Lana remained in the bedroom for an inordinately long time, feeling like a scolded teenager, and resenting the feeling. Scott\u2019s dangled carrot of conciliation was just that: a carrot. He had not offered any sort of autonomy; he had only issued his usual demand in sugarcoated form. Eventually, she dressed in pajamas and went downstairs. Scott was on the sofa reading the same brochure he\u2019d been reading earlier. Nothing had changed between them, nothing had happened. If she was going to feel like a slut, she might as well do it with someone who appreciated her and spoke the King\u2019s English. She would have emailed Julian immediately, but she couldn\u2019t. \u2018Why was that?\u2019 she fumed to herself. \u2018Because my assholian husband is here, ignoring me,\u2019 she snarkily answered herself.
\nShe went looking for Tory and Mea, but they were hiding somewhere.
\n\t\u201cHave you seen the cats?\u201d She asked.
\n\t\u201cNope.\u201d
\n\t\u201cWhy is it they disappear when you are around?\u201d
\nWas she picking a fight?
\n\t\u201cThey know I don\u2019t like them.\u201d
\n\t\u201cHow do they know that?\u201d
\n\t\u201cHow the fuck would I know? They\u2019re fucking cats!\u201d
\nThere, the venom in his voice was plain. If he wanted to have a knockdown drag out, well bring it on.
\n\t\u201cAre you fucking with my cats?\u201d
\n\t\u201cDepends on what you mean by \u2018fucking with them.\u2019\u201d
\n\t\u201cI mean, are you yelling at them, hitting them.\u201d
\n\t\u201cNo. I just toss \u2018em off the furniture that they shouldn\u2019t be on, and I ignore \u2018em. I gotta tell ya, Lana, I don\u2019t really care to be interrogated.\u201d
\n\t\u201cNo?\u201d
\nSilence. He\u2019s not going to rise to any further bait. She headed for the kitchen and the liquor cabinet. It was martini time. She failed to offer him anything. There\u2019s more than one way to skin a cat. He joined her there. He opened the fridge door, and fished out a beer. He popped the snap top and took a big slug.
\n\t\u201cYou got a case of the ass?\u201d He asked. The idiom made her almost smile.
\n\t\u201cYou asked me along on your trip,\u201d she replied. \u201cI thought I had the right to decline. I did not have it pitched at me as the usual order. I\u2019d just fucked your brain out. I thought I might have fucked you into being a gentleman. I was wrong.\u201d
\nHe set his can ever so gently down on the counter.
\n\t\u201cI guess that\u2019s a yes.\u201d
\n\t\u201cYou make it very hard\u2026\u201d
\n\t\u201cYou make it very, very hard.\u201d
\nDespite herself now, she smiles.
\n\t\u201cIt\u2019s effing Christmas, Scott. Let\u2019s deescalate.\u201d
\n\t\u201cAgreed. I\u2019m going to get in that effing Cessna tomorrow at the crack of dawn, and I\u2019m going to fly to California, hop, hop, hop. It\u2019s a lot of little stops.\u201d
\n\t\u201cCal Rogers.\u201d
\n\t\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\t\u201cThe \u2018Vin Fiz.\u2019 There was only one part left on that thing that hadn\u2019t been changed out. And then he died flying into a flock of gulls.\u201d
\n\t\u201cGeez, Lana. Are you spooking my flight?\u201d
\n\t\u201cAre you killing my love?\u201d
\nThere was a pause. He picked his beer up off the counter and took a hefty slug.
\n\t\u201cLana. Listen to me. Listen carefully. I\u2019m telling you that I love you.\u201d
\n\t\u201cYou\u2019re telling me that like a drill sergeant.\u201d
\n\t\u201cI don\u2019t\u2026\u201d
\n\t\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\t\u201cHave the words like you do.\u201d
\nThis frank admission of a failing cut her to the quick.
