Confessions of an Ex-Girlfriend

by Lynda Curnyn

  “And then,” she continued, once she’d contained her sobs again, “the bastard breaks up with me. Can you believe it?” she asked, looking up at me in confusion and sorrow.

  In truth, even as I stared at this red-eyed, puffy-faced version of Rebecca, I couldn’t believe any man would willingly leave such a paragon of good breeding and wifely suitability by the wayside. “Why?” I asked, in disbelief. “Did he give any reasons?”

  “Oh, he had reasons. Lots of them. But all of them having to do with the fact that he’s just an immature beast who wouldn’t know a good thing if it bit him in the ass.” She reached over and tugged another Kleenex out of the box. “He’s got things he wants to do, he says. He’s not ready, he says. His mother—his mother!—still relies on him to take care of her.” She let out a snort. “As if Frederic Fekkai didn’t already have her needs covered.”

  I stared at her for a few moments, taking it all in. And then I did the unthinkable. I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. It just burst out of me. It wasn’t as if Rebecca’s breakup didn’t bother me, it did. I felt terribly sorry for her. And it wasn’t even the image of Nash and his well-coiffed mother that did it. There was just something about the whole thing that seemed incredibly absurd all of a sudden. As if suddenly all the angst we spent over men—boys, I should really say—was completely ridiculous.

  Vainly attempting to stifle my mirth, I watched anxiously as Rebecca turned to look me straight in the face. I worried that I seemed hopelessly callous in the face of her recent distress. Then I saw a smile crease her tearstained face. And suddenly she was laughing, too. The kind of guffaw I hadn’t seen from her since the days when we traded barbs aimed at Patricia and her army of ladies-in-waiting.

  When we had all but busted a gut and were wiping away fresh tears together—tears of the merrier variety—Rebecca sat back in her chair and sighed, fresh sadness carving lines in her face and making her look older. “This is not going to be easy,” she admitted. “In fact, this is probably the worst thing that will ever happen to me.”

  Not by a long shot, I thought to myself, remembering ever more painful things that I had to deal with in my own Post-Derrick period. But I knew what she meant. Knew all too well the intense feeling that immediately followed when the man you loved suddenly decided to call the whole thing off. It was as if your entire life had just shattered into a million impossibly painful pieces.

  “It feels like the worst thing right now,” I said carefully, “but it won’t always.”

  When she looked up at me hopefully, I continued, “You’re going to feel abandoned. You’re going to feel bereft. Hell, you’re going to feel like shit. But it gets better, believe me. Suddenly you’ll remember that person you were before,” I said, as if realizing this fact myself for the first time. “You’ll remember what it is that you want out of life.” Then I smiled. “And you’ll go for it.”

  She nodded her head thoughtfully, then turned to me. “And just how did you get so smart, Emma? I mean, is that what happened to you before you met Derrick?”

  “Noooo,” I said, with a small smile, “that’s what’s happening to me now.”

  And then I did it. I confessed all. Told her everything, from the pitiful way Derrick announced his imminent departure from my life, to his new life with the Goddess of Good Dental Hygiene, to our last painful phone call.

  When I was through, Rebecca sat looking at me in shock. “God, Emma, I can’t believe you went through all that. And you didn’t even tell me! How did you survive?”

  I smiled, despite the fact that there was still a part of me that wondered the very same thing. “That remains to be seen.”

  Confession: There are some things only good hair can cure.

  And so it was that Rebecca and I became friends again. I even took her to Alyssa’s gym, having joined myself now that I had used up all of Alyssa’s and Jade’s guest passes. Of course, Rebecca had her own gym—how else had she managed to maintain that perfect power-suit shape? But it was a good bonding experience for us, especially when I showed her how many demons a good StairMaster session could exorcise in the post-breakup stage. We even went out for drinks one night, and I got her tipsy enough to trade jabs with me once more about the psychotic world of wedding planning that is Bridal Best. Of course, Rebecca was a bit more subdued about it. After all, she was management now.

