More Secrets of a Spiritual Guru: Love & More Lies

by Tamara Dorris

  I notice my girl-parts are suddenly very jealous. Does this maybe-client know he has a freckle on his left butt cheek? Well, I do! Her eyes are a little sparkly, and of course, all I can see is the back of his dumb head. Seems like the back of him haunts me.

  “Are you okay?” That was Becky, turning the tables on me.

  “Of course...I was just going to lay my paperwork out on the table in there, but no worries.”

  Becky walks away without saying anything and I am sure I must hit the yoga studio before I burst. But first, I have to call the bank about my short sale. YAY. I love doing the most stressful thing in all of life when the guy I hate/like is sitting on the other side of my wall talking to a sparkly-eyed bimbo with shiny black stilettos. I am so glad I wore my kitten heels instead of flats today. I take a deep yoga-breath in and remember that I don’t want him anyway. So? What’s the big deal? Let that girl have him. She can take him to Chuck E. Cheese for all I care. He drinks white wine anyway.

  Phone-tree fun awaits me. I literally leave it on speaker because I know it could be all of forever before a real person—and I use that term loosely—picks up the call. After entering the loan number and the borrower’s (my seller’s) social security number on the keypad, I am taken to a new set of recording instructions. These banks kill me. My last short sale was with a big bank, so at least they had a somewhat sophisticated phone-tree. This one has not even passed grammar school.

  Push One if you are the borrower. Push Two if you are an agent (I push hard with a vengeance), Push 16 if you just slept with someone you may have babysat in your teens. I sigh. Push Seven if you know the loan number (I do), push Nine if this is concerning a short sale (um, yeah) and finally, push One Hundred if the guy you are thinking about is actually walking the bimbo out to her car. Oh, jeez.

  After an eternity, a person with a name I could not pronounce at gunpoint comes on the line. “Hello, I am justabarro,” is what I think he says. But then, “just a borrow” would be way too coincidental of a name under the circumstances and all, right?

  “Hello,” I say, in my best I don’t want to reach through the phone and kill you right now voice, “I am representing one of your borrowers on a short sale.”

  “Ma’am, can you please give me the property address?”

  I am standing up now, doing a warrior pose. Remember, I am wearing snug pants and kitten heels. I give him the address.

  “Thank you, Ma’am. And what is your name, please?”

  “Melissa Murphy.”

  “And are you the borrower?”

  I want to punch him badly.

  “No. I am the agent. I’ve already typed in the borrower’s name, social and address. You want their first born?”

  “There is no need to yell, Ma’am.”

  Now I know I am going to scream at this very polite dumb person.

  “Fine. Look, I have an offer. You have my name on file.”

  “I’m sorry, Ma’am, I do not see you as an authorized person to speak with. May you send your authorization form in?”

  May I send it in?

  “Yes, I may. May you please give me the fax number, because the one I used last week apparently wasn’t right.”

  He rattles off a number that was of course, the same one I used last week. Welcome to Short Sale Hell. Then he tells me it will take two days (48 hours in bank-speak) before anyone who actually cares will see it. Even then, I am relatively sure they do not care. I hang up, deflated. I remember I haven’t even told the sellers we have an offer. I figure the delivery of good news will cheer me up. At that moment, Tac strides by, smiling like he’s just hit the Super Lotto or something. I think I throw up a little in my mouth.

  Tony Robbins once told me—I think it was on my way to work last Friday—that our lives are determined by the decisions we make. This makes sense, because when you think about it, nothing happens to us that doesn’t have something to do with us. Maybe this is what Crystal Visions means about the law of attraction? Tony says that what I decide to do has everything to do with the blueprint I have. I do not know much about my blueprint yet, but if Tony says I have one, I surely must. At this very moment, I decide to be the bigger person where Tac is concerned. While quite honestly I do not know if I love him or hate him, I do know that I am older, ergo wiser, and should behave in a manner that is both appealing and appropriate.

  I ignore him and call my sellers.

