By Micki L. Bailey

Journal Entry for July 31, 199—

I should have known, right? I should have seen this coming from miles away, I’m sure. There were probably huge flashing red lights and loud siren noises all around to warn me, and I missed them. Foolishly. Incompetently. And I thought I was so damn smart.

I was blinded, I guess. By love. Yeah, now there’s a big laugh. And if you could see me right now, you’d see me rolling on the floor laughing hysterically. Right. Love is exactly the LAST thing on my mind tonight. Love and those uncontrollable guffaws.

Actually, what I’m feeling most is anger. I’m pissed off at my stupid self for going over there without giving it a little more thought. If I’d just rolled it over in my mind a little, I might have seen at least one flashing red light or heard a warning siren. And stayed my dumb ass at home.

And then I wouldn’t be miserable now. I wouldn’t know what Roger was really doing tonight, but I wouldn’t be in agony either. The trade-off. What’s that saying I read somewhere? Oh, yeah. "The heart cannot grieve for what the eyes do not see."

Oh, I’m sure that the sad grieving stage lies just behind this anger one. I understand fully that I’m holding off one overwhelming emotion with another. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I can already feel myself recoiling inside after being hideously wounded earlier. But I prefer this stage for now – the pissed-off one.

Yes, I’m mad at him too. Don’t get me wrong. After all, it’s HIS fault. HE did this utterly heartless thing. HE’S the bad guy here, not me. I was just too dim-sighted and inattentive to not realize it was coming at me until it mowed me down.

As ridiculous as this may sound, I gotta admit that I thought Roger was unique. Or at least different from most other guys. Never, until I saw it happen in front of me this evening, would I have guessed he was capable of or prone to this kind of behavior. And jeez, Louise, was my brainless ass proven dead wrong, or what?

How about I just chronicle it all for you? Lay it out in the open? I’m sure you’re curious, and it may be therapeutic for me to detail it on paper and live through it one more time. Alright. You talked me into it.

I guess the beginning was when Roger called me at work today just after lunch to tell me that he had made dinner plans with a potential client to discuss some business. Now allow me to back up slightly here and explain that he occasionally dabbles in private investigation for certain people utilizing his remaining secret contacts and his extraordinary skills and abilities in that line of work. He enjoys it; and there is, of course, the monetary gain.

So this news that he had another client wasn’t unusual in the least. But the first tiny warning whistle that I did not heed may have been the fact that the gender of this new client was not mentioned. As I recall the phone conversation now, I distinctly remember him cleverly avoiding any personal pronouns. I know Roger. It was intentional.

Well, like I said, I’m a off-and-on idiot, and I missed it. I also thought nothing of him not adding at the end, "So I’ll swing by your place when I’m done," or "Why don’t you come over later?" Whistle number two.

None of it fazed me. I guess that’s because we’ve been so good together lately. In fact, since we got back on track in February, we’ve had only a couple of minor scrapes, nothing of consequence. We were getting along famously. Everything just seemed to fit perfectly. I had no reason whatsoever to look out for warnings of trouble.

And tonight when I hadn’t heard from him by nine o’clock, it felt only natural for me to cruise on over to the loft to see him. I figured that a normal business dinner must surely be finished by then. That’s logical, right?

Well, warning whistle numero tres was probably trilling while I got his answering service when I called. But I know that he sometimes doesn’t answer his phone. So I chose to drive over and surprise him without leaving a message. My only fret was that he’d be on his way over to my place, and we’d miss each other in transit. Oh, if only it had been that simple.

Roger’s BMW and Jeep were both in the basement parking lot of his building, so I was giddy with anticipation as the elevator took me up to see him. Yes, I’d had some wine, and that heightened the expectation for me. But I’m always looking forward to seeing him again. Correction: WAS always looking forward to seeing him again.

When the elevator door opened, I saw the room was dimly lit. The stereo was not on, but I knew he was there. I sensed him somehow, felt his presence. As I stepped further into the room, my searching eyes found him in the kitchen. Ah, my prize. Some Dave Matthews lyrics rolled through my head: "Sweet like candy to my soul, sweet you rock and sweet you roll."

