Grab

Being yourself and giving no fucks to anyone's perception is the ultimate way to live. I'm not saying it gives you license to be a dick. I'm saying it's ok to tell off anyone who tells you to change. They're the one with the problem with you, not you. The right people love you as is and your flaws. If you want to be better change for yourself, not to win acceptance. Because those who accept you will never need to be won over. Being true to yourself is the sexiest thing anyone can do!

Do grab a hold of yourself and be you? 

Here's an excerpt from my novel... about that it'll be out later this year. 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Grab

“She's so busy trying to be a better version of me that she fails to realize that he's rejected the best version of me for a version of her. It was never me, always her.

In reality, to get & keep that man... all she really needs to do to is grab a hold of herself and stop trying to being me. Because me, that's something he does not want.

It's something I silently wonder as I watch her change herself to be me again as he walks away.”

- jemma - the perspectives

Photo Credit: Terry Richardson 

Trigger

Did the butler use the gun to kill the professor in the conservatory? Ever play Clue? This doll loves thinking games, logic puzzles and old friends that refuse to go away. One of my favorites is a magician that continues to be the wisest person I've had the pleasure to play against.

Something the magician taught me... Don't Play Manipulative Games with people. Why? You'll lose, even if you win. So rumors are interesting things but they're just a game someone's playing & loses when the truth is revealed. 

Here's another excerpt from the inauthentic life/the perspectives. If you don't know about the book, it's 6 years old, unpublished, re-edited 1-2 years back and still shelved because the timing is never right. There's nothing new about it or relevant to my current life; the characters & etc were all made up a long time ago. While I love rumors... I don't write about random people & it sounds silly to make any fiction about you when it's not... Unless its historically true. Anyhoo, there's a lil ol copyright on my blog that states & reinforces such if you need to get a clue. 

Do you make things about you when they aren't? 

Enjoy! 

Kisses, m.

Trigger

It's 7:15 on a rainy Thursday in this out of the way cafe somewhere called Hudson Point that's blasting Spandeau Ballet out into the cacophony of voices & smoke. The louder the crowd gets the quieter "slit-my-wrist" stereo gets. I come to life after the chorus breaks but not before the screaming. It's not until I'm coherent that I realize there's a girl standing three tables away screaming. I couldn't tell you how long she'd been there but she's not showing any signs of stopping.

"Oh that's a trigger..." Says Jemma before dropping the gun into the fish tank. Dead center in the room she's naked and standing next to a fish bowl with a goldfish while this cool cat Malcolm sneers at her but keeps taking photos. She's says he's amazing and all I want is a hit. That would be amazing. 

"Amazing," is what he says after I open the window letting in the wind & rain, pushing over the fish tank which shatters as the gun misfires killing the goldfish on the floor next to a naked screaming Jemma. But he keeps shooting. 

Persona

What a person says about others reflects more about them. Not actions, behaviors or etc. Altruism is one of my favorite things to see in others but ultimately it's in vain if you can't say nice things about others. 

Persona. An image that you present to others. For some to succeed they must accumulate as many followers, fans and etc. For myself, I've always believed that a person works hard, supports others hard work, practices and puts out their craft and ultimately it shows. Your value isn't based on who you know, what you are validated by or an image. Anyhoo, I was in LA last week and reminded that  The Perspectives/The Inauthenic Life is about due for a release after all this time... What do you think? 

Here's an excerpt from the perspective of Adrian whose head is always a pleasure to crawl inside of. No drugs or alcohol necessary to get into character. I've found my balance to my joy. It's no longer an addiction to create. 

Do you have a persona? Are you lost without it? 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

PS: yes, the site is changing and soon the writing is moving in a sense. I will find ways to continue to share Architecture & Interiors, Style, Buddhism, Writing & photography. 

There’s No Dance Music in L.A. 

Lost. I’m lost on the highway and there’s nothing but a voice on the line. She’s been talking for a least a half hour. The woman on the line was calling and hanging up when I answered, so I stopped answering and put her on speaker. She hears me breathing and knows that someone is listening so she keeps talking. 

Confessing. Dying. Wallowing.

“Chloe, I’m sorry. I think I’m dying. I love you.” She says it with a conviction that tells me she’s not playing. I can feel you crying for her so I imagine Chloe is a bitch like Felicia to make you disappear. But you don’t. 

I released this beautiful voice to the road and decided to follow the setting sun because there’s nothing on the radio. I turned it off when the girl blowing me at the airport announced that “there’s no dance music in L.A.” and decided she wasn’t hungry anymore. I told her I wasn’t a DJ but she wasn’t amused about my being a musician so she climbed in the backseat for a nap after telling me to find Sunset. 

Somewhere on Sunset the lines on the road start to merge and the buildings around me are taller than I thought they’d be. I need a hit. But I keep driving. 

“There’s nothing like driving in L.A. to teach you patience,” Wayne said to me when we were stuck in traffic on the 405. It’s the only last real memory of Wayne that I can conjure up without thinking of the violence. 

Violence breaks the silence when the girl in the backseat starts screaming. I think she’s hurt or something but she’s just dreaming. This girl is dreaming of the terrible things that will come to take her away from living while the one on the phone is begging for something terrible to make her stop living

Walking into the house is like a dream. Wayne isn’t playing when he says, “time’s up” and goes over to the bar in his study. He’s making a Cognac on the rocks when Gina sits me down with a push of her hands on my shoulders. I’m not sober and you fucking left again. I can see the skull of that man Wayne “handled” last year. It was an “accident” but not the kind where people walk away. It’s something of reminder that Wayne keeps when people piss him off. He leaves it out on the table with all the implications that remain with it. It implies nothing but betrayal between best friends and love for your enemies. Somehow I can’t stop staring at the skull while I take a hit my brain starts to wander...

“Alas, Poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred…” 

The dialogue of Shakespeare snaps into my brain bringing with it the sharp and quick sting of a dagger being shoved through my skin. I can feel the memory of words crawl backwards within and there’s nothing I can do because I’m losing my mind without you. It’s nothing like I thought it would be like. You’re not here and I’m all alone. Just like that girl on the phone was when she was dying with her tears looking for her lover, Chloe and all this is happening. Happening. Happening when I look at the skull on the table. I can’t help but feel the pain of knowing that I didn’t know anyone. Not truly the way that man knew Yorick. He knew him and there’s nothing and no one that I can speak the same for. It’s like watching my body leave me behind and I no longer want another hit. I just wanted you gone. And now I’m alone.

I think of getting up and leaving the room and maybe I do because I feel like everyone is gone and I just wanted you gone because all you think about is her. I finally move because that fucking skull won’t stop reminding me of dying or losing you. 