\n\t\u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d
\n\t\u201cSorry that I\u2019m verbally clumsy?\u201d
\n\t\u201cSorry that\u2026
\nShe had to think about why she felt sorry. Into that pause he waded out.
\n\t\u201cI\u2019m trying in my own way to say that these long flights are risky. If I\u2019m going to go down\u2026\u201d
\n\t\u201cScott, you\u2019re too careful to go down.\u201d
\n\t\u201cHear me out. I want to go down with you.\u201d
\n\t\u201cYou\u2019re trying to say you want to die in my arms?\u201d
\n\t\u201cOr at least by your side,\u201d He said.
\n\u2018To die by my side,\u2019 she thought. This beautiful flyboy might have some poetry in him after all. Was she making a mistake? He continued,
\n\t\u201cI have to go. It\u2019s a business.\u201d
\nThe Bar exam, the fact that he won\u2019t let her study for it pours back in like shit over the damn. It\u2019s another walled off topic. She\u2019s trying to deescalate.
\n\t\u201cI too want a business. I want to know what it feels like to make my own money.\u201d
\n\t\u201cIt feels good, Babe.\u201d
\n\t\u201cScott, give me this one chance.\u201d
\n\t\u201cOK, I can\u2019t deny I think you have a great idea. Go for it. Work your ass off. \u2018Cause that\u2019s what it\u2019s gonna take.\u201d
\n\t\u201cTruce. I\u2019ll take it.\u201d<\/p>\n
At dawn the next morning, she heard him packing, and she heard him close the door. She heard his car drive off, and she felt\u2026 liberated. She exhaled, finally. The marriage she was in was too much like work.<\/p>\n
At last, Lana again had the luxury to open her laptop and look at email. She read Julian\u2019s about \u2018love being a four letter word.\u2019 She now had the ability, the peace of mind, to reply:<\/p>\n
\u201cJulian,
\nWhen I say I love you, I know whereof I speak. I got the Greek thing down. I was trained as a lawyer. I know you\u2019re a dude, no matter how decrepit, so I assume you\u2019re worried about that potbelly and eros. I think you need to chill. I\u2019m all agape over here in P-burg.<\/p>\n
Keep me abreast of your findings\u2026
\nLana\u201d<\/p>\n
Julian was monitoring his in box assiduously in Stephen City. He saw her instantly and instantly replied:<\/p>\n
\u201cGlad to know you know some Greek. Some of my best fiends are Greek. And agape is a good thing to be. You are quite right that my aging process embarrasses me. I think of myself as your age, but if I want to shave my face, I have to face a mirror. It always provides a shock. How did I get to be so grey? I\u2019m Gray, not grey. <\/p>\n
Is there any way in hell that we might become Facebook friends? It might make it possible for us to chat.
\nJJG\u201d<\/p>\n
Lana read this in real time, and sent Julian a friend request. In real time, he accepted. <\/p>\n
\u201cJulian,
\nFacebook friends we now are. Chat me up, please do.\u201d
\nLMAA\u201d<\/p>\n
Into a Facebook chat window, Julian typed,
\n\u201cLlama! Dalai Llama! Speak to me!
