"He drinks a whiskey drink; he drinks a vodka drink; he drinks a lager drink; he drinks a cider drink"

Monday, March 7
Steve's office (continued)

"Can you modify what Landon wrote?"

"It's probably written in Powerbuilder. Yeah, I guess we could do something."

"Call Marty in customer service and have him show you what he's doing to modify those files so you know what you're fixing."

He nods.

"Get back to me by tomorrow morning with the status."

"It's gonna take longer than that-"

"You don't have to be finished. You just have to give me the STATUS!"

"I'll get right on that, Steve." He walks out.

"Denise, call Jersey and find out how we get those policies transferred out there."

"But that's gonna take a lot of work, Steve. We'd have to-"

"Just CALL them and find out how to get started! If there's 100 things that need to get done, bring me the list of 100 things."

"OK, Steve." She starts to walk out.

"Denise?"

She turns around.

"I really hope I don't have to remind you about this again."

**********

Tuesday, March 8, 6:30pm
Steve's house

Tonight I am praising the Lord. Lord Calvert, that is. For the past three nights, I have been getting loaded earlier and earlier. Today, I actually entertained the thought of going out for a drink at lunchtime.

I knew it would only be a matter of time. The Burn is back.

I did a lot of drinking between my senior year of high school and my first year of college. For a while, I was getting loaded every day. And one day, I felt it, and it would be a long time before it left.

It was in a very specific spot, two inches below my solar plexus. It felt.... hot, like I swallowed a hunk of coal which then began burning with a deep red glow.

The Burn varied between being almost undetectable and being unbearably painful. But it was always there, gnawing away at me like a pesky child, or a phone that won't stop ringing.

It made me angry, The Burn. Or, I should say, angrier. It wore at me relentlessly, as if it were never going to stop until I was dead or insane. Between that, and my sexual frustration, I was constantly on edge. I snapped at everyone who looked at me the wrong way.

Now, sitting here in my computer chair, watching porn, The Burn has returned. I am fifty pounds lighter, and 16 years older and wiser. I've come a long way since my high school days, and somehow, The Burn has still found me. Have I grown at all? Have I changed? Or am I the same loser I was at 18?

**********

Wednesday, March 9, 12:15pm
Steve's car

I'm on my way to Circuit City to pick up a DVD. I turn left off the main road and take a shortcut down a narrow side street lined with cars.

A pickup truck is coming towards me. There's enough room for both of us, but just barely, and we're both going to have to hug our respective sides of the road to be able to pass each other.

He leaves a good three feet between him and the cars, so that I, even with my tiny little two-seater, can't pass. What an asshole.

Then I watch, incredulous, as he starts flailing his hands in the air animatedly. At ME! Obviously, he wanted me to pull over to the side of the road so he could get through. His mouth moves rapidly, like an angry character in a silent movie.

The Burn flares angrily, radiating a wall of heat, like an old-style Italian brick oven. Anger consumes me, so that I can barely sit still. I pull over a few feet and roll my window down; as he passes by, he turns fully to face me, shaking his head slowly side to side, the sides of his mouth curled in disugust. He's an otherwise sedate-looking, middle-aged man with granny glasses.

"Maybe if you stayed on your own FUCKING side of the road, you wouldn't have these problems!" I shout.

He rolls his window down. "I was there first! When I get there first, you pull over to the side!"

"You were there FIRST? What, is this your road now? Funny, I don't see your name on it anywhere!" I stick my head out the window and look left and right with exaggerated, theatrical movements. "Nope! Doesn't say COCKSUCKER anywhere!"

"Go to hell, asshole."

"FUCK you! If you knew how to drive that piece of shit, we BOTH could have passed!"

He's shaking his head at me again, like a disappointed teacher. "You're not-" he begins.

"FUCK YOU COCKSUCKER! If you're gonna pass me, fucking pass me. And if you wanna get your ass kicked, then get the FUCK outta the car!"

He drives off.

Pretty sure that wasn't in the driver's ed manual.

"I'm crackin' skulls"

"Listen, Denise. I know you'll handle the training issue of getting your employees to return phone calls when they should. I'm more worried how this happened in the first place."

"Well, he paid the premiums, but they didn't get posted to his account."

"Obviously." I'm getting even angrier now. "But how did that happen?"

"Steve, most of our policyholders remit payments to our payment center in New Jersey. But there is a small group of mabye 12 or 15 policyholders who send their payments here. To this office."

"To THIS office?!"

"Right. As I understand it, this has to do with our acquisitions. At one time, we were going to process all payments for our own cusomers here, and then transmit the information directly to home office."

"And it was a failed experiment, basically."

"Right."

"I thought we offloaded all those to Jersey. YEARS ago!"

"Well, we did, except for these."

"Why?"

"I.... I don't know, Steve."

SNAP! My pencil breaks between my fingers. I hate the sound of those words. I'd rather hear silence.

"HOW are we transmitting the information for these 12 to home office?"

"There's a program... the programmers made it. Someone types in the amounts and it creates a file and then we send the file to New Jersey over the internet."

"Encrypted, I hope."

"Hm? What does that mean?"

"Who made the program? What programmer?"

"I- I- I'm not sure."

I close my eyes. I am very close to cracking right now. I suppose most of this is not her fault, but she happens to be the unlucky one who's in front of me.

"Is there a report that gets generated when these payments are keyed?"

"They open the file and print it out in notepad, I think."

"You THINK?"

"Well, they have to modify the file anyway, so it's no extra work."

"What do you MEAN, they have to modify the file?"

"The amounts come out wrong, and they have to be corrected manually."

"They come out WRONG!?!"

"Steve, it's been like that since before I got here-"

"GO get me a copy of the latest file!!" I shout. "Bonnie, get Pat from IT in here!" Denise dashes from the room.

A minute passes.

"Steve, I've got Paul from IT. He says Pat isn't in the office."

"Put him through!"

"Paul. Where's Pat," I bark into the phone.

"He's smo-.... he's on a break."

"Go down and get him. Tell him I want him up here five minutes ago!"

"But Steve, he's all the way down in the courtyard-"

"Just GO!!"

Denise re-appears in the doorway, reports in hand. "Call extension 238. That's Marty, who processes the payments that go to New Jersey."

I dial.

"This is Marty."

"Marty, tell Steve about how the corrections that have to be made to that payment file for New Jersey."

"What this program is doing," he begins slowly, as if caressing each word with his lips, "is it's taking the payment amount from employee A, and applying it to employee B, so that I have to manually enter the file that is created and edit the various amounts that are being inserted into the file. All except for the payment amount for the first employee, which is getting dropped altogether-"

"So everybody has the amount of the person ahead of them."

"Right. And I correct them manually."

"Thank you Marty."

Click.

"Does IT know about this.... bug?"

"I told them about it, and nothing got done," Denise says.

"You know what that is, Denise? That's an EXCUSE. That's BUCK-PASSING."

"Steve-"

"So you told IT, and they did nothing, and you just FORGOT about it? What if your house was on fire, and you called 911, and no one showed up? Would you go shopping?"

She goes pale and stares at me, wide-eyed.

"Call Dom. Call me. And if you don't hear anything, call us again. And if WE don't do anything, call the CEO. But I'll tell you right now, you DIDN'T call me. And I'd bet money that you didn't call Dom either. So I DON'T wanna hear that no one's helping you!" My voice is getting louder.

"There's a REASON I have an open-door policy here. It's for all of YOU, to help you solve your problems. But it's also for ME, so I don't have to listen to NONSENSE."

"Steve, I have a LOT going on here. I don't think you appreciate how much-"

"So it's on your things to do list?"

"It fell between the chairs!"

"It's been this way for YEARS!!"

Pat appears in my doorway, stinking of cigarette smoke.

Jesus, man, did you get any in your lungs?

"What did I miss?" Pat says.

"Are you familiar with an application that customer service uses to send payments to New Jersey?"

"Sounds familiar."

"Who wrote it?"

Please don't say Landon. Please don't say Landon. Please don't say Landon.

"Landon."


STAY TUNED TOMORROW..... I MAY POST AGAIN TO GET CAUGHT UP.....

Pinning my needle

I have dealt with my share of angry customers over the years. I actually find it easier to deal with them when they are screaming, for some reason; I think it might be because I know I can just hang up on them if they get too far out of hand and be totally justified in doing so. I've never had to hang up on a customer that I can recall, however.

"I'm listening," I say.

"I have been with your company for 27 years. TWENTY-SEVEN years!" he shouts. I turn the volume on my phone way down, and can still hear him loud and clear. "I pay my bills every single month..."

It's a failure on the part of our customer service department that the call has made it to my desk. For someone to be so out of sorts that he calls and asks for the person who runs the entire office, he must either be a chronic malcontent, or feeling completely ignored.

I don't mind taking a difficult call. I already get two or three a day, from agents, mostly. What makes me grind my teeth and snap pencils is that I am wasting time doing someone else's job. Definitely gotta get the customer service people up here right away to find out what is happening.

