Gloria said, “Wig. He has five of them on a two-week rotation. The fresh haircut wig, the two weeks’ grow out and so on, until the ‘in desperate need of a trim’ hairpiece. My mom hates that one. She thinks he should downgrade to four.”
Wilma said, “On that note—giving us all a lot to think about, in quiet reflection—I’m going to set up lunch. I’ll call you in an hour.”
Time for Wilma’s break. Once she’d gone, Tracy said, “Is anyone else wondering what hiking and meditating have to do with relationships? I thought we’d get analysis, on a couch. With a box of tissues.”
“I never expected to get much out of Week One,” said Gloria. “Next week should be more revealing, when we do the simulated dating. But I think Peg may be getting a jump-start on that front. Tell us, Peg, where were you until three in the morning?”
“Simulated dating?” asked Peg. “You guys got a week-by-week breakdown?”
“With the clothing list,” said Gloria. “In the packet.”
“I want a packet,” said Peg.
“You were up at three?” asked Tracy. “I was out cold like a frying pan to the skull on that Xanax. I nearly collapsed with a toothbrush in my mouth.” To Gloria: “You took one. And you were up at three?”
“I’ve built up a tolerance,” said Gloria.
“ ‘Tolerance’ being a euphemism for addiction?” asked Tracy.
“Not addiction. Dependence,” corrected Gloria.
“Addiction versus dependence. That’s like defining the difference between an accident and a mistake,” said Tracy.
Peg said, “Addiction is a mistake; dependence is an accident.”
The three women thought about that.
“I’m addicted to men,” said Peg.
“I’m dependent on them,” said Tracy.
“I’m building up a tolerance,” said Gloria.
The three women thought about that, too.
Peg said, “Back to the packet.”
“Week One: Acclimation and Self-Analysis,” recited Gloria. “Week Two: Interpersonal Exercises. Week Three: Group Dynamic. Week Four: Incorporation and Evaluation.” And then, “Back to what you were doing at three in the morning.”
Peg said, “I couldn’t sleep after filling out that monstrous questionnaire. So I got some fresh air. On the porch. I acclimatized. And self-analyzed. Very hard work.”
“Liar,” said Gloria.
“Okay, okay. The truth is, I was with someone.”
“Who?” asked Tracy.
Peg said, “I was with…”
“Yes?” they prompted in unison.
“The ghosts of relationships past.”
“More like the specter of relationships future,” snorted Tracy.
Tracy and Gloria dropped the subject. The three women talked and cloud-gazed until Wilma called them in for lunch. The men were already seated and eating ravenously, having spent the morning digging a septic sewer in a neighbor’s field.
Peg sat next to Ray at the table. He gave her thigh a squeeze, high up. She said, “You smell like dirt.”
He said, “According to Linus, digging is like getting to know someone. Shoveling on the surface is easy. Unearthing gets harder the deeper you go.”
“Ah,” said Peg.
“Say that again, in my ear, but more like a moan,” he whispered.
“Next week, we get to go on a simulated date,” she said.
“I don’t want to simulate anything with you,” he said.
Peg felt like she was being watched. Sure enough, both Wilma and Linus had their eyes on her and Ray. Peg plowed into her bean-sprout and eggplant wrap.
“I missed you this morning, Peg,” said Linus.
“I not used to getting up so early,” she said. Meanwhile, Ray continued to stroke her thigh under the table.
“Maybe tomorrow?” asked Linus.
“I’ll try,” she said.
Linus smiled amicably. Peg watched him glance over at Wilma, who assiduously avoided making eye contact with him. Meanwhile, Tracy stared at Luke, who kept a watchful eye on Gloria, who was staring blankly into her plate. Ben, unable to get Gloria’s attention, took to gnawing on a carrot like it owed him money.
Ray leaned toward Peg and whispered, “I’m still hard from last night. We need a second date. Tonight. At ten?”
She nodded slyly, her heart already pounding in anticipation. Peg put a hand on Ray’s leg, and thought smugly, I’m the happiest woman at this table.
