Chapter 11
Lisa
The following morning, I fly to New York and Alex picks me up at JFK.
He is, as usual, thirty minutes late, notwithstanding my three updates to him about my whereabouts.
I know he will not take the time to Google the flight status, much less punch the information in an app.
I probably shouldn’t be mad at him since I had changed plans at the last minute, but still, I can’t help but get annoyed.
This time, however, my irritation is short-lived.
I am in a great mood, the memory of the last few days at the forefront of my mind.
Certainly, the weekend was the most fun I’d ever had. Ever.
“Hey honey,” he greets me as he gets out of the car. No apology for being late.
He opens the trunk, picks up my suitcase and tosses it inside.
No hug, no kiss… might as well toss me in the trunk too.
“Hey babe,” I reply reflexively.
We get into the car and as he pushes the start button, the gas indicator light appears. Typical Alex. This reminds me — his car insurance payment was due last week and your guess is as good as mine if he has paid it.
En route to my office, after making a stop to fill up the tank — with my credit card, don’t get me started — he asks the usual basic, no-effort-required-to-think, on-the-surface questions “How was your day?”
How is my fucking day I wonder. You’ve got to be kidding me, it’s barely 2:00 in the afternoon. I, literally, have just come back from another country. How about, “How was the food?” or even better “Did you try Blue Mountain coffee?”
What’s the point? Really?
“My day’s been going well. How are you doing?” — I continue to walk at level one on this treadmill we call a marriage.
While Alex drones on about completing the paperwork for a property he’s looking to buy as an investment (with my hard-earned money, of course), my thoughts cross the ocean to Nick.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, interrupting my memory of the beach. I can still feel him inside me.
“Yea, I could eat something.”
Surprise. Surprise. He stops at the same restaurant that we’ve been going to for the last two years. Same ole routine.
Again, level one on the treadmill.
I try something new on the menu, he orders the usual medium-rare steak. And while we wait for the food and mindlessly continue our unstimulating conversation, the hallmark of our marriage, my phone pings.
“Hi Mrs Davis, I hope you reached safely. Thanks again for all the career advice.”
“You’re welcome, Nick. It was my pleasure.”
“In a few months, I’ll be visiting my family in New York. If you’re available, I’d like to continue the discussion about my career.”
“Sure. I’ll ask my executive assistant, Kelly, to check my calendar and get back to you.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Anytime.”
“Catching up with your cousins?” Alex asks, tilting his head forward to see who I am messaging.
“No, why?”
“Because you look focused, like you’re having one of those debates in your family group.”
“No, no,” I laugh, conscious that I may have come across as matter of fact.
“One of the young, promising executives that I met in Jamaica is visiting his family in New York and wants to schedule an appointment with me to better understand how he can progress in the company. Like all the other Jamaican executives, he insists on calling me Mrs Davis, which makes the conversation seem very formal… and makes me feel very old.” I stretch out my arm, holding the phone to show him the message that he no longer has any interest in seeing.
“That’s great, hun. You should invite him to join us for dinner,” he suggests, always eager to invite people over to show off the luxury home he had guilted me into buying, when I had wanted a much smaller house in the suburbs.
On his tour, he will be sure to flaunt the state-of-the-art squash court that he insisted was necessary for the look and feel of the neighbourhood.
He has never used it once, despite paying a monthly fee to maintain it. Men and their egos.
“Okay, I’ll let him know.”
The waitress pauses by our table, holding her black server book “Excuse me, will you be paying with cash or card?” There is a moment of silence. Alex looks at me, and I look at him. The waitress shifts her gaze from Alex to me and back again.
I always pay the bill, except on my birthday.
Although, I had actually paid it on my last birthday because his credit cards had declined (again, I’m not going down that road today).
I think back to the last few days, Nick had paid for everything…
even the chewing gum at the service station.
He had asked me, “Gum?” by the cashier counter, knowing he would be kissing me in a few hours.
Knowing I would kiss him back. His confidence was a big turn on.
He was such a good kisser. And, I loved that thing he did with his tongue.
I didn’t even know kissing could be like that.
“I’ll give you a few more minutes. Let me know when you’re ready,” the waitress says hesitantly, forcing a smile and working hard for her tip.
“Cash,” I respond, opening my purse to use the cash I had withdrawn for the Jamaica trip, but never spent much of.
Twenty minutes later, Alex drops me off at the office, and I’m not sure why but I had expected a kiss on the cheek along with a “See you later babe.” On second thought, I know why…
I almost missed my flight earlier today because right before I got out of the car at the airport, Nick had kissed me on the cheek.
And when he saw how much I liked it, he went for my neck.
He couldn’t stop kissing me… and I couldn’t resist him.
And then one thing led to another and before I knew it, we were having car sex. What a rush!
Sitting at my desk, I review the P&Ls for all the subsidiaries, taking the time to comprehensively go through the ones that recorded a decline in net profit year-over-year and making notes to send follow-up questions to the respective general managers.
Without taking a break, I catch up on the over nine hundred unread emails that had piled up in my inbox the few days I was away.
I’m copied on way too many emails. Only six hundred left to go.
Normally, I’d be irritated to be sifting through such an absurd number in order to find the relevant ones, but today I feel unbothered.
Nothing can dampen my mood.
Getting up to use the rest room, I see my reflection in the mirror and as I wash my hands I am reminded of this morning. We had had sex in the shower and then by the sink with me bending over. This was a first for me.
I return to my desk and plough through half of the six hundred unread emails before reviewing the business cases for upcoming capex projects.
At 11:45pm, it is time to head home, the activities of my weekend finally catching up with me.
I am spent. I call Alex but his phone rings without an answer.
