The Overlap

by Lynn Costa

  “I need to tell you something, okay?

  Zack raised his eyebrows.

  “Sure,” he said, but the light smile that had been on his lips while we had locked eyes following our toast vanished.

  “So here’s the thing,” I began. “You’re leaving for San Francisco tomorrow...”

  I hesitated. Then hesitated some more. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words!

  “...and your boyfriend is coming back to L.A.?” Zack knew where I was going, even though he finished my sentence with his voice rising a bit, as if he were asking a question.

  “Uh-huh,” I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper... but still making sure I locked gazes with him as I confirmed what he had already guessed.

  “But I’m going to break up with him!” I blurted out quickly, my voice picking up notes of confidence. Or so I hoped, though to me I could sense uncertainty – just a touch – in my proclamation.

  Zack looked down at his beer for a second, took a drink, and then back at me.

  “Okay,” he said, nodding, and then taking another drink of his beer.

  Nothing more.

  No asking me if I was really serious. No asking me how I was going to do it, or the specifics of when: as soon as I saw Dustin, or after I worked up the nerve to give him the bad news.

  And definitely not asking me if I thought any bittersweet, one-last-time sex would be part of the elongated breakup scene.

  He just let it go. I wished so much I could read Zack’s mind at this very minute. Was he taking me at my word that I would take care of the nasty business, then cry myself through the weekend while he was in San Francisco and then we would start next week with a clean slate? I mean, that’s almost exactly what Kensington had said to me during lunch earlier today; maybe Zack was on exactly that same wavelength, figuring that the fates had called him out of town and were sending Dustin back to L.A. so I could do what had to be done. Zack wouldn’t be alone in his apartment or out with friends maybe only a block or two from where I was breaking the news to Dustin. He would be at his conference, almost 400 miles away from here, probably chatting with colleagues or new prospective clients over drinks or at dinner. His mind would be preoccupied all weekend by his own business at hand and when he was done, so too would be my relationship with Dustin.

  * * *

  We decided to stay put at Cerise for dinner, and in fact remained right in the bar rather than heading off for one of the dinner tables in the smaller part of the place. Zack found a couple of barstools to pull up to the high-top where we had been standing and talking, and we both ordered fish tacos, supposedly one of their specialties. I switched from drinking Cosmos (two so far) to the same orangey beer that Zack was drinking, and found that I really liked it.

  Zack seemed to be doing his utmost to steer our conversation away from this weekend, Dustin, San Francisco, Dave Evers, MetroGen... all of that. He also seemed to be doing his best to take me back into that magical feeling when we met right here one week ago, as well as our dinner dates at both Vivant and Solazarse. At one point, when his third beer and my first finally showed up (Cerise was extra-crowded tonight; way busier than last Thursday) he raised his glass – and his eyebrows in that mischievous way some guys do – and in a smooth, seductive voice offered his toast: “To the Trojans and the ‘Cocks!” I couldn’t help it; a huge smile broke out on my face while my brain instantly started showing me a mental movie of selected highlights from last night in Zack’s bed. I swear I could almost feel my three orgasms all over again, sitting right here at this high-top table.

  Basically Zack seemed to be making extra effort to put me into a good frame of mind for tonight so we would enjoy this evening together, even though I had this unpleasant business waiting for me sometime over the weekend... and it worked. By the time we had finished our dinner and each had one final beer, I was feeling much as I had 24 hours earlier when we were finishing up dinner at Solazarse, both of us knowing that we would soon wind up in bed together.

  And that’s exactly what happened this Thursday night. Usually during my second time having sex with a guy (one-night stands excepted, of course) I start to get a bit more adventurous, and tonight with Zack was no exception. We had just arrived at his apartment, passionately kissing right inside his door the same as last night, but this time I reached down and undid his belt buckle and dropped his pants and underwear right there in the living room, and then eased myself to my knees, still fully clothed, as I moved my mouth towards him.

