“So what’s his story?”
I hate to disappoint Becky by not having a better report on Brad Ryan. I’m confident that if she were me, she would already know where he’s from and be having lunch with his mother next week.
“No clue. He seems...reserved...like he just wanted me to list his house and wasn’t interested in any small talk.”
“Is he cute?”
While I have no idea how Becky decides her priorities, I can kind of understand why this would be in the initial line of questioning.
“He kind of looks like Sam Elliot,” I tell her.
“Yum.”
I shake my head, as if maybe Sam Elliot bores me, and head to my desk to enter my listing.
Back at home, I am a little bit worried about Herman. He seems like he’s losing weight and just not as spunky as usual. I remember once that one of my mom’s neighbors lost her cat to Feline Leukemia. I specifically remember weight loss was a symptom. I decide to look online before my shower to see if I can find out anything else about this dreaded disease. I can’t be losing Herman to kitty cancer. I mean, he’s the only person on the planet who really understands me. The information I see scares me. Instead of freaking out and taking him to the emergency clinic, I calmly jot down the telephone number of a nearby vet that I can call later. The last thing I need is to miss one of my dates with Tac because Herman has lost a pound or two.
A quick shower, comfortable but flattering pants and a pullover shirt, and I’m ready. I look at the clock and see that it’s 4:15 p.m. With all the excitement of the day, I’m hardly noticing my back pain and decide I might not need to have my spine replaced after all. Since I have forty-five minutes to keep myself occupied I can either do a visualization session, work on my law of attraction post, or have a glass of wine while I wait and just think about all of it.
The wine wins.
Besides, I reason, it will help relax me. Once I stopped, showered, and settled down, I realized that Tac was coming over and that I am most probably going to kiss him. I feel sort of sorry for Nala. I mean, what if she was someone besides me? Would she just be sitting there at that coffee shop with a Chai tea, wondering why Tac stood her up? Poor Nala.
Right before date-time, I go to brush my teeth (wine breath and all) and spray a little perfume that I like to wear on special occasions. It’s one I put on a credit card, and I figure it should last me at least until it’s paid off. I still have three minimum payments, and while I haven’t exactly calculated it, I’m guessing that gives me about three squirts per hot date, per month, so long as I don’t have more than three dates in any given month, I am fine. Am I the only one who thinks like that?
I smile when my text notification goes off because I’m pretty sure it’s Tac warning me that he’s on his way. My second chakra seems to be doing a little dance to let me know it’s awake and ready.
Tac’s text takes me a bit by surprise. Actually, I have about 17 different competing emotions going on at the same time. He texts:
“Sorry, I’ve got a client issue to deal with…talk later?”
Did Nala win?
I sit stupefied that I have been stood up for another woman who happens to be me. There’s this big part of me that refuses to acknowledge that Tac is actually standing me up for Nala. Either he knows she’s me, or he really is with a client and the whole emailing Nala issue is just some silly thing he does when he’s bored at home. Not everyone visits sixteen astrology websites to check their daily horoscope (It’s really amazing how different they can be!).
I take a sip of wine and try to reason this whole thing out. Clearly if I go to the coffee shop that Nala said she’d meet him at and he is not there, then it’s entirely possible he really is meeting a client and we can move on with our torrid affair. At least this is what my second chakra is whispering in my ear. Like she can even reach that high. I also deduce that if I go to the coffee shop and he is there, he could honestly be waiting for the real me to show up. Kind of like that final scene in “You Got Mail,” where Meg Ryan goes to meet her mystery email-guy and it turns out to be Tom Hanks, but she kind of knew or hoped it all along (at least that’s what she said). Maybe Tac would say that, smiling, telling me how he knew he loved me from my first Feng Shui post. We would laugh and hug and plan for a late June wedding.