“Where are you going?” Gina sings into my ear and I keep thinking I said something or that she’s reading my mind when the thought of finding you comes back into my head. 

“Fucking Adrian, where are you? Look at me! Come back!” Gina’s pissed but you’ve taken off waiting for me to find you again and it’s always like this when things become less than clear. 

Clear. The water in the bathtub is clear when I get in. Jemma watches me as I get into the water. I’m naked and I wonder as she’s still looking if she’s thinking that we’re sleeping together. I don’t want to sleep with Jemma. But I don’t stop her from getting into the tub with me. 

“Adrian…”

“Don’t talk Jemma,” I kiss her and tell her I miss her. It’s not a lie because I know you miss her. This means I miss her too. But I can’t feel that pain of loss. I’m just in the moment holding her. She’s trembling. I wish she wasn’t living this life. It’s hard to watch her stop being herself but it doesn’t matter. She’s in my arms and she’s my Jemina again. 

“I love you.” She looks in my eyes and says it before putting her head on my chest. I can feel her warm tears on my skin as she sobs. Between her tears and breathes I want to feel like I’m home but I can’t. I’m lost. 

I’m lost.

And I’m at the beginning of the one place I can’t remember being before I decided it didn’t matter if I found you. 

The Hollywood sign. 

It’s bigger and smaller than it looks and there’s a good chance you’re somewhere dancing with the reds while the bottle of pills stays empty in my pocket. I must have said something out loud because before I can look for another color of candy a voice reaches out into the night. 

“That’s not the Hollywood sign,” the stupid spoiled whore in the backseat who won’t blow me or get the fuck out of the rental car says. “You’re parked next to the billboard on Sunset that lights up for the tourists. It’s a fucking eyesore.” The little bitch shuts up and starts snoring again. It’s then I decide I need another car. 

M o o d

I get tired of writing about myself... Do you? I'll say all of the fiction is not necessarily me. The writing is and isn't me. Needless to say it's not the best way to understand me. Here's an excerpt from the book... It's just an excerpt from Alton, and she's definitely a fun character to write.

Enjoy

Kisses, m.

M o o d

“Ever wake up and realize ‘I'm never going to meet the right guy and want to be with a girl...”

Prattles on Shelly while I start to rebutton my blouse. Thwarting my attempts to dress she shuts up long enough to disappear between my legs again. Alex is late and I'm tired of flight attendants and losing my mood. I should have flown first class and made Wayne come to me. Not that she hasn't been ever so much fun to play with and keep me company in this overpriced suite looking out on overpriced Manhattan. Just as I think about Alex being late again I realize those cherry lips are about to make me...

“Come to Papa!” Yells Alex as I open the door.

“You're not my Daddy.”

“Clearly Alton, cause it smells like a fucking porno in here.”

“Full service Flight... Attendant.”

“Prime Rib or Pulled Pork.”

“Salmon. There were no men so I improvised. She was quite entertaining.”

“I'll say, you're positively glowing.”

“Want a whirl?”

“Is that like a twirl?”

“It's whatever you want.”

“Actually I am...”

“Wondering if I'll have a little fun with you?”

“Not...”

“Able to resist?”

“In the mood.”

-Alton

Task

It's hard to tell someone you're working on something without showing them your dedication to the task. I've written and re-written passages from the Novel several times. And held off publishing to do so. Why? Some do not have the hardened tone I had once began with. 

As I started winding down to edit last year I realized that I truly didn't know which parts would fit in the finished product and I began rewriting. I do know I will finish and I am not making excuses. Yes, some characters are harder to process than others. Especially the women in the book. One of them is Jemma and, of course one of my favorites to get into. This is an excerpt written from her and quite unfinished because it's tone is very different from the others and while I want to add to it... I'm uncertain it has a place in the bigger scope of things. What do you think? 

Anyhoo... Do you dedicate yourself fully to a task? 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m. 

Dedicated

(11-2012)

“You’re leading an inauthentic life if you…” trails off the audio book in my newly detailed BMW S-series hybrid sedan that my agent has me driving for the sheer fact that ‘when you’re somebody damn it, then you’re environmentally conscious in this town’ quote unquote.

I am somebody.

Traffic has slowed to a complete stop on the 405 while the wannabe Chopra dictates how to live a more authentic life and instead of really listening all I can focus on is the license plate in front of me that reads BIG THINGS resting above an enormous pair of balls. The larger the balls the bigger the man reads the bumper sticker resting next to the ridiculously extreme nut sack in front of me.

Alton once told me that only the most obnoxious form of trash places those adornments on their cars. We were sitting in front of some newly opened art café in the last years oh so trendy Piedmont district when she carefully pointed out the obvious offender with two of her fingers snuggly secure in a ring containing a pair of obscenely large sapphires on her right hand.  She went on to say, “Men put their ego on display by showing off their balls and women tuck their ego neatly into a pair of overpriced shoes or a piece of jewelry,” before flashing her green finger bobbles above a pair of matching Peacock Louboutins she’d stolen from my closet.

As I stop in the middle of the memory to wonder who she’d stolen the ring from I’m yanked forward when the traffic shifts and the Faux-pra is now telling me to “fully commit to your dream” after saying “anything is possible” before jumping back to the tagline “dedicate your life to authenticity” then disc 5 ends and traffic stops once more.

“If you want your career to go anywhere you have to be dedicated to what you are doing,” Continues Guru Zero as the traffic crawls to a stop and I realize I'm not going anywhere. “How dedicated are you?” 

Avoiding...

Do you avoid things? How about when creating things? No. Me either. I love being creative! 

Yeah I wouldn't say I avoid things or avoid creating. But I will say I don't try to write about home. It's one of those isms that no one needs to worry about. A few of my artist peeps I know will get it. As creators we have isms and things we don't do. But it's not avoiding! Once in a while it's fun to break those rules though. Yes I really do like to write fiction using the places I've been, quirks of friends or people I know and stories they tell me. My favorites have ended up in the Novel alongside my own experiences. SAKE BOMBS in SF!!! Someday there will be the Modesto Chronicles when I do not live here. 

Oh avoiding the novel... 

Understand that before I go further, typically I don't deliberately avoid working on things and I certainly don't avoid interacting with people. I usually find a place to be in when I want to be alone or in character. And yes, I offer to let everyone off the hook when I think they might prefer to be alone, unburdened or need space to sort out things. it's just me. I really do care about everyone's happiness. Always! I've been in some very dark places before myself and close to...  let's avoid that right now. 

