The Long and the Short of it
A Perfect Arrangement
My relationship with my brother has always been awkward. Even though I just turned twenty-six and he’s only two years younger, we still just tolerate each other. His name is Charles, after our father. He’s always been a big-shot athlete, also after our father, which is why everyone calls my brother “Ace.” Everyone calls me “Michael,” after no one in particular.
We’re both at Sloane-Hewett University, Dad’s alma mater. This fall Ace will be a senior majoring in football, coeds, and sport management, and I’ll be finishing up my master’s thesis on the changing social mores in urban society. I plan to pursue a doctorate.
The only reason I’d consented to be my brother’s roommate temporarily—just until school begins again in the fall—was that Ace would be working days at a lumber mill, and I’d be spending my fourth summer working seven nights a week at a food-processing plant. Basically, we’d never see each other. Perfect.
Exhausted after another arduous night shift, I wanted nothing more than to grab a bite to eat and throw down a couple of
beers before bed. As soon as I set foot in the kitchen, I heard the crunch of several Cheerios under my shoe. “Damnit, Ace!” I snatched the half-full milk carton from where he’d left it on the table and returned it to the refrigerator. I made a quick check of the wall calendar: thirty-three more days until school started. It wasn’t going to be easy.
The first thing I noticed when I stepped into the bathroom was a note taped to the mirror. Notes were pretty much the only way my brother and I had communicated since we moved in together. I expected the usual: Mom phoned, or Ace needed to borrow a few bucks until payday.
Instead, Ace had scrawled, “Bro. A friend is having ex-boyfriend trouble and needs a place to stay until things blow over. I told her she could use your room since you’re not here at night anyway.” What the fuck! A postscript in pale green ink read, “Thank you so much, Michael. I won’t be any trouble. I promise. Diana.”
I crumpled the note into a tight ball. Damn. This was too thoughtless even for Ace.
Had she already moved in? Was she here now? I stormed into my bedroom, expecting . . . God knows what. Empty. I prowled the room for evidence of something nefarious if not downright disgusting. Found no sign of the intruder. That’s when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the dresser. Frowning back at me was the reflection of an angry cuckold. I felt as foolish as I looked. Okay, I’d overreacted.
I smoothed out the note on the dresser top. I felt I owed an apology to what’s-her-name . . . Diana. I know, I was projecting, but her handwriting implied a certain gentle grace and femininity.
No surprise, Ace’s note provided no information about when she’d be moving in or how long she expected to stay. And of course, that note hadn’t asked if this new arrangement was okay with me—the guy whose goddamn bedroom she’d be usurping. Not gonna happen. The best course of action would be to dash off a response explaining cordially how Ace’s plan just wouldn’t work. I’d leave the note on the bathroom mirror before I left for work in the afternoon. By then I’d have come up with an excuse why it wouldn’t. Right now, though, I was just too damned beat to deal with it.
As soon as I slid beneath the covers, I sensed something was different. For one thing, I caught just the faintest scent of orange blossom and vanilla on one of the pillows. That was new. Okay, so she already moved in. Hope she hadn’t unpacked yet. This was going to be a short visit.
The thing is, this all felt . . . well, strangely intriguing. Almost as if I were an intruder in my own bed. Even though I had no idea who this Diana was and no clue what she looked like, a mysteriously enticing sense of her enveloped me. Whenever I shifted in bed, it felt as if I were about to caress warm, smooth skin or brush against soft, silky hair.
Jesus, I needed to get out more.
When my alarm finally blasted me awake, it took me a second to reorient myself. I felt weird. Guilty somehow. Like a peeping tom or a stalker. After my shower, I packed a lunch and headed off. I decided not to leave the note.
I wasn’t much good at work that night. This inscrutable Diana kept sneaking into my thoughts. I pictured her as she awoke, pulling the covers tightly to her sleep-warm body against the cool morning air. I saw her brushing her long dark hair in front of the bedroom mirror.
Back home in the morning, I went through my normal routine. Heated a can of chili and washed it down with a beer. I decided to take a shower now instead of waiting until I woke up. Not really sleepy, but I didn’t feel like reading, surfing the net, or taking on another fruitless quest for something worth watching on television. So, in the end, I just hit the sack.