I mute the call. "Bonnie, get Denise from customer service up here. If she's in a meeting, get her out." If I'm going to have to take time out of my schedule to resolve this, so is she.

"....and then I get this goddamn notice of cancellation! Why am I getting this? What is this? What is it, Steve?"

"Albert, I understand you wanted to speak to someone in charge, and I'm happy to help you, but you have to understand that I'm not close to customer service issues, so it's gonna take me some time to get up to speed."

"I don't care about that! I want an answer!"

"Albert, just out of curiosity, have you spoken to customer service on this one?"

"Those people never return my damn calls!"

"So the last time you called was when?"

Pause. "IIIIII.... don't know. My wife called, I think. She's not home now."

This guy's full of shit. He went straight to me without even calling customer service first.

Denise bursts into my office, two manilla folders in hand.

"Albert, Denise has just joined me. She's our head of customer service."

"Hi, Albert, how are you today?"

I cringe. The worst thing you can do with an angry phone caller is ask them how they are. You already KNOW how they are: They're awful. And asking them about it just gives them the opportunity to tell you. Again.

"I'll be better once you tell me what you're doing with my money. I just read where your CEO got a huge bonus. Maybe THAT'S where all my money's goin'!"

Well, yeah, he does make an obscene salary, but he comes up with great lines, like 'What have you learned today?'!

"Albert, I did research this matter, and I found that you left a message in our service center voice mailbox at 6:15 last night, asking for resolution on a policy cancellation. One of my employees has been working on that for you. Our policy on cancellation notices is that the customer service rep is supposed to call you with a status immediately upon taking responsibility for the issue. That didn't happen, obviously, and for that I'd like to apologize, Albert."

Denise did four good things there: One, she went off on a long speech, which tends to calm things down; two, she used his name (twice); three, she apologized; and four, she explained what happened without making excuses or trying to pass the buck.

"Yeah? And what does that mean for me? Do I have insurance on my car or NOT?!"

Her voice remains even and calm. "We did find that you made all your payments timely, so I am faxing a reinstatment request to home office to make sure that coverage is reinstated immediately."

"I want confirmation that it was done!"

"Yes, of course, Albert. I'll fax that to you as soon as I get it back, if you have a fax machine. Otherwise, I will overnight that to you."

"Today?"

"I hope so. As soon as I get it, you'll get it."

"I want this resolved today," Albert says, noticeably less angry.

"I'll tell you what: If I don't hear from them by 4:30, I'll call for a status and get back to you."

Damn, she is good.

"Yeah, fine," Albert grumbles.

We end the call. Immediately, now that the crisis has passed, anger courses hotly through my body, rising from my feet up, like an advancing tide of molten lava.

You might be surprised that I wasn't more angry with Albert, but really, how could I be? He's a customer; he's paying for service, and he didn't get it. He got a very ominous-sounding letter in the mail, and when he called and left a message, he didn't get a call back. I'd be pissed too.

I can understand Albert's point of view. I am not sure I understand my own company's.

"Steve, I can explain," Denise says. "He left that message, and-"

"Denise. I understand. First of all, you did a great job with that call. I want you to know that."

"Thank you, Steve!"

Don't thank me too much, honey, cause the shit's about to hit the fan.

If I'm self-medicating, do I still need a prescription?

Sunday, March 6, 2005
Steve's house

What a fucking let-down.

Steph was exactly right about me. I need parameters. I need information. I need to know when she's going to call, and what her decision is going to be. In short, I need to know everything that she is unable to tell me.

The only thing worse than not having Stephanie anymore is not knowing whether I'm going to be with her or not. If I'm going to get dumped, I want to know right away, so the healing can begin. But instead, I'm in a sort of relationship limbo. It's like having a noose tied around my neck, and then watching as the executioners argue about whether to kick the chair out from under me.

Back in the day, my coping mechanism was simple: Fuck. Happy? Fuck. Sad? Fuck. Depressed? Hapless? Hopeless? Neutral? Fuck.

Of course, now I can't do that. Sure, physically I could, but I'm still with Steph, at least technically, so seeking out any kind of female companionship is out of the question. But now that I can't go out and hook up with some big-chested, long-haired hottie, I need to find some other way to soothe my anxiety.

It's almost instinctive. Open cupboard. Put water glass on counter. Open fridge. Unscrew top from Absolut bottle. Fill glass 1/3 of the way. Replace Absolut bottle in fridge. Grab two-liter Sprite bottle (I don't have any tonic water). Fill glass the rest of the way. Down glass contents quickly. Repeat.

I sit on the couch and watch the first season of "The Brady Bunch" on DVD. That show was a hell of a lot harder to stomach before Marsha grew tits.

The Absolut bottle is almost empty. I lean my head back against the couch, the heavy glass hanging loosely in my hand, and close my eyes. It's 9:00pm.

I wake up the next morning at 6:00, in the exact same position.

**********

Monday, March 7
Steve's office

I'm not hung over, but I'm in a very bad mood today. I really just want to be left alone. Around here, that is fucking impossible.

"Bonnie, I'm gonna be very busy today. If it's not urgent, get rid of them."

"OK, Steve. Steve?"

"Hm?"

"Is everything ok? You look upset."

"Everything's fine."

We both know it's bullshit.

1:30pm

"Steve?"

"Yes, Bonnie."

"I have a gentleman named Albert on the phone. He says he needs to speak to you, and no one else."

Me and no one else? Must be an irate customer. That is ALL I fucking need today.

"Policyholder?"

"Yeah. Steve, I tried to help him, several times, but he won't even give me information. He says he has to speak to the guy in charge."

"OK, put him through."

"Are you sure? I told him you were on a conference call. I could take his number for you?"

"It's ok, send him back."

My phone rings. "This is Steve."

"NOW LISTEN TO ME!" an apoplectic voice screams.

Too bad the vodka wore off.

7 days: depression and anguish. 14 days: carpal tunnel syndrome

Steph pulls her coat on and follows me back out the door. The room goes deathly quiet.

We stand at the top of the steps. She kisses my cheek.

My CHEEK?

"Steve, thank you so much for what you did. I really appeciate it." Her eyebrows arch; her lips pout. "You are so sweet."

Why do I suddenly feel like the guy on The Bachelorette who doesn't get the final rose?

She sighs deeply, watching the passing traffic. I want to ask her what's wrong, or ask her what she's trying to say, or a million other things. But I want to hear exactly what's on her mind without interference from me.

"This- still doesn't feel right to me."

"Meaning?"

"It feels like we're back to normal. We're talking on the phone every day, and you're doing nice things for me..."

Yeah, pretty much what I was going for, sweetheart.

"And?"

"I'm not ready to be back to normal yet."

So much for not caring how much time she needs. It amazes me how none of the little mind-fucks that worked so completely on other girls do anything to Steph.

"You're not?"

"I feel like such a... bitch for this. I feel like I'm making a big deal over nothing. But I just can't... I don't... I can't go back to normal right now."

"You're not making a big deal over nothing."

"That's what it feels like."

"So what is it that you need?"

"I TOLD you what I need. I asked you for time."

"You also told me I could call you the next day."

"Well, I think maybe you shouldn't call for awhile."

"So you're breaking up with me at Kevin's house."

"I'm NOT breaking up with you! I'm telling you I need time. And I've already TOLD you that once before, Steve!"

"You told everybody else too, evidently."

"I told ELENA. She opened her big mouth."

It wasn't supposed to go this way. Not at all. This is starting to sound very discouraging all of a sudden. Usually, when I get a kiss-off like this one, I never hear from the girl again. Usually I don't care. In fact, usually it's a relief.

Not so today. Today, I desperately want to ask her how much time, or when I can expect to hear from her. I want to know our fate as a couple. Shit - at this point, I'll settle for Vegas odds.

"When you say I shouldn't call for awhile..."

"I know you are a detail person. I know you want to know how much time I need, and I just ... can't tell you. I don't know! And I know that's not good enough for you, and I would understand if you... couldn't wait for me..."

"What does that mean, Steph? What does that mean, you understand if I can't wait for you? What are you saying?"

"Nothing! I just... know that you need... parameters."

"You think I'm just gonna walk away? Because you need time? Is that what you WANT?!"

"No! Of course not! But I don't know how much time I need! It could be a week, it could be a month. I don't KNOW!"

"Well, I'm pretty insulted that you think I would just walk away because of that."

"Well I didn't MEAN any insult!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

We both turn slowly and stare at the speeding cars.

"I don't wanna fight," she says finally.

"Yeah, we shouldn't, 'cause I guess this is goodbye for a while."

"Don't be mad."

"That's easier said than done."

"I feel terrible. I feel like I'm punishing you, and I'm not! I just need to process."

"OK."

"I'll call you when I'm... ready."

"Do you promise?"

"YES! Of course I promise, Steve!"

"Seriously."

"I AM serious! Ste-eve! Why are you saying this?"

"No matter what you decide, just promise you'll call me."

"I promise."

I THOUGHT that cold cream smelled funny...