  Zack must have thought this scene was as hot as I did because he only lasted about two minutes, and I couldn’t help but luxuriate in wicked self-satisfaction that he couldn’t hold back any longer than that. He then undressed me right there in the hallway, steered me over to the living room couch, and proceeded to return the favor. I didn’t last any longer than he had, and in fact quickly came a second time less than a minute later since he kept going after my first orgasm.

  We finally headed into his bedroom where we spent the next two hours satisfying each other – and ourselves – pretty much non-stop. We had sex three times, the last time slow and almost in slow motion, and just before I fell asleep Zack said to me that I was “absolutely the most amazing woman.”

  What a roller-coaster day.

  Chapter 9

  Friday, September 20th

  About ten years ago, when I was in seventh grade, I started having one sore throat after another. In Phoenix, unlike cold-weather areas of the country, a long string of sore throats all winter isn’t that common, so my parents started getting concerned. My mom took me to the doctor, who solemnly pronounced that it was time for my tonsils to come out. I had been lucky throughout grade school when nearly every one of my classmates had a tonsillectomy at some point yet that fate never befell me; but apparently my luck had run out.

  My surgery was scheduled for a Wednesday, I remember. Because the hospital squeezed me in on short notice into a cancellation slot, I wouldn’t actually be wheeled into the operating room until 3:30 that afternoon; the last surgery my doctor would perform that day. So instead of my parents bringing me to the hospital very early in the morning, they were told I wasn’t to show up until 1:30 when a pre-op room bed was scheduled to be freed up.

  Until then, I was to remain at home – no eating or drinking because of the anesthesia – and just wait. I remember waking up at 5:30 that morning, unable to eat breakfast, and just wandering around the house, unable to sit still as wave after wave of anxiety washed over me. The morning passed at quarter speed. Lunchtime came, but no lunch; just a half hour of fresh waves of panicky apprehension. Then another hour ticked slowly by before I finally was loaded into my parents’ car for the longest fifteen-minute drive of my entire life.

  Then, after registering with the hospital, I endured another two hours of panic attacks as I had to fight the urge to flee the hospital room when my parents weren’t looking, all the while pathologically fearful of the surgery and painful aftermath that I knew was waiting for me.

  That’s what this Friday felt like.

  * * *

  The minutes ticked by at quarter-speed at work. Zack was already gone for San Francisco; he left his apartment for LAX at the same time I left for my own apartment. Since he had to shower and get dressed before catching his flight I took the time this Friday morning, unlike yesterday morning, to shower at his place... together with him, of course; our first shower together. Even though the undertones of his trip and Dustin’s impending return resurfaced this morning, I still immensely enjoyed showering with him including – big surprise – our first shower sex with me pressed up against the chilly tile wall and the sensations of that coldness juxtaposed with Zack’s warm body and hardness pressing into me from behind, the hot water erotically washing over both of us the whole time.

  Even though he helped me come after he was satisfied, and even though I had come four times the night before between what he did to me on his living room couch and then later in his bedroom, I
left his apartment feeling... I don’t know, still not completely satisfied. During the cab ride home, though, I decided that my uneasiness or restlessness or whatever it was didn’t have anything to do with me not being physically satiated. Instead, it was more like when I was doing something, anything, sexual with Zack last night or this morning – whether right inside his doorway or on the couch in his living room, or in his bed or in the shower – I didn’t give one thought to Zack’s San Francisco trip or Dustin returning or anything like that. I felt like I was in some sort of sex cocoon with Zack, safely encapsulated away from the troubles on multiple fronts that were out there waiting for me today and through the weekend. But outside that sex cocoon there was no escaping what was ahead of me...

  Anyway, since I had already showered at Zack’s and also grabbed coffee and a granola bar there I only had to put on fresh clothes and do my makeup and hair in my apartment, but I still didn’t have a lot of time before I had to get over to MetroGen. I did my best to force my thoughts away from the poop-storm that would hit L.A. late tonight when Dustin got back in town, and instead concentrate on trying to stay one or two steps ahead of Dave Evers and his bad mood. And even though I was mustering my courage for the confrontation with Dustin, I was also still toying with the idea of asking Dave to send me to some out-of-town project that was in trouble and needed help over the weekend to totally sidestep the showdown. Sure, that would be a cowardly approach but a big part of me still felt like running away from L.A. for the weekend even as Dustin was on his way home.