\nAnd into a Facebook chat window Lana typed,
\n\u201cBow down before me oh sacred cow!\u201d
\nThey were now free, these two, to have a conversation in real time, the speed at which two hunt and peckers could type.<\/p>\n
\u201cI do bow down. I\u2019ve read your blog.\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019ve read your blog.\u201d
\n\u201cWe\u2019re bloggers.\u201d
\n\u201cYep.\u201d
\n\u201cJulian.\u201d
\n\u201cYes, Lana?\u201d
\n\u201cAre you really a professor?\u201d
\n\u201cI am. I profess.\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019m impressed.\u201d
\n\u201cBow down.\u201d
\n\u201cDo I have to?\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\n\u201cI like that.\u201d
\n\u201cThumbs up?\u201d
\n\u201cWay up.\u201d
\n\u201cSo, Lana, aka Amy, what do you do for fun?\u201d
\n\u201cI talk to you in FB chat.\u201d
\n\u201cSweet.\u201d
\n\u201cYou\u2019re sweet.\u201d
\n\u201cYou think?\u201d
\n\u201cTherefore, I is.\u201d
\n\u201cIs that, \u2018ah is?\u2019\u201d
\n\u201cDrawl.\u201d
\n\u201cDrawl.\u201d
\n\u201cListen, professor, I wanna hear your voice. Drawl.\u201d
\n\u201cHow the hell we gonna do that?\u201d
\n\u201cSilly. The phone. Call me at 681-347- 4780.\u201d
\n\u201cOMG.\u201d
\n\u201cIs that too much?\u201d
\n\u201cIt\u2019s a Rubicon.\u201d
\n\u201cA line to cross.\u201d
\n\u201cA river to cross. It bridges the Rimini and the Cesena.\u201d
\n\u201cMy husband is aloft in a Cessna. Does that count.\u201d
\n\u201cYou\u2019re freaking me out.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy, because I have a husband?\u201d
\n\u201cNo, because you get the homonym that is \u2018Cesena\u2019 and \u2018Cessna.\u2019\u201d
\n\u201cI get the homonym, but I also get that an aircraft is not a river.\u201d
\n\u201cI get that you get aircraft.\u201d
\n\u201cDo you fly, professor?\u201d
\n\u201cI have flown, confessor.\u201d
\n\u201cTell me about that.\u201d
\n\u201cI have had the flight obsession for a while, but I am too deaf to pass the test. I fly models, and I\u2019ve paid a CFI to take me up in a Tampico.\u201d
\n\u201cCool, prof. You match me, but my husband has a license. We fucked in the cockpit.\u201d
\n\u201cRoger that.\u201d
\n\u201cNot put off?\u201d
\n\u201cNo. Turned on. What do you expect from me?\u201d
\n\u201cHonesty.\u201d
\n\u201cThat you shall have.\u201d
\n\u201cLook. I gave you my number. That doesn\u2019t mean you have to call. No pressure.\u201d
\n\u201cI want to hear your voice as well.\u201d
\n\u201cWell then.\u201d
\n\u201cAh yes. Well then.\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019ll consider it.\u201d
\n\u201cThat\u2019s all you can do. That\u2019s all I ask,\u201d<\/p>\n
The Boxing Day chat was indeed the crossing of a Rubicon. We don\u2019t know where Caesar crossed it, but we know where these two did. It was on Facebook, between Stephens City and Parkersburg.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Lana remained in the bedroom for an inordinately long time, feeling like a scolded teenager, and resenting the feeling. Scott\u2019s dangled carrot of conciliation was just that: a carrot. He had not offered any sort of autonomy; he had only issued his usual demand in sugarcoated form. Eventually, she dressed in pajamas and went downstairs. Scott was on the sofa reading the same brochure he\u2019d been reading earlier. Nothing had changed between them, nothing had happened. If she was going to feel like a slut, she might as well do it with someone who appreciated her and spoke the King\u2019s English. She would have emailed Julian immediately, but she couldn\u2019t. \u2018Why was that?\u2019 she fumed to herself. \u2018Because my assholian husband is here, ignoring me,\u2019 she snarkily answered herself. She went looking for Tory and Mea, but they were hiding somewhere. \u201cHave you seen the cats?\u201d She asked. \u201cNope.\u201d \u201cWhy is it they disappear when you are around?\u201d Was she picking a fight? \u201cThey know I don\u2019t like them.\u201d \u201cHow do they know that?\u201d \u201cHow the fuck would I know? They\u2019re fucking cats!\u201d There, the venom in his voice was plain. If he wanted to have a knockdown drag out,…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-116","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-chapters","comments-off"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/bloggers\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/116","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/bloggers\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/bloggers\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/bloggers\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/bloggers\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=116"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/bloggers\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/116\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/bloggers\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=116"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/bloggers\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=116"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/bloggers\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=116"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}