Sunday, March 6, 2005, 3:15pm
Steve's house

I've got her now. She's starting to relax.

Another week or two, and this will be ancient history. And I've learned my lesson, too.

My phone rings. It's a local exchange, but I don't recognize the number.

"Hello?"

"Steven?"

"Yes."

"You don't know me, but my name is Carly. I go to school with your girlfr- with Stephanie."

Nice slip-up, honey.

I guess this means that Steph is blabbing to all her study group friends about what a prick I am. Or, possibly, about what a nice guy I am for helping her out this morning.

"Yeah, I've heard your name. Hi, Carly."

"Listen, I hate to put you out, but could I ask you a HUGE favor?"

"What's that?"

"Well, I have to get to the train station. I have a family emergency at home, and I don't have a car right now, and we're JUST starting to make some progress here and nobody really wants to take a break, so Steph suggested I call you."

"Are you going to to the station by ninety-five?"

"Yeah. Is that a problem? If it's a problem, I can call a cab, I just don't have my car-"

"It's fine, Carly. I'll give you a ride."

"You are AWESOME, Steven!"

"Call me Steve."

I hear a door creak open, followed by a whistling wind and the rumble of passing cars. Why is she going outside now?

"I'm about 20 minutes out, Carly."

"No problem. Listen. I know what happened with you and Steph," she says, her voice shrinking to a whisper.

"Oh, really? Is that why you stopped yourself from calling her my girlfriend?"

She laughs. "Sorry."

"So she told all you guys?"

"Not all. She told Elena, because she wanted some advice. And it was such a grey area that Elena couldn't make up her mind, so she asked two guys in our group, and they have big mouths, so they told us."

"So what does everyone think?"

"Well, the guys all think it was de minimus. And they think you were an idiot for admitting it. Do you know what de minimus means?"

"It means it's so insignificant that it's not even worth mentioning."

"Right. The guys think she should appreciate your honesty and forget it ever happened."

"And the girls?"

"Elena says you are a really great guy, and very successful and motivated, but you have issues. She thinks you guys should just take it slow for a while."

"You mean like, non-exclusive dating?"

"Either that, or just not seeing each other as much."

"Uh-huh."

"She says it's not enough to break up with you, but she thinks Steph ought to be very careful and take it slow for now to see how you behave."

"And what about you, Carly?"

Long pause. "If I tell you, you're not gonna give me a ride to the train."

"You think she should break up with me."

"Well, I mean, it's just that you have such a history, Steve."

"Thanks for your honesty."

"I mean, I hope it works out for you two! Don't get me wrong! As a matter of fact, I think she wants to see you."

"Why do you say that?"

"Why else would she suggest that I call you for a ride? There's a lot of other people I could have called. She SO wants to see you."

"Really."

"She keeps saying how sweet it was of you to do her laundry."

"OK. Be inside the house when I get there, and I'll just kinda come in."

"OK! Bye!"

**********

3:50pm, Steph's study group
Kevin's home

There are six students in Steph's group; each one takes turns hosting study sessions. Whenever Steph is hosting, she begs me to come over and help her clean up, so that people actually have a place to sit. Of course, her idea of "cleaning" is picking up dirty clothes, cramming them into a tiny closet, and forcing the door shut. But I digress.

Today is Kevin's turn to host study group. He lives in a small, nondescript, boxy home along a main downtown thoroughfare.

I walk up to the front door and turn the knob. I tap on it with my knuckles as it opens. "Hello?"

Six haggard law students look up at me simulateously, their faces long and droopy, like runny watercolor paintings. It impresses me that they have enough motiviation to put up with this kind of pressure, week in and week out. They obviously care about their chosen profession very deeply. Either that, or they really love money.

"Steve!" a couple of them say. I've met them all a few times before.

"I heard there were free Doritos up here!" I say.

"We got rice cakes and Triscuits," Kevin says.

"And smiley fries," another guy says. Everyone laughs.

"We ate your smiley fries," Steph says. I look at her. Her hair is twisted into a sloppy bun with a pencil through it, and she's got dark circles under her eyes. She still looks sick to me.

"How were they?"

"They were good, but Kevin puts vinegar on his, which I find disgusting." The girls make squeamish faces.

"That's the only way it tastes good!" Kevin protests.

"Hey, I heard you're a good house cleaner! Maybe I can hire you to clean my place," Elena says. Chuckles fill the room.

"We'll talk," I say, smirking.

"If you can clean up Steph's place, you can clean anything," Elena says. Five heads nod.

"You need a biohazard suit in that place," Carly says. Laughter.

"My favorite was when I opened her refrigerator and found her toothbrush in there," I say.

Steph rolls her eyes; the other five stare at me with quizzical looks.

"It made me wonder where the bean dip wound up that day," I say.

They laugh uproariously.

"Thanks so much for the ride, Steven," Carly says, rising from her chair and flipping her backpack over her shoulder.

"Actually, do you have to leave right now?" Steph says, getting up.

"I have time," Carly says, raising her eyebrows at me.

Steph pulls her coat on. "Steve, can I talk to you for a minute outside?"

Wasn't I supposed to come down the chimney?

Sunday, March 6, 2005, 8:00am
Steph's apartment

Steph is never late for study group, so I know she'll be gone already. Sure enough, I pull into the parking lot and her car is nowhere to be seen.

I let myself into her apartment and I'm overwhelmed by a hot wave of panic.

The place is a fucking disaster.

Most slobs I know have some hint of order: The dirty clothes are stacked, mountain-like, on the bedroom floor; the dirty dishes grow mold spores in a big pile in the sink. Their houses are a mess, yes, but their sloppiness is more due to laziness than disorganization.

MOST slobs are that way. Not so with Steph.

Dirty clothes pollute every vacant area of her house. Bras hang over chairbacks; pants are piled on the floor of her closet; balled-up socks have come to rest underneath the kitchen table and along the baseboards like white cotton tumbleweeds. There is no sense of order whatsoever, and that realization sends my heart rate to the moon.

I feel my jaw clenching with anxiety; my hands curl into sweaty fists. I have to get started cleaning up, before angina sets in.

There's a laundry basket (completely empty, of course) in Steph's room; I grab it and flit around the house, snapping up white clothes.

Just as I expected, the dryer is full of clothes. I fold them and put them away, then make a huge pile of dark laundry in Steph's room while waiting for the washer to finish.

I throw the whites in the dryer, start a dark load, hop in my car, and dash to the supermarket. It's about 10 after nine.

I speed up and down the aisles, stocking up on the bare essentials (bread, cold cuts, milk, cereal). Steph is big on "convenience food": If it's in a can, or frozen, and she can wolf it down in 12 seconds with a book in her free hand, she'll eat it. The problem is, a lot of that kind of food is unhealthy, so I hope I can get her to eat something slightly more nutritious.

Is it me, or am I starting to sound like someone's mother?

10:15. I'm back at Steph's place and the groceries are put away.

I put away the whites and hang up the darks. I open the fridge to get a drink, and almost gag from the smell of rancid ..... something.

I clean out her fridge, throwing away spoiled leftovers. There's almost nothing left.

Now it's after 11:00. I better wrap this up.

I write a little note and leave it on the kitchen table:

Dear Steph,

I know how much of a nuisance chores can when you are overwhelmed with work, so I did some laundry for you (darks are hanging up, everything else is put away) and went shopping for a few things. I also cleaned out your fridge, so the old food wouldn't eat the new food...

The receipt is in the bag on the table in case you want to see what I bought - I also left a few things in there that I thought you might like...

Good luck studying - I know you will do great.

S.

In the bag on the table, I leave a bag of frozen smiley fries (try them!), smiley Spaghettios, smiley cookies, and about 8 or 9 smiley gumballs from a vending machine. Let's see her pout her way through THAT!

I'm not trying to woo her now. She knows how I feel, and hitting her over the head with it will only make her feel pressured. I'm just trying to show her I can be there when she needs me.

By 11:20, I'm on the road downtown to do some errands.

**********

1:00pm
Steve's house

There's a message on my answering machine.

"Hi Steve, it's Stephanie.." Long pause.

"Thank you so much.. that was really sweet. I'll - well, gimme a call on my cell later."

Don't mind if I do...

"Somehow I think I smell the whiff of a scheme"

Saturday, March 5, 2005, 9:30pm
Steve's house

I have to be very careful.

I can't push her too hard, especially since she told me she needs time. I have to let her know that I am worthy of her, while giving her the time she needs to process what is going on.

In the past, I never really had relationship trouble, because whenever there was even the slightest problem, I hauled ass. This is going to be hard; it's an area in which I have basically no experience.

I dial her number. I know I'm going to get her answering machine. I'll just say a quick goodnight and hang up. That will let her know I am thinking of her, and that I lived up to my word.

"Hello?"

"Steph?"

"Yeah."

"What are you doing home?"

"I live here."

"No! I thought you were studying."

"We decided to break for the night. We weren't getting anywhere together and sometimes it helps if we split up."

