“You want the key too, right?” He holds out a gold key that has lost its sheen.
“Yes, thank you.” I smile politely but something about this guy doesn’t seem quite right. I take the key and place it in the little key space of my lockbox, snap it all back together and head to the side of the house. Gas meters are good places for lockboxes so I clamp it right on there and notice that Todd has followed close behind.
I’m not saying he gives me the creeps or anything. I mean, he’s nice, somewhat handsome and he’s polite. He just seems, I don’t know, odd. I reason that maybe this is why Tina is separating from him. However, if that’s the case, she had to know he was a little odd before they got married and bought the house, right? I decide I shouldn’t judge Odd Todd because I know nothing about him. He could have been dropped on his head when he was little for all I know, and how mean would it be for me to even be thinking like this?
I didn’t want to ask Tac what time he was thinking of coming over because I want him to know what an easy going kind of older woman I am, but now I’m a wreck trying to figure out how much time I have. I mean, some people eat Chinese take-out as early as 5:00 p.m., but Tac doesn’t much remind me of most people. Then there’s the late urban crew, who think it’s cool to wine and dine at nine. I’m definitely not in that crowd, especially when I go to bed most nights at 9:00 p.m. Of course, Ron and I used to have dinner around 6:30 p.m., so that seems like a good time for me to plan on. It’s only 4:00 p.m. right now, so that gives me time to shower and put some new makeup on. Maybe I’ll wear something that is a little more comfy with a slimming effect. Then I’ll text Tac at about 5:00 p.m. and tell him I just got home, to come on over. I sigh at my own reasoning skills.
Without taking time to rest or say much of anything to Herman, I pop into the shower and scrub, shave and shampoo every spot I can think of. Again, I have no intention of anything happening, but you just never know what Chinese take-out can do to a man. I put on some smelly lotion my mom got me for Christmas last year (clearly I haven’t ever used it since this is almost December again and it’s never been opened). I examine the label after already slathering half the bottle on my belly and arms. Well, who doesn’t like sugar cookies? I’ve never thought of smelling like one, but it’s rather pleasant. Like a grandma’s kitchen. Oh no! What if I remind him of his grandma? She’s in hospice, and I’m old. Crap. I jerk the hand towel from under Herman, who at this point is convinced I’m nuts. I quickly rub the granny smell from my skin. Oh jeez! I just rubbed a bunch of Herman’s black cat hair all over my stomach. I rub quicker and now look like I have pubic hairs all over my elbows.
Of course there goes the door bell. Nice way to wait for my text, Tac. Timing is not his strong suit. I’m grabbing the big towel and trying my best to get both the lotion and the zillions of little black cat hairs off my skin. I really should hang up my towels. I had no idea this dumb cat has been using them as a nest. I spit out some Herman hairs and yell, “Just a minute.” So now I have a new issue. If Tac thinks I took a shower for him to come over, then he might get the wrong idea. Besides, I’m not thrilled for him to smell me as a cookie-cat, which is exactly how I feel as I’m pulling this black sweater over my head.
“You’re earlier than I expected,” I say, fully aware that I didn’t have the chance to put any makeup on or dry my hair.
“Just get out of the shower?” he asks, almost smirking but quite possibly anticipating something else.
“Yes, I did yoga earlier,” I lie (not about doing yoga but about the fact that I had already taken a shower after I did it).
Tac looks convinced or unconcerned as he plops a paper bag on the kitchen table. Having not had any wine today, I am astutely aware that Top Producing Tac is standing at my kitchen table with Chinese take-out on what seems to be another kind of date. I swallow hard and notice my throat chakra feels a bit parched.
“I brought some Chardonnay,” he tells me. I smile and go to the cabinet to get glasses. As I open the door I am praying that I can find two wine glasses without water stains or lipstick smudges. If only I thought of this sooner! I spot one glass that looks pretty good, and one with just a touch of frosty pink. I casually wipe both rims off and ask him if I should get plates. Truth is, my stomach chakra is doing somersaults.
“So do you usually get a tree?” he asks, looking around my living room.
