Dealing Flesh (22 page)

“Honey Lamb,” he says, “I want to kiss you even if your breath is less than perfect. You’re my sweetheart, and there is nothing you can do about it. So come here and give me that sweet mouth of yours. And remind me to thank your parents.”

Romy:
Ohhh-myyy-god?

Blushetta:
He’s sooo special and never brings up race or color lines.

Romy:
I will never ever betray him, not even if our sexual relations should seize to exist. I can’t…I love his heart…never loved another’s heart before. And I love him for loving mine.

Whip Cracker:
It does not matter how faithful you stay, or how hard you work on yourself. He eventually is going to betray you.

Scaredy Cat:
What if he really does happen to catch a roaming eye or loses interest from one day to the next?

Hot Shot:
Not if I morph into Super Woman, he won’t.

That being said, I instantly increase my weekly regimen to six vigorous training sessions at the gym, up my Tai-Bo-style kickboxing classes, jog for an hour twice a week, ride horses almost daily, make crazy love to Ken every chance I get, clean, shop and cook before and after my regular work schedule at the office, and even sneak in daily situps on my lunch break in a quiet carpeted area of the office building’s emergency staircase. All that hard work turns my stomach area into a gladiator-like six-pack region, making a long time dream come true.

While sitting behind the wheel today driving back home, I find myself touching the rock hard bumps under my T-shirt several times.

Fantasia:
Damn girl. You sizzle. Have you any idea how much Ken is going to appreciate this?

Miss Vanity: S
omeone better enjoy it.
Otherwise what’s the point of working that hard
?
By the way, there is another thing you can do to make Ken crave you even more.

Hot Shot:
What’s that?

Miss Vanity:
Shave off all those little hairs on your forearms; make your skin as smooth as possible. Remember he told you he loves smooth skin?

Hot Shot:
Great idea—anything to make him want me twenty four seven.

During my next shower, I razor off any and all hairs I can find except the ones in my pubic area and on my head.

~~~

Strange things are happening to my body. Aside from being late on my period, the texture of my hair appears coarser than usual, and I notice that I put on five pounds in seven days. My breasts feel tender, and I crave pickles with ketchup.

Romy (gleaming of sheer radiance):
I’m pregnant
.

Telling Ken about my suspicion, he too, joins my elation.

A week later, I sit impatiently on the bed waiting for the test strip to reveal my fate—one minute…two minutes… “Aww, negative. I so wanted to be a mother,” I tell Ken with tears in my eyes.

“You should be one, babe. I promise we’ll try it again in July like we initially planned,” he reassures me, affectionately rubbing my head.

~~~

I am sitting on the tan colored carpet in the living room after a delicious evening meal, Ken laying flat right next to me.

“Schatz…there is something I wanna tell you. After all you gonna be my husband soon, and I want there to be no secrets between us, ya’ know?

“What is it, babe?” says Ken with a slightly perturbed look on his face.

“Promise, you’ll still love me the same, if I tell you?”

“Naturally.”

“I spent some time in the sex industry, stripping for a few years, and there was a period of working as a high class call girl in Germany.”

“Uhhhmmm…?”

“Believe me…not a chance I’ll ever go back to that. I’m one hundred ten percent done with that kind of life…not to worry.”

He stares at me with a blank look on his face, letting out another string of “Uhhhmms” as I wrap up the story. I fold my arms around his neck, planting kisses all over his face.

Scaredy Cat:
I’m so glad that all skeletons are out of the closet.

CHAPTER 18

Black Rain in Paradise

“I used to easily smoke a pack a day during my bartending days at the German nightclub I worked at,” I tell Ken while my head rests on his upper thigh, him sitting on the couch, playing with strands of my long blond highlighted hair.

“Did you ever smoke in your life, Schatzi?”

“Not cigarettes.”

“What do you mean? Cigars?”

“No…pot.”

“When did you last smoke that?” I ask, knowing I avoided people connected to drugs like the plague for as long as I can think back.

“I still do once in a while.”

Scaredy Cat:
What did he just say?

Doubt Cloud:
Fuck, I can’t believe, I fell for an addict
.
He’s probably a con man.

Romy (sniveling):
Me…in love with a pothead?
Tell me it isn’t so, that I’m dreaming, and I am going to wake up any minute now.

It’s not that I have not smoked a joint before. I have, one time, during the relationship with Raymond. It showed me then that weed and I do not mix.

Scaredy Cat:
He tricked me.

My request for Ken to give up his smoking habit for the sake of the relationship falls onto deaf ears. But he does commit to smoke only outside the flat from now on.

Doubt Cloud:
People who use drugs can’t be trusted. And they certainly can’t be present for anything being that they are under the influence of a mind-altering substance.

Miss Vanity (crying):
Am I that unappetizing that he’s got to get loaded to be intimate with me?

Romy:
How am I ever going to make love to him again if he chooses to be under a reality altering substance while we sleep together?