SOOOO! Yep I've been avoiding someone... a very old friend? NO! acquaintance?? NOPE! Well, after six years I'd say this person is a nuisance! Well I have been avoiding this guy for many months. After reading my last excerpt I see that he's curious why I've yet to finish my novel. I think he assumed I'd been stalling due to writer's block, creative angst or being lovelorn. Discovering I am not burdened but simply working on it slowly again and avoiding to share has him insistent that I stop complaining about the emotional process, be self sufficient and finish. 

Yeah, I don't live in my characters in order to finish anymore. I like to enjoy it all. I find I'm happiest in the moment. I've finally been living a lot between writing on it too. 

So my neglected pest... Honey, next time you're curious drop me an email instead of inundating the site. After six years, it wouldn't hurt you to send me correspondence instead of being annoying and you don't have to visit my site. kisses, love. 

ANYHOO since I'm clearly avoiding the novel... I think there's a piece I want to put on my back in addition to other body art I need to finish, start and finish, a man someday somewhere to have fun with and places I haven't traveled or photographed yet, among other plans I need to make and save for while writing the novel. Enjoying life is my priority. I've spent too much of my life being unhappy so I'm not sorry. 

Here's another excerpt I haven't shared before. I guess I've been avoiding. ha, I would've released more had I known someone was waiting to see it. I love creating and it is so amazing when people want to read my writing or see my photographs. the excerpt is from another man in the book, think what you will. I will quote Matisse! Realize something: you wouldn't talk shit to a man writing women characters! 

Do you avoid things??? If you do or don't... Well do what works for you. 

Enjoy!
Kisses, m. 



Avoiding

Avoiding Malcolm has proved to be tricky at this party but entirely possible. He's standing on the other side of the room with Chloe practically chewing his ear off, trying to make eye contact and wave to everyone but misses me. I don't want to engage him, instead when I see Jemma I engage with her. She's smiling and calling my name so very loudly and being silly. I wish she wouldn't draw attention but I smile and talk with her anyway. The star of the biggest movie opening this year avoiding the director of the biggest movie opening this year isn't what one expects to be happening but it is. As Jemma prattles on, I'm pretty sure Malcolm's getting the hint when I send his call straight to voicemail another time. After I think about how much I really don't want to avoid him, I start to feel bad and think of her. 

"It's not that I don't simply adore Malcolm, I do. it's just that…"

"you think his words can be quite destructive and cruel."  I'm filling in her sentence that I've heard about a hundred and one times before but she doesn't stop talking between taking drags off of her cigarette.

"Grayson you are listening to me aren't you?" Inza has finally stopped and recognized my lack of interest and begun to fuss with the top of her blouse as though it's suffocating her. It's one of the few times I've been present when she's realized that she isn't the only person in the room and looks at me cautiously before proceeding to speak about the infamous director. I adore her candidly discussing how it makes her feel when we're on set and I'm lost in her words and turning red when she says...

"Grayson," My name echoes once more, "Grayson! Wake up!!" But I'm still not entirely listening when I nod and let the flooding memories retreat as her words drag me back to the present. In the present I'm greeted by a beautiful and irritated Jemma laughing at me. She continues to try to engage me as Inza's words echo in my mind. "Grayson, isn't Malcolm simply amazing? Don't you agree?" Jemma gently gives my arm a rub and she continues to talk & nod waiting for my response.

"He is… Like working with one of my oldest friends. It was a great experience to work with Malcolm. I actually really enjoyed myself and trust his vision completely." I hate myself for betraying Inza when I say this truth out loud only realizing that I'm watching the shadow of Malcolm slip out of the back door of the party with his psuedo-girlfriend, who can't stand Chloe and I'm smiling now because she's rescuing me from avoiding him.

~ Grayson Cane - (The Inauthentic Life/The Perspectives)

Inside

There's always a little bit of something creative left inside of you even when you think there's not... Figure it out. Something I've learned as a writer is that your moods govern your process but you can control your moods. I haven't had writer's block for years and creating is no longer based on moods but more of a choice. Yes. I will always love writing but my favorite kind of character fiction will always destroy me on an emotional level. Yeah, I'll never quit it but I do take breaks from it.

Do you get creatively blocked? How do you get what is inside out?

Here's an newer passage from the novel... And yep it's written from a male perspective. Think what you want. I'll quote Matisse. ;)

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Inside 

“I love it when my insides are my outsides again.” She says it with a smug grin that makes me think of old ladies with Botox and gin before thinking I don't want hear more without laughing. But I'm still pumping. Still going.

I'm still going in this lame as fuck town in the back of a Volkswagen Jetta with this girl trying to find enlightenment while listening to Blondie before returning to the city. 

Flight 204 leaves LAX at gate 24 promptly at 2:04. 

I'm staring at this odd mask on the back of a fence in this strange alleyway trying too hard to focus on release while she keeps talking. This girl not yet a woman wanna-be model keeps talking about her colonic when Alex calls me. 

I answer cause she's still talking about shit. Alex wants to know where I am. I tell him feeding the hungry and motion for Chatty Cathy to taste a little of my brain food.

She changes position as she nods in agreement and its the first time in twenty minutes that she's shut up because she's got something inside of her mouth. And soon enough something outside of...

“Me?” I get back to the real answer now that I'm able to think. 

“Adrian, I'll be home in the studio today.” He says. “Call me.”

“Why?” I question.

“Do it and stop answering my calls when you're...”

“Fucking brilliant,” she says and wipes off her lipstick before reapplying a new color. Fake smiling as she kisses me on the cheek with her newly pink tangerine mouth I think of grapefruit and tequila shots but keep wondering if she enjoys me more outside than inside of her too...

~Adrian (the inauthentic life/perspectives novel)

Perfection

Someone tells me "you're perfect" the other day... I've learned to smile at kindness but at times I'm uncomfortable with the comparison because I'm human & grateful to have flaws. With that said, I'll say I'm not perfect but I am perfection...

I'm human. I freak out. I say & do the wrong things. I'm hardly rich. I'm comfortable. But I'm no where near close to wealthy. I have struggles, budgets and debt like most people.

Yeah I have a good job that lets me pursue things I am passionate about too. I'm so grateful that people support those passions and I am able to continue them; also I'm able to help others. For all the wrong things I say and do, I do many right. I remain composed when others freak out. I'm human but it's not a flaw. I'm perfect as myself because those very human things create perfection! And I love myself!

True, I'm not that ideal image of perfect but like you & everyone else, I'm the best I can be as myself. Because life is perfect for living... Now. 

I will say there's perfection in everything as it is... And to the right people you are that. Love yourself enough to believe you are great as you are without being others. Being yourself is being amazing. 

And loving yourself means letting go of someone who doesn't see your perfection and expects you to be different. Trust that someone will see your perfection... Everyone sees perfect differently. There's someone out there

Anyhow! Here's one from the novel about trying to be the perfect version of yourself but instead of being you... You swallow everything you think is perfection.