  So it went. I was now officially single, complete with gym membership. And officially thinner, as my membership included a session with Tom, a buff and beautiful personal trainer whom I even contemplated asking out, until he asked me to step onto the scale. Despite the fact that I trembled initially, moments later I was practically shrieking with joy. I had now lost a total of ten pounds! Ten! I was positively…trim! For me, at least.

  I was also, officially, a writer of sorts. Once my article for Today’s Woman was complete, I actually bought a Writer’s Market with the idea that I would pursue other opportunities.

  Sure, I was happier. I will not lie and try to play the disgruntled ex-girlfriend anymore. But still something was missing. Something that made me ache to call Derrick. Made me fret over the mistakes I’d made with Max. Made me resist taking up with Tom, the buff and beautiful personal trainer. And I might have fallen into some sort of malaise, had I not been momentarily saved by none other than St. Sebastian himself.

  “Emma!” came his surprised and delighted voice when he caught me at home on a Friday night.

  Well, if wasn’t my prodigal hairdresser, I thought. “Sebastian, how are you?”

  “Magnificent. How are you?”

  “Good, good.”

  “Are you in love?”

  “Uh—”

  “I’m in love,” he continued, not waiting for whatever lame answer I might come up with. “In love with life.”

  Whew. I was worried for a moment that yet another of my friends had jumped the Singles ship.

  “Oh, Emma, I have learned so much from my guru. You really should come to a session with me. I’m meditating every day now, and I can’t tell you how much it’s deepened my awareness of all things. In fact, they’re starting a new session next week. You really ought to come.”

  Uh-oh. I began to fear Sebastian was going to start peddling spirituality to me. Your Unconscious Life Wiped Clean, in three easy sessions. “I, um—”

  “So tell me, tell me, tell me—what have you been up to? How’s your hair?”

  Aha. Now I had uncovered the true purpose of Sebastian’s call. “Still not blond.”

  “Hmm. Maybe we can remedy that. What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?”

  I smiled. Good old Sebastian. He always came through with some highlights whenever he was running low on cash. I guess his inner peace just wasn’t paying the bills. Not wanting to miss out on this opportunity, I quickly agreed to meet him at his place on the Upper East Side, where I would surreptitiously dump a wad of cash on his dresser and in return receive the glossy golden lights I craved.

  As it turned out, Sebastian was just what I needed. The next day, as I sat in a chair in a kitchen decorated in the kind of bold yet soothing color combinations that could make Martha Stewart swoon with delight, I was filled with that old satisfaction a woman only knows when she feels truly cared for. With my head half full of aluminum-foil-wrapped color and Sebastian humming a soft, soothing rhythm while he applied the finishing touches, I knew I had found something resembling happiness.

  Once he was done with the foils, Sebastian set a timer and busied himself making us tea. As I watched him gently sift the tea leaves into a cast-iron container then pour hot water over the top of them, I studied his economy of movement, his grace. Wrapped in his relaxing presence, I realized that no matter what small task he did, he did it with the greatest pleasure.

  Clearly something had happened to Sebastian. Or someone. After he had set the tea in front of me and took a seat across the table, bowing his head briefly to pray, I asked the question I’d been wondering about since I’d first arrived to
day and witnessed his glowing presence. “So, are you dating anyone?”

  He shook his head and sipped his tea, heaving a great sigh of pleasure.

  I sipped my tea, and when I discovered the thin, dank taste, I wondered if I were drinking a different brew. “I’m not dating anyone, either,” I offered, though he hadn’t asked. “And it’s starting to get on my nerves.”

  He smiled and waved a hand at me. “Oh, Emma. You just need to get laid.”

  My eyes widened. I certainly didn’t see that one coming, not with Sebastian sitting there in his oriental robe, looking so serene and content. I was expecting something more along the lines of say, a quick chant to calm the mind.