"Ahh. Well, I guess I'll let you get back to it."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"What's that?"

"What did you mean when you said you were only gonna apologize once? What was that about?"

"That was about me only wanting to apologize once."

"Why?"

"I didn't want to get into a rut where I'm apologizing every five minutes for the same mistake."

"Why do you think you're gonna apologize every five minutes?"

"It's just that some guys get into that endless loop where they start... grovelling."

"So what's that got to do with you?"

"I don't want to do that."

"So if you don't want to do it, don't. Why mention it to me?"

Ah, fuck. I am in the crosshairs now. I am never going to talk my way out of this; I'll be dogmeat by the time she's through with me.

"I-"

"I mean, really, Steve. I started thinking about that yesterday, and it made me very angry. Don't you think that was pretty arrogant of you?" she asks, her voice rising.

"No, I don't find honesty very arrogant."

"You know what I mean. If you don't want to apologize more than once, don't do it. The only reason you would say something like that to me is out of arrogance. Like you think I'm going to try to take advantage of it or something."

"You're reading into it, Steph."

"Of COURSE I'm reading into it! Why wouldn't I?"

"It's not that big a deal. It's just that some guys-"

"YOU'RE not 'some guys'! 'Some guys' have nothing to do with you. So why say it?"

"Steph, you've already thought about this ten times more than I ever did."

"Obviously."

Like I said. Dogmeat.

"You made your point, Steph."

There's a long silence. The quiet makes me realize how loud the argument had just gotten.

"I'm sorry I yelled," she says softly.

"But you're only saying it once, right?"

She chuckles softly. "Shut up."

"Well, I just wanted to say goodnight. What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Studying all friggin' day. We have so many cases for Monday and we're not nearly ready."

"That's tough."

"I have to be there at 7:30 in the morning."

"Really?!"

"I think I'm gonna come home for lunch so I can do some laundry and go shopping."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. There's nothing to eat around here. And nothing clean to wear, so..."

"Just remember what Sinbad said."

"What's that?"

"Make two piles: 'Dirty' and 'funky'. And 'dirty' you can wear again." We laugh.

"So what're you doing tomorrow? Working I guess?"

"Oh yeah. Budget revisions galore. Tonight too."

"Well, don't work too hard."

"You too!" I say, earnestly.

"Call me tomorrow night on my cell."

"Same time?"

"Yeah."

"Ok.... have a good night, Steph."

"You too babe."

Ari Fleischer, eat your heart out

Friday, March 4, 2005, 3:00pm
Stephanie's school - lounge

My stomach gurgles and burns as we pay for our coffee. I know that, in just a minute, we'll sit on one of the couches that are scattered around the room, and I'll find out if I still have a girlfriend or not.

She doesn't even sip her coffee; she just sits there, staring at the floor, for what seems like an hour.

"First of all, I want you to know I really appreciate you being honest with me. I know that's what we said we would do."

I nod.

"But of course, that doesn't excuse what you did."

"I know."

"I don't understand, Steve. I really don't. How could you?" she asks, her eyes tearing up.

"I was stupid."

"No, you weren't. You aren't stupid. You're not a stupid person! That's why part of me wants to think that you.... wanted this somehow. Or that you're sabotaging us intentionally."

"Sabotaging us?"

"Yeah! Like, you don't feel you're ready, or part of you doesn't want this, and you're trying to... sabotage it."

"No! Of course not!"

"I get so confused with you, Steve. I mean, you can be the sweetest guy I have ever met, and then you can be... a monster."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you can do what you did for me on Christmas, or on Valentine's Day, and those were some of the sweetest things that anyone has ever done for me, ever. And then you can do what you did to that guy at work, where you made him sweat it out for a full day before you talked to him-"

"Steph! That's work! It's not personal!"

"I know, but I can't even believe that you would be capable of that. How could you DO such a thing?"

I don't answer.

"How could you cheat on someone you love? How could you sleep with so many different women?"

Oh, that's easy. You just douse yourself in cologne, and then you walk around like an arrogant son of a bitch...

"Steph, the first time, the girl at corporate, we weren't exclusive, and the second time-"

"Just the fact that you have a first time and a second time ought to tell you something. You've got a long history. That's very intimidating."

"And the fact that you cheated on your boyfriend with me the first night? That's not intimidating?"

"You were with someone too. I haven't been with anyone since. You have; three times."

Touche. I should have known I wasn't going to get away with that one.

"The sweet person who gave me all those flowers couldn't do what you did. I just don't understand how you can be one person one minute, and another person the next minute."

"It's not as cut and dry as you are making it sound, Steph."

"Yes it IS!"

"It ISN'T! I'm making big changes in my life. I didn't get this way overnight, and it wasn't going to change overnight."

"That's my whole problem. Steve, I love you dearly, but how do I know this won't happen again? That's the real question. How do I know?"

I pause. She's hit it right on the head, of course. How CAN she trust me now?

"I just feel like... that's not a fair question."

"Not FAIR?"

"Not because you don't deserve to know, Steph. You totally deserve to know. But it's like asking me to prove that it's not going to rain tomorrow. I can go out and find 10 different forecasts calling for sunshine. But a forecast is just a guess, right? So I haven't really PROVEN that it's not going to rain."

"And it's proving the negative," she says, quietly.

"Which is impossible."

You know what? I think that round went to your old pal Stevo!

"No matter what happens, Steph, thank you for spending so much time with me, and thank you for helping me through some tough times. I just want you to know that I take responsibility for what I did, and I don't blame you in any way. This isn't your fault; it's all mine."

"But there must be something wrong, something that made you-"

"No. You've been the best girlfriend that a guy could ask for. If there's any problem, it's probably that deep down inside I don't feel like I deserve you."

She blinks longingly, searching my face, like she always does, and it occurs to me that after today, I may never see her do that again.

"I just want you to know that I learned something about myself. And you learned something too."

"I did?"

I nod. "I learned that ... I have a conscience. I have a sense of right and wrong now. After what happened, I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep. It bothered me. That may not sound like a big deal to you at all. But for me, that is huge. I've never felt that way before, never. I'm just sorry I had to find out the way I did. And it makes me happy to know that I have grown that way, but it scares me, too."

"Why does it scare you?"

"Because letting your guard down means you can get hurt."

"I know that," she says, rolling her eyes.

"And YOU learned something too."

"What?"

"You learned that no matter what happens, I am going to be totally honest with you. If there was any doubt, it should be gone now."

"But that's not a guarantee that you won't do something cruel. Again."

Hey! Are we back on this point?

"Sweetheart. There's no such THING as a guarantee like that," I say.

"There's no such thing as a cure for cancer. But a lot of people still need one desperately."

I pause for a long time and ponder those words. If I ever write a book, I'm gonna work that in somehow. Truly profound.

So much for Steve winning one.

"Steph, I KNOW we can do this. Don't throw away what we have. I LOVE you!"

She closes her eyes and sighs visibly, as if steeling herself for something painful. It's like my words are affecting her against her will.

"I'm gonna need time, Steve. I would understand if you told me that - that was unacceptable to you."

The first impulse you get when you hear something like that is to ask, "how long?" But don't ever do it! You don't CARE how long she thinks she needs; your job is to make it as brief as possible.

"Can I call you tomorrow?"

"ToMORrow?"

"Just to say goodnight?"

"Call me at home at 9:30."

She'll be at study group at 9:30. If I call her at home, I'll get her machine.

I guess it's better than nothing.

I.M.U.I.

Thursday, March 3, 11:45pm
IM'ing with Cathy


Cathy: what happened

Steve: i confessed that i kissed another girl

Steve: she got very pissed off, told me to get the hell out

Cathy: uh huh

Steve: i said listen to me cause i am gonna say this one time

Steve: i am really, really sorry

Steve: and she said, just get out i will call you tomorrow

Steve: Well I am sure you are busy

Steve: and i am fucking loaded

Cathy: youre drunk?

Steve: tru dat

Steve: i like to refer to it as "inebriated"

Cathy: why?

Steve: because i am fucking depressed bruski

Steve: i fucked up and she is going to dump me

Steve: so whatever - i will go back to fucking bimbos that i
meet in bars

Steve: I will fuck them good and hard and then blog about it and teenage boys around the world will whack off in front of their monitors

Cathy: NO

Steve: why? Obviously i cannot handle a grown up relationship

Cathy: :-/

Steve: this sux

Cathy: i know it

Steve: whatever - if she is gonna be a fucking bitch

Steve: i am not gonna beg her

Steve: NFW

Steve: i'd rather be alone

Steve: all i did was kiss her now she is gonna make a federal
fucking case out of it

Steve: i'm serious, i'm not even sweating her anymore

Steve: fuck it

Cathy: are you kidding me?!

Steve: NO

Steve: if she calls she calls

Steve: i'm not gonna fucking chase her like a little candy ass

Cathy: you cheated on her

Cathy: she has a right to be pissed off

Cathy: am I wrong?

