Long, lofty love

Excitement lit up inside me like a Griswold family Christmas tree as my phone buzzed, the screen indicating that a wet, surprised Charlie emerging from my shower was calling me. He had not been amused when he snapped the picture. It’s been an excruciating two hours since I left him a voicemail, apologizing for putting him on the spot about moving in with me. I felt like a heel—okay, a shithead; he had waited to hear from me, probably in the same pain, for two days.

Before I snatched up the phone, I hesitated for a moment — I hate confrontation, and I felt it coming. Thankfully, I was wrong, but it was no big surprise.

“Hello, Tommy.” Charlie’s voice warmed me.

“Hi!”

An awkward silence rang in my ear. Did I clean them today?

“I’m glad you call—” he then started to say.

“Yeah, I —,” I stuttered, an interruption. “I — sorry I took forever to call you back. I got — well, I got your messages but I was pissed and —”

“Wait, stop!” His turn to interrupt. How inconsiderate. “It’s okay, I understand why you were upset, and I should be the one to say I’m sorry.” Aah, he apologized, how considerate — wait, did he apologize? “Can we meet?”

The words jumped out of my mouth before I even considered them, “Yes, of course!” Isn’t the mind strange?

Charlie chuckled, of course. “Okay, great.”

“Where are you?” I asked.

“At my mom’s.” Oh great, Lovey, the skanky Scrabble scholar. I love alliteration. I wonder how hard it could be to speak in it all the time.

“Oh, you want me to come over—” I tried to ask.

“God no!” He bellowed, like I had just skinned his cat—if he had one. “Meet me at the Olive Garden in Sugar House?”

I involuntarily rolled my eyes. For weeks, I had been trying to wweanhim ooffgod-awful chain restaurants like Olive Garden, Red Lobster, and Applebee’s, but I guess he’s prone to loud, clanky eyesores and food that tastes like a six-year-old made it. Actually, it’s odd that at my age I’m not prone to early-bird, cafeteria-style eateries with bottomless five-cent iced tea, like maybe Chuck-A-Rama, Coachman’s, or Sizzler. Gag!

I’d never tell Charlie, but I love the occasional jaunt to Beto’s(a local chain of sorts, but with slightly altered names: Albertos, Los Betos, Dos Betos, What’s in a Beto’s, etc.). It’s my dirty little secret—well, that and late-night dancing to “Beach Blanket Bingo” in a polka dot bikini.

“I guess,” I replied. “But wouldn’t you rather go to The Dodo?” I heard murmuring in the background.

“No Tommy, you do.” The bite on that told me he is pissed that I hadn’t call him back sooner, or maybe Lovey was prodding him with her talons.

“Okay, fine. Give me thirty minutes.”

“Great, goodbye Tommy.”

I clicked the ‘end call’ button without response. I could feel the top of my head heating up like a hot plate.

When I arrived at the shopping center fifty minutes later—yes, I am that juvenile. I squeezed my Nitro through the parking lot, coming dangerously close to running down Mormon housewives wistfully walking to their cars, ear-to-phone and Michaels shopping bags swinging at their hips. If only I had a better lawyer.

I pulled into the only stall I could find, in front of Payless Shoes, about a football field away from the restaurant—yes, I do know the length of a football field—I watch Tiger Manning and the New York Concords every chance I get.

As I weaved in and out of mindless drivers skirting through the lot, simultaneously texting their hairdresser or escort or bishop—or more likely all three, I practiced greeting Charlie through alliteration: ‘Hi Charlie, we should go to Charlie Chow’s for Szechuan Chicken with chopsticks.’ Naw. ‘Cheese and cherries, Charlie, I could chow a chunk of chocolate.’ Boy, it’s harder than I thought.

I gave up by the time I reached his table. “Hi.”

Silently, he stood and hugged me, his whole beautiful being enveloping me, as always. He released me and pulled out my chair. What a gentleman!

We sat down and his expression made my stomach churn; he was about to break up with me—at Olive Garden. Bitch!
As I reached for a glass of water, he said, “So listen, I found a place to live.” I knocked the glass over, spilling on the table. We scrambled to unwrap the napkins from the silverware to mop up the water.

“Oh shit, sorry., I said sulking in disappointment.

We had most of it soaked up by the time a waitress arrived with a towel. She, Grace by her name tag, quickly wiped the table dry and refilled my glass.

“Thank you, Grace,” Charlie said. “Will you give us a few minutes?”

“Sure thing,” Grace said, breaking a flirtatious smile at him. Utah women are so dim.

My discontented gaze followed her as she walked away, noting that she’s got a great ass.

“Tommy,” Charlie directed my attention, “I bought a loft in your building.”

My jaw dropped to the table—I mean, if that was possible.

“What?” I choked on the question.

“I bought that loft on the fifth floor that you love—for us to live in together.”