As soon as I laid my head on my pillow, there it was—the faint, enticing fragrance. Diana. I could almost feel her there, warm and soft, snuggled in beside me. Seemed fair. Since she was using my bed, I was entitled to enjoy a little of her aura. As I drifted off to sleep, I gazed into the most beautiful pale green eyes I had ever seen.
The afternoon alarm jolted me back to the real world. Admit it. I was making way too much out of nothing. I’d created an image of Diana based on penmanship and the faint scent of orange blossom and vanilla. How could I be sure this goddess I envisioned wasn’t, in the cruel light of day, a dumpy little dishwater blonde with bad teeth and a face that would frighten small children? I couldn’t. Didn’t matter. I just knew Diana was extraordinary. Come on, the evidence was all around me.
We’re both at Sloane-Hewett University, Dad’s alma mater. This fall Ace will be a senior majoring in football, coeds, and sport management, and I’ll be finishing up my master’s thesis on the changing social mores in urban society. I plan to pursue a doctorate.
The only reason I’d consented to be my brother’s roommate temporarily—just until school begins again in the fall—was that Ace would be working days at a lumber mill, and I’d be spending my fourth summer working seven nights a week at a food-processing plant. Basically, we’d never see each other. Perfect.
Exhausted after another arduous night shift, I wanted nothing more than to grab a bite to eat and throw down a couple of
beers before bed. As soon as I set foot in the kitchen, I heard the crunch of several Cheerios under my shoe. “Damnit, Ace!” I snatched the half-full milk carton from where he’d left it on the table and returned it to the refrigerator. I made a quick check of the wall calendar: thirty-three more days until school started. It wasn’t going to be easy.
The first thing I noticed when I stepped into the bathroom was a note taped to the mirror. Notes were pretty much the only way my brother and I had communicated since we moved in together. I expected the usual: Mom phoned, or Ace needed to borrow a few bucks until payday.
Instead, Ace had scrawled, “Bro. A friend is having ex-boyfriend trouble and needs a place to stay until things blow over. I told her she could use your room since you’re not here at night anyway.” What the fuck! A postscript in pale green ink read, “Thank you so much, Michael. I won’t be any trouble. I promise. Diana.”
I crumpled the note into a tight ball. Damn. This was too thoughtless even for Ace.
Had she already moved in? Was she here now? I stormed into my bedroom, expecting . . . God knows what. Empty. I prowled the room for evidence of something nefarious if not downright disgusting. Found no sign of the intruder. That’s when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the dresser. Frowning back at me was the reflection of an angry cuckold. I felt as foolish as I looked. Okay, I’d overreacted.
I smoothed out the note on the dresser top. I felt I owed an apology to what’s-her-name . . . Diana. I know, I was projecting, but her handwriting implied a certain gentle grace and femininity.
No surprise, Ace’s note provided no information about when she’d be moving in or how long she expected to stay. And of course, that note hadn’t asked if this new arrangement was okay with me—the guy whose goddamn bedroom she’d be usurping. Not gonna happen. The best course of action would be to dash off a response explaining cordially how Ace’s plan just wouldn’t work. I’d leave the note on the bathroom mirror before I left for work in the afternoon. By then I’d have come up with an excuse why it wouldn’t. Right now, though, I was just too damned beat to deal with it.
As soon as I slid beneath the covers, I sensed something was different. For one thing, I caught just the faintest scent of orange blossom and vanilla on one of the pillows. That was new. Okay, so she already moved in. Hope she hadn’t unpacked yet. This was going to be a short visit.
The thing is, this all felt . . . well, strangely intriguing. Almost as if I were an intruder in my own bed. Even though I had no idea who this Diana was and no clue what she looked like, a mysteriously enticing sense of her enveloped me. Whenever I shifted in bed, it felt as if I were about to caress warm, smooth skin or brush against soft, silky hair.
Jesus, I needed to get out more.
When my alarm finally blasted me awake, it took me a second to reorient myself. I felt weird. Guilty somehow. Like a peeping tom or a stalker. After my shower, I packed a lunch and headed off. I decided not to leave the note.