Do you swallow everything you think people want of you?

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Swallow.

Actress.

What do you do?

 No, really.

That’s what I used to tell them when they asked what I did for a living. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t. They’d all get that same look in their eyes. Like “WOW!” I’ve hit the jackpot. And telling them the truth that I was a model or a singer or a struggling photographer didn’t peak their interest the same way. It’s like telling a man you are a flight attendant. You can’t believe how he loves the idea of it. But somehow he does. Only for me it’s actress. So I became one.

At every reading I’m sure I’ve got every line wrong and stepped on everybody’s cues when he tells me how great I am. I think I’m a better singer, or photographer. Most of all the only reason he’s telling me I’m great is because he likes my face. A face that launched a thousand billboards. A recording contract. A movie. A place on TV. And that face saves me every time.

Monday morning I get in from a weekend in Napa. There was a wedding in a private vineyard near Yountville. I remember the smell in the air like it was a perfume clipping from a magazine. The memory stays with me all morning. All morning when I read Billboard instead of Variety and I call Inza for the next reading and she says she isn’t coming. I’m not really surprised since she broke up with Ava she hasn’t been focused on work. Since we broke up I’ve only focused on work. My agent keeps sending over this Dostoevsky based script that I’m not inclined to do. I’ve already expressed to my assistant that it’s “not fucking going to happen” but it keeps coming back to my desk. On my desk there’s a message from Jemma about the reading. She’s filling in for Inza and wants to know if I need a ride. I call her and say pick me up at four. We can have lunch. I swallow two Valiums and call Pierre for a hair appointment.

Pierre says swallow this and like it and I tell him not today. We’ve finished helping each other out in the most inventive ways. He tells me I’m a dramatic bitch and I can’t help but play along. He loves it when I need my hair done and I love it when he takes me on short notice. What I can’t help is that I’m almost the right shade of brown and my tan is finally fading out nice.

Lunch with Jemma proves to be interesting. She’s one of my favorite bit players on the set. There’s been no animosity between us since the beginning. Inza however can be childish. And jealous. Lunch with Jemma isn’t a ploy, but Inza will notice. Jemma loves white wine and salads. I can’t help but indulge her with this token meal. I want her to notice how much we are the same and how beautiful I am. The moment lasts for another few hours and we sync up at the reading. I can feel that magic when we kiss and I know that there’s more to this than I can imagine.

Tuesday brings the reveal on my campaign for Malcolm’s people at that tiny denim company. It’s an ad for jeans where I’m topless and blonde. It’s before the brown and after I had the tan. I think I have too many freckles. Jemma looks beautiful when she tells me they aren’t noticeable. I call my agent back to tell him about the spread when she gets into the shower. My assistant Kaya shows up with another pile of scripts that I keep sending back including the Dostoevsky, that I keep refusing on quality versus substance. It’s not the name that I’m refusing I’ve read the book; it’s that it’s a poorly crafted modern adaptation. I’ve told my agent on the line for the fifth time “I’m not fucking doing it”, when I notice that Jemma’s left and somehow last night didn’t matter to another person even though it mattered to me.

It’s 2:30 pm on Wednesday. I remember its Wednesday because at Noon Alexandr Reed’s assistant phones me up to remind me about my fitting in the San Francisco showroom next Tuesday. Alex will be back in town and ready to see me personally. It’s exactly at 2:30 that I’m having a breakthrough. This moment when all of it has clarity. I call my therapist and tell her about my breakthrough.

“Dr. Grant.” I speak into the line with a breath of anxiousness.

“Chloe. Weren’t you coming in on Friday?”

“Yes. But I need to talk for a minute. It’s alright you can bill me for this.”

“Go ahead.”

“None of them ever thought I was worth it in the end.”

“Who?”

“The lovers, the friends, the people I thought mattered most, didn’t stick around or fight for us because I didn’t matter to them… and”

“Chloe, calm down. Are you able to come in for a session today?”

“I don’t know.  I- I- I realize that Inza ended things because it’s easier to walk away when it doesn’t matter. And it’s this thing that hit me like a ton of bricks. And I can’t breathe.”

“I can prescribe something for the anxiety.”

“I don’t want any pills. Pills tie me up, keep me in a cage and leave me restless.”

“Chloe take a Valium and come in. We can talk. I’ll clear my afternoon.”

“Dr. Grant, I don’t want to come in. I’m fine. I can handle this. I just needed to talk. To tell someone. Anyone. And…”

“Alright Chloe, if you change your mind my secretary will fit you in. Take a Valium and relax.”

When she hangs up the phone I’m almost in tears. It feels like my therapist just gave me the brush off too. I take out my Prada bag and look for my silver pill box. Tiffany’s engraved with my initials. There they are. The tiny little calming agents. I get one out and toss it down the hatch. But I can’t swallow the pill. Just like this realization. It’s stuck in my throat. Hard feeling of tightness. The hot tears are present when I try to breathe. I can’t. But this is ok. At least I know I didn’t matter to her. And she doesn’t deserve me. She never did. All that time. This is the truth but saying it and thinking it won’t make the tears stop. I didn’t matter. Five years together and I don’t matter. Not enough to be out together. Even after Ava. Even now that she’s living with Grayson Cane and I’m stuck in our old place. It’s not even my taste. It’s this old Spanish looking thing that isn’t really Spanish. I think of how much I hate the carpet in the hall. And the pill goes down.

It’s 2:45 pm Thursday somewhere in Mulholland. There’s a party at Jimmy Jay-Jay and Monty Booth’s. Jimmy, he’s a friend of my agent… “FRED!” is the first person I see there. Jemma has brought a friend. He’s pretty high. But it doesn’t matter everyone is or will be. Jemma has been gushing about her callback for this guy that’s quasi-important. I’m not impressed by films with big names and little plotlines although they do make good money and launch careers. Jemma should be happy. I keep talking with her friend, Adrian whatever, who keeps asking about my job. I tell him actress slash model and he lights up, but doesn’t listen to the part about my photos and vocal work. He’s more concerned with my taking naked photos for Malcolm for the labels. It’s boring but he’s cute. I want to know more about Jemma and I think he knows more. I give him my number before they leave.