  “What?” he said, looking mildly offended at what I imagined was the surprised expression on my face. “Did you think I had become a monk, Emma?” He rolled his eyes. “Please!”

  Then he raked his fingers through his curly blond locks, a look of mischief coming over his cherub face. “I have learned the key to all relationships is no relationship.” He shrugged. “I am just better when I am by myself. More at peace. Probably because I don’t have to deal with another person’s mishegoss.” He rolled his eyes again. “After John, I’ve had enough to last me two lifetimes.” Then he shrugged. “I don’t really need anything from anyone else. Except sex. And that can be had easily enough.”

  Ah, to be a gay man in New York City, I thought to myself. Was it that effortless to get laid without getting…screwed? “So is that your secret?” I asked.

  “Secret?”

  “To happiness,” I explained. “You just seem so calm. So happy.”

  He smiled beatifically. “I have learned happiness from my guru, Emma. No man can teach you that,” he said, gesturing to the framed photo on his bookshelf of that wise Indian woman he’d shown me the last time we’d gotten together. As I studied her smooth, clean features, her carefully placed bindi, I wasn’t convinced. Though she had that same beatific smile on her face, her eyes seemed somewhat…sad.

  “Do you think some people were meant to be alone?” I asked now, fearing the answer.

  “Only if they want to be,” he said. “It is a choice. Everything in life is a choice, though most people don’t see it that way.”

  With that, the timer went off and Sebastian jumped into action, checking a few foils, then beginning the careful process of unwrapping my hair. Once the foils were out, he guided me to the sink and gently washed out the color formula I hoped would change my life for the better. As was his practice, he kept me away from all mirrors until he had completed the blow-dry—he liked the drama of watching my expression once I witnessed the complete transformation.

  I didn’t disappoint him. Once my hair had been blown into smooth, shiny waves about my face and I stepped before the mirror and saw all that glossy gold color lighting up my features, I couldn’t help but smile with pure joy. “I’m beautiful!” I exclaimed, then turned to hug him.

  “Oh, Emma,” he said, pulling me into his embrace. “You were always beautiful.” Then he leaned away from me, studying his handiwork. “Now you’re simply…more beautiful!”

  And as I turned to see my reflection once more, I realized, with a flow of happy warmth through my veins, that he was right.

  Confession: I am blond. Hear me roar!

  That evening I headed home with my tummy pleasantly full from the soba noodles and vegetables Sebastian had fed me once he finished my hair, and the number for my local yoga institute tucked away in my wallet. Though I wouldn’t accept the guru, Sebastian had managed to convince me of the value of meditation. I didn’t know that I would try it, but I took the card anyway. As I came to my corner, I stopped then turned toward Heavenly Dee-lites, thinking I might indulge in a little Double Mocha Chip. Not because I was feeling blue and hoping to drown my sorrows, just because it had been a good day and now I wanted to finish it off with a sweet, low-calorie treat. Besides, I hadn’t been there in a while and I didn’t want the sweet old couple who ran the place to think something had happened to such a loyal customer.

  The moment I stepped through the front door and saw him inside, I panicked. I thought he had quit, or been seduced by some other desperate customer and promptly fired. But there he stood, broad-shouldered and beautiful in a T-shirt that stretched across that amazing chest, and a pair of perfectly faded jeans hugging those slender hips. I was immediately tongue-tied.

  “Hey,” he said with a smile that zipped through me, “if it isn’t Ms. Double Mocha Chip. Where’ve you been?”

  I immediately became defensive, which caused my tongue to untie and unleash the kind of comment a woman should never make to a man she fantasizes about sleeping with. “Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint you, but I do have a life. And the name is Emma Carter—”

  “Whoa, whoa,” he said, “slow down, Emma. It was just that I…I was kinda wondering what happened to you.”

  All the anger drained out of me. He was?

  “And my name’s Griffin Rivers. But you can call me Griffin. If we’re going to continue to see each other, I think we should at least be on a first-name basis.” He smiled. “Now, what’ll it be? The usual?”

