The Price of a Magazine

I’ve spent this whole week organizing my life before my new job starts. It seemed like the wisest thing to do. I have some fear about getting to work at 8 o’clock and some fear about actually knowing how to use their computer programs or manage their website. I spent some time this past week learning a little bit about that, but after a while it seemed inefficient to try and predict what I was going to have to do. It seemed like a better use of my time to make sure my home life was as smooth as I could make it. I got my car serviced and bought new clothes and new glasses and today I got my teeth cleaned. I’m thinking about getting a spray on tan tomorrow but I have to balance my checkbook. I’m spending money at an alarming rate. Even though I’m getting paid for two extra weeks, I feel like I’ve spent way beyond that. A quick little romp with my bank statement would clear all that up but I seem to be more interested in organizing my anti-war documentation.

I was almost finished with my giant junk room that I managed to turn into a fairly utilitarian writing/art studio when I heard someone knock on the door. It sounded friendly like maybe it was one of my boys or maybe my lover-boy. It was a cute young boy I’d never seen. He stood far away from the screen door and raised his hands up while he tilted himself sideways in a pleasant non-threatening gesture. I knew almost immediately he wanted to sell me a magazine subscription. I don’t know why they haunt my neighborhood. Maybe college kids are an easy touch. I asked him if he was going to sell me a magazine and he said, “No. I’m here to earn points for college tuition.” I knew he was lying but he was cute and chatty. He told me he was going to take creative writing and filmmaking. We talked about writing and filmmaking and about his twin sister and how hot it was in Texas.

When he finally asked me to buy a magazine I told him, “No, sorry I don’t do magazines.” He crumbled in defeat… “Oh, don’t tell me no… OK… I’ve got something else you can do. You can buy a kid’s magazine and donate it to a hospital.”
“OK,” I told him. This way I was actually helping him and the kids at the hospital. He gave me a list to choose from and I told him I had to go back in the house to get my glasses. He asked if he could sit down and I told him to grab a seat on the porch. When I came back out he asked me if I was single. “I am now,” I told him. “Yeah, but you’re happy. Right?” he asked.
“It’s OK. You know, I guess I actually am. I wasn’t very happy at first but that’s why I went to college and lots of good things have happened to me since then, so I guess I am happy.” I told him.
“Yeah. My parents are divorced and they’re both still young. They had me when they were 17. So they’re having a good time now.”
“Really? Wasn’t that hard on you?” I asked.
“At first. They used to use us like a sounding board. We had to referee all their fights. But we were already used to that. It’s not that bad. They’re both totally cool and like I said, they’re happy. So hey, life goes on. Right?”
“Yeah. It does.” I said. He’d been filling out my order while we talked and when he handed it to me I knelt down so I could balance my checkbook on my knee. “How did you know I was single?” I asked him. “You weren’t wearing a ring. I notice things like that.” He said.
“Oh yeah? That’s a good quality for a writer.” I told him. “Well, actually I was checking you out because you’re cute.” He said grinning at me.
“I’m totally flattered and totally too old for you” I said waving my pen dismissively at him. “Why? How old are you, 37?” he asked.
“OK, now I’m even more flattered. You know you don’t have to do this. I’ve already bought the subscription. Look, you even have the check now.” I said passing the check over to him. “How old are you, 40?”
“Way older than that.”
“How old?” he asked starting to look a little scared.
“58.” I said, thinking that it was a perfect age to let him know that he was out of his league. “No, way! Man, I can’t believe that. I dig older women. The oldest woman I ever slept with was 46. You look good. I’d do you anytime. I’m serious. No kidding, you’re 58?"
“No kidding” I told him and then added “I take good care of myself and I’m happy.”
“Most people get all nasty after they get 50.” He said looking me up and down, “but you look good.” I was laughing by now, wishing that Falcon could witness this, wanting to tell this young boy how young my lover was and then reminding myself that I didn’t have a lover anymore. Then I reminded myself how different I looked with my clothes off.
“Hey, do you want a backrub or anything?” he asked.
“No. I don’t think so.” I told him. “Good Lord,” I wondered “do they teach this stuff to men in magazines?”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I’ve got a couple hours.”
“I’m sure. I’m totally flattered, but lets just leave it at that.” I said turning to go back inside. He stood up and hopped down the stairs. “Seriously” he called back. “You should go out. You’re completely cute.”
“Thanks,” I called back. “Hey, by the way, how old are you?”
“22” he said.
“Oh Jesus!” I said shaking my head no.
“What?” he said stretching himself up and pointing at his chest as if to assure him self that he was old enough.“No. It’s just even more flattering. Thanks.” I said walking back in the house thinking, “all that for only $24.”

