Chapter 16 Lost Pieces of You
Lost Pieces of You
His mother, who knew him best, kept asking whether he was okay, wondering what had changed. “Nothing, Mom. Feeling better about myself, having fun. I have to stay longer. I promise I’ll pay you back every dime.”
He grabbed a quick snooze once the sun broke over the city, but then he—Aroldo—popped up for a three-mile run, followed by a shower and then his new routine of dressing for the day.
In the past, he’d had a Steve Jobs mindset regarding his wardrobe.
He often wore the same thing every day—jeans and a polo or tee—so that he wouldn’t have to waste energy making unnecessary decisions.
Aroldo was different. As Sandy had taught him, a person made a statement with his choice of attire.
When you slipped into your clothing, you were choosing who you wanted to be.
He stood in front of the mirror and inspected himself.
Bits of Harold tried to tell him that he was still the scrawny punk from Denver, but he silenced that voice with, “Enough, Harold. You are Aroldo now.” He pulled on one of his new white shirts, which Giovanni had tailored for him.
He opted to leave three buttons unbuttoned to show off this new, polished chest of his.
Then he pulled on a dark plaid vest and matching pants.
Slipping into his light leather shoes, he checked himself again.
“There you are, Aroldo,” he said. “There is no room for Harold here.”
At precisely 8:31 a.m., he reached his desired location, an outdoor restaurant that faced Renzo’s building, a place with impressive columns and arches that looked about as “high rent” as it got in this city.
He’d not seen Alice or his archnemesis since the incident when he’d suffered a panic attack, but Aroldo had decided it was time to reassess the situation.
He took a table with a clear view to the entrance and started his surveillance. It had been almost a month since she’d dumped him, and the longing for her throbbed within him as he imagined this new life she was living.
She’d mentioned taking summer classes, but he had no idea when they’d begin. It could take days to figure out their routine, but Aroldo was in no rush. He would be patient and wait for his move.
After ordering an espresso, he sat back, crossed his legs, and opened Bianca’s book. It wasn’t exactly his first choice, but Moira had been so kind to him and kept asking whether he’d read it. With one eye on the door, he dove in.
In chapter 1, entitled “Assess and Confess,” the anonymized Peggy comes into Bianca’s office in Austin for her initial session.
Peggy’s a teller at a large bank in Cincinnati with a boss who has perfected skating the line of harassment.
She eats a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with chubby carrots every day for lunch.
She’s in a tough marriage with a high-school principal named Matthew Meh, who forgot her last birthday.
She’s silently grateful for their infertility issues.
Though they both work, he expects her to cook dinner every night, and as she does so, she always fantasizes about adding some arsenic to the mac and cheese.
Her husband doesn’t know that she’s in major credit card debt.
She has a crush on Mitch, her yoga teacher, and the best part of her week is when he presses down on her lower back when she’s in downward dog.
At night, she lies in bed and pretends her husband was kidnapped by aliens and she’s now Yoga Mitch’s wife.
After congratulating Peggy for being so open, Bianca tells her that it’s her destiny to make the shift from Peggy Meh to Peggy Megawatt, and apparently, that would be the guts of the rest of the book.
Aroldo raised his head, thinking that he’d done just that in becoming Aroldo. He’d seen Harold’s weaknesses and eliminated them, and it was working. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so confident in his life.
Aroldo Megawatt, here to save the day!
Specific confessional exercises at the end of the chapter prompted the reader for a self-diagnosis, asking them to detail lies they were telling themselves and others, what they liked least and most about themselves, and so on.
Aroldo grinned. He told some lies, all right. But he had no intent of writing them down. In fact, he saw no need to even do the exercises. Who in history did the exercises in a book?
Aroldo was flipping the page to chapter 2 when he saw them, Alice and Renzo, leaving the apartment.
The girlfriend thief was dressed for work, his face shiny from a shave.
She wore a short skirt, showing off her freckled and shapely legs.
A backpack hung over one shoulder. At the bottom of the steps, Renzo took her by the waist and kissed her, then whispered something in her ear that caused a giggle before heading in the opposite direction.