“Huh? Oh, for Christmas? Yeah, a small one.” I really don’t know what else to say. I mean yes, the last six years Ron and I would put up a tree, but that was because Ron had a truck and bought it. I suddenly find myself wondering who Ron will spend Christmas with, and in the same thought, laugh at the idea of spending mine with Tac.
“What about you? A tree I mean?”
“Not usually. I’m not really home enough, with work and all.”
He says this so convincingly that I don’t think twice. Of course he works long hours, right? That’s how he’s such a top producer.
We drink a glass of wine while eating chow mien and fried rice. I think it’s kind of cute that this is what he brought over since those are usually the only two things I get, too. I share this with him.
“Yeah, I’m really trying to eat lighter,” he says, patting his belly. I try not to wonder what it looks like under his designer button-up shirt. Or his arms. But I find myself wondering anyway, and the way he’s looking at me and smelling like man and soy sauce, I’m feeling a bit light-headed. I decide it’s way too quiet in here.
“Mind if I turn some music on?” I say, flipping on the stereo and plopping onto the edge of the couch.
He smiles and says, “Of course not. What happened to the flat screen?” He’s looking at the spot on the wall where Ron’s television left a scar. I knew I should have painted when he moved.
“Oh, that was Ron’s.”
“You need to paint.”
Now he is acting like a real estate agent trying to get me the best price for my condo.
“Not selling anytime soon,” I tease. He nods as if he’d expect the listing. He really is cocky, and I have no clue why he’s here. I decide at that moment that as much as I like chow mien and the cold glass of wine, this probably is a way worse idea than I’ve given myself credit for. I mean, look how annoying it was when he kissed me and then never called or even sent a quick text. I instantly regretted what I said next. It must have been the white wine or the MSG in the rice, but I blurted out, “What do you have in mind for me and you, Tac?” The minute I said it, I regretted it. Just the words alone imply that he has something in mind that might not be acceptable. I feel like I just propositioned him. I’m waiting for him to throw a commission fee out there.
He sits down next to me on the couch and props himself up with his arm against the back of it.
“Probably the same thing you do,” he says.
I’m wondering if he’s a gigolo.
“Think so, huh?” I am flirting and hating myself for it. I swallow hard and notice my cheeks are on fire. Then he leans in and plants those beautiful lips on mine. I know I’m in big trouble.
Just as I’m warming up in all the forgotten places, I feel an eager hand on my inner thigh.
Uh oh.
Tac’s breath is hot on my neck, and I notice my heart is racing. Where to, I have no idea, but it seems to be in an awful big hurry to get there. And then it happens. Tac finds my second chakra.
I am pretty sure my second chakra is my sex chakra, although they don’t come right out and say so on Wikipedia. My second chakra hasn’t been shook up in quite a while, and I am relatively sure that Herman took cover under the bed and hasn’t come out yet.
“That was nice,” Tac says, as if maybe he just had a Girl Scout Cookie.
“Yes.”
I am pulling the covers up and peeling a black cat hair from my upper arm.
I watch Tac’s lean body as he disappears into the bathroom. I instantly remember the towel and lotion and cat hair covered counter, and part of me dies inside. He doe
sn’t have cats and he has such a clean house. He probably hates me now or at the very least, wonders what in the heck I was doing.
“Sorry about the mess,” I shout out rather feebly, not sure what happens next. Do I get up and fix us breakfast? Wait a minute; it’s not even seven o’clock yet. It’s dark outside, and my legs are a bit shaky so it feels close to nine. Maybe we get up and have another glass of wine, cuddle and watch television? I’m thinking Life Time for Women is not quite his speed. I do not play video games so I hope he doesn’t ask. Maybe we could just cozy up under the covers and talk shop or play charades? I really haven’t thought that far ahead. I mean, is this going to be a slumber party? While I enjoyed the ‘event’ as I’ll hereby be referring to it as, I am a little bit of a hot mess over what happens next. My mind is torn between picking out china patterns and wondering if he thinks I look fat naked.
