51/50: The Magical Adventures of a Single Life

by Kristen McGuiness

  “You’re not a buddy,” Mimi told me the other night when I explained Ben’s and my relationship.

  “Well, I am his, I guess,” I replied.

  “No, but Kristen. You shouldn’t be. You’re somebody’s woman. That’s the type of person you are.”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I used to be buddies with lots of guys. I was in a fraternity for Christ sake.”

  “Yeah, used to be. You’re not anymore.”

  And she’s right. I am somebody’s woman. I am not their buddy. And as Ben and I go on our adventure through the Castle Green, I realize that I can do this as Ben’s Grace Kelly, or I can do it as Ben’s Girl Friday. So I lift up my head, toss my shawl across my shoulders, and float back down the staircase like my girl Grace.

  Ben and I sit down at our table, and after the food and toasts, people get up to go dance. I lean over and tell Ben, “So I need to leave here at eight.”

  “At eight?” He looks at his watch. It’s 7:05 p.m.

  “Yeah. For whatever reason, I have found myself at the Observatory with almost every important date. And every time I am there, I see people in line for the show at the Planetarium. I keep waiting for the person I am with to say, “Hey, let’s catch the show,” but no one ever has. So tonight, I want to catch the show. It’s at 8:45. And either I will go alone, or you will come with me.”

  “I already know the answer to that,” Ben says, smiling. But it’s a Cheshire grin, and I can’t really tell which way he is leaning. I’m not really sure that I know which way I am leaning either, but I know that this is how the chess game works.

  I remind Ben that when we were talking the other night, we talked about how exciting it is when you meet someone you like and then you go traveling on your own right afterward. Ben had told me how he always fantasizes that the new love interest is sitting next to him on the plane. And he imagines what the trip would be like together.

  He laughs. “Yeah, I can’t believe I told you that.”

  “I know,” I say. “And that’s why I also know that you’re secretly a romantic.”

  “So?”

  “So then, why don’t you do romantic things?” I ask him.

  “Because if you do romantic things with a girl,” he tells me, “she will immediately begin to think that you want some long-term thing with her. She’ll start hoping for the future.”

  “So you just lock up all the romance. Keep it in the garage?”

  “Sure do,” he says, feigning a Texas accent.

  I shake my head again because though we’re joking, it’s all so damn true. John and Teresa Tull show up at the table, and they drag us off to dance. I hit the dance floor with my usual maniacal, white-girl moves, but Ben just stands off to the side. He doesn’t like to dance. After the first song, I join him because I feel bad.

  “Aren’t people strange?” I say. Because I always say that.

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know. Whenever they dance, I just get this feeling that we’re still so primitive, all participating in our weird funny tribal rituals.”

  “Well, isn’t that your whole thing? The ritual of romance and mating,” Ben asks.

  “Yeah, I don’t get that as much on the dance floor though. I’m kind of a solo dancer.”

  “Aha,” Ben says. “There’s your problem.”

  I smile sadly. “No, that’s the thing. Every guy I ever loved knew how to move with me. They just came in and molded me into dancing with them.”

  Ben looks at the dance floor, and I know he has no clue how to do that.

  Cradle of Love comes on. Originally Natalie had tried to choreograph a routine to the Billy Idol hit for the bridal party to perform as the first dance. But there was no time, and no one was that interested. Except for John and I. We hear the first two chords and see each other across the dance floor. Teresa nods for him to go for it, and he and I lead the bridal party in whatever parts we can remember from the dance. Nat and Reggie join in, and we’re all jumping around and yelling and laughing. I am falling over myself and having a blast. Ben watches from the side, and though it is a perfect opportunity for him to join in, he just sips his coffee and nods in my direction.

  The dance ends, and I rush up to Ben. “What time is it?”

  He looks at his phone. “7:53 p.m.”

  I grab my purse and say goodbye to the bride and groom and walk up to Ben at 7:58 p.m. We leave the Castle Green and are standing on the sidewalk in front of it.

  “Well, are you supposed to make a formal request?” Ben asks.