He looked stunning standing there watching me over the bar. I saw one of his earrings twinkle as it caught some light from somewhere. Instinctively, I smiled at him.

"Hey, gorgeous," I said as I walked over. "Thought you might like some company after talking business all evening."

I saw immediately that he was a little surprised to see me. He was a split second slow with his response – not like him. But it was already too late for warning whistles for me. I had crossed over into the danger zone without knowing it.

"Hey, baby………..How’d you know I was here?" His voice was low and sultry, just like usual. Always music for my psyche. I heard none of the apprehension he was surely feeling right then.

I think I smiled again. "I just took a chance…………and it looks like I hit the jackpot." The wine had made me very, well, horny. I don’t mind saying that I really wanted to touch him – "touch" being a very polite euphemism.

"Well………sweetheart………..I’m glad you’re here and all………but you see……….the deal is—"

Only now, in retrospect, does it occur to me that he was actually stammering and searching for words. That too is very unlike him. But he didn’t have to nervously stumble over bothersome speech very long because what happened next honestly needed no introduction or explanation.

She was tall, slim and beautiful with short brown hair and dark eyes. And she walked out of the loft’s bedroom area where the bathroom was. She apparently had not heard a third person in the loft just as I hadn’t because she came into the room talking to Roger, as if continuing a conversation they were already having.

"Sorry, Roger. I really had to go……….Now what did you say after that guy told you—"

It was at this point she finally glanced up and saw me. I must have been staring at her, glaring perhaps. She stopped in her tracks immediately and quickly turned her enormous eyes to Roger.

"I, uh, didn’t know you had company."

Now this made me feel like the unwelcome one, the intruder. And then it occurred to me that maybe I was. I couldn’t believe this. I was seeing things not meant for my eyes, and too many thoughts and emotions were cramming into my head all at once. My heart deflated, but my tone didn’t show it.

"He doesn’t," I said. It came out as more of a hiss than words. Quickly covering the gaping wound I’d just suffered, I adopted a vicious attitude, and I’m sure my voice conveyed it.

I remember turning my stinging eyes to Roger while finishing my response to the woman he’d spent his evening with. "I was just leaving……..for good."

Roger exhaled heavily and loudly and hung his head down. Both of his palms rested on the bar, and he looked beaten. "I can explain the situation, sweetheart."

Miss Thang kept her mouth shut. I guess she figured her mere presence was more than enough in this now-hostile room. Or maybe I looked like I might run my fingernails down her pretty face until skin gathered under them if she spoke. I might have.

I had felt something explode inside me, and I believe now that it was my self-control. To find this person I loved with my entire being in the privacy of his loft totally comfortable with another female – a very attractive, younger-than-me female at that -- had broken me in half and dissolved my will to restrain this fierce temper of mine. I could feel the steaming lava in my veins already.

I glowered at him. "I’m sure you can, Roger………You can always explain the situation. But I don’t want to hear it anymore. I think it’s time for me to check out."

He had raised his head enough to turn his eyes to me while I spoke/snarled. His expression screamed frustration. If I hadn’t been a main character in this scene, I might have felt sorry for him. Maybe.

When I glanced over at the supermodel/new client or whoever the hell she was one last time, ravenous flames shot into the air inside me. I felt them billowing and knew I had to leave before they began reaching out to other people. So without looking at Roger anymore, I whirled around and began marching out.

He yelled out to me several times as I was grandly exiting. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him hurry around from behind the bar and start towards me. But the elevator swallowed me up and took me away from him. Sadly. God, so sadly. But I don’t want to do sadly yet. There’ll be time for that later.

So that’s my heart-breaking little tale.

Funny. As I sit here typing that, I can hear Drew’s smartass mouth saying, "Yeah, you only wish you had a little tale, sweetcheeks." Drew. One of Roger’s buddies. Guess I’ll lose him too.