  Unfortunately his back is to me, so he has no idea that I am not paying any attention to him at all. And if it’s bothering him, he’s doing a good job keeping it to himself.

  “Yes!” I tell my seller who just asked if it’s good news that we got an offer in. “So in a couple days they’ll let me submit the offer. In the meantime, I’m sending you the offer that needs to be signed.”

  My lovely Catholic clients seem ecstatic. I am relatively sure they may drink wine early today. After all, I hopefully have saved them from foreclosure. I love my job on days like this.

  I glare at Tac’s head.

  Tac leaves the office and barely says bye. In fact, what I mean when I say “barely,” is that he left without saying anything at all. I watch him strut out and I am overtaken by the urge to tell everyone he wears boxers, you know, just in case they were wondering. After I’m done with what little I need to do, I decide I’ll hit yoga. Once I collect my stuff, I notice that Becky is inside Broker Bert’s office and the door is shut. Wasn’t she just in there earlier? Now I’m very curious to know what’s going on. For one thing, Broker Bert never has his door shut, and a for another thing, Becky’s kind of an open book. I mean, she all but sends daily email updates on her life. I certainly hope Tac didn’t tell her about us fraternizing in my bed. No, he wouldn’t do that. Besides, I am starting to think that he himself forgot (which really isn’t very flattering), or that maybe it just never happened. Maybe it was all just a sugar cookie dream? Because really, the way he is hardly giving me any attention could certainly affect my ego, if I had one, or if I cared about him at all. It was just a one-time thing. I’m so done with him. Womanizer.

  At Yoga, Win Sing is breaking my thighs in her famous horse stance and I am crying inside. I’m certainly not feeling like the proud warrior I’m pretending to be. Now she’s making us do a back bend. I am trying to diplomatically explain to her that my back does not bend both ways. She tells us (but she’s talking directly to me as she yanks my arms out of their sockets) that back bends make us feel vulnerable because they open up our heart chakra. I tell her I feel vulnerable because I don’t want to fall down and break my back. On the flip side, I guess my heart chakra could use a little opening; you know, I don’t mean wide open like come on in and let’s party, but maybe just left a little ajar, in case I decide to give Tac a second chance.

  I am in love with the law of attraction!

  My package was waiting for me on the porch right when I got home from yoga and I ripped it open. After reading only three chapters, I am absolutely positive I can have anything I want if only I follow some very simple rules. For one thing, it says I am supposed to keep my thoughts focused on what I want instead of what I don’t want. I think this is where meditating might come in handy. I have to admit that I haven’t been listening to my Kelly Dean abundance recordings at night. What with having that wild fling with Tac and all. Anyway, I’m certainly going to listen to her tonight.

  According to what I’ve read so far, it seems that my thoughts create my reality. I am not exactly clear on all the details yet, but it seems like maybe I can make stuff with my mind! Why didn’t anyone tell me this sooner? I immediately start to imagine a new car. After five minutes of imagining it, I go into the garage to check, but only see my old dumb Leo car. Hmmm. I guess it’s understandable that these things take time. Apparently this information has been kept as some kind of a secret but has been around for years. This book has a movie that goes with it that I think I’ve heard of. I immediately go online to buy the DVD so I can find out the rest of the secret i
n the comfort of my own home.

  In my office, I see an email from seller Tina. I quickly scan my memory to see if there’s anything I haven’t done in case she’s mad at me. Her email is a nice surprise when I see that she’s actually asking me if I can show her houses. She says her mother is going to help her with a down payment, plus the proceeds she’ll get when hers is sold, and would I mind showing her something in the next week or so. I am thrilled. This law of attraction stuff works fast! Sure, Tina isn’t exactly a new car, but let’s face facts: if I sell enough houses, then I can buy a new car. I’m beginning to see how this works.