“Want something to drink?” I ask, searching for some form of clothing on the floor while holding the sheet close to my chest.
“You don’t have to be shy, Melissa.” He says this and suddenly I realize it’s Tac I just played house with. Oh my. I am shy. I am terribly shy, somewhat tipsy and completely nude in my bedroom with Top Producing Tac who is now in his boxers. I would have honestly guessed briefs.
Tac explained that he had paperwork to do and had to hit the road. Part of me feels like a prostitute and the other part of me is glad he’s gone. Now I can have some real wine (red, please) and figure out the easiest way to kill myself. There’s no way I can sleep, at least not right now, and there’s no one I can talk to. But reason this out I must, and Herman is nowhere in sight. I decide to call Crystal Visions. She is my favorite psychic friend, and although our friendship costs me $4.95 per minute, I am hopeful she can shed some light on my current dilemma. She’s good like that. I pour myself a glass of red wine, Pinot Noir to be exact, and head into my office. On the way, I see Tac’s wine glass sitting on the edge of the kitchen table and for a flash of a second, I am sad.
I feel lucky that Crystal is working tonight and that there is only one friend/caller in front of me. I sip my wine and turn the computer on. I see a notification that someone has commented on my Chakra post. It looks like it’s from Becky. Life is so funny. Here my true talent is writing a blog about things I know nothing of, yet this is where I get the most admiration. Ironic, right? Poor Becky and Tac have no clue I am Nala, yet they both think she’s wonderful. I hope they like the real me just as much. I never really thought of it that way. I mean, if they each had to pick between me (Melissa) and me (Nala), what if they picked her? She is pretty smart, so I can’t say I’d blame them. I realize I’m being ridiculous just about the time Crystal greets me.
“It’s been awhile,” she says, like she’s pulling out my file and doing a quick brush up.
“Yes, it has. Remember you told me something about a much younger man?”
“He’s come in to your life?”
“That’s one way to put it,” I tell her.
“What happened to the other one? The one you wanted back, but then felt bad because you liked the woman he left you for?”
Crystal doesn’t mess around with small talk.
“Oh, he asked me back, but I decided it wasn’t what I really wanted...after all that.”
I sigh.
“Are you still friends with the woman he left you for?”
“Oh, yes, and I still write for her blog. It’s our little secret.”
Crystal is silent, but at $4.95 per minute, I realize silence is not golden. Or it is, I mean, for her.
“You must hear a lot of crazy things,” I say, thinking of how whacked my story is.
“Yes, but yours is right up there.”
I can’t believe my psychic is taking my money AND calling me crazy.
“Well, I just feel like I made a big mistake, you know, with the younger guy.”
“Why is that?” she asks.
“Well, he’s younger, I hate him, and I’m pretty sure he’s a liar who knocked my open house signs down.”
“How much younger?” Crystal asks this as if the fact that I hate him and he’s a liar are only secondary considerations.
What about the open house signs?
“A decade.”
“That’s not so bad.”
I’m wondering if she was waiting for me to say he was in high school so she could have me arrested and run up my damn credit card.
“What about the part that I hate him?”
“You don’t hate him.”
“I don’t like him a lot and that’s most of the time.”
“Yet you’re attracted to him.”
“Only sometimes. And I like to kiss him.”
“Have you discussed this with him?”
I laugh at her assumption that Tac and I have ever had any kind of serious conversation. It’s like this guy knows two modes: Sell and Seduce. And after tonight, I kind of feel like he pulled a double-whammy on me.
“No. We don’t really talk much.”
“I want you to read a book on the law of attraction.”
“What’s the title?”
“Law of Attraction.”
“Oh. Okay. Will it help?”
“I feel that you’re lacking an understanding of how it works, that’s all. What you focus on expands, and you seem to be focusing on this young man’s negative qualities, hence he continues to present them to you.”
I’m pretty sure I’m including Crystal Visions in my will.
“Okay, well that makes sense. I’ll order the book now.”
“Is there anything else for you tonight, Melissa?”
“Yes. I was wondering if you can tell me how my chakras are, you know, mostly the ones above the waist.”
