Page 44 of Man Cuffed
“You’re drunk,” she says, laughing. “At least I’m out there looking.”
“Oh, I’m looking. I’m just not finding. And you aren’t either. Seriously, Cassidy, wait for the guy that you just can’t keep your hands off of. The one who wakes you up at night. The one you imagine tasting. The one who you just want to unzip and crawl inside.”
She stares at me. “I was with you until that last bit.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m a little…”
“Drunk?”
“Happy,” I say. Because it’s true.
“Gotta go. I’ll figure it out.” She makes a move toward my kitchen. “I’ll let myself out. And don’t worry! I’ll call you if I need you, or text you from the bathroom if I need you to rescue me.”
“Okay. Deal.”
She steps back toward me, refills my glass one more time, and then heads out.
Ten bucks says that Greg wears tighty whities to bed. But at least Cassidy is having sex tonight. That makes one of us.
I sit here a while longer, rocking gently in the nighttime air on the love-seat glider I bought today. It’s a gift to myself. It isn’t the hippest piece of outdoor furniture. But it was on sale for ninety-nine dollars. And that’s a good enough reason. Now I can sit out here on my deck in comfort, watching the rising moon.
When I was younger I had dreams of becoming a rich, famous actress. But this year I can feel my goal starting to shift. I still want to live my life creatively. I’m not about to go to accountant school and change my name to Greg. But it’s just dawning on me that a creative life could take many forms. Today I put on a show in a way that pays the bills.
Today was a good day.
It’s peaceful out here. I anchor my foot against the deck boards and give my glider a little swing. I’ve got my bubbly, what’s left of the charcuterie board Cassidy brought, and twoPierson of Interestscripts in my lap. Cassidy was going to finish running lines with me, but we kept getting distracted. My audition is first thing Monday morning, so I really need to be prepared.
I’ve already got the lines memorized. But every time I practice, it just feels like something is missing. One of the scenes is a hot flirtation between the character I’d play, Elsa, and a dirty cop. I don’t mean sexy dirty, butdirtydirty. He’ll end up getting my character killed four episodes later. (Bastard!) And while it’s a well-written scene, I just can’t seem to grab a hold of it. I can’t feel enough of Elsa in this scene. It’s just...hollow.
Maybe I’m the hollow one, though. Maybe Sadie is right. I’ve been auditioning forever, and nothing’s stuck. Maybe I’m just afraid to invest myself one more time. I may have reached the breaking point with my career. How long am I going to do something that only makes me feel inadequate and hollow?
I sure didn’t feel inadequate this morning when I pulled off that flash mob. It was so satisfying to be the one pulling the strings for once, instead of being the puppet.
The script lays abandoned once again in my lap as I daydream about other flash mobs I could produce. I can’t wait to talk with Aubrey again. I want to know if she feels like taking on a partner and building something new.
Speaking of partnering… I hear my neighbor’s door open and close next door. Then I hear him moving about in his apartment. He sighs, and even that is sexy. It’s a warm night, so naturally I hear him step outside to take in the breeze.
“You peeping over here at me, Copper?” I call out.
He peeks over the divider, all cute-like. “That depends. Are you topless?” He asks this somewhat hopefully.
“No, because I’m not in the mood to be arrested for indecent exposure.”
“How do you feel about public drunkenness?” he asks. “I could bring over some beers.”
I momentarily weigh the alcohol content of my blood and then decide a little more won’t matter. “Let’s give it a shot.”
“Sure. Two seconds.”
It takes him longer than two seconds. It takes him about ten minutes. I would’ve wondered why, but I hear the shower running. And now I’m picturing him naked in the hot stream of water, rubbing his soapy hands all over himself, and thinking how much I’d enjoy breaking into his apartment again to join him.
But I don’t know if I could make it over the fence without killing myself right now.
It’s the bubbly. It’s made me tipsy. And that sound you just heard wasnota burp. That was the bubbles effervescing. Out of me.
No fence jumping tonight. Or fence crawling. Both ideas are bad bad bad.
Instead, I make the twenty-step trip through my apartment to unlock my own door. Then I return to my glider chair and my champagne and my forgotten scripts.
