” I say, “the weekly poker game at my place. Then, yesterday, we went to Big John’s for Aunt Alfresca’s birthday. He says he wants us to come every Sunday and I agreed. Oh, and on Saturday, Billy and Alice came to dinner.”
“That is a lot of your people,” Sam says.
I guess I can see where that might be true.
“But that doesn’t make you selfish,” she says.
“You know, Helen never actually used that word,” I point out.
“OK, maybe there was just an inference then and when you asked me before if I thought you were selfish, when you further started talking about this, I simply inferred that she had.”
“Wait a minute,” I say, finally hearing what she said thirty seconds ago; sometimes, I operate on tape delay. “Doing stuff with my people all weekend doesn’t make me selfish?”
“Of course not. Hasn’t Helen ever been in a relationship before? Doesn’t she understand The Principle Of The Unequal Balance Of Power In Two People Doing Stuff?”
“Wait a minute,” I say again. “There’s a whole principle?”
“No duh! It states that in any relationship, be it romantic or friendship, the overwhelming power over what the two do socially together lies primarily with one of the parties. You always wind up doing more at one person’s house than the other person’s, stuff like that. It’s just like my friendship with Maureen O’Hanrahan in junior high school.”
“Who had more power?”
“Her.”
“So what happened?”
“It turned out what I wanted to do was kiss her while what she wanted to do was kiss guys, so that was that.”
Huh.
“You know,” Sam goes on, “when you think about it, your relationship with Helen, it’s not really so different than your relationship with me.”
“I would beg to differ on that.”
“No, really, think about it,” she says. “When’s the last time we hung out at my place?”
I try to think but can’t remember a time and that includes when I lived right next door to her for over seven years.
“Um, never?”
“And when’s the last time you did anything with me and Lily?” she presses, referring to her steady girlfriend of nearly a year now.
“Well, I have met her,” I say defensively, adding in a grumble, “and I did invite her to the wedding.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining. I’m just making a point. We always hang out at your place. We always do stuff with your friends.”
“So I am selfish.”
“No. I like your place better than my place. I like doing stuff with your friends.”
“Doesn’t Lily mind?”
“Not so much. She likes her alone time, likes having me to herself when we are together, and she doesn’t really like your friends.”
“She doesn’t like me?”
“Your friends. She likes you just fine. It’s just some of y
our friends. You gotta admit, Drew’s a douche.”
“True.”
“Stacy’s a bitch.”
“No argument there.”
“Alice ditto.”
“But she has her moments.”
“Billy can be a bit annoying.”
“Ah, you’ve always just been competitively jealous of him.”
“Steve Miller’s an idiot.”
“Oh my God, how did that guy ever get to be an attorney? And a successful one!”
“Aunt Alfresca—no one can talk to her without going crazy.”
“Did I tell you she tweets now?”
“No, and please don’t.”
“You’re not going to say anything bad about Big John, are you?”
“Of course not! Everyone loves Big John!”
“I know, right?”
She glares at me, then shrugs. “I gotta give you that one.”
“So, basically, we’re saying every one of my people, with the exception of Big John, is annoying or a bitch or a douche or just generally impossible.”
“Except me? Pretty much.”
“And Lily’s not crazy about them.”
“But I am. I love those crazy douches! And you do too!”
This is undeniably true.
“But to someone who’s maybe still a bit of an outsider—Lily, even Helen—they can be a bit much in large doses and you did say you and Helen spent the entire weekend with your people.”
I’d been kind of hoping we were done for the day with the phrase your people but, apparently, no such luck.
“What do you propose I do?” I ask.
“Well,” she says, “obviously, we’re not giving up the Friday night poker game.”
“Obviously,” I agree.
“Plus, Helen’s kind of a part of that now. She likes playing poker with the guys, I could tell, even though I can’t say any of us loved getting cleaned out by her.”
I ignore that last, instead proceeding with: “And I can’t renege on going to Big John’s every Sunday. I can’t break his heart that way—I just promised him we would!”
“Of course you can’t. What about Saturday?”
“Saturday?” I stop and think. “I think we’re free. What’d you want to do?”
“Not us, you idiot.” She rolls her eyes. “You and Helen and her people. You’ve got fixed things to do every Friday and Sunday but having Billy and Alice over last Saturday was just a one-off. Why don’t you suggest to Helen that she arrange something to do this coming Saturday with her people?”
Huh. Why didn’t I think of that? Come to think of it, why didn’t Helen just come out and say that since obviously, as I see now, that’s what she wanted?
“If you’re the one to suggest it,” Sam goes on, “there’s no way for anyone to accuse you of being selfish, inferred or otherwise.”
OK, then. OK then!
“Thanks,” I say sincerely, “now maybe we can get back to work? These walls aren’t going to paint themselves, you know.”
“I hate it when you say that.” She goes back to painting. Brush, brush, brush. Then: “So how come you never ask me about my writing or how my brother’s doing? Kidding. Kidding! I don’t have a brother.”
The doorbell rings.
It’s five minutes to three, I’m in the kitchen rushing to get everything together before the show starts.
“Hey, Sam, you want to get that?” I shout as I pour chips in a bowl. “I’m kind of busy here.”
“Sure thing.”
Soon, there are voices coming from the direction of the front door but I don’t pay attention because I’m busy getting two beers from the fridge, setting them down on the counter, and soon after that Sam’s in the kitchen with me.
“Who was at the door?” I ask, handing her the bowl.
“Alice,” she hiss-whispers as she takes it.
“What’d she want?” I ask, picking up the two beers.