  My morning was filled with – stop me if you’ve heard this one before – one meeting after another, but Kensington, Courtney, and I were able to all coordinate our lunch schedules for the first time in like two weeks. Instead of our regular standby – baguettes from the French bakery – we decided to walk over to Cerise for lunch since it was just around the corner. Fortunately I wasn’t subjected to any Dave Evers incidents during the morning – he was in the 9:00 stand-up but none of my other meetings – so by lunchtime at least I didn’t have any fresh angst from that side to deal with.

  I wound up with fish tacos again, just like dinner last night, and while enjoying my lunch I caught Courtney up on where things stood with Zack and Dustin. Kensie already knew much of the story first-hand, of course, and she had already related most of that to Courtney. Still, I spent much of my narrative on last night right here with Zack and afterwards at his apartment.

  Ordinarily, at least some of our chatter would have veered towards the down and dirty details of sex with Zack. You know: how good; how long he lasted; how big... that sort of thing. But I think with the specter of my impending breakup with Dustin hanging over me, my friends realized I wasn’t really in the right mood to delve into the typical lusty gossip about a new guy. Still, even with the “Dustin situation” looming, I couldn’t help but feel some sense of euphoria as I talked about Zack, his business, our dates, and at least the surface details of sex with him.

  As our lunch break neared its end, though, the conversation inevitably shifted to my specific plans for breaking the news to Dustin. Courtney asked me first:

  “So are you going to tell him the moment you see him tonight?”

  I thought for a moment and realized that I hadn’t actually formulated out a plan yet... and in fact, Dustin’s flight schedule was actually a major complication to what I had decided to do.

  “I honestly don’t know,” I replied, “and in fact I think I have a big problem. His flight doesn’t land at LAX until 11:30 which means he won’t get up to Beverly Hills until well after midnight after getting his luggage and car, and I guess he plans to just show up at my apartment.”

  Both Kensie and Courtney immediately zoomed in on what I was thinking.

  “So you have to break up with him at like one o’clock in the morning?” Kensie asked. Even though we had talked and even sort-of-argued yesterday during lunch about Dustin’s surprise return, I guess I hadn’t mentioned how late on Friday night he was getting in.

  “Right when he walks into your apartment?” Courtney added.

  I didn’t answer either of my friends right away; my head was whirling trying to formulate a plan as the panicky feeling from this morning that had been tamped down a bit throughout the morning not only returned, it slammed into me like a Category 5 hurricane.

  Kensie noticed my panic, and just knew what had specifically jumped into my thoughts.

  “If he comes over at 1:00 in the morning, you don’t have a choice but to do it immediately, right? There’s no way you can just invite him in and not break up with him; you know, get into bed with him and then wait until the morning; no way will that happen without you having sex with him.”

  I still didn’t answer.

  “Maybe you should text him right before his flight leaves,” Courtney interjected, “and tell him that since it’s so late he should just go to his place and you’ll see him early Saturday morning. This way you can tell him then.”

  What Courtney said actually made sense and in the course of only about two or three seconds, my mind played out that little scenario. The only flaw I could see was that Dustin might insist on coming over anyway, even though it would be so late, because he had been gone for so long and was only going to be back here in L.A. for two nights... which meant that not coming over to my place Friday night would effectively cut his time with me in half.

  Again, Kensie seemed to be reading my mind.

  “Just be firm with him,” Kensie said, as if I had already said that I agreed Courtney’s plan was the way to go... which I hadn’t, even though at this point it was the one closest to being a good one. “Tell him that you had a really bad day or you’re not feeling well or whatever, and that you’ll see him in the morning. But do not let him into your apartment tonight!”