But then, even if he did say that, maybe he’d just be saying it to cover his tracks. I mean, did Tom Hanks wonder if Meg was just pulling his leg? It did cross my mind, by the way. The final possibility out of the three happens to be the most painful. Tac is really a lousy guy who stood me up to meet another woman. Not only would that make him a cheater, it would make him a liar. Cheating is one thing. Lying is one thing. But standing me up, and lying to cheat? That’s like a whole bunch of bad things all rolled up into one lousy Friday night.
I pour more wine and think about taking my makeup off or throwing myself from the freeway overpass. However, I forgot I put on waterproof mascara—which is always such a pain to take off—and the freeway overpass is way too far. Instead, I put my shoes on and drive to the coffee shop.
I’m using my deep oceanic breathing now. Oceanic breathing is a term I picked up from Dawn. I think it’s the same as the snoring breathing that I’m getting quite good at. Oceanic breathing is like when you put a seashell up to your ear and you hear the ocean. I’m breathing like that now as I turn into the little shopping center on an otherwise busy street, hoping really hard I do not see Tac’s car.
I reason with myself that Tac and I have no real commitment, so technically, I have no grounds to sue him or anything. And technically we haven’t even slept together. You know, really slept and snuggled, and dealt with the whole morning breath thing. Then again, I specifically implied I didn’t want to mess around with him because I don’t want to be just some woman he womanizes, and I’m pretty sure he assured me that he wasn’t that kind of guy, right? In fact, I’m pretty sure he said, “I like you.” My stomach growls (out of hunger or depression, both requiring food) and I pull into a parking space, turn off the engine and kill the headlights. It’s 5:10 p.m.
Sucking in a huge gulp of air, I search the parking lot for a silver Mercedes. I see one and my heart stops right there in the front seat. But wait, I see an older gray-haired women getting into it. False alarm. I sigh and realize I am being foolish. After all, it’s after 5:00 p.m. now, and if he was going to show up to meet Nala then he’d already be here, right?
I laugh at my own neurosis, knowing I could have stayed in and enjoyed another glass of wine with Herman and his health issues. I turn the key in my ignition and back out, and then I see it. The license plate of the car right in front me: TacSells1.
Oh God.
How I missed his car when mine was practically kissing it, fender to fender, is beyond me. But it’s his. It’s him. He’s here. Crap. I honestly didn’t think he would be. Basically, we’re down to two options now. One, he’s waiting for me, knowing I’m Nala, or two, he’s waiting for Nala, lying to me. I turn my car back off and sit and wait for some kind of divine intervention so I know exactly what to do. I could march inside like an idiot, but that always gives him the Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan moment option, then I won’t know for sure. Wait! What if this is where he’s meeting his client? Of course! I didn’t even throw in that possibility. I’m brilliant; that’s gotta be it. Just to be sure, I decide to ask him.
I send a text:
“Are you meeting your client now? :-)” I add the smiley face just to prove I’m not at all suspicious.
I’m surprised at the warp speed he responds. I mean, usually he takes his time. Unless that is, he’s waiting for his late client.
“Yes,” is all he says.
That gnawing notion in my belly is telling me that as much as I want to believe him, start my engine and head back home, something is just not right. Let’s be serious. I’m not going to walk in there and see him with another woman, because I’m the other woman he was supposedly going to meet. However, he cou
ld be with a client and the fact that he picked this coffee shop is all just a big cosmic coincidence. Then again, he could be waiting for me, the real me, to show up so we could go back to my place and spend the night kissing and snuggling and talking about how profound my posts always are.
I leave my purse in the car, lock the door, and sneak around the back of the coffee shop. I’m very careful to stay out of view of the window, especially because it’s dark now and the streetlights are shining brightly. I wish I wore a hat. From the back side of the building, I can see Tac’s hair. Why do I always seem to be looking at the back of his big head? I can’t see who or what is across from him because of the damn plant and pillar that’s blocking my way. Who decorated this place anyway? I admit, the prints on the wall are kind of cute, and I know there’s Wi-Fi, but really, why would they put a pillar right where I need to see? Just then, I notice a small older Asian man is watching me as I have my nose up against the glass. What happens next is not good.