not all that

Saturday, June 04, 2005

You see the thing is… he was fun. I know that everyone thought it was abusive and to tell you the truth, it was. There were all those mid-week nights when I would feel like I was in agony but then I’d light some virgin candles and throw the I-Ching and it would help me feel strong and in control and I would tell myself, “I can do this” as I tried to relax enough to fall asleep. It was the waiting and the not knowing that drove me crazy. But then he’d call and it would be instant ecstasy. It didn’t matter that it was one-thirty in the morning and he was drunk. He was fun. And as soon as I saw him he would smile, and grab a kiss, and flirt, and drink, and dance, and sing, and smoke, and every once in a while he would reach out and touch my hand, or kiss me, or wrap his arm around my waist and start swaying to the music. It wasn’t always sexual… maybe because I wanted it so bad, it didn’t feel like he was trying to get something from me…it was just this exquisite wait… the anticipation of what was about to happen was a huge part of the thrill, I think for both of us. I remember him referring to himself as dysfunctional and I remember wanting to reassure him and saying, “One woman’s dysfunction is another woman’s function”. I remember the way he smiled. It would have been one of those moments when he’d grab me and kiss me… Usually just once but it would be long and sweet and filled with passion and then he’d pull back and sigh and say something wonderful about me. We were just as slow in bed. I never met any man who was as willing to wait as he was. It was heavenly. I started thinking yesterday that I would like to teach a class to young men on how to please a woman…I could call it “Message from the Goddess”. It would be hard to market.

Yesterday I quit my job. It felt wonderful. Getting my new job felt even better. Just getting an interview felt awesome and scary. What if I hated this boss and these co-workers? Maybe I should just hang in for fucking ever with Iris constantly treating me like I’m fucking up and even when she tells me I’ve done a good job it sounds forced and passive, as if the credit really belongs to her but she’s placating her little minion by sharing it. I think that was the really loathsome quality about our relationship… she was “all that” and I wasn’t. Just like Woody used to act.

Last night, I told Sweet Pea and Pantherina that we three sisters really know how to put up with a tyrant. I felt Pantherina grow quiet. I knew she was thinking about Coyote and not the Bull. The Bull was long ago and now he’s gone and we all still love him so. But the Coyote is right there at her side, circling her doorway nightly and tormenting her to death. Sweet Pea recognized her man, too. It was harder for me to think of the Peregrine as a tyrant… it seems almost unimaginable because he’s so sweet, and soft, and self-effacing and wanting to be adored…and utterly unavailable.

I hoped he would call last night, but I didn’t bring the phone into my bedroom. It was already one thirty by the time I went to bed. I’d walked downtown to have a drink with Pixie and her husband. It felt great to sit outside and watch the fifty-something men try to pick up forty year-old, spent-women. At eleven thirty, I walked downtown to the Dame. I could hear Alejandro singing from the street. I stood in the open doorway and there he was up on the stage, dressed in a suit…looking beautiful and healthy with his big strong voice. I felt like I had the best seat in the house… but I felt guilty cause I wasn’t paying. I stood there staring at him through three songs, vowing to come back tonight and pay. Then I walked home. A block away from the Dame I saw a drunk young man throwing punches at the traffic. I realized the potential for danger ahead of me. I was almost to the edge of the campus when I saw a man with, two large bags of cans. I thought about crossing over to the bar-side of the street where the college kids were sitting outside on the patio, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings and didn’t feel particularly scared. I heard him muttering as we passed each other, “people look like that”. I had no idea who or what he was referring to but it was totally unthreatening. By the time I reached the campus I felt home. The realization that I’m going to work there is like a dream come true. There just isn’t any reason to be scared.