Probably fast asleep on the couch, exhausted from watching a football game and checking on his “investments” or whatever else he does in his daily routine.
I hate to rant, but it can be so frustrating at times. Ugh.
Instead of calling him a second time, I get an Uber.
I don’t need a man to be “successful” or earn as much money as I do… but I’d really love someone to be doing something meaningful in life. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.
I’d also like my partner to be thoughtful. If I’m working late, a simple message or call to check up on me would mean a lot. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.
When I open the front door, I am surprised to hear Emily’s voice, “Hey Lisa, did you have a good time in Jamaica?” She’s in the kitchen, sitting at the island with a glass of wine.
“It was a work trip sweetie… not a vacation.”
“You’re so lame.”
“Says the 32-year-old who has an apartment in the city but insists on sleeping at her family home and hanging out with old people,” I fire back, taking off my jacket.
“Why are you here anyway?” I ask, not sure I’m ready to hear the truth. Emily having a glass of wine, by herself, on a Monday night at our home… can’t be a good thing.
“I just had a shitty day that’s all,” she sighs, then puts the glass to her lips. “But I don’t really want to talk about it.”
Really being the operative word.
“Tell me what happened?” I insist, pulling up a bar stool beside her, my motherly instincts taking over. I will do anything to help her. Anything. You name it.
“Um, I met a really cute guy on the weekend. He asked me out to dinner tonight and I naively said, yes. He picked out the perfect restaurant and made reservations. Over dinner, the conversation was going really well because he’s funny and really intelligent.
He’s on track to become a partner at a major law firm.
But when it was time to pay the bill, he suggested that we go dutch on our first date.
That’s a big red flag for me, especially after what I’ve been through with you know who.
So, I was kind of bummed out and wanted company. ”
“Oh sweetie, come here,” I open my arms and hug her. Unfortunately, this is perhaps the one thing I can’t help her with in life… finding a good man. “Don’t worry about that loser. In no time, you’ll meet someone,” I assure her.
“You know what? Pour me a glass of wine. Let’s unwind together,” I demand light-heartedly, reaching for a glass from the cabinet.
“Did you do anything fun in Jamaica? Like fun, fun?” Emily asks, sitting down back on the bar stool.
“Well, I did a coffee tour in the Blue Mountains — the coffee is incredible and it’s gorgeous up there in the mountains. I bought a pack for you. You can brew it in the morning. I also spent time on the most beautiful beach.”
“That’s great. Finally, you’ve done something outside of work on your trip. Did you take pictures?” she asks, genuinely interested.
“I took a few,” I respond.
“Great. Show me,” getting excited and pointing to my phone.
Not wanting her to see the selfie I took with Nick, I quickly scroll though the gallery and show her a picture of me at the look-out point. “Here’s one,” I say.
“That view is incredible,” she gushes, grabbing the phone and rotating it to the left to view the picture in landscape.
Before she can swipe left, I reclaim the phone, saying “Let me find one of me at the beach.” Browsing through the gallery, I click on a picture at the beach, “Here’s one.” This time I firmly grip the phone while showing her the photo.
Zooming in with her fingers, “Wow, Lisa. You were rocking it. I’m jealous of your body in that bikini!”
“Wait, why didn’t you post one of these cool pictures on Instagram? Instead of that lame group picture at the luncheon or whatever the hell that was?” she asks, her face serious. “Although you did rock that outfit.”
“Sweetie, you know I’m not much of an Instagram user,” I reply.
“You’re so lame. Speaking of Instagram, I followed one of your colleagues.”
“Which colleague is that?” I ask with some indifference. Because why do I care who she follows on Instagram?
“Nick… he is so freaking hot!” My heart comes to a sudden stop and I feel like a deer caught in the headlights just before the driver slams down on the brakes.
“He liked the group picture you posted in Jamaica. And of course, you’re lame and only have ten followers or something like that,” she says sarcastically, “so, out of curiosity I clicked on his profile, and he looked fine from the back and rugged with the Rottie. Anyway, something about the picture piqued my curiosity. So, I requested to follow him, and he accepted.”
“Okay. He’s a very intelligent young man,” I say nonchalantly, or rather I hope it came off that way.
“He’s gorgeous. I’d love to hear his accent. Is it sexy? Does he say Hey Mon, like in the movies?”
“He sounds like every other Jamaican to me.” I take a sip of the wine but I need more than a sip.
“So, did he also request to follow you?” I have to ask, because I can’t help it.
“Ye, he sure did. And I immediately deleted all the pictures of John.” John is her most recent ex-boyfriend, if you want to call him that, not the asshole who upended her life. He’s a nice guy, but he doesn’t believe he needs a college degree to get a good job.
“He’s actually coming to New York, and Alex suggested that we invite him over for dinner.” Wait, why did I volunteer that information?
“Oh really, when?”
“In a few months.”
“Okie, I need to get in shape before he gets here… you never know,” Emily winks.
“Can you stop? Remember I’m his boss. It’s weird for you to speak about him like this.” I really need to gulp down the glass of wine or the bottle for that matter, but instead I take another sip, desperately hoping it will suffice.
“Relax, Lisa. Have you seen him? Oh. My. God… you’re so annoying. Way too uptight. You need to get out of your little corporate bubble and enjoy the finer things in life… And he is fiiinnneee.”
Brining up his profile on her phone, she clicks on an image. “Look at this shirtless stud at the bench… he is so delicious and so freaking sexy.”
“By the way, I’m sorry to hear about you and John, he seemed like such a nice guy. What really happened?” I hate to bring it up, but it is the only way out. And it works. She gets fired up and rambles on and on about John’s shortcomings.