I wasn’t much good at work that night. This inscrutable Diana kept sneaking into my thoughts. I pictured her as she awoke, pulling the covers tightly to her sleep-warm body against the cool morning air. I saw her brushing her long dark hair in front of the bedroom mirror.
Back home in the morning, I went through my normal routine. Heated a can of chili and washed it down with a beer. I decided to take a shower now instead of waiting until I woke up. Not really sleepy, but I didn’t feel like reading, surfing the net, or taking on another fruitless quest for something worth watching on television. So, in the end, I just hit the sack.
As soon as I laid my head on my pillow, there it was—the faint, enticing fragrance. Diana. I could almost feel her there, warm and soft, snuggled in beside me. Seemed fair. Since she was using my bed, I was entitled to enjoy a little of her aura. As I drifted off to sleep, I gazed into the most beautiful pale green eyes I had ever seen.
The afternoon alarm jolted me back to the real world. Admit it. I was making way too much out of nothing. I’d created an image of Diana based on penmanship and the faint scent of orange blossom and vanilla. How could I be sure this goddess I envisioned wasn’t, in the cruel light of day, a dumpy little dishwater blonde with bad teeth and a face that would frighten small children? I couldn’t. Didn’t matter. I just knew Diana was extraordinary. Come on, the evidence was all around me.
###
You’d think that, after a couple of days, the newness would wear off. In fact, things got worse. I could not get Diana out of my mind. I sensed her watching me as I worked. I sought her invisible approval for everything I picked up at Food Mart. I couldn’t buy a book or a CD without first considering how Diana would react. Whenever I had breakfast after work with coworkers, I wasn’t much fun. I was too distracted. After a few days, I quit socializing altogether. I didn’t feel like asking anyone out, and, for the first time, I pretended not to notice the less-than-subtle signs of interest from girls at work. The thought of bringing another woman into our bed felt . . . I don’t know . . . adulterous.
Things became even more ridiculous at home. Everything I touched might have been handled by her, only hours—maybe minutes—before. I was never alone. Even the smallest details of my daily routine now assumed greater magnitude. I smiled and made casual gestures as if Diana could see me. A couple of times, I came very close to beginning conversations with her.
I know how it looks. I’m not crazy. And I’m not stupid. I’m acing graduate school, for Christ’s sake. But this . . . this was magical.
Early on I’d discovered a few makeup-smudged tissues in the bathroom wastebasket, but nothing since. Curious. In fact, I turned up no other physical evidence of Diana’s presence. The medicine cabinet contained none of her personal items, not even a toothbrush. A cursory search revealed nothing of hers in the bureau drawers or hanging in the closet. Was she even still staying in the apartment? It would be just like my asshole brother not to bother to tell me she’d gone. But I couldn’t leave a note quizzing him about her. If she were still here, she might see it. That could make her uncomfortable. Maybe even scare her away.
If I’d known her last name, I could have googled her, checked to see if she was on Facebook or Twitter. But all I knew was “Diana.”
The mystery remained unsolved and unsettling until the afternoon I knocked a shirt off its hanger onto the closet floor. As I leaned down to retrieve it, I noticed a small blue suitcase stashed away in the very back of the closet. It wasn’t mine.
So, this was where she kept everything. Jesus, she didn’t have to be that careful to stay out of my way. I could just imagine what Ace had told her about me. The bastard. Defying every inquisitive urge coursing through me, I left the suitcase where I found it. Oh, what mysteries it might reveal. But, hey, I’m not completely without scruples.
Problem was, with each passing hour at work I became more obsessed with the small blue suitcase. Should have seen it coming. After clocking out, I rushed home and headed straight for the closet. So much for scruples.
Hands shaking, heart pounding, I placed the suitcase carefully on the bedspread. I glanced over my shoulder, half expecting Diana or Ace, if not a SWAT team, to come charging through the door. When I pressed the clasp, it unlatched with a resounding thump. It was unlocked. Oh my God, she trusted me! And here I was about to betray her trust big-time. I promise, I’m a better person than that. Honest. But the truth was, I had to find out more about the girl in my bed. Then I’d be able to put to rest this unrelenting obsession with the woman who had tucked herself into my life. I needed a way to shatter once and for all this damn fantasy she’d created. I’d created.