  Kensington paused, looked at me, and then added:

  “Or go over to his apartment either,” as if I were the type to look for loopholes in something I told one of my friends. I might be indecisive sometimes, but I had never been one to tell a friend or boyfriend or anyone else that I would do something or that I agreed with some particular point but at the same time choose my words very carefully so as to allow myself a loophole to do exactly the opposite.

  I was mildly irritated with Kensie, the same as yesterday, but I could see where she was coming from and that she was only thinking of my best interests.

  “I get it,” was all that I replied, accompanying a nod of my head.

  Courtney flicked on the screen of her cell phone to check the time. Though she rotated through some really nice watches with her work outfits every day – a Michele, two different Chanels, and a Cartier – even dating back to training in Miami last year none of us ever saw her look at whatever watch she was wearing. Instead, she never failed to check her cell phone for the time.

  “We better get back,” Kensie said even before Courtney could offer the same sentiment. We were about fifteen minutes out from our next meeting that the three of us all needed to attend together but we hadn’t paid the check yet, and in fact about half of my lunch was still sitting uneaten. I was hungry but at the same time not hungry; that queasy-stomach feeling caused by nerves and anxiety. I had certainly done the majority of the talking during lunch, which meant that my mouth was occupied with speaking rather than chewing, but truthfully I couldn’t finish the last taco or most of my cilantro rice. I thought about asking for a box and stashing the leftovers in one of the MetroGen break room refrigerators, but instead decided to just leave the rest of my food rather than take it.

  Fortunately our waitress came over to bring the check, and when I locked eyes with her as I handed her the money that the three of us had already thrown in to pay for lunch and a tip, for the first time I noticed that she was the same woman who had waited on Zack and me last night. She must have also just recognized me from last night, because she said:

  “Weren’t you in here last night with that really good-looking guy?”

 
; I could feel myself blushing a little bit as I nodded.

  She was about to say something else then looked at my friends and abruptly stopped talking; as if she wasn’t quite sure if further complementing me on the hot guy I was with, or asking me about him, or anything else was okay to say in front of the other two. For all she knew they could be clients, not co-workers or friends, and personal talk of this nature could be taboo at the moment.

  “They’re my friends, we work together,” I nodded towards Kensie and Courtney. “They know about the guy; in fact the three of us were right here together last week when I met him.”

  Then I abruptly stopped talking. I had no idea who this waitress was. Maybe she had noticed Zack herself before last night and had her eyes on him. Why give away too much information? With good friends like Kensie and Courtney I might say a lot, but I’ve always been cautious about saying too much about a guy I’m with or interested in to some other girl in casual conversation. I mean, if this waitress was one of those girls who get a thrill out of stealing a guy away who is involved with someone else, why give her any information at all about Zack?

  “You two make a good couple,” was all the waitress said, though, as I indicated that we didn’t need any change back from the $50 I had just handed her and she turned to leave. As we got up from the table, Kensie said to me:

  “You really do, you know.”

  For a fraction of a second I didn’t grab the context of Kensington’s words; that she was seconding what the waitress had just said. Before I could respond, Courtney added:

  “Yeah; you do.”

  I looked over at Courtney, and then at Kensington, as the three of us headed towards the front door of Cerise and the beautiful Beverly Hills mid-day brightness. Even as I was wishing we didn’t have to go back to work for the afternoon, and even as part of my mind was still enveloped in a low-grade panic attack about what exactly I was going to say to Dustin and when, I couldn’t help but feel happy about what my two friends and this waitress who I didn’t even know had just said. My mind took flight to San Francisco and instantly brought up an image of Zack Buchanan seated on a stage with several other polished, articulate movie marketing types, doing the first of his panel sessions that had taken him away from me for the weekend. In this little movie in my mind, though, when Zack’s session had finished and after he was done milling about and chatting with fawning audience members, he exited the auditorium with me on his arm and we walked out into the late afternoon San Francisco breeziness to celebrate his successful appearance.