“I don’t know,” she whispers again, “but she’s sitting on your sectional, in the living room.” She looks at the two beers in my hands. “I think you’re going to need another beer.”
Sam precedes me with the bowl of chips as I follow behind with the three beers.
“Hey, Alice!” I say genially enough when I see Alice sitting there, ramrod straight, in the dead center of one side of the sectional. She’s so centered, it’s like she measured the distance from both sides. “What are you doing here?”
“You invited me,” she says, “the other night. You said to come by sometime to watch GH with you and Sam.” As she talks, she has an insecure look on her face like she’s unsure of herself. I’ve known Alice since we were in elementary school and I’ve seen her look that way how many times? Oh, right: never. “Did I misunderstand you?” she says. “Because if so, I could just—” She starts to rise.
“No, stay, stay.” I wave her back down, hand her a beer.
“Show’s starting,” Sam announces and she settles down on one side of Alice while I settle down on the other.
We sit like that—eat, drink, watch—for the next few minutes until the first set of scenes are over, the opening theme song rolls and the show breaks for commercials.
“So,” Alice says, still awkward, “did everyone have a nice rest of the weekend?”
“Yes,” Sam and I say at the same time. Then I turn to Sam, “You know, I know we’re supposed to hate what Johnny Z. did and all, offing his grandfather like that, but I’ve felt sorry for him ever since the revelation regarding his sister/mother.”
Claudia was supposed to be Johnny’s slightly older sister before she got murdered, but then it was revealed that she was really his mother. Looking at the actors, this seems an obstetrical impossibility.
“What an absurd storyline,” Sam agrees. “Do the writers think we’re idiots?”
“I know, right?” Alice says, looking more like her usual self in her excitement to be contributing. “I googled. The actress who played Claudia is only four years older than the actor who plays Johnny Z.”
Sam and I exchange a look and Alice catches it.
“What?” she says, awkward again. “Is that too weird that I googled something like that?”
“Not at all,” I say. “Sam and me did too—googled, that is. It’s just that”—how do I put this so it’s both delicate and I don’t sound insane?—“we’re not doing that anymore. That whole I know, right? thing—it’s over.”
“I know, right? is over?” Alice is shocked and, really, who can blame her?
“Show’s back,” Sam says.
“I’ll explain during the next commercial,” I whisper across to Alice.
But at the next break, Alice tries to make small talk again. She asks, “So how was Aunt Alfresca’s birthday?”
“How did you know we went to Big John’s to celebrate Aunt Alfresca’s birthday?” I ask.
“I didn’t know that was what you did to celebrate,” Alice says, defensive. “How would I know that? What do I look like to you, a stalker? But I did know it was her birthday—doesn’t everyone know that?”
Well, actually, I myself had forgotten until Big John called…
It occurs to me that Alice, who I really have known for so long, knows a lot about my life, my family. Really, the only people who’ve known me longer than Alice are Big John, Aunt Alfresca and Billy. Well, Drew too, but he hardly counts.
“Plus,” Alice adds, “Aunt Alfresca tweeted about it.”
“Never mind all that right now,” Sam says, turning to Alice and thus drawing Alice’s attention. “How do you feel about all this One Life to Live shit?”
“You mean the migration of characters to GH?” Alice wants to know.
“What else would I be talking about?” Sam says, which is very rude but also perversely nice at the same time. Like Aunt Alfresca giving Helen shit about Switzerland, it’s like Sam’s welcoming Alice into our GH flock.
“I think it’s very presumptuous,” Alice says. “Just because A
BC cancelled All My Children and One Life to Live, we’ve got to make room for other actors? And that Starr Manning chick—so annoying. On the other hand, McBain is out-hotting Jason Morgan, even if his hair’s a joke. And Todd Manning? Don’t get me started. He’s putting the sexy back in sociopathic killer.”
“Agreed on all counts,” Sam says. “Get you another beer?”
Next set of commercials, Alice has already learned that she doesn’t have to do make-nice conversation, asking about our weekends. Instead, she says, “I love the two-TV approach to watching!” Pause. “And I can’t believe you guys talk about the show all during commercials—it makes it so much more fun.”
“Yeah, well, what else would a person talk about during the show?” Sam says, knocking back some beer.
I look at Fluffy, who may be stretched out on the ottoman but his eyes are half open. I think of what he did just that morning, saving me from dehydration.
“See his face?” I say, studying him more closely. “Look at how he’s concentrating. It’s like he’s trying to figure things out, studying everything. He always looks like he doesn’t quite get it, not quite, and yet he keeps trying.”
“Or,” Sam says to Alice, indicating me with her beer bottle, “instead of discussing the show, you could do that. But why would you want to?” Then, more loudly, to me: “I think you’re reading too much into the cat. Maybe he just has to poop?”
Soon, they’re both giving me crap about what an idiot I am. But, I don’t know. It’s some kind of OK.
Show’s over and we’re high on what we’ve seen.
“Can you believe Heather still has Luke hostage?” Sam says.
“Can you believe that thing with Todd showing up with that mask and chainsaw to feed Luke pineapple chunks?” I say.
“I wonder what Luke’s doing about his toilet needs?” Alice, ever practical, says.
We’re not just high on the show. We’re also high on all the beer we’ve been drinking while watching the show. How many empties are littering the coffee table?
“Oops,” I say, “time for another round.”
“So.” When I return, Alice leans her elbow against the back of the sofa, leans her cheek against her palm, and studies me closely. “You were going to explain to me, you know, why we’re ditching I know, right? after all these years?”
Isn't It Bro-Mantic? Page 15