  Feeling very excited, and knowing that my heart chakra is a little more open after yoga, I decide to give Tac one more try. First though, I pour a glass of Merlot. I really am trying to cut down, especially since Becky told me last week that alcohol ages your skin, and with my new expensive skin cream coming, I’ve got to do my part to look ten years younger. I order the movie, drink the wine, and then stare at my cell phone for at least ten minutes. What do I say? I mean, I can’t just tell him I’m giving him one more chance, right? Plus, my old-fashioned mother (the one who wants to play house with the foot doctor) would tell me that girls shouldn’t chase boys. She’d also say that girls shouldn’t just hit the hay with the office top producer who knocked her daughter’s signs down. My mother haunts me at times like this.

  I start to text him: “Hey,” and then I stop. Hey, what? Hey, how come you came over here, messed up my bed and ran out like a scared little boy? Or, Hey, how come at the office you act like we’ve never locked lips, you pompous little bastard? Or, Hey, I don’t know who that bimbo in high heels was, but if you were trying to make me jealous, it almost worked. None of these seem to be appropriate. I don’t want to let him know that I care, but I do kind of think he could be a little more, I don’t know, caring. How about, Hey, do you always go around and sleep with women and then act like it never happened? Or Hey, do you like me?

  I drink another glass of wine and then send this: “Hey.”

  I am relatively sure that was the lamest text I’ve ever sent in my life. It actually screams heart chakra suicide if you ask me. Like a cry for help. Maybe he will think it’s cute or quaint. Or maybe he will be so busy working on contracts he won’t even see it. That’s kind of what I’m hoping for. Of course, I’m also half hoping he will read it and reply back, telling me how much fun he had and asking when we can do it again.

  Two hours later and the wine bottle is empty and Tac has never replied. So now I’ve added to the aging of my skin, and the reason for caring about looking ten years younger has not yet responded. I decide to go to bed and put this all behind me. My pride is slightly wounded anyway. I figure that Herman is single and he seems to get along just fine. We go into the bedroom, my cat and I, and then I do something really stupid. When I say ‘really stupid,’ let me just clarify: when one drinks wine, feels sorry for herself and really wants to fix her stupid heart chakra, she should not be allowed to text the guy who’s got her feeling bad in the first place. Now I know why they call it ‘drunk texting.’ I am so dumb. Things are a bit blurry, so I’m not even checking my spelling, and part of me (the sober part) is shouting in my left ear: DO NOT SEND HIM ANOTHER TEXT, YOU WILL REGRET IT TOMORROW. But that other part of me, the angry little merlot-drinking vixen, that part of me is saying: Ignore her, she’s a prude, jeez, she can’t even do a back bend. Let’s send it!

  I hit ‘send’ and fall asleep in my sweats.

  I wake up with a headache and know it’s well-deserved. Even Herman looks disappointed in me. Why do men make me do crazy things? It feels like a hamster slept in my mouth, and he may still be in there for all I know. I do not want to look at the text I sent Tac. I take a shower, glaring at my cell phone every time I pass it. This is definitely a two-cup of coffee morning. Usually I only have one, but today I think I’ll just go ahead and double up. I am seriously considering playing hooky from work. I’m so embarrassed about my late night text that I can’t bear to see Tac’s big, arrogant head. I call Becky and tell her I’m taking the day off. It’s two hours later when I see a text from Tac.

  Oh my.

  I was polishing my fingernails, trying to decide if I should just change brokers and call it a day when my phone goes off. At first, I assume it’s my mom, who’s having way more luck with love than I am, but instead I see Tac’s name and my heart skips a beat. I do not even want to read what I wrote last night, but I guess I kind of have to. I read it with one eye closed, holding my phone away from my face. Herman is curled up on the kitchen table like he’s not supposed to be.

  “Hey good lcoking, am iever gonna get to kiss you again?”

  Lord save me. Shoot me or send help now. Did I really send that? Why the hell didn’t I at least use auto-correct? I would have been better off asking him to give me a pap smear. I shift my eyes to his text to me.

  “Becky said you’re not coming in. Feeling ok?”

  I sit and think about this for a minute. Does that mean that if I had come in and things were business-as-usual that he would just ignore me like he has been? I’m so confused. It’s been a long time since high school so I’m not even sure what to say. I tell him I am fine, just felt like staying home today. Then, of all things, he asks if he can swing by after work.