  I sighed, embarrassed. “Yes, the…usual.”

  I shivered as I watched him sift through the freezer between us, pull out that familiar container, then pause before he dropped it into a bag. “I’m sorry, did you want the gallon-size or this pint-size?”

  “The pint, of course,” I answered quickly.

  “None for the roommates?”

  I frowned. “Roommates? I don’t have any—” I stopped, suddenly remembering the fib I had told to cover my gluttony. I smiled. “Turns out they’ve all…moved out.”

  “Ah…” he said, a smile lingering on that beautiful mouth as he bagged the pint, then proceeded to the register to ring me up.

  When he handed me back my change, his hand brushing mine, I felt it. That zing. That powerful connection I’d only read about a zillion times—and experienced only twice, both times with him. Griffin. The Skinny Scoop man. Suddenly Sebastian’s earlier suggestion that I needed to get laid rang through me. No woman in her right mind would leave this store without securing a date with such a promising bed partner, minimum-wage worker or not. He was just too…hot. But how? How did I go about getting this man in my bed? I was way out of my league. He was a god. Jade’s kind of god. Not the kind of bespectacled geek I usually warmed up to.

  Drawing on all my courage—somewhat heightened when I remembered how absolutely fabulous I had looked upon leaving Sebastian’s this afternoon—I started in. “Thanks.” I smiled. Now what? In a last grab at straws, I held up my purchase. “So now that I’m without roommates, looks like I won’t be coming by so…often.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “That stuff’s pretty addictive.”

  No kidding. “Well, just in case I don’t make it here next Saturday night, maybe we should meet up anyway. You know, go for drinks or something. Maybe somewhere—” I looked around the small store, lined with organic fruits and vegetables “—somewhere less healthy. Like a bar.”

  “Or a restaurant,” he offered. “Why don’t I come pick you up at your place after closing? Say nine or so. You must live nearby….”

  “You know what, why don’t I meet you here?” I replied, a sudden image of us pleasantly entwined in the nondairy section filling my mind. Besides, I didn’t him want him to catch a glimpse of my hovel too soon. Or, worse, run into Beatrice and get the lowdown on her digestive problems. I liked to save that stuff for later, once I had hooked a man with my charm.

  “See you here at nine on Saturday then,” he said.

  “Sure. See you then,” I said coolly, as I turned and walked out the door, my insides trembling so hard I thought I would shatter into a million pieces.

  Oh God. I had a date. With the most beautiful man I had ever seen. The most beautiful man I had ever hoped to seduce.

  Catching a glimpse of my gorgeous new reflection in a storefront on my way
home, I realized I was a changed woman. A woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go for it. Maybe it was the hair.

  Or maybe it was just…about time.

  Confession: I discover something even more satisfying than sex.

  I spent the next week preparing for my big seduction scene.

  “Are you sure you want to just sleep with him?”

  This from Jade, who, oddly enough, immediately shot down my proposed plan when I called her to apprise her of my cute boy coup. “What else am I going to do with him? The guy peddles ice-cream substitute, for crissakes.”

  “You are such a snob,” she countered.

  “To quote you, before you began spending your Saturday nights baking pies for Ted—”

  “I baked one pie! As an experiment,” she protested. “Ted likes pie and…and I wanted to see if my oven still worked—”

  “As I was saying, I’m simply using the justification you used when you turned poor Enrico into a sex toy. Griffin is not my type. Yes, he’s hot. Yes, he has a day job—of sorts. But what could we possibly have in common?”

  “He could be an artist of some sort and he’s just doing this to pay the bills,” Jade argued.

  “Even Derrick wouldn’t sink so low as to be a counter boy in a veggie store. It just doesn’t pay enough to support any sort of dream, artistic or otherwise. Griffin is probably one of those granola types who does it just because he feels he’s serving some kind of purpose for Mother Earth.”