Second up was the vet. For being a stray, Lt. Dan was surprisingly healthy. He was given a thorough exam, followed by shots and a microchip embedded in his neck. During the visit, the vet strongly encouraged me to neuter him. I hated to do it, but with his Lothario ways, Lt. Dan really had forced my hand. And so, that’s how my poor tomcat left the pet hospital without histesticles.
Wracked with guilt over my part in his decimated love life, I showered my guy with gifts, and I think he might just have forgiven me when I slipped the black studded collar around his neck. If he couldn’t be a stud in real life, at least he could be wrapped in them. But like the little traitor he was, Lt. Dan hid behind the couch, and when I opened the door one day, hebolted.
Maybe we just weren’t meant to be. I comforted myself by reasoning that you could take a stray off the street, but you couldn’t take the street out of the stray. Bad boys could never be reformed. So the next time he turned up on my doorstep, I had half a mind to send him packing myself until I caught sight of a note tied to his collar…from his actual owners!Apparently my kitty gigolo was actually named Skittles, and he was no promiscuous alley cat – instead he lived in the lap of luxury in a two-story home down the street. And, as you might imagine, the people who lived there were understandably baffled as to what had happened to their cat’sballs.
So that was the end of our unhealthy relationship. Skittles went home to his family, and I went back to my ice cream. It never would have lasted anyway because I needed a feline who put me first… and clearly that was notLt.Dan.
* * *
Jake returnedthe last week of October for a scheduled break before the North American leg of his tour kicked off. We fell right back into our comfortable love affair, and having him in my arms again sealed the deal for me. The decision was made. I was quitting my job. Life was too short not to live it to the fullest, and for me, a full life meant being by Jake’s side. I’d found a freelance job and planned to work on the side while touring in order to keep up my skills, but that would be the extent of it. Jake, of course, was ecstatic, and immediately made plans to move my things onto the bus so they’d be waiting for me when Iarrived.
As I’d already given my boss two weeks’ notice, the only thing left to do was tell my co-workers. Dragging my feet something fierce, I decided to divulge that information after the Halloween office party. That way my friends could still meet Jake before I was gone. I owed them that much, considering my marriage had been the running joke in the office for an entire year. You see, according to my co-workers, I was but a delusional fan conjuring up a fake relationship with a famous rock star because, well, I was bat-shit crazy. After every office party Jake missed – four in all since I’d begun there – the conviction had only grownstronger.
Finally I had the chance to prove my sanity, but only if he made a showing. I checked my watch again. He was forty minutes late and counting. I could almost hear the cackling come Monday morning. For the love of god, wherewashe?
Jake’s absence might not have been so noticeable had I not made the ill-conceived decision for us to dress up in a couple’s costume. Jake hadn’t been too keen on the idea, but as always, had caved under pressure. Yet now, in hindsight, it might have been too ambitious for our first Halloween outing as a married couple. Perhaps I should have eased Jake into the whole new world of playing dress up by allowing him something simple and noncommittal to start out with, like a ghost or a whoopee cushion. Either that or I could have stressed the importance of commitment when it came to a couple’s costume. There was just no wiggle room. If you were dressing as a duo, both sides needed to show up. I mean, when was the last time you saw a Fred without his Wilma or a slice of bacon without his eggs? I’ll tell you when: never. Because these things didn’t exist as separate entities, and when one half of such an iconic pairing wanders into a party without the other… well, that’ll just result in prolonged moments of awkwardsilence.
Currently, I was living in one of those moments, dressed as one side of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I’d chosen this costume for two reasons. The first was because of its convenience – it slipped right over the head, thus making it much less likely Jake would balk at the idea of wearing it, and in turn, keep my dream of complete couple cohesion alive and kicking. And the second reason was because, well, it was just frickin’ hilarious. Or at least it would have been had the peanut butter shown up on time. Sadly he had not, so now here I was just a sad slice of toast smeared with a healthy dollop of deep red jelly. It wouldn’t be so bad, I suppose, if my coworkers weren’t mistaking me for a soiled sanitarynapkin.
Catching sight of more snickering in the corner, I called Jake again. “Where areyounow?”
“Two minutes away from the place I was when you called me last. I’m doing the best I can, Casey. The 10 freeway was shut down, and I’ve been taking side streets ever since. It’s not like I’m enjoying this urban jigsawpuzzle.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. It’s just, if you don’t show up soon, I’m going to need to changemypad.”
“What?”
“Never mind, inside joke. Just get here whenyoucan.”
I hung up and checked the time. I should probably wait five minutes before calling him next time. It sounded like he was getting testy, and the last thing I needed was a grumpy guy in a peanut butter costume getting mouthy during my time of the month. Plus, it went without saying: I wanted Jake to make a good impression. Not that it would be too challenging to impress my coworkers. He was famous, so short of acting like a giant douchebag, he’d rock their world. Still, it was important to me that Jake be on top of his game, if only just so I could properly showhimoff.
Without looking up from the phone screen, I could hear my two giddy coworkers making their way over. I didn’t have to see their faces to know who was coming. I smiled before they even opened their mouths. Nat and Sandra, my best buds. Both worked in the back office with me. Nat was in her forties and was never without a smile on her face. Her hair was streaks of blond down to her shoulders, impeccably curled in big, bouncy twirls. She wore blue-rimmed glasses and colorful tops every day to work. Just seeing her in the mornings made me want to breathe in her fresh air. I was attracted to her like a flower to the sun. Not surprisingly, we hit it off instantly, and by my first afternoon in the office, we’d already planned our weekend outing together, even going so far as to pick the chick flick we’d beenjoying.
Sandra had taken longer to win over: twenty-eight floors, to be exact. Actually, it was more like fifteen, but who was counting? Yes, I was one of those people – the type who made friends in elevators. We’d started out chatting about the weather, which, let’s be honest people, it’s Los Angeles – ninety-five percent of the time the sun was shining. Not much to report there. Then we moved on to the restaurants in the area, both professing our love of Mexican food. By the time we’d reached the twenty-eighth floor, we were just finishing up an enthralling conversation about intelligent life on otherplanets.
Sandra flicked her fingers in front of my face to jolt my mind back into the present. “When we vote on costumes, my money’s on you. Sure, it’s a little nauseating, but you get extra points fororiginality.”
“Again, I’m jelly… blackberryjelly.”
“Right. You know, hon, if you took birth control pills, there’d be no need for such bulky protection,” Nat said, joining in theheckling.
Sandra dropped her voice as she carried a devilish grin on her face. “I have a tampon in my purse, if you prefer something morediscreet.”
Unable to keep the amusement off my shamed face, I threw what I knew they wanted most, my husband, into their faces. “Sure, keep cackling, ladies, but when my creamy peanut butter shows up, we’ll just see who’slaughing.”
“Ifhe shows up. My money’s still on you Photoshopping yourself into those wedding photos,”Natsaid.
“Or,” Sandra added, speaking directly to Nat, “at the very least she should be providing proof in the form of a pair of his signed underwear – but nooo, that’s too much for the little princess here to share with us less fortunatesouls.”
“You want proof? Look who’s walking through the door right as wespeak!”
Both my coworkers spun around, tongues already dangling from their mouths like overheated dogs, but instead of feasting on my rocker hubby, they got an eyeful of Darrell, our version of Dwight fromThe Office.He was currently dressed like… well, himself… because there was no time for fun in his dismal world. The only reason he showed up at all was for thefreefood.
“Yuck, Casey,” Sandra groaned. “I can’t unsee that. Jake’s not coming,ishe?”
“If you stick around long enough, maybe. He’s stuck intraffic.”
“Of course he is.” Natgrinned.