I’ve invited Jemma to this party with my friend Malcolm who directs music videos in addition to so much more. He’s very nice and very unavailable. Tonight this place belongs to some jet setter named Paul and the view is amazing. Not as nice as Frankie’s view. Frankie is a photographer friend. She looks and dresses like a man, and her place is at the top of this building. I love her place but it’s something out of a magazine. Malcolm tells us we’ll go upstairs in a bit. I’m inclined to go now. Frankie is dancing by the cappuccino machine telling that Adrian fellow about some drugs upstairs. She’s a raving lunatic but it’s all so charming and I always look amazing in her photos. Paul introduces Jemma to Grayson Cane before excusing himself. I’m laughing on the inside and decide I want to talk with Adrian more. I like his attitude. Frankie takes us upstairs and we’re having fun until it gets so boring. Malcolm leaves when no one is looking. Jemma leaves with Grayson. Adrian leaves. Frankie wants to do some lines and fuck. I start talking to someone before leaving with him.

Friday I’m leaving on a jet plane again. This time I’m not alone. There’s someone who possibly appreciates me. The somebody I met last night when I should have been calling Inza again. But I can’t help but wonder will it ever be in front of me again. Even if I have to turn around to see it, will I come face to face with it again? Or is it just like hitting the jackpot? One in every millions upon millions is a winner. Is that what they see when I tell them I’m an actress? It’s early on Friday and I have too many questions for this hour when the person next to me is asleep and I can’t help thinking all by myself.

It’s 3:22 pm at the corner of Fifth Avenue and somewhere when I call my therapist again. I can’t help feeling guilty for cancelling our session from 3000 miles away. Secretly I’m hoping that she’ll still talk with me. Not talk to me about this need to find validation through others but really talk to me. I think about cocktail parties and men that talk to women her age while the lunch time receptionist puts me on hold again. Then as I listen to the musak version of “Bring on the Dancing Horses” I look at the street sign that says don’t walk and I can’t remember ever wanting to walk more in my life. So I hang up the line and start walking. There’s no one moving ahead and no cars driving through the intersection. The world feels dead for exactly fifteen seconds and I reach the other side.

At a quarter past eight he gets up and lights a cigarette. We’ve just finished having sex when he tells me that there’s a woman watching us from the high rise across the street. She has a telescope and isn’t wearing a shirt he says and leans against the window. I roll over on my side and smile at the unseen intruder as he waves. My phone is ringing and it’s my therapist. He keeps telling me that it didn’t feel like I was really into it and that he wishes I were like his last lover who liked to…

“Swallow the pill” my therapist firmly insists into the line. Keeps telling me I need to take another Valium and stop calling for therapy and show up. I tell her that I’m in Manhattan until Monday. She asks about the Valium again as I’m walking to the kitchen and sitting at the table trying to remember where it was when I tell her I forgot it at home. This is before I tell her that there isn’t a way to reschedule the appointment right now. I reach over into my bag and remember that there’s another kind of candy I could be taking when I realize we have company. Then I remember about men and actresses. He doesn’t appreciate me the way that someone who loved me would. And then I think about Inza who isn’t over Ava and what will happen when she finds out about Jemma. After all that I wonder if it will be in front of me again. Is there a statute of limitations on the crimes of love? All this wondering doesn’t stop me from swallowing some pills and following him back in.

It’s 8am on Sunday morning and we’re getting ready for brunch. The someone who appreciated me had to leave last night but he didn’t go alone. He left with someone he met at this party last night and I really don’t feel that bad about it. My assistant Kaya arrives early bringing the pills, the books, the camera and the scripts including those I didn’t want to read along with her. I tell her to turn up the radio, it’s playing that song where they keep saying “I’m only human” and I can’t help but sing along. She smiles and tells me how she loves my voice. I tell her to buy a CD. We both laugh and I tell her to “stay like that” because I want to take a picture of her ‘just like that’ and she lets me. It’s then I ask her to skip brunch and get us an earlier flight to San Francisco.

Tuesday morning I manage to change my hair thirteen times before my fitting with Alexandr Reed. The soundtrack of the day is sponsored by Radiohead. OK Computer is playing during the fitting. By 1:10 pm he’s been pushing up my breasts and pulling at my waist while cursing on the phone with a man named Adrian. This makes me think of Jemma and wonder about Grayson Cane with Inza. It’s not quite a coincidence but my assistant Kaya shows up with a phone call at the same time. It’s Jemma and I make a face. Alexandr excuses himself and I quickly fall out of the garment on top when I rush toward the windows for some privacy. Open privacy.

“Chloe?”

“Yes, darling. How are you?”

“I’m fine. Just wondering if…”She pauses for a minute.

“Darling what?”

“I’m calling for Inza. She’s been… h-h-u-r-”

“What does she want? She could call herself.”

“Inza’s been admitted to the hospital under supervision. You should come see her.”

“I don’t have time for this I’m being fitted for that dinner thing next week. Aren’t you coming?”

“Chloe, look she’s asking for you. She keeps saying you’ll understand why she did it. Come when you’re back.”

The line falls dead and I’m standing topless in front of an open bay of windows while some Karma Police are being called in. Kaya brings me a glass of water and some Valium. I swallow and take in everything else. I don’t know if I’m more upset that she didn’t call herself. Or that the call wasn’t the guy that appreciated me the other night. Or perhaps it was me wanting Jemma to want to talk to me more.

Seventeen minutes until 3:30 and we’re at this place in the SOMA still. I tell Kaya to bring me a double shot of Vodka in a glass of ice. It’s most definitely five o’clock somewhere and I can’t get through to Inza’s assistant. Alex has already finished sewing me back into the altered dress so Simon can Polaroid the finished results before we call it a day. Between sips of my Vodka rocks we take headless pictures of my body in the gown to destroy all others before it. I’m amazed when I’m talking to Alex to find out that he’s friends with Jemma. It’s then I realize that Adrian on the phone is Adrian from the party.

When we are alone I ask him what he thinks of Inza while he removes the stitched in pieces of me. He listens to me about my lost week and I listen to his. About his friend, my friend, the lovers, the strangers, and how these things keep us both wondering.

“I wanted to matter to her the way she mattered to me.”

“Honey, keep drinking the Vodka and maybe you’ll get over it soon.” He tells me and swallows a large swig of the poison.

“Do you think I’ll run into it again? You know… l-o-v-e.” I have to spell it out like it’s a dirty word.

“We all do. It’s only a matter of time. And stop wasting time with these people when they’re obviously not interested in you.” He emphasizes you with a wave of his hands at my bareness.

“Thank you Alex. For everything. The dress is going to be gorgeous. I hope it works out for you. Andy sounds… ”

“Shhh.” He gives my naked stomach a kiss and whispers. “He’s here waiting to go to dinner.” Then points to a man talking to Kaya in the corner. “We all do.” He smiles and resumes unstitching the pieces on my hips.