  “Sure. Ben, would you like to come with me on an adventure to the Observatory Planetarium tonight, right now, at eight o’clock?”

  He smiles. “I can’t.”

  And I smile back and say, “Garage door...shut.” And then I turn around.

  And I leave. Just like that.

  No more conversation. No more easy jokes. Because I am done waiting around for men who don’t know how or don’t want to be there.

  I get in my car, and Love Will Tear Us Apart comes on. I drive down the 134, the highway under which I go horseback riding into the mountains. La Cañada sits to my North, and the lights of Jimmy’s new neighborhood Eagle Rock glow to the South. I move onto the 5, one of Los Angeles’s most notoriously crowded highways, but it is wide open for me, and I drive with the window down, through Burbank, past the Equestrian Center and my wonderful Arrow. The Dodgers played tonight, but I have missed their traffic too as I exit onto Sunset Boulevard and drive through Echo Park, past the Mexican restaurants and hipster bars, through Silver Lake, past Pazzo gelato and my studio apartment and my great, big, magical life. I turn onto Vermont, and I drive up toward Griffith Park. I can see the hills rise up before me. The bright light of the Observatory beckoning me home.

  Winter is on its way, and the night smells of it. Even though it would be considered warm in any other part of the country, I can tell that people have lit their fireplaces tonight. They are settled into Sunday evenings at home with their husbands, their wives, their lovely smiling children. As I pull into the lot of the Observatory, I know, that just like winter, my partner is on his way too.

  And when he arrives, there will be no closed doors. Because love doesn’t happen like that. Love happens when the door is open. When the romance is real. When the faith is bigger than the fear. And I am ready. Ready to go on the adventure with someone who is excited to be on it with me.

  I rush up to the Observatory as eager as I have ever been, excited, finally, to see the show at the Planetarium, whether I have a date or not. My dress flutters behind me, and my hair looks perfect as I take the steps two at a time. I hit the box office with all the excitement and quiver on my lips as though a man is standing there.

  And then I see it.

  The sign.

  The sign on the window of the box office. It reads: “Due to technical difficulties, the Planetarium is closed today.”

  And I burst out laughing. I don’t care that I am standing by myself in the Observatory wearing a bridesmaid dress and hair and lipstick reminiscent of an Old-Hollywood star. I don’t care that there are people looking at me and that a small group of Japanese tourists have just taken a picture. I stand there, and I laugh, and I say quite out loud, “Perfect. It’s perfect.” Because it is.

  I walk downstairs past the Sparkling Ribbon of Time, past the history of our universe, and our destinies and our legacies and our smallness in the great vastness of God. And I go outside to where I once stood with Oliver, and I look out at Los Angeles, at the big, lighted grid that is this city I love, and I know that they are out there. Ben, Jimmy, Arrow, my next magical man, my railroad switch, my soul mate, and I know that the inscription on my favorite Observatory exhibit makes us all seem so moot: “We are connected to the origin of the universe by the sparkling ribbon of time, that reaches from the Big Bang to today, and we observe what the universe is, understand what it is doing, and appreciate how long all of this has been going on.”


  Because that sign at the Observatory box office says something far more than “Due to technical difficulties, the Planetarium is closed today.” It says, “Not yet, Kristen. Not this way.”

  The city sparkles below me.

  My home. My love.

  And like all great loves, this city has taught me so much. Because I came to Los Angeles looking for a life that shone like the Hollywood sign, and I found something quite different.

  I found rose gardens and kind people who just want to make the world a better place. I found sobriety and spirit guides that have shown that faith is in me. And in that magic, I have no doubt that the chess game is being played exactly as it should.

  I can get on my horse and ride into the hills, and I can create any kind of story I want. Because life can be just a series of ice cream sandwiches eaten while watching TV, or it can be the ultimate adventure into who we are and where we want to go.

  And one day, there will be a man who enters into that life and fits just right. I know he’s out there. In that big, sparkling grid, in that big, sparkling world, he is there.