But anyway, the next part of the story has me here, in my tiny loft, all alone and typing furiously in my journal (that would be you) on the PC, trying to relieve some of the angst of a serious emotional injury. Of course, I’m comparing myself to "the other woman" and coming up short. Of course, I’m imagining every detail of what they "did" even though that hurts most of all.

And I keep hearing the words to another song in my head. This time it’s one of those cheesy songs from the ‘80s: "Once upon a time I was falling in love. Now I’m only falling apart. There’s nothing I can do. A total eclipse of the heart." That’s about how it feels.

Roger’s been calling, but I won’t answer the phone. He’s even been over here pounding on the door. But I refuse to open the dead bolt or to even acknowledge him. I can’t yet. Just can’t.

I guess that if he’s trying so desperately to contact me, then he’s not with her anymore. But that’s a minor consolation. He was with her. I saw it. And it damn sure looked like a date or some other such more-than-business liaison to me. I’m not an imbecile. I saw what I saw.

And what I saw tonight damaged me more than I’m ready to examine right now. Sure, we’ve only known each other less than a year – three months of which I mistakenly went back to Matt. And, sure, we’ve never discussed long-term commitment or anything like that.

But the spiritual tissue, the emotional connection between us was unusually substantial and potent. I felt it, and I know Roger felt it too. We did discuss that.

Maybe they didn’t do anything. Maybe it was all completely innocent and I’m overreacting. And maybe I’m as naïve as a two-year-old. I don’t know. Maybe I’m not capable of thinking straight at all right now.

I sit here now with my PC, my glass of wine, my tears, and my capsized little world wondering if I’ll ever feel again. If Roger has been unfaithful to that bond we shared, then I don’t see the bond surviving. He’s no longer unique or even different from all other males.

And so maybe I didn’t really hit the jackpot after all. All I got stuck with is a typical losing hand. Maybe I should scrap this whole game and begin all over again tomorrow since it’s a new month. Maybe I should just get some shut-eye now. This old gambler is beat.

* * *

Journal Entry for August 1, 199—

I did make it to work today, believe it or not. I felt like dog shit being warmed up in a tin pot on the stove, and I wasn’t much good to anyone. But I was there.

Once or twice during the day I heard Roger in my head saying, "You did your best, baby……..Don’t sweat it." And that saddened me. If I could just get him out of my head…

Yes, slowly and most assuredly, I’m giving in to the sad stage. Against my will, of course. Because that stage is the one I cannot control and the one that will debilitate me most.

He tried to call me today, but I had sent all my calls straight to voice mail. And when I listened to his message asking me to return his call, I ignored it.

"I refuse to talk to a damn cheating asshole!" I wanted to scream into the phone. But I didn’t, of course. Not in the officeland of non-private cubicles.

Then he sent flowers – peach roses, to be exact. They arrived about 2:30 p.m. The card read, "I really need to talk to you. Love, Roger." How chillingly romantic. Right. How typical of him. You can be sure that I rang him right up. Right.

Actually, I dragged myself to work today simply because I was dreadfully afraid that he would show up over here again at my loft. He owns this building now, you see, and would have no trouble at all getting in. I didn’t want to be around if he did. I just still can’t face it. I guess I’m not strong enough yet. It’s still too raw and untouchable right now.

So after the flowers came, I worried that he might be waiting for me at home that evening. Hell, we’ve never had a fight this serious before, and I don’t know how to judge his unpredictable ways.

Knowing that Vinnie would have the right answer, I called him. Luckily, he was home. After listening to me drone on about the whole little ordeal, his curt response was, "So why don’t you wanna see him and hear what he’s got to say?"

I almost felt betrayed all over again, or like he hadn’t understood me at all. I said, "Vinnie! What are you? Deaf? I don’t want to hear bullshit about how he’s soooo sorry that my hot wax wasn’t enough for dipping his wick into………that he had to go out and find some more." I think it came across that I was riled.

But Vinnie just laughed and said, "With Rhonda? Nah………I don’t think so."

Now I was floored. "You know her?"