Chapter 14
That afternoon, the women took a five-mile canoe trip, first downriver, with the current, Wilma making comments like, “You see how easy it is in the beginning? Everything flows in the right direction, you glide along, not a care, paddling easily.” On the way back, upriver, against the current, their arms aching, Wilma said, “When things get harder and the current runs against you, it’s tempting to stop, to give up, to park on a nearby island, to forget the whole journey—”
Tracy shouted, “There’s a nearby island!” She pointed her paddle toward a tiny dot of land in the middle of the Connecticut River. “Let’s stop. Let’s give up. Let’s forget the whole journey.”
Peg said, “Yes, let’s. We get the message, Wilma. Relationships are easy at first, but challenges inevitably arise and one has to be willing to paddle through them, no matter how hard things get, even if you’re pulling muscles in your forearms, or your neck is in spasm, or your back is sunburned.”
“And you’re dying of hunger,” said Tracy. “What I wouldn’t give for some of that tasteless trail mix from yesterday.”
Gloria, still digging deep with her paddle after Peg and Tracy had taken theirs out of the water, said, “Are my arms supposed to be numb? Look, I can pinch myself.”
Wilma agreed to take a break, so Gloria steered the canoe toward the little island. They pulled up on a mud beach and lashed the canoe to a tree branch overhanging the river. They got out, and invaded the island—twenty feet in diameter, nicely shaded, with a carpet of dry pine needles and a dozen sappy trees. Tracy and Peg lay down on the ground, enjoying the sunlight through the branches. Gloria stood next to the canoe, paddle in hand, like a conquering hero. Wilma sat on a rock by the beach, surveying the river.
Gloria said, “The reason relationships are easy at first is because everyone is on his and her best behavior. You get comfortable, and then the ugly truth emerges.”
Wilma nodded. “According to research, people let down their guard, on average, after six months.”
Six months was usually when Peg’s relationships went bad. “It would make more sense if people showed the ugly truth from the start,” said Peg. “That way, you can only improve.”
“Only, who’s going to get involved in the first place with the ugly truth? Men want the beautiful lie,” said Tracy. “So do women. We want illusion. Reality is a disappointment.”
Wilma said, “Or maybe you can be your true self, develop a friendship that can deepen over time, building trust and familiarity, and then shift into a romantic relationship that’s based on something real.”
“Once you’re friends, you can’t see a man the other way,” said Gloria.
“Besides which, where’s the passion?” asked Peg. “If you can keep your hands off him long enough to become friends, that’s a sign that there’s no attraction.”
“You can have passion with a friend,” said Wilma.
“Are you speaking from personal experience, or research?” asked Peg, again trying to draw her out, satisfy her curiosity.
Hesitantly, Wilma said, “Linus was my mentor when I was a grad student. We established a friendship before getting involved.”
“And that’s when the passion emerged?” asked Peg. Tracy turned her head toward Peg, giving her a questioning look.
Wilma said, “Study after study proves relationships that begin as friendships are three times as likely to result in marriage.”
“Will yours?” asked Peg. Wilma didn’t respond.
Glo
ria said, “I’ve never had a close male friend.”
Tracy said, “I’ve got busloads of them. Every man I date wants to be my friend.”
Peg and her brother, Jack, were friends, sort of. But he didn’t count. Otherwise, she’d had some friendships with men in college, but she either slept with them and, thus, killed the friendship, or decided she would never sleep with them and moved on. She’d always worked with women, and refused to let ex-boyfriends stay in her life. She believed wholeheartedly that men and women could be friends. Nina and Jack, for example, still met for drinks, and had managed to form a friendship despite their failed romance. But Peg knew that if she were to make friends with a man, she’d have to be completely indifferent to him as a potential lover.
They got back in the canoe and paddled to the mansion’s dock. They showered, had dinner (turnip and parsnip soup, with radish and celery salad) and were sent to their rooms.