A chill bolted down my spine as I raised the lid. Lightheaded, I plopped down on the bed to wait out a sudden dizzy spell, feeling like a damned pervert. Okay, I was a damned pervert. Hey, it wasn’t as if I were sneaking through backyards stealing women’s underwear off clotheslines. I just wanted . . . needed to know more about this girl who wouldn’t leave me alone.
First, I took a picture with my cell of the interior of the suitcase, so I could put everything back exactly as I found it. I eased out the soft maroon velour bathrobe and laid it on the bed, photographed it to be able to re-fold it accurately. I noticed a small, pink-and-black bag that looked like it might contain personal feminine items. It did. Next, I pulled out a couple pairs of shoes—high-heeled sandals and blue Adidas running shoes—both size seven, each nestled on opposite sides of the case. Another phone pic. I removed a pair of designer jeans. Standing, I held them up to me. I’m five ten, and given the gap between the legs of the jeans and the floor, I deduced Diane was around five six. There weren’t too many clothes—a couple of skirts, a plaid blouse and tan cotton pants (all size ten), a rust-colored pullover sweater (medium), and a navy-blue T-shirt with a white Nike swoosh across the front (XL). Probably a nightgown. Hidden away in a side pocket were a few pairs of panties in various styles (all small), and a black satiny bra (34B).
Constantly looking over my shoulder at the door to the bedroom, I put everything back precisely the way she’d packed it, matching each item to its image on my phone. Wracked with guilt, I was shaking so hard I had trouble sliding the suitcase back into its hiding place.
I felt like shit. No way around it, I had crossed a line. A line that solidified my reputation as a sleazy pervert, or worse. If someone had caught me in the act, would I be looking at jail time? But my motivations were innocent enough. Come on, who wouldn’t be curious in my situation? Besides, I wouldn’t even be in this clash between fantasy and reality if it weren’t for my thoughtless asshole brother. I was the victim here. Who could blame me for fantasizing about Diana? Besides me.
What was done was done. But now my image of Diana was so much more real. Even though I’d hoped to stifle my fantasy of her perfection, I’d found nothing to dispel my notion of her beauty or her sensuousness. In fact, I was even more convinced Diana was everything I had imagined. She had the same smooth alabaster skin, the same long shapely legs, the same striking pale green eyes, and the same luxurious, long dark hair. She was an absolute dream.
Things became even more ridiculous at home. Everything I touched might have been handled by her, only hours—maybe minutes—before. I was never alone. Even the smallest details of my daily routine now assumed greater magnitude. I smiled and made casual gestures as if Diana could see me. A couple of times, I came very close to beginning conversations with her.
I know how it looks. I’m not crazy. And I’m not stupid. I’m acing graduate school, for Christ’s sake. But this . . . this was magical.
Early on I’d discovered a few makeup-smudged tissues in the bathroom wastebasket, but nothing since. Curious. In fact, I turned up no other physical evidence of Diana’s presence. The medicine cabinet contained none of her personal items, not even a toothbrush. A cursory search revealed nothing of hers in the bureau drawers or hanging in the closet. Was she even still staying in the apartment? It would be just like my asshole brother not to bother to tell me she’d gone. But I couldn’t leave a note quizzing him about her. If she were still here, she might see it. That could make her uncomfortable. Maybe even scare her away.
If I’d known her last name, I could have googled her, checked to see if she was on Facebook or Twitter. But all I knew was “Diana.”
The mystery remained unsolved and unsettling until the afternoon I knocked a shirt off its hanger onto the closet floor. As I leaned down to retrieve it, I noticed a small blue suitcase stashed away in the very back of the closet. It wasn’t mine.
So, this was where she kept everything. Jesus, she didn’t have to be that careful to stay out of my way. I could just imagine what Ace had told her about me. The bastard. Defying every inquisitive urge coursing through me, I left the suitcase where I found it. Oh, what mysteries it might reveal. But, hey, I’m not completely without scruples.