The little man must have mistook my face smashed up against the glass door as a cry for help, and being the nice man I’m sure his children think he is, he decides to let me in. Apparently he did not read the sign that says ‘DO NOT OPEN’ in big red letters above the door. Admittedly, emergency exits tend to be for, well, emergencies, not for a woman spying and trying to see who her date stood her up for.
The alarm is actually louder than I imagined it would be, and it’s as if every single person on the planet is standing up and running toward me to see what set it off. That would include Tac and his invisible friend.
“Melissa?” I hear him say through the crowd, which is now glaring at me for being so irresponsible when clearly the little Asian man couldn’t read the DO NOT OPEN. I sigh.
“Hi. What are you doing here?” I say, trying to turn the tables on him.
All of a sudden Tac looks confused, as if he realizes he’s not with a client.
“How’d you know I was here?” he asks, clearly a table-turner himself.
“I didn’t know you were here!”
His eyes narrow as if he’s sniffing out the truth.
“Seriously,” I tell him with all the sincerity I can muster. “When you said you had work, I decided I’d grab a mocha and snuggle up with a good movie.”
I’m hoping he does not smell my wine breath.
“But you just sent me a text...” he says, still not convinced.
“Yes, because I saw your car, so when you said you were with your client, I decided not to bother you.”
“So you opted to set off the emergency exit alarm instead?”
“That was an accident.”
“Oh, well, my client was a no-show, so you want to get something to take back to your place?”
Really?
Now everyone has gone back their seats and the little Asian man has left with his family. I am standing here, trying to keep my voice from sounding shrill.
“But you replied to my text that you were with your client.” I say this and try to search his eyes for some sign of truth.
“Yeah, I thought I saw him walking up,” he says.
I feel his lie cut right across my heart chakra.
This was definitely not my Meg Ryan moment.
Tears pour from my eyes as I drive home. Tac did not understand why I told him to drop dead, as evidenced by the confused look on his face. If he would have just said, “Nala,” one time, all would be forgiven and fine, but he was literally clueless. My big birthday is in four days and I have been betrayed twice in the past three months. I vow to never love again.
At home, I put on my most baggy raggedy sweat pants. The ones the fashion police would have me arrested for even owning, let alone wearing. I think about calling my mom, but then, why ruin her weekend romp with the foot guy? Just because her daughter is hopeless in the romance department is no reason to ruin her re-emerging love life. Instead, I decide I will call Crystal Visions, but first I order pizza. I ask for extra cheese and white sauce, and then have them add artichokes and tomatoes because no matter what, I have this health commitment thing always hanging over my head.
Crystal, it seems, is not working tonight. Why doesn’t that surprise me? My stars are clearly not aligned. I am given the option of talking to someone named “Darla Feather-Dance,” if I would like. I figure what the heck, and tell the nice lady my name so she can charge my credit card. Darla sounds young.
I explain to her that I’m a spiritual blogger and I’ve really been working on my chakras and my yoga poses. She seems impressed. Then I tell her that I’ve been having a fling of sorts with a much younger man who I cannot stand very much and now I’ve caught him cheating on me with my other-self.
Young Darla seems confused.
“Wait, so this guy doesn’t know you are the spiritual blogger?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, how can he know you if he doesn’t know you, I mean her?”
She’s a little slow for a psychic.
“Because he subscribes to my blog post,” I tell her.
“Oh, so he knows you, I mean her, by a different name.”
Now she’s catching on.
“Yes. He knows me through my blog, as Nala.”
“Ah, like in The Lion King.”
I am convinced Darla is twenty-something.
“Uh huh.”
Suddenly, she assumes a more authoritarian tone, “Let me see what I can get...”