We’re at BLOWFISH eating this amazing shi-shi sushi and taking turns doing Sake bombs when I realize that a lie is easier to swallow than the truth. There’s a man sitting at the table next to Kaya drinking with us. Every time we down one round every voice in place yells “SAKE BOMB” and it’s all amazing because I’m drinking this guy under the table. He tells me I’m so skinny that he wants to force feed me a box of Saltines to get me through the night cause he’s convinced I won’t make it even one more day. I just smile and tell him it’s my “thing” that I’m like a former Agnys, a former Kate,  a former Gabriella, a former HELENA, a former TYRA, a former NAOMI, a former LINDA and it’s just like that without a last name. I smile and tell him it’s all very TWiGGY with a hint of Madonna before telling him the new truth. This man is amazed when I tell him the truth. And tells me in disbelief before trying to change the subject.  

“If it’s possible she may be skinnier than TWiGGY,” he tells Kaya in front of me.

“Tell me about you.” I say anything after he’s discovered the truth but loves it because he thinks it’s a lie.

“I’m a plumber.” He lies because he thinks I am. So I play along.

“See, now that’s pretty interesting.”

 “Ah, not really I’m a commodities broker. But you’re joking with me about being on TV.”

“Look at the TV on the left bank above the bar.” I can see my own face staring back from the sea of media. I smile and point.

“Well. How about another shot? Liar.”

“But there you see…” I keep pointing and he keeps smiling because he enjoys the lie.

“There’s no way. I can’t believe that’s you.”

“There’s my picture.” Kaya pulls out a copy of the EW spread and lays it out. “Do you believe me?”

When he tells me to “fuck off” because they make those on Pier 39, I get up and tell him “next rounds on me” before telling him I’m a librarian with a bad habit of spanking on the first date. This makes him laugh and he slaps me on the ass and says “why didn’t you just say so in the first place?” before he asks Kaya for her number. I’m the opposite of offended and swallow another shot by myself. SAKE BOMB!

Actress. That’s what I used to tell them. Not model. Not singer. Not artist or photographer. The thing that used to light me up the same way it lit them up. Hitting the jackpot every minute of every day becomes routine. How many millions upon millions can you get before you start giving some of it away? Sometimes I tell them I’m a flight attendant when they don’t recognize me. I wonder, what do you think about that?

“I have to get back now. Is it there anything else you need Ms. St. Claire?” she asks gets up from the seat next to me.

“I’m fine. Call me Chloe. Tell me do you tell them you’re an actress?”

“No. And I’m sorry to hear about your friend Inza Madison. Are the rumors true about her…”

“Honestly I don’t know what rumors you’re talking about.”

“Ms. St. Claire, I mean Chloe. Sometimes I do.” She says with a wink and a finger to her lips before walking away.

Of course she does is what I think as I wait for the plane to begin its final descent.

In Stinson looking out over the beach and smoking a cigarette while I’m talking to Alex on the phone. Alex is fitting some model, another naked model, for this new gown in his showroom. He tells me she’s an actress and model. I tell him she gets naked for money. I tell him that hookers get naked for money. I tell him in conclusion that he’s fitting a hooker. It’s an argument that never quits when I tell him to blow it off and come out. Do anything. Let’s get wet. He tells me nothing I want to hear. The fog is rolling in and around the coastline like a giant hand that’s grabbing a hold with no intention of letting go. I’m still telling him we should get together at Zebra or Defiance for the party later when she comes up from behind and grabs my waist. Who isn’t as important as why she’s doing it. When I start raising my voice I really don’t want to anymore. I’m on the coast overlooking the fog coming in and she’s standing behind me waiting for what comes next. I tell Alex to come out later. Bring his friends, naked or not, straight or not. I toss the line in the ocean and she kisses me softly and shows me some bare skin as she walks back in. I take a hit and follow her in after I wonder where you went again.

    

Fidelity

Fidelity can be defined as "faithfulness to a person, cause, or belief, demonstrated by continuing loyalty and support" but it means more than that. It is backed up by actions. As much as I enjoy being a fly on the wall and watching people, I sometimes find myself engrossed into an interesting situation unfolding. Real life is far STRANGER than TV. I love to see people lie about unnecessary things when I am seeing the full picture and the truth of the matter on both sides. For some readers who email me: The situations that I write about aren't always about me but often things strangers have shared with me. 

With that said this one is from me... several months ago a young woman approached me claiming she was dating the same fellow as me. My response was to inform her I was not involved with that man. We were acquaintances in a roundabout way and nothing more than conversations here or there. It was an interesting thing because I think she was more excited to be with a cheater than with an ordinary man. I walked away with a rumor, the knowledge of the truth and haven't seen the man again. I could never be with someone who could cheat on someone else. It is something I came to conclude through my own painful experience once. 

I think there are different kinds of relationships including those that aren't monogamous, but I don't think cheating is tolerable in any of them. I think marriage can work with honesty and I also think some people can be a threesome or foursome with the right honesty but you can't share someone without truth. Why? A cheater is a liar and a liar isn't sincere enough to be in a relationship. Lying nullifies your commitment. A liar is lying to you as much as they are the other person, and you have to wonder who and what else they are capable of being dishonest about. 

Here's an excerpt from the Novel - The Perspectives:The Inauthentic Life. It's about an affair. Don't get me wrong I do love writing & working on the Novel. But writing the book is always a hard process in character. And worth it when the chapters get completed. I miss the in depth writing occasionally but more and more I can't imagine my life without photography. So much that my time away is longer and it feels like I'm being unfaithful to the writing. 

Have you ever had an affair? Would you? Why?

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Stuck at 12:22

(8-20-2010)

The clock reads 12:22. I can see him on the edge of the bed wrestling with his hand. Pulling. Twisting. Right. Left. Digging into the knuckle. Scraping against the flesh when I tell him to stop.

“Please stop. You don’t have to take it off. I don’t mind.”

“I want to take it off… when I’m with you.”

 “I can’t believe you let me sleep this late.” I say still looking over at the clock. 12:22.

“We just went to sleep three hours ago.” He half snaps at me.

 “Stop Baby. She’ll notice that mark.”

“And she won’t notice the tan line.” He says.

People will tell you don’t fall in love with a married man, to that I respond you can’t help who you fall in love with. When they tell me that I’m selling myself short, I respond that I know what I’m doing. And I do. I know the position I’m in. I know he can’t or won’t leave his wife. I don’t expect him to for me. He has to do that for himself. It doesn’t change the fact that he loves me. He does. We don’t talk about the things that can’t happen. We talk about the things we can do together. This is enough for right now. It’s funny what enough is when you’re in love. The sacrifices you are willing to make to be with someone.