After my phone call and only $38.73 later, I go online to find the book on the law of attraction. It seems there are 427 of them. I figure the ones that pop up first are the most popular so I order the top three. Then I see an ad on the side window that asks me if I want to look like I’m 25 again.
Oh yes!
Apparently there is this cream, and this isn’t just any cream, this is special cream. I’m looking at before and after pictures of women who used this cream and my mind is reeling! Why, this one woman who has to be in her seventies was transformed into someone half her age, and in only six months! Of course, the tiny little print on the bottom tells me that these may not be typical results, but I’m okay with that. I mean, it’s like in real estate. We have to make buyers sign disclosures that they know California is in an earthquake zone, but we know we don’t get earthquakes in Sacramento. I figure this company is just doing the same thing. Besides, I see all of these photographs of before and after shots so I know it has to work for me. Jeez, only $39.99 for the first month? If I don’t see amazing results it says, I can cancel my monthly shipment that will go up to $89.99 with my next delivery. Now that’s what I call a good guarantee. Tony Robbins does the same thing. I ordered his CDs, but he told me if I wasn’t completely satisfied I could get a 100% refund. Tony’s good like that. And I love my CDs! Now looking young, like maybe Becky’s age? That would be worth $100 a month, easy. Even if I have to pick up a side job at Starbucks, I’m getting this cream. I click the box for rush delivery. I mean seriously, if there’s cream out there that will make me look as young as Tac by March, I need it yesterday.
Feeling quite satisfied with my home office visit this evening, which in total costs me $87.28 (next time I should rent a movie), I am delighted to see an email. I halfway hope it’s from Tac. Maybe emailing to tell me he’s sorry he had to run out so fast, but that this whole thing is just so overwhelming for him too, and he doesn’t want to blow it. I snap out of my little fantasy when I see the email is actually an offer on my short sale listing. My Catholic clients will be so pleased. I see that it’s a full price offer, so I am rather thrilled. Besides, that means at the office tomorrow I will have plenty to keep me busy and to show off to Tac, because unless he texts me and pro
fesses his undying love, I really have nothing more to say to him.
I check my phone, no texts. I plug my phone in and rinse both wine glasses out in the sink. In the bedroom, Herman is sleeping on my pillow. He probably needs therapy after witnessing that romp. My bed looks oddly empty and I laugh at the sugar cookie lotion on the bathroom counter. I guess Tac likes sugar cookies just fine.
I wake up and wonder why. Honestly, the idea of going in to the office today is about as appealing as imagining my mother and the foot doctor in compromising positions. I pick myself up and remember that I have an offer in on one of my listings, and let me just add that being able to say ‘one of my listings’ in itself is quite exciting. I make sure I wear plenty of carefully applied makeup and one of my very best office-outfits; slimming black pants, heels a little higher than I like, and a formfitting turquoise top. The combination is stunning. I take one last look in the mirror and wish that my magical face cream were already here.
Becky is not at her desk, and I immediately assume Tac is in the mail room telling her all about my cellulite. Fortunately, my fears are soon squashed when I see Becky coming out of Broker Bert’s office, rather fast, if I do say so myself.
“You okay?” I ask, noticing that she looks a bit flushed.
“Oh, yes, just a busy day,” she says and looks around nervously.
I instantly wonder if the company is going bankrupt and I’ll be forced to find a new place to work. What about the for sale sign I just ordered for Odd Todd’s house? I find I panic more easily in the mornings after I’ve slept with Tac. I guess this is to be expected from someone who has never done anything more daring then once write-off groceries on her tax returns during her first year in real estate.
I walk to my desk half hoping Tac is there and working hard and hardly noticing me, and half hoping he’s never coming back. Maybe he gets lost on the freeway somewhere and forgets where he works? Well, talk about wrong on both counts. He’s not gone and he’s not at his desk; he’s in the damn conference room with a client. At least I think it’s a client. Wait. He’s leaning awfully close to this “client.”
More Secrets of a Spiritual Guru: Love & More Lies Page 4