And then she’s quiet, but I can hear her breathing. A very good oceanic breath, if I do say so myself.
“Yes, sadly, this is not a man of integrity when it comes to love.”
I am silent.
“But,” she says, “I see that this is all part of your life lesson. There are things you still have to learn about yourself, and he has helped.”
I search my mind for one good thing I have learned from Tac and come up empty, but then she adds, “It may not seem clear right now, but trust me, it will come.”
“Well, I will trust you, but honestly, I’m just mad...”
“And hurt,” she says.
“I guess. I feel more dumb though, like I should have known. A guy like that...”
Now Darla cuts me off and surprises me.
“The life lesson will be more his than yours.”
Huh?
“I don’t get it.”
“I see that this man cares for you much more deeply than you realize. Maybe more than he even realizes.”
I laugh at the idea, but instantly decide this Darla girl is worth every penny I’ve paid. In fact, she’s made me feel so much better that I take an extra couple of minutes on my credit card and ask her about Herman. She assures me he is fine and does not have kitty cancer, but that hairballs might be bothering his stomach. I am relieved.
Pizza, wine, Herman and LifeTime television. Good medicine.
I wake up Saturday morning with half a piece of pizza glued to my upper arm. Checking for cat hairs, I take a bite. Herman is at the foot of the bed, yawning and doing a darn good downward dog. I toss the pizza back into the half-opened box that’s resting on the pillow I imagined Tac’s big head would be on had he not been such a big fat liar. I decide I need to read my law of attraction book, write a good post and drink ample amounts of coffee to wash away this little bit of wine and pizza hangover that seems to be paying a visit.
As I scoop my organic coffee into the filter, I think about what that young Feather Darla said about life lessons. One thing I have to give Tac credit for is my second chakra. I mean, like I said, he didn’t totally unblock it or make it sing or anything, but he certainly woke it up and reminded me it exists. I tell Herman I am going to buy him some hairball dry food and he seems happy with that, asking to go outside.
I plop onto the couch I rarely sit on and start to read. The chapter I’m reading in this other law of attraction book is talking about how every single thing in our lives is caused by us. It says that we shouldn’t blame ourselves for the crappy messes we f
ind ourselves in the middle of, but that we should take responsibility for them. I think about this for a moment, trying to decipher the difference in blame and responsibility. I struggle with it at first, thinking about things from real estate contracts to lying top producers and I can’t really come up with a good example, but then, the book sort of clears that up by saying this: “The main difference is that blame is a negative energy that tends to attract more negative things, whereas, responsibility is acknowledging that you are the only one in charge of your thoughts, thus, you have the power and response-ability to change them.”
Brilliant.
I think back to a few months ago. Ron left me for Yoga Barbie and I can totally, now in my much more enlightened state, see where that relationship went south. I mean, it wasn’t really true love in the heart-stopping romantic way, but more in the, I’m going to be old in a few months let’s get married kind of way. Plus his loud football games really annoyed me. Glad I wasn’t meditating back then. And then I found Yoga Barbie to be so inspiring and spiritual, plus she hired me to be her non-paid blogger. Just look how much I’ve learned! From Feng Shui to astrology to psychic friends I can call when I’m in trouble...and let’s not forget how I also attracted Tony Robbins into my life. That was no accident, I am sure. All of these things have made me a much better person, right? I am practically an advanced yogi now—at least in spirit—a much healthier eater (except last night), a meditator (starting next week for sure), and super importantly, I have tripled my real estate production.
Selling more houses was a big goal of mine, and while it hasn’t been easy, it has sure been way better in the past few months than it had been the entire year and a half before. So now, what about Tac? What did I do to attract him? We’ve worked in that same office all this time and now out of the blue, he likes me and decides to seduce me. Was it because Ron had been around the whole time before? Or, because I started selling more houses and he decided instead of killing the competition, he’d sleep with her?
More Secrets of a Spiritual Guru: Love & More Lies Page 8