Steve: fine so she can be pissed off

Steve: she can tell me 1,000 times what a fuckup i am, how
disappointed she is in me

Steve: then everyone who reads my blog will tell me how
disappointed they are, and everyone will be soooo fucking
disappointed in steve

Steve: so fuck everyone, how's that

Steve: if i'm such a fuckup, leave me alone

Cathy: :-/

Cathy: ok..

Steve: i'm just sayin ;)

Cathy: :-(

Steve: she just makes me mad sometimes

Cathy: well you shouldnt cheat on her steve


Mar 4, 2005 - 12:33am


Cathy: hi

Steve: hey

Cathy: have you cooled off now

Steve: a little

Cathy: dont let people get you down

Cathy: but i dont want to hear you tell me youre going back to
fucking dumb sluts

Cathy: you should see me as a product of getting fucked over,
this is what happens when you do this shit to people

Cathy: thats why i dont understand how you can still do it,
you know?

Cathy: thats what confuses me

Steve: i kissed some other girl

Steve: and ran away like a candyass because i felt guilty

Steve: so obviously i am learning

Steve: because 5 months ago i would have fucked her silly and
not even thought about it

Cathy: i know, we've been talking for a long time now and i've
noticed a change in you

Steve: you see i am telling her what i did

Steve: honestly how many guys are out there confessing to
that petty bullshit

Cathy: you are a good guy

Cathy: i think you just have to find the right girl

Cathy: and maybe you just havent found her yet

Steve: why have i not found the right girl

Steve: just because i kissed someone else

Steve: i was perfectly happy

Steve: i just let it go too far

Cathy: when you find the right girl, you wont have urges to do
things with other girls

Steve: seriously bruski i don't think you understand

Cathy: i guess I dont

Cathy: :-/

Cathy: so help me

Steve: who is a guy you really like

Steve: brad pitt?

Cathy: lol

Cathy: sure brad pitt

Steve: so you think he is very hot

Cathy: sure

Steve: even if you are with another guy you like him

Cathy: hes a celebrity

Cathy: i dont like him

Steve: so if he was standing right in front of you and you
were smelling his cologne and seeing his blue eyes and hard pecs
you'd be crushing on him

Cathy: i just think hes hot

Steve: and you'd be wondering how far he would go

Steve: wanting to find out what it would be like, being curious

Cathy: if im with someone, I dont have urges to be with
someone else

Steve: i didn't have an urge

Steve: it was like curiosity

Steve: wanting to see what she was going to do

Steve: what was going to happen

Steve: like i was watching a tv show

Steve: and being flattered that she wanted me so much

Cathy: but then you have to think about steph whos in it for
the long run

Steve: i am too!

Cathy: not this tim girl whos just lookin for some excitement

Steve: i know

Steve: i ain't looking to hook up with her

Steve: dating wise

Cathy: thats not the point

Steve: the point is, i was supposed to stay away from tim

Cathy: and you didnt

Steve: and not go there

Steve: but now it's too late

Steve: because steph will never forgive me and i won't have
another chance

Cathy: didnt you think about that before you did all this?

Steve: did all what?

Cathy: there are consequences to all your actions

Steve: kissed her for 5 seconds?

Cathy: its still cheating

Steve: i know i know

Cathy: I dont know what to say stevie

Steve: i don't either

Steve: cause if that is the case i should have fucked her
brains out

Cathy: not the attitude to have

Steve: if i was gonna be punished anyway

Cathy: steph has right to be mad

Steve: what the hell is the diff

Cathy: how would you feel if she kissed other guys

Steve: i dunno

Cathy: it wouldnt feel good

Steve: i know

Steve: but i would want her to tell me just like i told her

Cathy: put yourself in her shoes

Steve: i did not have to tell her

Steve: and i said that

Cathy: then you would have been dishonest

Cathy: youre making it seem like it was an honor that you
actually even told her about it

Steve: mmmm

Steve: i know

Steve: sigh

Cathy: i shouldnt be lecturing you

Steve: no you shouldn't

Steve: i was just gonna ream you out for that

Cathy: what?

Steve: for lecturing

Cathy: oh

Steve: well i think i am learning my lessons and i think i
can be a really great bf

Steve: i hope she gives me another chance because i love her
very much

Cathy: tell her that

Steve: but if she does not i might just turn into george clooney

Cathy: please dont do that!

Steve: why not? he seems happy

Steve: oh man i was being mean to you

Steve: holy shit

Cathy: when?

Steve: i was going off

Cathy: its ok

Steve: look at this

Steve: then everyone who reads my blog will tell me how disappointed they are, and everyone will be soooo fucking disappointed in steve Steve: so fuck everyone, how's that
Steve: if i'm such a fuckup, leave me alone

Steve: god damn man

Cathy: its ok!

Cathy: you were venting

Cathy: you've had a tough week

Steve: damn man

Steve: i know i was wrong, but i just get very angry because
i feel like i have made progress and that does not count for
anything at all

Cathy: you have made progress

Cathy: im so proud of you

Steve: but it's almost like, you are just an asshole steve

Steve: and that's that

Steve: thank you for saying that *sniff*

Steve: you are so sweet

Cathy: seriously steve if I didnt care about you I wouldnt waste my time talking to you

Cathy: i love talking to you

Cathy: i look forward to it everyday

Steve: me too

Cathy: if I thought you were an asshole I wouldnt lecture you

Steve: i am sorry i was mean before, i was pretty nasty

Cathy: its ok

Cathy: you have a right to be mad

Steve: i just go off

Steve: i am not used to this shit

Cathy: i know

Steve: maybe i will just chill out and not worry

Cathy: she needs time to think about things

Cathy: you'd want time if you were her too

Steve: i know

Cathy: and i think you need to stop drinking and get some sleep

Steve: can't sleep

Steve: i'll tell you what she says

Steve: if she calls

Cathy: ok :)

Cathy: I would say call me but im an ass and lost my cell

Steve: s'ok

Cathy: alright cutie

Cathy: im off to bed

Steve: smooches

Cathy: hugs

Bless me Steph, for I have sinned

Thursday, March 3, 2005
Steve's office

I have good and bad moments.

I'll crack a good joke, and make Bonnie laugh, or have a warm, friendly phone conversation with someone I've not spoken to in a while, and I'll feel light and buoyant. I can do this, I'll think, and I'll resolve to keep my computer-repair escapades to myself. It's no big deal, I'll tell myself. It was just a kiss, and a half-ass kiss at that. After everything I've done, it doesn't even amount to a blip on the sexual radar screen. In a week, it will be forgotten. Maybe less than a week.

The bad moments sneak up on me. I'll be leaving a voice mail message, or typing an e-mail, and my mouth will lock open, or my fingers will stop tapping keys, and suddenly I'll be watching That Movie again.

It's a movie that I've seen 47 times. At this point, it no longer just annoys me: Now, it makes me feel a little crazy. I can't change the channel, move my head, or avert my eyes; I'm being forced to watch, like Malcolm McDowell in A Clockwork Orange. I find myself clenching my jaw, racked with anxiety, as I wonder why I can't shake the guilt over having betrayed Steph.

Steph hates Dom. They'll never be friends, especially since Dom is not even much of a friend to ME right now. And if she's not going to associate with Dom, she'll probably never get to know Tim, and even if she does, Tim is not the type to talk about what happened. I'M certainly not going to open my mouth about it, either, so that means that in all likelihood, Steph will never hear about it through the chain of gossip.

I keep thinking back to the talk Steph and I had on Thanksgiving day, when we both promised to tell each other everything, even if it might hurt. I've been consciencious about doing that, telling her about Holly, and about the auditor chick from PWC. I put up with a lot of gut-wrenching cross-examination as a result of doing so, too, and my reward is the knowledge that I have no secrets whatsoever. But everything that I have done up to now will be for naught if I hide this.

I'm not in love with Tim. I don't even particularly like her. I find her very attractive, and obviously I did not give in to my carnal desires for her. She isn't any kind of a threat to what Steph and I have. By the same token, though, I am sure Stephanie would want to know about something like this. She SAID so!

I feel like I let her down by kissing Tim, and that I would be letting her down again by not telling her.

I have to tell her.

**********

8:30pm
Steve's car, driving to Stephanie's house

I need to accomplish four things today:

1. A full confession of everything that happened, so that details never need to be rehashed again;
2. A reminder of why I am telling her (i.e., that we had an agreement and I am sticking to it);
3. Apologize. I also need to make it clear that I won't be apologizing again for this; and,
4. Tell her I love her.

One mistake that some guys make is that every time an issue like this comes up, they apologize again, and pretty soon they are begging her forgiveness, grovelling like a spineless wimp. I am going to tell her that I am sorry, and I am going to say it ONCE. And she'd better remember, because I am not repeating it.

I sit in her driveway for almost a full minute, playing out the various scenarios in my mind. She knows about Dom and Lila; that is almost certainly going to come up. She'll be angry; she might tell me to leave. I'd say that's fairly likely, in fact. She'll probably ask me why, or maybe just make a lot of broken-hearted comments about how shitty I made her feel.