Problem was, with each passing hour at work I became more obsessed with the small blue suitcase. Should have seen it coming. After clocking out, I rushed home and headed straight for the closet. So much for scruples.
Hands shaking, heart pounding, I placed the suitcase carefully on the bedspread. I glanced over my shoulder, half expecting Diana or Ace, if not a SWAT team, to come charging through the door. When I pressed the clasp, it unlatched with a resounding thump. It was unlocked. Oh my God, she trusted me! And here I was about to betray her trust big-time. I promise, I’m a better person than that. Honest. But the truth was, I had to find out more about the girl in my bed. Then I’d be able to put to rest this unrelenting obsession with the woman who had tucked herself into my life. I needed a way to shatter once and for all this damn fantasy she’d created. I’d created.
A chill bolted down my spine as I raised the lid. Lightheaded, I plopped down on the bed to wait out a sudden dizzy spell, feeling like a damned pervert. Okay, I was a damned pervert. Hey, it wasn’t as if I were sneaking through backyards stealing women’s underwear off clotheslines. I just wanted . . . needed to know more about this girl who wouldn’t leave me alone.
First, I took a picture with my cell of the interior of the suitcase, so I could put everything back exactly as I found it. I eased out the soft maroon velour bathrobe and laid it on the bed, photographed it to be able to re-fold it accurately. I noticed a small, pink-and-black bag that looked like it might contain personal feminine items. It did. Next, I pulled out a couple pairs of shoes—high-heeled sandals and blue Adidas running shoes—both size seven, each nestled on opposite sides of the case. Another phone pic. I removed a pair of designer jeans. Standing, I held them up to me. I’m five ten, and given the gap between the legs of the jeans and the floor, I deduced Diane was around five six. There weren’t too many clothes—a couple of skirts, a plaid blouse and tan cotton pants (all size ten), a rust-colored pullover sweater (medium), and a navy-blue T-shirt with a white Nike swoosh across the front (XL). Probably a nightgown. Hidden away in a side pocket were a few pairs of panties in various styles (all small), and a black satiny bra (34B).
Constantly looking over my shoulder at the door to the bedroom, I put everything back precisely the way she’d packed it, matching each item to its image on my phone. Wracked with guilt, I was shaking so hard I had trouble sliding the suitcase back into its hiding place.
I felt like shit. No way around it, I had crossed a line. A line that solidified my reputation as a sleazy pervert, or worse. If someone had caught me in the act, would I be looking at jail time? But my motivations were innocent enough. Come on, who wouldn’t be curious in my situation? Besides, I wouldn’t even be in this clash between fantasy and reality if it weren’t for my thoughtless asshole brother. I was the victim here. Who could blame me for fantasizing about Diana? Besides me.
What was done was done. But now my image of Diana was so much more real. Even though I’d hoped to stifle my fantasy of her perfection, I’d found nothing to dispel my notion of her beauty or her sensuousness. In fact, I was even more convinced Diana was everything I had imagined. She had the same smooth alabaster skin, the same long shapely legs, the same striking pale green eyes, and the same luxurious, long dark hair. She was an absolute dream.
###
The next afternoon, as I reached over to whack the alarm, I gave Diana an affectionate glance. Of course, she wasn’t there. Not really. The lump in my throat made it clear I was stupid, childish, and alone.
Jesus, this whole thing was getting seriously crazy. I had to do something, and soon. I’d become a lunatic lost in a ridiculous fantasy. My composure was shot. My life was turned upside down. God damn it! I slugged my pillow with a knockout punch as if it were my friggin’ brother. Or my exotic intruder. No, not Diana.
After all, she’d made a gallant effort to keep out of my way. No, she wasn’t the problem. I was. I didn’t have to get rid of the girl. I just needed to get rid of my ludicrous delusion. Prove once and for all that Diana wasn’t the picture of perfection I imagined. I needed a plan.
Then it hit me. Couldn’t be simpler. All I had to do was get a good look at her out in the real world, away from my misguided delusion. I wouldn’t even have to talk to her. I didn’t want to talk to her. Once I set eyes on the real Diana, flaws and all, I’d be able to get this preposterous image of perfection out of my head once and for all.