Peg was a bit bolder about leaving the women’s suite that night, at ten. Since Tracy and Gloria knew she’d sneaked off last night, she wasn’t compelled to be as stealthy about it tonight. They were busy anyway, pouring over Gloria’s personal pharmacy (besides Xanax, she traveled with Valium, Paxil and Xenadrine, among others), and Tracy’s collection of vibrators (the Princess Rabbit, Pocket Rocket and Dancing Dolphin, among others). Gloria was into pills, Tracy was into plugs. Gloria could give Tracy relaxation; Tracy could give Gloria satisfaction. Peg would rather find what she needed on Ray’s lap. And he was saving the seat for her right now.
She bounded down the stairs. Tonight, she’d do him. Putting off what they both craved seemed like a waste of time. Peg was quite certain she wouldn’t go to her grave wishing she’d had less sex. Why deny herself? One should fill her life to the brim with sensual goodness.
With such thought in mind, Peg strode through the living room and punched the porch doors open. She smelled smoke immediately, and looked to her right, expecting to find Ray with a joint—ideally, shirtless. And pantless. Instead, she found Linus Bester—fully clothed—in the rocker, a cigar between his fingers.
Busted. Peg kicked herself. Actually, got her feet tangled, and stumbled onto the porch. The railing stopped her from tumbling over the side.
Linus said, “Expecting someone else?” Eyebrows up, smiling, pleased with himself.
She said, “This might be a good time to discuss my reservations with the Inward Bound program.”
“Hold those thoughts, and let me ask you something first.” Not giving her a chance to object, he said, “A woman possesses a rare and unusual sexual confidence she’s grown accustomed to using. When she’s attracted to a man, she immediately seizes on how ‘right’ it feels, how she should follow her instincts. That denying a mutual attraction goes against nature. They jointly decide that there’s no point wasting time, since they’re clearly meant to be together. They become intimate. From that moment on, they spend every night together. She lets her friendships slide, cancels family plans because she’d rather be with him. After several months, they are essentially living together. And then, once they’ve settled into a domestic union, the man starts doubting his feelings. The magic of the first months has faded. He chafes at her expectations. He starts to pull back. In response, she goes into full-pursuit mode by catering to him, trying to make him happy. He finds the extra attention suffocating. In her desperation, she brings up the subject of marriage. He feels a combination of pressure and guilt. Eventually, he ends the relationship, telling her, ‘You’re the greatest woman I’ve ever known.’ ”
Linus took a long puff of his cigar. Peg said, “I didn’t hear a question in there.”
“What do you think you’re doing with Ray Quick?” he asked.
“Where is he?” she asked, hoping he wasn’t within earshot.
“He’s not coming,” said Linus. “We had a talk.”
“You gave him a thirty-second relationship profile, too? Which was spot-on, by the way.”
Linus said, “Ray’s took fifteen seconds.”
“This is your special gift?” she asked. “Sizing up people’s relationship patterns at a glance?”
“I am a doctor,” he said, waving the cigar a bit, smiling as usual.
“My profile could apply to millions of women,” she said.
He said, “Not many women have your sexual confidence, but I’m sure millions rush into relationships,” he said. “The difference between you, Peg, and the teeming, hormonally driven millions is that you’re here and they’re not. You have the opportunity to break your cycle of excitement, illusion and rejection.”
“You make it sound bleak,” she said.
He ventured, “Ray Quick came here with goals. He deserves a chance to get something out of the program.”
“We are consenting adults,” she said.
“You can’t possibly be that selfish, Peg,” said Linus. “But if you are, I’ll refund your money. You can leave tomorrow.”
It was one thing to leave a party. It was another to be shown the door. And Peg wasn’t selfish. On the contrary. Hadn’t Daniel described her as selfless?
She asked, “Do you have to throw ice water on a couple every session?” she asked.
He paused. “Not every session. But many people start off thinking Inward Bound is some kind of sex retreat.”
“You might consider changing the name,” she said.
Linus smoked quietly. She fumed at him.
“Not many runners smoke,” she said.
He laughed. Linus would laugh at anything. “I have one or two cigars a week. But you don’t inhale cigar smoke. My lungs are fine.”
Peg leaned off the porch railing and took a seat in the rocker next to him. She said, “Let me try that.”