My job is to focus on the four tasks I listed above. I will hear her out, but as soon as she starts making the same point three and four times, that will be my cue to leave.

This is almost certainly going to go badly. She might break up with me, or want to take a break for a while. I have made my decision to tell her, and I am convinced it's right, so I am prepared to deal with the consequences.

I promise myself that, if she does dump me, I will treat myself to something nice. Maybe I'll fly out west to visit my old junior high school buddy, or go hang out with Paulie and his friends for a few days. And yeah, I'm sure there are a few girls out there I haven't screwed yet, so there's that, too.

Here goes nothing.

I open her door. She is sitting up on the couch in sweats, still looking a little thin and pale, but better than she did on Sunday. She smiles up at me. "Hi, honey!!" she chirps.

She's got sore-looking little red patches around her nostrils. Wadded-up tissues litter the floor under the couch. I look down at them, grinding my teeth.

"I know, I know, I'll pick them up," she says, "Mister ANAL!"

She walks over and hugs me tightly, then kisses me, slowly and softly. "I missed you," she whispers.

"Steph, I have to talk to you."

She pulls away and sits down on a kitchen chair, looking concerned. "What's wrong?"

I sit down across from her and look at her eyes.

"On Thanksgiving day, we made a promise that we were going to tell each other everything, no matter what."

She closes her eyes and sighs deeply, then opens them, staring at me with a hard, angry face. "Who was it, Steve?"

"I kissed another girl."

"Who?"

"Tim."

"Dom's girlfriend?"

"Yeah."

"Why are you kissing Dom's girlfriend?"

"I went over there to fix her computer. There was a little flirting going on, and it just got out of hand for a second."

"A SECOND?"

"Steph, I kissed her for, like, FIVE seconds."

"You just kissed her and left." she says, cynically.

"I ran out of there. I felt terrible."

"What, you didn't feel her up?"

"I think my thumb brushed against her boob," I say, curling my lip and waving a hand dismissively.

She shakes her head. "Every time I think I can trust you, Steve..."

"Well, I didn't expect you to be happy about it."

"Do you mean to tell me this is just a coincidence? That Dom has sex with Lila, and then you're kissing his girlfriend? You're still hung up on Lila!"

"No, I'm NOT!"

"Yes you ARE!" she shouts.

"It's NOT about Lila. It's about me being STUPID. For FIVE SECONDS!"

"So it didn't mean anything," she sneers, sarcastically.

"No, of course not. Steph, you know I love you."

She crosses to the couch and flings herself down, grabbing the remote.

"I knew you'd be pissed, but I had to live up to my promise."

"Yeah, you're such a sweet guy," she says, her voice dripping with irony.

"Steph, I-"

"Get the hell out."

"I want you to listen to me, because I'm not gonna say this again."

She looks at me through narrowed eyes.

"I'm really. Really. Sorry." I say, softly.

"Whatever." She's turning away from me before I'm even done saying it.

She stares at the TV, flipping channels with the remote held straight out in front of her, as if warding off evil spirits.

I hope guilt is not a cover hog

Friday, February 25, 9:30pm
Steve's house

"How are you?"

"I'm still sick."

"Your voice sounds all scratchy."

"I was talking all day today in study group."

"Ah."

"Would you mind terribly if I didn't come over tonight?"

"No."

It's actually a relief. I don't know if I could face her. Would she know? Would there be some telltale look on my face to give me away? Would the corner of my mouth curl up in a way it's never done before? Would my eyes narrow cynically? Would my brows furrow just a bit more, making me look like someone else?

"I just have to get rid of this flu. I've been sick for a week."

Yeah, you have. And I haven't had any that whole time.

"Yeah..."

"Are you ok?" she says.

"Yeah, fine."

"You keep giving me these one-word answers. Are you doing something?" she asks.

"No, I'm just tired. And I have a lot of work to do."

"OK, well I'll come see you tomorrow. I promise."

**********

Guilt is new for me.

It feels like when I got a cavity filled for the first time. Sure, I had had needles before. Though they hurt, and they were scary, they were something I knew. But a big, long, horror-movie needle? In my mouth? It was a new kind of pain, a new kind of fear. The unfamiliarity made it much worse.

There's a twenty-something couple in line in front of me at Dunkin' Donuts, giggling as they lean towards each other, their foreheads almost touching. They probably fucked all night, then slept in late, then rolled out of bed and decided to go for a nice, leisurely morning-after cup of coffee. Those two don't have a care in the world. THAT guy is truly in love. HE never would have looked at another girl. HE wouldn't have cheated.

There's an old, fat guy at the hardware store with his old, fat wife. He could never be unfaithful, could he? He wouldn't have it in him. The thought would never cross his mind. Sure, he probably notices hot young girls like all of us do, but if one ever came on to him, he'd look at her strangely and move away, as if she were nuts to even think such a thing.

I think about Jim Belushi from According to Jim. Every week, he gets into a different mess, a new, madcap, funny series of mishaps. But underneath it all, he's a good man. At the end of the day, he sleeps fine, because he's a good husband who would never do anything to hurt his wife. And why would he? She is beautiful and perfect and loves him very much, just like Steph loves me.

She does love me a lot. And I let her down. Maybe I am not cut out for a relationship. Maybe this just wasn't meant to be, and I should break up with her to spare her the pain I am inevitably going to put her through.

**********

Sunday, February 27, 7:00pm
Steve's house

I don't like Sunday nights. My body knows that the weekend is almost over, and tries desperately to squeeze out the last bit of rest before it's Monday again. I feel lazy and lethargic; all I want to do is lay down on the couch and flip channels until I fade off to sleep.

Steph arrives. She looks horrible.

She's thin and pale, with bags under her eyes.

"Steph! You look like you haven't slept in a week!"

"I'm so tired. I think I did too much."

"Do you want some coffee?"

"No."

"OJ?"

"No."

"Chicken soup?"

"uh-uh. I just wanna sit down."

"Have you seen a doctor about this?"

"I will tomorrow."

She plops herself on the couch and her eyes immediately slide shut.

"Steph. Come on. I'm gonna have you lay down in bed."

She follows me upstairs and into the bedroom, kicking off her sneaker clogs and rubbing her eyes. She climbs into bed and I pull the covers up to her chin. She looks like she's asleep already.

"Good night." I kiss her forehead. She doesn't answer.

I turn off the light and head silently for the door.

"Sweetie?" she says, weakly.

"Hm?"

"Will you please cuddle with me?"

I climb into bed and hug her from behind. She drifts off to sleep, silently and smoothly, the way a hot air balloon sails out of sight.

She snores softly, and then it's just me and my guilt.

Gas bubbles and long division

Wednesday, February 23, 9:30am
Steve's office

"Did you say something to Lila about her and me?"

"Did I have anything to say?"

"Seriously. Did you?"

"I am serious. You should have just told me instead of beating around the bush, Dom."

"What, do I need your permission to have sex now," he asks with a sarcastic smile.

"With her? Yeah, it would have been nice."

His face turns hard. He actually looks angry, for the first time since I've known him.

"I don't work that way," he sneers, through squinted eyes.

"Good. Neither do I."

We stare at each other for a long moment. We both know what I am talking about. Or WHO. We both understand that Dom is not the only person who can fuck somebody else's girl.

"I'll keep that in mind, Steve."

"You DO that."

He storms out.

**********

Friday, February 25th, 8:45pm
Steve's car

I've just fled Tim's place, and I am driving way too fast across the winding roads to my house. But no matter how hard I push the pedal, I can't get away from myself.

I should have left earlier. I should never have gone at all. I knew exactly what she wanted, and instead of avoiding it, I INVITED it.

My ego was bruised. I admit it. I was deeply hurt that Lila did that to me, and that Dom did too. It bothered me very much that both of them were so inconsiderate of me that they were capable of .... fucking.

I wanted to hurt Dom the way he hurt me. I wanted to prove to him that I could take something away from him just like he took something from me. And I wanted to show Lila that she wasn't the only curvaceous, long-haired young hottie on the eastern seaboard.

Stupid? Petty? Juvenile? Beneath me? Yeah, agreed. I never claimed to be perfect, folks. Far from it.

Yes, I knew I was making a mistake. Deep down, I didn't want to fuck her. There was guilt inside me, buried under the semi-digested blob of chicken parmagiana. It floated through the mess like a gas bubble, but it took time.

No, I didn't have sex with Tim. But I came closer than I should have. I thought I was beyond this type of shit. But, like when we were together, Lila is an exception to the rule.

I am reminded of the long division problems I used to do in school. The example at the top of the page was always something simple, like 240 divided by 20, and I'd understand the concept perfectly.

I'd cruise through the first couple of problems without even slowing down. Then, I'd get to the bottom of the page, to that last row of problems, and freeze in my tracks, finding myself face-to-face with 1289 divided by 37, or 2746 divided by 94. Suddenly, I'd realize that I wasn't nearly as good as I thought I was. I wasn't the math prodigy that I felt like a few minutes earlier; I was just a school kid, struggling like all the others in my class.