When we first met I didn’t think I would like him. His assistant was a small child like boy that went to SFSU for human relations in communicative studies. Otherwise known as a communications major. Wanye Michaels meet Gina Maric was the introduction. His office was pushed back through a maze of hallways on the fifteenth floor of a building in the business district. I can remember the color of his tie that day. Yellow. Every distinct thing in the room I can recall like yesterday. And the first thing he said to me was, “You’re all wrong, get out of my office.” So I left and went to work for his partner Paul in the offices along the opposite side of the building. My title was personal attaché and that meant a lot of different things for Paul.

Paul had errands that involved things and boys all hours of the day or night. It wasn’t until Paul left for the NY office that I went to work for Wayne. And the switch was a breath of fresh daylight air and professional comfort. The first time I had to help Wayne he was between floors in an elevator with a “friend” and his other assistant the small boy from SFSU was panicking. Calling too many people. And Wayne wanting no more attention being drawn to the situation needed it taken care of immediately. To ensure they were dislodged quietly the phone call I placed was of the utmost discretion. Even handling the release and removal of his other assistant with several confidentiality agreements required caution.  Wayne had one rule if there was any: his wife didn’t need to know. I respected that. They had a history. She didn’t need to be reminded of things that she already knew about.

After handling the sticky mess involving the “friend” and former assistant I became Wayne’s full-time solitary personal liaison. The position required me to attend multiple trips and events with his business associates as a helpful connection. Several trips in I allowed things to change and it was then that I decided my first loyalty wasn’t to Wayne. When things started I knew I had to keep a part of myself from him. But that’s not how it ended up. One thing became two then three and I was already in the middle of much more. In the beginning we took care to hide the situation and he continued to be seen with other women, then occasionally we worked and spent time with his friends, eventually we attended events together. It wasn’t my intention to become one of his friends or lovers, it happened.

It’s not as though a woman starts an affair with the intention of doing so. I tried to explain that to friends in the beginning. It wasn’t as though I’d wanted to be involved this way. I would have preferred that he wasn’t already attached in a commitment to another. It wasn’t enough for them. There are always those people trying to tell you differently about finding happiness. That it’s not how they would choose so it must be wrong.

 “I don’t think your tan line will be the problem when the rest of you is tan.”

“Now isn’t the time to pick a fight. Help me with this.”

He twists the ring back and forth around his knuckle. I can see the pain it causes him. Rubbing raw against the skin. Digging in deeper. Stuck. He continues for what seems like an eternity. 12:22. I love the way his head leans forward to examine the struggle further. Like the ring was a mere part that was out of place. I move closer to lean in and kiss his neck and he shakes me off.

“What?”

“Just help me.”

“No. Really what?”

High viscosity. Means nothing is moving. Thick like quicksand anything that enters will become lodged in. Think of a sugary liquid in the bowl that won’t move unless you add more water. In order to make something move you have to add something to it. Sometimes that’s heat, sometimes its water and sometimes it’s like quicksand and there’s no way out.

We’re at lunch in the park when he tells me about the trip before asking me to pick up Adrian. He tells me he’s off of Howard somewhere. And how it’s this place that I’d never been in the Caribbean. We’ve been talking about getting away for a while but haven’t actually been able to. I ask him why Adrian didn’t call me first. He says it’s because he isn’t himself at the moment and I should just go with it. I smile and tell him that I love it when Adrian isn’t himself. He tells me this is pretty bad. I slide my hand across the table and cover his gently. I love when he shows concern for his friends. It’s almost 2:30. I should go. But he stops me.

“Baby, I love you.” He says and stops me from getting up.

“I love you too. What’s all this about?”

“I’ve been… I need to make it up to you.”

“Tell me then. “

“On the trip. Later.”

“Baby, I have to go then.” I get a quick kiss before leaving the table.

It’s hard when you’re with someone who is being unfaithful to someone else. It makes you question the basis of your relationship. It often makes you stop and wonder what it is about the person that they are cheating on.  And wonder if it’s really you that is being cheated on as well. Once in a while you start thinking that maybe they aren’t really with you because they want to be but that’s before you stop wondering if they’ll leave that other person as quickly as they’d leave you.

“Dahlia’s going to have another baby.” He says it like he wants me to react.

“Let me help with the ring. I have some lotion in my purse.” I get up and walk to the bathroom and get my purse.

“Did you hear me? I said...”

“I heard you. What do you want me to say?” I throw the purse on the floor and keep the lotion in my hand as I walk out of the bathroom.

“Something would be nice.”

“Wayne, we’ve been at this before. We’ve discussed what would happen if she had another baby.”

“Are you ready for this?”

“It’s not up to me. You’ve always needed to make this choice yourself.” I start lubing his finger and twisting.

“Baby, don’t be mad at me. Damn it, stop!” He pulls his hand back. “That hurts.”

“What then?” I sigh and throw the bottle of lotion at the far wall.

“I’m not trying to hurt you. Listen. I don’t know if I want to stay with her…”

“Wayne. Don’t tell me this. It’s not up to me. You can’t expect me to tell you the right thing h…”

“I’m not. But I told you I’d stay if she had another. I don’t think I want to. Especially since… ”

“Wayne, what is it?” I walk over and try to hold him although he pushes at me.

“She’s had someone else for a while and I looked the other way cause I had you. I think she might leave.”

“What are you doing to me? I’m done. I can’t. Leave me…” with a slap across his face I walk away and slam the bathroom door.

We’ve had our fair share of fights. I can’t believe I’m doing this half the time is what I think when I go back. No relationship is perfect. It takes work and there’s a fair share of ups and downs. You either ride them out or walk away.

Even when we’re leaving to LA to catch a meeting before flying out to NY before coming to the Islands I know we weren’t mad at each other for the previous week. The previous week when we fought over nothing and Dahlia had phoned the office to have me deliver the favors for the girl’s sleepover. An incident at the house with the family never goes well with Wayne. Its how she likes to behave he tells me over and over again.

Sometimes I think he wants to tell her not to call because of how it makes him feel afterwards. But he doesn’t. It’s hard to when I have to deal with the calls from the house. When I hear his wife on the line and his daughters in the background it’s difficult. Dahlia knows and the conversation is always forced kindness between us until it’s over and she sets down the line.

“You get to a point where you need to be with someone,” she says.

“How do you know?” asks her best friend Carla Andress.

“You don’t know. Trust, hope, happiness can all be things that you deceive yourself with. But the trick is in finding a way to get past all that fear of deception to be with someone.”

The conversation is staged for my benefit. I’m hearing the same lies she tells herself along with everyone else, meaning the other housewives and mothers of the girls waiting to be left at the sleepover. Funny thing is that these are the same things I tell myself. And I smile with all the grace within me as I leave the five bags of treats and toys from the Emporium in the living room. Deep down I know he wants to tell me “don’t come by the house”, but he can’t.