  But for tonight, and for now, I get to do this part of the adventure on my own.

  Acknowledgments

  I never understood why people always thanked their agents first until I had one myself. Michael Broussard: you are so much more than my agent. You are my friend, brother, and biggest cheerleader. Many thanks to you, and Dino, for always believing in me.

  To Dan Smetanka—for believing in this project from beginning to end to end. You’ve become my family, and I am truly sorry for that. Thank you for making this an exceedingly better book as well as making it a reality. If only you could edit everything I say, I would be a much better person for it. To all the people at Counterpoint/Soft Skull Press, thank you for giving me a new home and this book, a new life.

  Gregg Sullivan for being the only ex-boyfriend not named in this book, and instead, becoming my publicist. Thank you, Gregg, for always supporting me—in our last chapters and our latest one.

  If I could dedicate this to someone who wasn’t my family (which they would never allow), it would be to the amazing support system of friends who listened to each date as they were being written and who showed up to star in the book, even if they weren’t too sure they wanted to: Annathena Grigelevich, Michelle Chaplin, Gavril Lourie, MJ Offen, Maureen Williams, Susan Burnett, Jennifer Sullivan, Lucy Madeline, Cathlyn Lang, Jennifer Hallock, Maggie Brown, Jesse Marrero, Michelle Matheson, and Eilene Walsh.

  And to my professional friends who helped me to believe that a good story is always worth being told (and who gave me the time to tell it): Kiwi Smith, Neil Strauss, Deanna Kizis, Dominick Anfuso, Judith Regan, Lee Cohen, Andrea Chu, Julia Gaskill, Avery Bell, and Alex Lopez.

  This would have been a really boring book if not for the spiritual guides who helped to make this story what it is and to make me who I am. My heart is forever connected to yours: Gisselle Acevedo, Elissa Zimmerman, Paul Perrotta, Carla Moore, Noelle Franco, Suzanne Curtis, Eddie, Arrow, and Rocky.

  To the men: the dates, the exes, my great, wonderful (and otherwise) lovers. Thank you for letting me tell your stories. And ours.

  And finally, to the people this book is actually dedicated to: mi famiglia. Mom: there are no words to describe my love for you. I won the day I was born by getting you as my mom. Nana: thank you for loving this book and for being my soul mate and my swipey. Uncle Tom: Thank you for taking on the starring role as dad. And for being so cute and single. Uncle Vic: I would never have known to believe in art without you—or designer labels.

  Daddy: thank you for the dream. The next one is for you.

  Kristen McGuiness was born in Easton, Connecticut, but spent her formative years amongst the horse stables and shopping malls of Dallas, Texas. She left the Lone Star State at seventeen to attend Hamilton College in Clinton, New York, where she studied government and partying.

  After college, she spent years working in the book industry in both publicity (at St. Martin’s Press) and editorial (at Free Press/Simon & Schuster and for Judith Regan at HarperCollins). Upon moving to Los Angeles, Kristen worked in film development for Spring Creek Productions, and also as an assistant to a top Hollywood agent. The last few years, she has worked as a fundraising manager for a Los Angeles- based nonprofit which provides educational and social services to low-income children, youth, and families.

  In addition to her passion for child advocacy, Kristen has been a dedicated writer since the age of five, when she won first place for her short story, “Run Sally Run.” Since that time, she has had her first screenplay, The Betty, optioned by an independent film producer, and is currently hard at work on her second book.

  When she is not hanging out with the children at her work, the horses at her stables, or the sober people and shamans who have helped to make it all possible, she likes to go on magical adventures throughout Los Angeles.

  Copyright © 2010 by Kristen McGuiness. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  In honor of privacy, names, details, and conversations in this work have been changed to protect the innocent (and even the not so innocent).

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  eISBN : 978-1-593-76395-4

  Soft Skull Press

  An Imprint of Counterpoint LLC

  1919 Fifth Street

  Berkeley, CA 94710

  www.softskull.com

  www.counterpointpress.com

  Distributed by Publishers Group West