No point in putting it off. That morning I left work early, claiming stomach flu. I drove home, settled into a table at the window of the coffee shop across from our apartment building, and waited. I affected the casual air of a man with time on his hands.
There were a dozen apartments in the complex, and I knew several of the other tenants by sight. People drifted out, but I saw no one I didn’t recognize, beautiful or otherwise. By seven thirty I began to get a little anxious. By eight, I was shaking worse than when I’d invaded Diana’s suitcase.
I was about to shuck the whole idea, when I saw them—a couple, strolling arm in arm, out the front door. Damn. Had Diana brought some other guy—maybe her ex-boyfriend—into our apartment? Our bed? A crazed honey badger was trying to claw its way out of my stomach.
As the loving couple crossed nearer the coffee shop, I blew out a sigh. Not parties to a conspiracy of lust, just the newlyweds who’d moved in a few weeks ago downstairs. Mindy and . . . um, Alex maybe. Mindy was cute for sure, desirable even, but she was no Diana.
When Ace emerged from the building. I jerked back from the window, but he never even glanced over. He was followed by a couple of girls I didn’t recognize—a short, plump strawberry blonde and a taller one with light brown hair in an uncontrolled perm. Not what I was looking for.
By nine I began to suspect no one else was coming out. Where the hell was Diana? Was she still in there? Waiting? For me?
Striding across the street, I took the stairs two at a time. I came to an abrupt halt in front of the apartment door and waited for my breathing to return to normal. What if she had overslept and wasn’t expecting me at all? What if she was with someone? What if she wasn’t even staying here anymore? What if . . . ? Jesus, Michael, get a grip. Time to suck it up.
Easing the apartment door ajar, I heard nothing but the pounding of my heart. What now? Casually stroll in and greet her with a cheery, “Honey, I’m home”? Right. I didn’t even want her to know I’d been thinking about her, much less that we’d been . . . intimate.
But I knew the real reason I found myself stuck at the front door. I was afraid she might not be my Diana. Sure, sooner or later I’d have to face her. Just not now. I had too much to lose. I eased the door shut and shot down the stairs like an escaping felon back to my coffee-shop hideout.
After I’d eaten breakfast, downed too many cups of coffee, and walked off some of my anxiety, I finally built up the courage to go back home. As I trudged up the stairs for the second time that morning, the badger in my stomach was now doing somersaults.
The minute I crept in I knew. An echo of emptiness permeated the apartment. I stumbled into the bedroom in a trance. It remained as neat as she’d always left it. I checked the closet. No small blue suitcase. I stumbled to the bathroom to retrieve the dreaded note I knew would be there: “Dear Michael, you’ll never know how much your kindness has meant to me. It has been a very trying time for me, and I don’t know what I would have done without a place to stay. I’m sorry we never met. I would very much like to have become friends. Thank you so much. Diana.”
I took her note into the great hollow cave that was once our bedroom. It had been a “trying time” all right. She had no idea. Someday, I suppose I could ask my brother about Diana. But what a waste of time that would be. Ace wasn’t capable of knowing her like I did.
Now, finally, it was over. Surprisingly, the relief I felt almost matched my sense of loss. Never in my life had I allowed myself to stray so far from my comfort zone. I’d become some sort of deranged fanatic. But a deranged fanatic who’d learned his lesson. It would never happen again.
Exhausted, I placed her note on the bureau, let my clothes drop into a sad heap on the floor, and fell into bed like a dead man. Just as I was about to doze off, I slid my hand under the pillow where she’d so recently laid her head. Old habits. I felt something. Raising the corner of the pillow, I gingerly withdrew a long, dark strand of hair. I couldn’t help smiling as I edged closer to her side of the bed. The warmth of her body was still there. I could feel it.
Jesus, this whole thing was getting seriously crazy. I had to do something, and soon. I’d become a lunatic lost in a ridiculous fantasy. My composure was shot. My life was turned upside down. God damn it! I slugged my pillow with a knockout punch as if it were my friggin’ brother. Or my exotic intruder. No, not Diana.
After all, she’d made a gallant effort to keep out of my way. No, she wasn’t the problem. I was. I didn’t have to get rid of the girl. I just needed to get rid of my ludicrous delusion. Prove once and for all that Diana wasn’t the picture of perfection I imagined. I needed a plan.