Cherise from new year's eve? No problem. Marissa from Angelo's restaurant? A joke. I never seriously entertained trying to seduce either one of them. I was the star student, ruining the curve for everyone.

Then I hit that last row of long division problems. Lila.

Just like that, I was Old Steve, womanizing, plotting, scheming, inconsiderate, selfish Steve, and for a moment, every single thing I had learned was completely forgotten. I was shamelessly punching numbers into my calculator, convinced that I would never be good enough to figure out the answers myself.

I somehow stopped myself from going all the way, and for that I am very proud. I am sure that Stephanie would not see things that way, but I'm not going to tell her.

Am I?

Saved by the bell - again

"I'm not shaking."

"You are! You're SHAKING! I'll get you a blanket."

She gets up and walks to a hall closet. I stand up. Maybe it's time to go.

She comes back with a neatly-folded, green knitted quilt. She tosses it on the couch. "Where you goin'?"

"I think I gotta-"

She brings her face to mine, her big blue eyes staring intensely at me. I feel her hot breath against my mouth; I see her flawless nose, her smooth, creamy skin, all in ultra-tight closeup, like a fish-eye camera lens.

I marvel at her big, round breasts, the curvy slope of her buttocks, the firm, toned arms inside the tight sleeves of her blue T-shirt. She is completely sexy, completely beautiful, completely uninhibited. Could I manage this? Could I fuck her and compartmentalize the whole thing, so that I never feel guilty?

One doesn't have opportunities like this every day. Even for someone as constantly on the make as I was, there are very few Tim's in this world. She piques my sense of adventure. She's a moutain that I need to climb, just to satisfy the curiosity of what it would feel like when I get to the top.

But I love Stephanie. That chapter of my life, the slutty chapter, is over. I don't want to mess up what I have, because what I have means a lot to me. I'm growing up; I don't want to slip now.

I have to fuck her. And I have to turn her down. What will I do?

WHAT WILL I DO?

We kiss voraciously. Her tongue slithers into my mouth, smooth and slippery. My hand finds its way to the side of her waist; my thumb bumps up against the bottom of her right breast. It feels like an hour has gone by, but the whole thing took no more than five seconds.

She pulls away, smiling devilishly. "What the hell TOOK you so long?" She pulls at the drawstring on her sweats. I catch a glimpse of her thong.

"I-"

"I want your face in between my tits," she breathes, rubbing her hands across my back, looking me up and down. "I want you to lick my pussy. I want-"

Her phone rings.

My laptop. Where the fuck is my laptop?

I look furiously around the room.

RRRRRING!

"What are you looking for?"

"My laptop."

"What? Why?"

RRRRRRING!

"Tim. I gotta go."

"WHAT?!" she says, snapping her tongue loudly.

"I love her."

RRRRRRING!

"Aaargh!" she growls, snatching her phone from its cradle. "HELLO!"

I dash across the room and grab my laptop, cramming it hastily into the carrying case. Then I rush out the door like a nerdy 8th grader who's late for class.

I don't think I'm going to tell Stephanie.

Mr. Fix-it

Friday, February 25, 6:30pm
Tim's apartment

I love fixing computers. I love installing and deinstalling software and updating settings. I love taking computers apart and adding components. I love cleaning up spyware and adware and clearing recycle bins. I love it so much because, unlike the rest of my life, a computer problem is usually very well-defined, and there's no mistaking when it's solved. Overall, computers are a hell of a lot easier to deal with than people.

I show up at Tim's door like a doctor making a house call, with my laptop bag in hand. I always bring my laptop when fixing someone's computer, along with a book of CD's, a set of small screwdrivers, and a penlight. Sure, I am a dork at heart, but this really relaxes me.

Tim answers the door in a dark blue ribbed T-shirt. The sleeves are a little too long, and she grips them in her palms, Jennifer Love Hewitt-style.

"Heyyy, baby!" she says, flinging her arms around me. Her shirt rides up, briefly flashing her midsection.

She presses her mouth against mine and holds it there for an endless moment. I watch as her eyelids slide gently closed.

There's no lip-kneading, and there's no tongue involved. But it's not a friendly peck, either. We're definitely in a grey area, and I have a feeling that this won't be the last time we will be tonight.

She pulls away suddenly and bounds to the kitchen. "You want a drink," she asks, smiling coquettishly over her shoulder.

"Sure."

"All I have is water and Sprite. Sorry!"

"Water's fine."

She hands me a bottle of Evian, smiling cheerily up at me.

I look her up and down. She's wearing light blue sweatpants with the drawstring tied neatly in a bow. The legs flare out just slightly at the bottom, exposing her bare feet and - gulp - red-painted toenails. Her light blonde hair is pulled over one shoulder and hangs down almost to her breast.

I feel my pulse quicken. She is completely beautiful, even when scrubbed out.

"...to turn it on today, but it was acting really funny..."

"Huh?"

"My computer?"

"Yeah, yeah, it was acting funny?"

"Mmm-hmm. Can I show you?" she says, tilting her head at me.

"Yeah, sure."

Her PC is a disaster. There are so many Internet Explorer windows open that the icons don't fit on her toolbar. Pop-ups are everywhere.

"I'm gonna go check on dinner. You have fun!"

"Yeah, I'm gonna need a while here."

"I hope you like chicken parm, 'cause that's what I'm making."

"That's awesome!"

"I want you to know I went shopping for you," she says, holding up a huge salad bowl. I see romaine lettuce, cherry tomatoes, and croutons, among other things.

"Tim! You didn't have to go to all that trouble."

"Anything for my bay-beeee," she says sweetly, touching her chin flirtatiously to her shoulder.

I start by unplugging her cable modem. With the flow of new popups stopped, the system speeds up a little right away. I deinstall 6 or 7 spyware applications from the "add/remove programs" menu and reboot. Then I install AdAware and SpyBot (burned them onto a CD at home, so I wouldn't have to download them) and run them both.

AdAware found over 400 problem files; SpyBot found 120 more. Each program needed to reboot and run again to catch everything. I look at my watch. Forty-five minutes have passed.

"Dinner's ready!"

I come to the table. "This looks awesome!"

"I like cooking."

"Do you cook for Dom quite a bit?"

"Mm-mm," she says, shaking her head and looking down at her plate. She's uncomfortable now.

She rarely ever mentions Dom to me. When she and I are talking, or together, it's almost like neither of us knows him.

She reminds me of myself when I was with Lila. Yes, I was with Lila, and no, I usually didn't hide it. But when there was someone else I had my eye on, I removed all references of Lila from the conversation, George Orwell-style. It made it seem like I wasn't dating her, even though I was.

Tim is careful not to allude in any way to the twisted mess of broken hearts and shattered friendships that might result if we hook up. She acts as if there is nothing standing in our way, like this would be the simplest thing in the world. Just like I used to act.

I have to admit that, to a certain extent, it works. When I look at her warm, inviting smile, I find myself saying, What the hell? Why not? SHE sure as hell wouldn't blab to anyone, and neither would I. I could fuck her, couldn't I, and then pack up my laptop and leave, like some character in a bad porn movie. I can almost see the blurb on the outside of the box: "They're horny housewives with PC's on the blink, and HIS hard drive is never floppy!"

This isn't about Dom. Or Lila. It's about hedonism. It's about having a beautiful woman in front of me, a woman who is willing, and about me struggling to remember all the reasons why this is a mistake. This is a TEST.

Dinner is awesome. Everything is delicious, and we talk and laugh the whole time. It feels just like we are on a date. We are really clicking (this is right about the time that Jerry would ask the girl to marry him, by the way).

Tim walks up behind me and reaches over to grab my empty plate. Her boob is an inch away from my face. I try not to look, but I feel myself getting hard. My heart throbs in my chest. She freezes for what seems like an eternity.

"Thanks! Everything was really good," I say, turning around to look at her. I actually have to lean my head back to see around her tit.

"You're welcome," she whispers. She leans over and kisses me again. It's another pseudo-makeout: No tongue, no mashing. I feel her her lips against mine, thick, warm, and slippery, and I know I am losing control.

She pulls away from me. My cock throbs painfully as I imagine myself tearing her excessively-long-sleeved T-shirt from her body, exposing her two firm melons. My hands are shaking; my lungs scream for air as if I've just run a mile. If she kisses me that way again, I honestly don't know if I'll be able to hold back.

"Go fix my computer," she says.

I install and run HiJackThis and post the log to a couple of techie forums on the web, but I've been using HJT long enough that I know what can be safely deleted. I get rid of 10 or 15 more troublesome files, plug the modem back in, and reboot. No pop-ups.

"You're a lot better now," I say.

"Good." She pats the seat next to her. "Come sit! I'm watching American Idol!"

"On a Friday?"

"I taped it."

I'll watch for ten minutes, then I'm gone, I think.