"She’s who you described, I’m sure. She’s been in town for the past week. She knew Roger from Vancouver or somewhere, and just happened to see him in Stooges a few nights ago………He mentioned that she wanted somebody tracked down, I think. No big deal." He was appallingly nonchalant with his answer.

And somehow I didn’t feel better knowing this information. "Really now? So they used to do it in Vancouver? How nice," I said sarcastically.

He laughed again. "I don’t think so, babe. I didn’t get that from it. She was just some chick he used to know."

My blood was beginning to simmer again. Maybe calling Vinnie hadn’t been such a good idea. He wasn’t helping much.

"Then why didn’t he tell me who his new client was, Vinnie? Why keep that from me? And why was the bitch in the loft? Hmm? Was that part of the transaction? Looks pretty damn suspicious to me," I said to him.

"I don’t know, doll. I can’t explain everything he does," Vinnie said. This wasn’t encouraging.

"Well, then answer me this. If you had the chance, would you fuck her?" I had to ask. I had to know.

He didn’t hesitate. "Maybe. Maybe not."

This wasn’t encouraging either. "Thanks a bunch, Vinnie. You’re a huge help," I told him.

"Look, babe, I’ll take him out and get him drunk tonight so he won’t bother you anymore………..You can stay home and brood or something…………unless you change your mind and wanna talk to him," he said.

I remember snorting sarcastically. "Please. He’s probably got a date with………..what’s her lovely name?……….Oh, yeah…….Rhonda."

But Vinnie was undaunted. "I doubt it, honey. Didn’t the note say he wants to talk to you?"

I felt like erupting and crying at the same time. My psyche was in an turbulent uproar, and I was struggling to get a grip on it.

"I can’t talk to him or see him, Vinnie………..I just feel so betrayed and deceived right now………and it hurts like hell to think about him with somebody else……….I don’t believe I can accept that." I guess I sounded awfully, awfully sad.

Vinnie’s voice took on a quiet, comforting tone. "I know, sweetheart. But I think you’re worrying too much ‘bout all this. Roger really does give a damn ‘bout you. I don’t see him going after something else."

"What if something else came after him?" I asked.

Vinnie chuckled. "You should give yourself more credit, you know? And besides, he ain’t no pushover……..He can say ‘no.’ Give him another chance."

That, finally, was something encouraging from Roger’s best friend. I felt better after that conversation. Relatively better. Everything is relative, I guess. And bleak. Everything is just downright bleak. The color of my sky has changed, to throw in a little more melodrama for you.

Vinnie must have been true to his word about distracting Roger because no one was waiting at my loft when I got here after work. And no one has tried to call. How indescribably sad.

And here’s another confession: I miss him terribly. Really. How sad is that?

I left those damn roses at the office because I didn’t want to be reminded of their purpose or the sender. But I’ve thought of nothing else all night. I want this to be over. Or to never have happened at all. Please, God, have mercy on me.

I keep remembering happy little moments and pleasant times. Like the humid, sultry morning we met, when both of us needed a favor from the other; or the day Vinnie and I talked Roger into going to the state fair and he complained all afternoon about "that damn sticky" cotton candy; or that first unforgettable night I spent with him in that iron bed in the loft when it was violently stormy outside and tropically steamy inside.

God, this is painful. There was so much to lose, something that was beautiful and strong. "Grief not for torment, but for loss undying." I think that’s from The Aeneid. All of this heart-felt angsting on paper probably sounds sappy enough to be utterly nauseating. Maybe I should write those corny romance novels and actually get paid for it. But the aching is for real. The horrible sense that something is missing inside, something vital.

It feels now like going insane except that I’m fully aware of it.

I miss you utterly, Roger. And I’d much rather be with you than stay here alone with my tears, my wine, and my ripped-to-shreds heart. But I’m so godawfully afraid that being with you won’t feel the same anymore if this thing has come between us. And that’s the scariest of all the scary thoughts bouncing off the walls of my tortured mind tonight.

* * *

On to Part II