We’ve never been in his house. Together. I don’t think I could respect myself if we did. It’s always been in hotels or trips or with his friends. Most of his friends don’t know about her. It’s me that is the front. The wife and family are kept hidden. Sometimes it feels like she is the affair and I’m the one he is with.

It’s hard to imagine such a cold woman with Wayne. He tells me she isn’t like this. That she puts up the wall to cover the weaknesses. The children are happy and well cared for. It sends me spinning sometimes that I have to let him go back home to her. The long weekends with her in Mendocino hurt more viciously than any wound. Smiling on Monday when he tells me about the trip. About her, him and the girls. I hate that part of this. But I understand that this is what I choose. I could be with my friends or dating a completely available man, but this relationship is what I choose. Because this is enough. I chose to see him on select weekdays, weekends, and late lunches and between meetings at the office. I could be doing a thousand other things with myself, but I limit myself to him. Because I love him this is enough. And even though this is the part that wounds me, I wouldn’t want to die without any scars.

Wayne has me on speakerphone when I pull up across the street from where Adrian is sitting. Wayne tells me “kid’s gloves” before hanging up. Adrian doesn’t recognize me and seems pretty smashed. I get out of the car, smile and wave at him. I love it when I get to see Adrian even though he hasn’t been himself since Felicia. She really took a part of his heart out. And possibly his mind. I miss Adrian with Jemma. They both seemed to get on better before L.A. Before Felicia. Adrian keeps talking and taking hits while I’m stuck in traffic. He’s terribly witty even when he doesn’t know me. Tells me about hiring hookers for Wayne and that keeps me laughing. I can’t help wondering if this is what will happen to me when Wayne decides to leave me someday. Will I go crazy and lose myself? I think of sacrifices and scars and then I decide to arrive early for our meeting at the Four Seasons to talk with Wayne alone.

At the Four Seasons it’s another time when the ring is stuck and I can’t breathe while he’s undressing me in the bathroom of a hotel suite.

“Wayne, can’t we talk?”

“There’s no time. Are you sure Adrian is okay?”

“Wayne, he’s fine. He seemed happy to walk around.”

“Then come on. What’s wrong?”

“What happens when this is over?”

“We’ll go hang out with Adrian at the bar.”

“Wayne, be serious. What happens to me when you decide it’s over?”

“Fuck. You know how to kill it. Why now?” He tosses his watch and leaves the bathroom.

“Adrian. I think I’m afraid of being in too far.”

“Adrian did that to himself! What do you want from me?”

“Talk to me.”

“Let me guess. A commitment? You swore you’d never pull this shit.”

“I’m not. I’m leaving. I need to think.” I pull my shirt and jacket on and look at him.

“Gina. Don’t go.”

“Call me later. Don’t be late for Adrian.”

I drive around the park for two hours and 45 minutes before heading to Frank’s to meet Wayne and Adrian. It’s on the way to Frank’s that I decide I can’t get upset again. Not like this. Not about this. It’s not his fault. I chose this. The arguments, the wife, the sacrifices and scars.  

We’re on the deck of the yacht. I can see the crystal blue waters surrounding the boat. Wayne goes below deck for another bottle of wine. Dahlia is wearing the same printed swimsuit I am. She walks over to the railing and looks into the water. We’re alone and there’s nothing between us. I ask her what we’re looking at and I can see the white of her teeth when she smiles at me. She says nothing but reaches over and puts her hands around my neck. Tighter and tighter she squeezes and I can’t breathe. There’s no one around and I can feel the life slipping away from me. Then it’s like some small part of me starts to grow and grow from inside becoming this hateful rage. With that rage I reach back and start to crush her face in. Her hands release their grip. Fist by fist my hands pound into her flesh. Fingers start pulling at the skin to reveal nothing. I’m consumed by this and want to keep going, but I remember about Wayne and stop to push her body into the crystal blue waters. I watch it splash and the redness spreads. I can feel the blood dripping down my arms and the flesh stuck between my fingernails. I don’t care that she’s gone. My rage is satisfied.

And then I wake up. It’s not that I want to kill her. I don’t. To me she is an extension of Wayne. I love Wayne and that part of his life is precious. Valuable. My love extends to value what he loves. I can not destroy that which I love. I’m stuck. This is what I accept. Until the one day when it becomes too much. When I can’t anymore. When the quicksand is pulling me under. Then maybe I escape. But will I blame myself afterwards?

“Baby, come out. Don’t leave. Not like this. ”

“Why?”

“I love you. Come out. Talk to me.” I open the door and face him.

“No, why didn’t you say something before?”

“I didn’t think I could confront her. Shit, that’s not it. I don’t know.”

“I can’t tell you what to do…” I put my hand on his mouth, “Shh. I don’t want you keeping things from me.”

“Gina, I’m wrong. I should have said something. That was wrong. I want to be with you. Just you baby. Marry me. When this is over, make it real. Official.”

“Wayne, I love you. I’m not going anywhere right now. But I don’t know about official either.”

“Alright we’ll figure this out later. I love you.” He says before kissing me and starting things.

We make love on the floor outside of the bathroom and he falls asleep. Its still 12:22 when I realize that the clock is stuck. And the ring on his finger is stuck. Not me. I could leave at any time. I choose to be here.

Gina takes me to the Four Seasons. She has an appointment with a client and I’m having drinks with Wayne at 5:30. It’s only 4:15pm. You aren’t at the Four Seasons. You don’t like hotel bars. I’m the opposite of dry. What trouble can I find?

The ladies locker room isn’t where I should be. So I’m leaving even though she asks me to stay. Who? Someone. She follows me. Smiles and says come back to my room. It’s 4:25. I’ve got time. I need another hit.

It’s 5:15. The maids’ pantry is stocked with a thousand tiny little chocolate mints. There’s a closet full of those tiny mini bar liquors that is now missing thirty eight tiny bottles of Stoli Vodka. Mint Chocolate and Vodka sounds like an amazing new flavor for ice cream.  You would love that. Why don’t they put alcohol in ice cream? I’ll ask Wayne. He makes things happen. My bottles clink clank while I walk across the empty lobby.

I’m at the hotel bar. Wayne is here early. I’m beyond soaked. I show him my new dance that produces three little bottles from the bottom of my left pant leg. Wayne thinks it’s funny and asks me about Gina. I say client with inappropriate finger quotes. Wayne shakes his head and smacks me on the shoulder. I share about the party invite from Alex. Wayne looks at his watch, nods and tells me to order a drink. I forget about Stoli and Chocolate Mint Ice Cream… before I forget about you.