I sit next to her on the couch, leaving a good 12 inches between us. Immediately, she puts her legs in my lap. "Ooooh, this girl is so good!" she says, as Carrie Underwood takes the stage. (I DEFINITELY wouldn't mind nailing Carrie, by the way). Again, it's a brilliant play-off: It's like she puts her legs in guys' laps every day.

I could get up and leave right now. I probably should. But it's like I am outside my body, watching the two of us as if we were actors in a movie. I can't wait to see what happens. I can't wait to see if I am able to resist temptation.

Could it be this easy to slip up? After everything Steph and I have been through together? As much as I care about her? Could I be this close to cheating? What the fuck is wrong with me?

"You're shaking," she says.

Breaking all ties

Tuesday, February 22, 3:00pm
Steve's office

Might as well get this over with.

I close my door and buzz Bonnie. "I'm gonna be on a personal call for about a half hour."

"OK, Steve."

It almost certainly won't be that long, but I prefer to underpromise and overdeliver.

I dial Lila's number. It occurs to me that this will be the last time I ever do.

"Hello?"

"Hi."

"Hi."

Long pause. "Lila, I'm gonna ask you something, and I want you to be very honest with me."

Silence.

"OK?"

"Yeah," she says softly.

"Did you have sex with Dom?"

Silence.

"Hello?"

"WHAT!"

"I'm asking you a question!"

"You don't care. You don't give a shit about me. All you care about is your fucking girlfriend!"

"Then why am I calling you? Why am I asking you?"

"Because you're fucking jealous. Good!"

"That's mature, Lila."

"FUCK. YOU."

"All I did was ask you a question. Why are you getting all pissy?"

"Because you make me MAD!!"

"Why? Because I won't get back together with you after you drunk dial me?"

Silence.

"I really hope you didn't think I was gonna come running back to you after you fucked Dom."

"Maybe I don't WANT you back."

"Fair enough."

"Maybe I DID fuck Dom. And maybe his DICK is bigger than yours!"

"Just answer me. DID you do it or not?"

"No."

Time to pull out the big guns.

"I know you did. He already told me, Lila." Of course, he didn't, but I need to find out what really happened. Oh yeah, and I've probably just cock-blocked him with Lila for the rest of his life. He he he....

She whimpers softly. "I feel like such a fucking slut."

"I can't fucking believe you. You hurt me so much, Lila. I TOLD you how much it would hurt me, and then-"

"STOP! I feel guilty enough!" she says through her tears.

"Lila, don't ever speak to me again. I'm serious."

"Maybe I'll just fucking kill myself. Then I won't annoy you anymore."

"Don't be an idiot, Lila."

"FINE. WHATEVER. GO TO HELL!" she screams, sobbing.

Click.

Beware: Slippery slope ahead

"How are you, Tim?"

"Good! What a nice surprise! Why are you calling me on a Monday morning?"

"Do I need a reason?"

"Nooo....I was hoping-"

"Hoping what?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me that your girlfriend was outta town and you wanted to shack up for a few days."

I laugh. "No, sorry. So are you working?"

"Not really. I don't have too many projects lately. I think I have to do some advertising."

"You do graphic design, right? On the computer?"

"Yeah."

"Do you do tri-fold brochures?"

"Sure! I do lots of those!"

"We may need some for our telemarketing group. Can I have somebody call you with specs?"

"Sure! THANK you, Steve!"

"No problem."

"Hey!"

"What?"

"You fix computers, right?"

"Sometimes. When I have spare time."

"Well, my computer at home is alll screwed up. I boot it up, and it takes, like, a half hour to get started! And I get a zillion of those pop-ups."

"Oh yeah, sounds like a hard-core spyware infection. I guess you've been downloading too much porn."

She laughs. "So, can you take the spyware out?"

"It would take time. I could do it."

"How much do you charge?"

"If it's a friend, nothing."

"What if it's NOT a friend?"

"I don't charge anything specific. If they offer me money, I don't turn it down."

"So if I offer you something, you won't turn it down?"

I pause. "You are BAD."

She giggles.

"Anyway, I could take a look at it for you if you want. " I take out my BlackBerry. "How 'bout Friday?"

"K."

"7:30?"

"Make it 6:30, and I'll make you dinner."

"Ok, cool!"

What the hell did I just agree to?

To hell with The Code

Monday, February 21, 2005
Steve's office
(continued)

"FLIRTING with you?"

"Yeah! I ran into her at Doc's. She kept asking me these loaded questions, like about whether or not I was seeing anybody and stuff like that."

That son of a bitch, I think. He's fucking her!

First of all, Doc's is a ghost town on a Sunday night. NO one hangs out there on Sundays, except married guys who are cheating on their wives and don't want to get caught. There is no chance they ran into each other accidentally; one of them called the other to arrange it. And if I had to guess, I'd say it was Lila.

She is the one who asked what I would do if she screwed one of my friends. And she is the one who has been unable to get over our breakup, drunk dialing me too many times to count.

Sure, Dom could have called her, but that's not his style. If Dom wants to get laid, he goes to a bar and hits on blonde girls; he doesn't scroll through his Palm Pilot for old phone numbers.

No, this was Lila calling Dom, and Dom agreeing to meet her. And if Dom went through the whole process of getting dressed, shaving, and hosing himself down with cologne, he did it for a reason. He did it to get laid. Dom doesn't mess around when it comes to sex. He's a lot less patient than I am.

"Steve! Steve?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry, Dom. I was just thinking, I never got that 1096 I was looking for from payroll."

"Ahhh."

"So how did you leave off with her?"

He shrugs. "You know, we just talked for a while, that's about it," he says, averting his eyes. The fucker can't even look at me.

"How serious WERE you two, really?"

I look up at the ceiling. "Pretty."

"But you've got your future wife now, right? So it was all for the best," he says gently, with a sly smile.

"I'm very happy. I'm very lucky," I say, nodding.

"Yes you are." He winks at me and leaves.

I know what he is doing. He's introducing the idea that he might be nailing Lila, and he's gauging my reaction. He's trying to see if I'll freak out if he fucks her. But I don't delude myself into thinking that he had the chance to see that gorgeous body naked and turned her down just so he could speak to me about it. Personally, I think he's already fucked her, and now he's worried about what might happen if I find out. He probably figures she's going to tell me, and he's worried about the Guy Code.

Fuck the guy code. I never gave a damn about it, and I'm not starting now. When I make decisions pertaining to my personal relationships, I make them based on common sense, and on what I would want someone to do for me if the situation were reversed. I don't make them based on a set of rules that some asshole came up with 50 years ago in a dark corner of a VFW after drinking too many Pabst Blue Ribbons.

I don't chew with my mouth open or fart at the dinner table, but I don't do those things because they would probably make the person next to me throw up. I don't do them because it would be inconsiderate, not because Emily Post said so in some book she wrote. Who died and made her the queen of manners? What authority does she have to tell me what to do?

It's even worse with the guy code. Exactly who wrote it? Is it even written down anywhere? If so, where? No one really knows.

The end result is that, whenever a guy does something that another guy disapproves of, the disapproving guy whips out the "Oh man, that's against the guy code" bullshit. How does HE know? Does he carry it around in book form, like Robert's Rules of Order?

Having said all that, I think I am very fair when it comes to situations like this. If a girl has dated one of my friends, I usually don't pursue her. I don't even ask the guy his permission, because that puts him in the awkward position of having to say that he DOES mind if I go after her, and then he feels like a pussy. Sometimes a guy will come to me and say, "Hey, Steve, she really wants you - you should go for it." THEN I'd probably go after her. But I conduct myself this way because it makes sense, and because it's how I would want to be treated; not because it's written in some ridiculous "code".

I keep thinking about what I would do if I were single and the situation were reversed. What if my boss broke up with a smoking hot, horny 18-year-old, and what if she were basically delivering her boner-inducing womanhood to me like a curbside waitress at Applebee's? What if it were a sure thing, a slam-dunk, and what if my boss were already with someone else, someone who he loved very much? And finally, what if my boss were just a casual acquaintance, not really a true friend?

I know EXACTLY what I would do. I would fuck her brains out. And I would worry about the consequences later. So I can't exactly blame Dom for doing the same thing, can I?

It all makes sense to me, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. There's a burning in the pit of my stomach as I think about the two of them, facing each other on bar stools, her squeezing a piece of ice between her succulent lips, just like she used to do with me, and her tapping his foot with hers, just like she used to do to mine, and her tilting her head down and flashing her big brown eyes up at him, just like she used to do at me. I'm jealous.

Lila is terribly beautiful, the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. And she is terribly sexy, and terribly horny, and terribly good in bed. Yeah, it hurts me to know that she is with someone else, especially someone I know, so that every time I see him I am reminded that she is gone.

Maybe he fucked her better than I did. Maybe he managed to hit a spot inside her that I never could. Maybe she realized that I was not as great as she thought I was. Maybe she'll forget all about me.

Yeah, I would do the same thing Dom did if the situation were reversed. But I also wouldn't be able to object if he struck back.

I pick up my phone and dial. A girl answers.

"Hey, it's me!"

"Hey sexy!" she says.