He handed her the cigar, coaching her about drawing and exhalation. She tried it, keeping the smoke in her mouth as instructed, and then blew out. It was strange not to inhale.
She handed the stogie back. Linus held it in his fingers, and said, “With cigars, you have to unlearn everything you know about smoking. It’s odd at first, doing things differently, but you get used to the change. You might even decide you like the new way better.”
Peg sighed. “With the exception of Wilma, you are the biggest metaphor whore I’ve ever met,” she said. “You, Linus, are a metawhore.”
Linus chortled, which was a refreshing change from his usual titter. He said, “Here,” and handed her the cigar.
They passed it back and forth until it was gone, without saying another word.
Chapter 15
Dear Nina:
Sorry I haven’t called. Exhausted, unshaven, forced to eat raw vegetables daily. While my farm is being worked on (euphemism for mouse-lift), I’m living in a big house on the river. I signed up to do an elucidation program—adult shrinkage retreat—to figure out why I’m the Chronic Girlfriend. I had to give them $2,000, but what’s more important than my emotional well-being? The host shrink is named Linus Bester. He reads me like a fortune in a cookie. Very annoying. I met a guy named Ray Quick. He’s the Chronic Boyfriend. I’d love to take him up on his offer to fuck me raw, but Linus says he’ll kick me out (thereby leaving me homeless) if I interfere with Ray’s emotional development. I have no doubt that he’d do it. He’s already threatened to beat the sarcasm out of me with a stick.
Must go. If I miss breakfast, they starve me for six hours. I’ll try to call, but we can’t use cell phones up here.
Learning and growing,
Peg
Through the blur of sweat, tears, sore muscles, bulgar wheat pancakes and tabouli stuffed cabbage that defined the first days at Inward Bound, Peg managed to get with the program. It was all development, all the time. She knew she’d return to her regular (yet completely changed) life at the end of it. But the surrealism of the current situation—living in a mansion with seven strangers (stranger by the day), eating truckloads of vegetables, ignoring her grooming habits, denying her libido—made Peg question her very identity. Maybe this w
as just a vivid, masochistic dream.
Did she see herself as someone who avoided sexual contact with a gorgeous man who wanted her desperately?
Strongly (she couldn’t emphasize the strength of that “strongly”) disagree.
This particular morning, Wednesday, after dashing off her note to Nina, Peg made it downstairs in time for breakfast (first she’d seen in three days). Ray was there, of course. Studying her, watching her closely over his granola and organic yogurt. She didn’t dare look at him, or smile or massage his balls under the table as she longed to. She was at Inward Bound to learn. And if that meant twisting the coil of sexual frustration tight, she’d try to do it. She’d try hard. Hard as a block of ice. Or as hard as a giant throbbing erection you could cut diamonds with. No, she chastened herself. Stop thinking about sex. She grabbed a bulgar wheat muffin and ran outside to get away from Ray. Wilma was herding the women in that direction anyway. Time for the customary post-breakfast meditation and body part contemplation.
Wilma said, “Pick a tract, any tract,” as the women arranged themselves lotusly on the grass.
A half an hour of this, and Tracy announced, “While traversing through my intestines, I’ve come to realize that men have habitually treated me like shit. But, then again, I have a toddlerlike fascination with my own feces. I always look at them. In the bowl. Appraise their size and consistency.”
Wilma nodded and said, “Very normal.”
Gloria said, “While on an imaginary journey through my fallopian tubes, I’ve come to realize that I’ve never had good sex, ever, but I’m certain I’m attracted to men, because I often have sexual fantasies about large dogs with huge, hanging balls.”
Wilma nodded and said, “Very healthy.”
Peg had taken a walk up her spine, thinking of each vertebra as a step along a ladder she felt compelled to climb, believing each bony rung took her closer to a universal truth that couldn’t be revealed to her consciousness at this juncture. She said, “I admire my own shit, too. And I have sexual fantasies about being gang-banged on a park bench in the middle of the afternoon by jugglers and clowns, with an audience cheering me on.”
The Girlfriend Curse Page 10