Ken leaves around ten this morning. At once, I comb through all accessible nooks and crannies of the house trying to find his stash of weed. I do, but it makes the question of ‘is he or is he not stoned, and how can I tell’ consume me even more.

~~~

“I wanna get high.”

Ken looks at me with a surprised, but beguiling smirk on his face.

“Seriously?”

“Ja. Have ya’ got some?”

Romy:
I’m dying to find out what he sees in that stuff. Maybe that will bond us more?

The last thing I remember is sitting beside him on the living room sofa, watching him crack up over the strong hits I’m taking off of the joint he rolled for us. The next time I gain awareness of the fact that I am even amongst the living is when I come to inside the bedroom, having
crazy
sex with Ken who hovers over me, staring into my eyes with ardent devotion. One second, I feel myself residing inside my body, and the next I don’t. During the times of consciousness, I laugh, cry, panic, and babble nonstop. I hold Ken’s face in my hands this moment.

“Baby, I love you. Promise me, you are a good guy. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Promise you’ll never leave me.”

“Promise.”

“I love you soooo much.”

“I love you back, honey.”

Ken appears fairly entertained seeing me this out of it. When attempting to walk to the bathroom, I fall down on the carpet missing the window by only inches. He jumps to my rescue, lifting me up off the floor. I try walking once more, but instantly fail. Ken scoops me up and carries me over to the toilet. He places me onto the seat. I am not sure what happens to the rest of the night, but this morning I wake up having bits and pieces of last night’s memory trickle in.

Hot Shot:
How in the hell am I supposed to go to work feeling like shit?

Romy:
Yeah. Let’s stay in and play all day, rest, make love
…

Scaredy Cat:
I better show up for my responsibilities.

Lustania:
Quack, quack, quack.

Bitching and moaning, cursing the day, I manage to get dressed and show up at the office at the regular hour.

Miss Vanity:
One thing I know for sure. I’m not ever going to touch that devilish stuff again.

Scaredy Cat:
Yeah, it’s frightening to lose that much control.

~~~

It’s 8:00 p.m., and I rush home to spend the rest of the night with Ken, just having signed up for a membership at a health club.

Romy:
I miss my baby so much. I
don’t think I’ll ever get enough of him.

He is already home, standing in the hallway by the bedroom when I enter. I approach him with loving eyes, hug him like I always do, but he rapidly leaves my embrace after a brief pucker up.

Romy:
He looks kinda irritated?

“Where were you?” he asks.

“I bought a membership at a gym, honey, like I told you a while ago—my old one ran out.”

“You’ve flirted with the sales rep, didn’t you?”

Romy:
What’s with him? Doesn’t he know that no one can hold a candle to him?

“Say what?” I say, looking extremely baffled and confused. “You really are trippin’. What’s with you?”

“I can see it in your face. He flirted with you, and you went for it.”

“Ken, I don’t understand what’s gotten into you. I don’t desire to even look at other men. What more proof do you need that you are the only one I want forever and ever, that I love you more than anything? I can’t believe this.”

Thankfully he calms down as the evening progresses, leaving the rest of the night to continue slightly more harmoniously.

~~~

A couple of
Ready To Eat
meals in the passenger seat, I hurry home again tonight after work, every bone in my body longing to spend quality time with Ken. I put the items onto a dinner plate and place it in front of him on the table. His face forms an expression that seems foreign…like he hates me, or something.

“What the hell possessed you to serve me such fucked up crap?” he shouts. A few other profanities follow.

Scaredy Cat:
I’m in the wrong movie. Who is that man sitting there?

The contents of my head turn to midnight. Waves of poignant agony clash together above me, making my head super fuzzy. I dizzily struggle to regain my footing while groping around in the twirling darkness. I feel nauseous.

“Why are you doing this? You are ruining everything, Ken? Why? Whhyyy…? You know what? Why don’t you take a gun and blow my brains out right now? Seriously because you are the last station for me,” I whimper through my tears.

“I get like that when my blood sugar plummets. It has to do with my hypoglycemia condition,” he says with a tad of regret in his voice.

“Is it gonna help if I get you something else to eat then?”

“Sure, if you want.”

I get on the road within minutes, returning half an hour later with a freshly made meal from a restaurant. After Ken finishes eating, we lie down in bed.

Romy:
Yeah…make-up cuddle time.

I see him turn to the wall, instantly dosing off. Drowning in utter sadness, Romy implores me to drive over to the gas station a few blocks away. I noiselessly slip into my sweat suit and leave the house as quietly as possible. Sitting inside the car, wailing from the depth of my soul, I guzzle down a large can of bitter
Red Bull
brew. The pain remains, but it drops a few notches of intensity now that I am buzzed. Coming back to the apartment, I find Ken deep asleep.

Romy:
I don’t see how I can lie next to someone who has fallen out of love with me.

I spend the remainder of the night on the futon sofa in the living room…hurting…aching…with eternal heart bleeding, searching my brain for a good two hours on the issues of where it is that I fucked up.