  What?

  I tell him no.

  He asks why.

  I tell him because he’s driving me nuts.

  He sends a smiley face.

  I tell him to be here at 5:00.

  Crap.

  I enjoy my day, finishing the big ‘secret’ book that is teaching me all about the law of attraction. Then I start the second book. This stuff is really so exciting that I decide I am going to write my post next week on how the law of attraction works. Becky calls to tell me I have an offer that came in on Tina and Odd Todd’s place. I am excited. Maybe I should stay home more often? Here I stay home and get an offer on a listing and Tac wants to see me? I go into the garage just to make sure there’s no new car there. There isn’t. I send Tina an email telling her we have an offer in. She is very excited and asks if I can text Todd. She also tells me that when we close escrow, all of the profits will go to her since she is the one who has been making the payments for the past five months. I say fine, and text Todd.

  Todd seems happy about the offer too, and actually doesn’t seem so odd in his texts. Then I see a text from him that says, “We will be splitting profits in half.”

  Uh oh.

  Let me explain something about real estate. When an agent has a client, whether it’s the buyer or seller, she has what’s called a “fiduciary relationship” with them. This relationship requires fairness, honesty and the utmost ethics. This is all well and good, but obviously this can get tricky when you owe it to two people at the same time, like I do here. They both are my clients since they both own the house, but they don’t seem to agree. Plus, I like her a lot better. Even so, Odd Todd is still half the client here and I cannot play favorites. I mean, she’s been the one making the payments and she’s the one who’s going to let me find her a home, so heck, she’s practically my new best friend as far as that goes. However, I cannot deny that California is a community property state. Half of that house is his, no matter who’s been making payments. Further, I can’t get myself in the middle of this, nor do I really want to play he-said-she-said. So I do what anyone would, and go to the sandwich shop to think it all over. Sometimes a person just needs a good pastrami on rye to figure things out. Plus, I know if I eat something like that, I won’t be tempted to play house with Tac when he comes over. I hedge my bet by ordering extra onions.

  My plan with Tac is to ignore him. Maybe I won’t even open the door. Okay, I won’t do that, but I am going to tell him I feel like he’s been ignoring me. And I am not going to kiss him either. I don’t care how charming he tries to act. I’m not buying it.

  I eat my sandwich there at the shop so I won’t be tempted to have wine at home. I still have
a slight headache from last night and I am expecting my new face cream today, so I’m committed to drinking a bunch of water. I do not know exactly how much water one should drink, but I have heard ‘a bunch’ is a nice round figure. I drink one small bottle with my lunch, and feel that I am at least halfway there.

  Tony Robbins says there are only two things that really motivate people to action. One is pain and the other is pleasure. Tony says that most people will do things to avoid pain, but people also do things to find pleasure. I am not sure how Tac fits into any of this. On one hand, it pains me to like him, but it also seems to be a problem when I think he doesn’t like me. When it comes to pleasure, I’m going to say it wasn’t quite as pleasurable as I thought it would be. I mean, he’s a good kisser and smells nice, but I don’t know, I guess he isn’t very romantic. Girls like to be romanced. At least I do. I make up my mind that I am not going to kiss Tac. This is a non-negotiable decision.

  At about 4:30 when I’m wondering why in the heck I ate that whole sandwich, I get a text. Tac says he’s on his way. I put on my invisible armor, fully prepared to tell him whatever it is I’m going to tell him, although I haven’t got a clue what that will be. I decide too, I am not going to offer him any wine (or drink any myself). Herman and I try to keep ourselves busy practicing what these books are calling ‘visualization.’ Then, just when I’m visualizing Tony Robbins calling me to see how I’m doing, I hear a knock on my door. I’m relatively sure it’s not Tony.

  “Hey,” I say, opening the door wide enough so Tac can fit his big head in.

  “How are you?” He’s all smooth and charming and smelling good.

  I smile curtly and let him in as I sit at the kitchen table. He senses that I am not in the mood to be seduced.