She watched him go with what Aroldo feared were heart-shaped eyes, then drew out her phone, typed a message, and started walking in Harold’s—no, Aroldo’s—direction.
Harold might have cowered, but Aroldo reached for a pack of cigarettes that he’d bought yesterday and lit one up.
He instantly coughed, but he smothered it and cleared his throat.
He took a less aggressive puff and saw her passing him out of the corner of his eye.
She hadn’t even noticed him. He’d created that much of a change.
He left his table and, at a safe distance, followed her to the library at the university, where she sat on the steps with a group of friends and smoked a cigarette, then disappeared inside. It seemed her life hadn’t changed much.
The wheels spun. How could he get her back? What was it going to take?
That evening, as Aroldo walked with Sandy across town to the tango lessons, he didn’t dare mention that he’d followed Alice around all day. She might not understand. Instead, he listened to Sandy talk about how she’d been considering a move to Lisbon.
“What about the store?”
“Wanna buy it?”
“I don’t think so.”
Harold would have been mortified to enter the dance studio with its claustrophobia-inducing brick walls and tight cluster of strangers, many of whom looked as nervous as him, but Aroldo embraced new experiences.
Twenty-five people formed in a half circle around the teacher, a ripped young Italian man in baggy pants and polished black shoes.
He introduced himself as Tommaso, then called for Sandy to join him and went over the initial steps of the tango in both English and Italian.
Apparently, she’d been doing this a long time and was his go-to for demonstrations.
Harold tried to follow, counting in his head, tripping over himself.
He couldn’t recall ever dancing in his life.
The only dances he’d ever attended were the ones his mother had forced him to attend in high school.
Little had she known, he’d spent those nights hiding in the hallways or in an empty classroom.
Sandy had clearly been dancing for years, and her ability pretty much blew the doors off the box he’d put her in. He’d imagined she didn’t have much of a life outside of her store, a lonely and often grumpy bookwoman who spent her free time curled on the couch reading.
Tommaso said, “We start with the simple steps, then we’ll elaborate from there. Watch my hips, my hands. Listen to the music. This is an improvisation, that’s what is so beautiful about the tango. Don’t be rigid. Let yourself go.”
With that, the familiar sounds of tango filled the room.
He found Sandy’s eyes, whispered a count, and then they were off, dancing so deeply and darkly that every other person looked awestruck.
Sandy could have taught this class. It was simply incredible to watch her.
She moved like a tigress tearing through the jungle.
When they stopped, the students applauded, then Tommaso said, “Now, find a partner. You’ll dance together for several minutes, then switch, moving along the circle.”
Harold tightened. It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d be dancing with anyone other than Sandy. He looked around the room, feeling intimidation tear at him like a vulture on roadkill.
Then a tap on the shoulder. He turned to find a woman easily six inches taller looking down at him. The scent of her dizzying perfume drifted up his nose.
In an eastern European accent, she said, “Can we dance?”
His eyes widened. “I can . . . I’m not very . . .” He couldn’t get the words out. Dammit, where was Aroldo when he needed him?
“You’ll be fine. I’m not good either.”
“Okay. Sorry, I’m already sorry.”
Aroldo said into his ear: Harold, go away. I am here now. I will show you how to dance.
A man half Harold, half Aroldo stepped forward.
He had to reach up to put his hand on the back of the woman’s shoulder, which was the placement Tommaso had taught them earlier.
They drew close, and he felt ashamed. This intimacy with a stranger was crushing him.
But then they began to move and though he stumbled about, he couldn’t help but laugh, and laughing wasn’t something he’d experienced much since Alice had left him. Maybe with Moira once or twice.
The tall woman was laughing too. They tried again and again, getting modestly better each time.
“There you go,” she said in her thick accent. “Listen to the music.”
“I guess this isn’t your first time,” he said, hating how uncomfortable he sounded. Dammit, Aroldo, take over! Trying again, he said, “You’re marvelous on your feet, darling. A natural.” There you go.
He cycled through several partners, and all Harold could think about was how badly he needed hand sanitizer.
He even danced with a man. Hands larger than his holding him, his hand up on the other man’s shoulder, both of them attempting to move their feet with some sort of rhythm while avoiding looking at each other.