~~~

Romy:
I think I’m losing him. He’s been so slippery lately.

Tough Gal:
Remember the place the therapist you saw once years ago, talked about…some gathering for people affected by someone else’s consumption of mood and mind-altering substances?

Romy:
Ehh, vaguely. Are you suggesting…? Hhhmmm. Well, I guess I am desperate enough to try anything to get my man back to the way he used to be.

Saturday afternoon I show up for my first get-together with a bunch of people who are said to feel the same way than I do and understand my predicaments. Roughly ten folks are present, and we all sit in a circle inside a little room that belongs to a Van Nuys’ church. I listen closely to what everyone has to say, hang on to each word that falls from their mouths, counting on catching something that provides me with the magic formula for making Ken love me like he did for the first several months. Upon asking participants in the group to tell me what I need to do to fix his pot smoking habit, they inform me that they do not give advice, but overall suggest that I keep coming back.

Romy:
Now they are really pissing me off.
Don’t they know my survival depends on this?

One nice woman offers that, if push came to shove, I can rent a room from her. I thank her, but decide to give it some time to see if things improve by themselves.

“I know they’ll twist up your head, trying to tell you to leave me,” says Ken with a forceful tone in his voice now that I am back at home.

“No, babe, that’s not at all the case. Trust me.”

“I’ll stop smoking weed if you quit going to those damn groups.”

Scaredy Cat:
What if he is pulling the wool over my eyes?

I continue to show up in the rooms regardless. Besides, it appears to be the only place where I can gain ninety minutes of continued serenity. After my heartfelt sharing this morning, a woman hands me her card. Underneath her name it says, “With God all things are possible.”

Romy:
I sure hope so.

She alludes to this other venue, one that men and women who struggle with issues around intrigue, fantasy, love, sex, and the like, flock to.

Tonight, Thursday, I attend one of those congregations. Some of the things I hear sound like they may possibly apply to me.

Hot Shot:
But overall, their shit’s harmless pippi-fax. My case is different
.
They haven’t been where I’ve been. Can I go now?

Romy:
Yeah, what are they talking about…addicted to love? Phhh. They don’t know a thing about love. Betcha’ none of ‘em experienced the true soul mate kina love Ken and I share. Fuck ‘em.

Getting to the house this evening, I tell Ken about the new support circle I’ve found but he cannot understand why I bother attending.

“Should I join a group that can help me with your addiction to the vibrator then?” he sarcastically implies.

I feel like slapping him, playfully, of course, because hurting my honey is one thing that’s simply unfathomable.

~~~

I closely follow the happenings at the horse event from atop Sally’s back.

Miss Vanity:
You look ravishing with the
down to earth olive color Peruvian poncho, and black cowgirl hat.

Hot Shot:
Gee, thanks. I do feel pretty well put together tonight
.

Romy:
But, I’d be doing a whole lot better if I could just solve the riddle of why Ken acts so distant and cold toward me.

Fifteen minutes go by until he shows up by my side for the first time.

“Hi,” he says hesitantly.

Romy:
I must admit the tall flaxen gelding he’s riding looks impressive. So does Ken on it, but his mind seems to be elsewhere.

I get him to converse with me, but he can barely look me in the eye.

“Oh, Katherine is here,” he alerts me, showing an extreme onset of delight in his face.

Enviola:
So that is the notorious Katherine whom he invited to this event, and who has a crush on my man
?
That bitch…she owns a ranch?

Ragelina:
Fuck her.

It has not been more than a week that Ken last attended one of those “seminars” on her property in the Santa Inez Valley. Part of me wants to assign him credit for being so honest to having shared that the woman has a crush on him. After all, he assured me not to worry, promising that he is solely devoted to me.

Doubt Cloud:
Either way, I think something really fishy is going on here.

Hot Shot:
Can’t blame you.

Ken turns the horse around and proceeds Katherine’s way.

“Hi, honey, come here and give me some love!” I hear him shout, now roughly eight feet away from her.

Romy:
Can someone please kill me
?

I feel Enviola’s silent scorn scald me.

Ragelina:
He’s really, really pushing it.

Once I regain a moment of composure, I pull Ken aside.

“I wanna know why you called her ‘honey’? The two of you looked a tad too cozy for my taste. That was really inappropriate. I mean, come on, what kind of relationship do you have with her?”

He mutters some words in his defense.

Ragelina:
Lame, lame, lame. Don’t buy that crap.

“Whatever. I’m leaving,” I say, feeling as if a hundred knifes are being continuously stabbed into my heart at once.

I frantically veer Sally through the masses, make her break into a gallop once the crowd drops off. I keep her at canter all the way back to the barn. Within five minutes, I’m sitting inside my ride, rushing down the fast lane on the 101 freeway.