Then it hit me. Couldn’t be simpler. All I had to do was get a good look at her out in the real world, away from my misguided delusion. I wouldn’t even have to talk to her. I didn’t want to talk to her. Once I set eyes on the real Diana, flaws and all, I’d be able to get this preposterous image of perfection out of my head once and for all.
No point in putting it off. That morning I left work early, claiming stomach flu. I drove home, settled into a table at the window of the coffee shop across from our apartment building, and waited. I affected the casual air of a man with time on his hands.
There were a dozen apartments in the complex, and I knew several of the other tenants by sight. People drifted out, but I saw no one I didn’t recognize, beautiful or otherwise. By seven thirty I began to get a little anxious. By eight, I was shaking worse than when I’d invaded Diana’s suitcase.
I was about to shuck the whole idea, when I saw them—a couple, strolling arm in arm, out the front door. Damn. Had Diana brought some other guy—maybe her ex-boyfriend—into our apartment? Our bed? A crazed honey badger was trying to claw its way out of my stomach.
As the loving couple crossed nearer the coffee shop, I blew out a sigh. Not parties to a conspiracy of lust, just the newlyweds who’d moved in a few weeks ago downstairs. Mindy and . . . um, Alex maybe. Mindy was cute for sure, desirable even, but she was no Diana.
When Ace emerged from the building. I jerked back from the window, but he never even glanced over. He was followed by a couple of girls I didn’t recognize—a short, plump strawberry blonde and a taller one with light brown hair in an uncontrolled perm. Not what I was looking for.
By nine I began to suspect no one else was coming out. Where the hell was Diana? Was she still in there? Waiting? For me?
Striding across the street, I took the stairs two at a time. I came to an abrupt halt in front of the apartment door and waited for my breathing to return to normal. What if she had overslept and wasn’t expecting me at all? What if she was with someone? What if she wasn’t even staying here anymore? What if . . . ? Jesus, Michael, get a grip. Time to suck it up.
Easing the apartment door ajar, I heard nothing but the pounding of my heart. What now? Casually stroll in and greet her with a cheery, “Honey, I’m home”? Right. I didn’t even want her to know I’d been thinking about her, much less that we’d been . . . intimate.
But I knew the real reason I found myself stuck at the front door. I was afraid she might not be my Diana. Sure, sooner or later I’d have to face her. Just not now. I had too much to lose. I eased the door shut and shot down the stairs like an escaping felon back to my coffee-shop hideout.
After I’d eaten breakfast, downed too many cups of coffee, and walked off some of my anxiety, I finally built up the courage to go back home. As I trudged up the stairs for the second time that morning, the badger in my stomach was now doing somersaults.
The minute I crept in I knew. An echo of emptiness permeated the apartment. I stumbled into the bedroom in a trance. It remained as neat as she’d always left it. I checked the closet. No small blue suitcase. I stumbled to the bathroom to retrieve the dreaded note I knew would be there: “Dear Michael, you’ll never know how much your kindness has meant to me. It has been a very trying time for me, and I don’t know what I would have done without a place to stay. I’m sorry we never met. I would very much like to have become friends. Thank you so much. Diana.”
I took her note into the great hollow cave that was once our bedroom. It had been a “trying time” all right. She had no idea. Someday, I suppose I could ask my brother about Diana. But what a waste of time that would be. Ace wasn’t capable of knowing her like I did.
Now, finally, it was over. Surprisingly, the relief I felt almost matched my sense of loss. Never in my life had I allowed myself to stray so far from my comfort zone. I’d become some sort of deranged fanatic. But a deranged fanatic who’d learned his lesson. It would never happen again.
Exhausted, I placed her note on the bureau, let my clothes drop into a sad heap on the floor, and fell into bed like a dead man. Just as I was about to doze off, I slid my hand under the pillow where she’d so recently laid her head. Old habits. I felt something. Raising the corner of the pillow, I gingerly withdrew a long, dark strand of hair. I couldn’t help smiling as I edged closer to her side of the bed. The warmth of her body was still there. I could feel it.