Balancing Acts (11 page)

G
ood morning, ladies,” greeted Felicity as they streamed out of the studio. She was setting up her various jars and pomades in a neat formation on the front desk with studied concentration.

“Does this look tacky, Charlie?” she asked, a note of doubt in her usually confident voice.”

Charlie surveyed the somewhat large pyramid she had assembled. “Hmmm, not tacky. But maybe a little much.”

She picked up a jar of Felicity's hydrating crème and eyed it. “Cool label, though! And the name is pretty damn clever.” The fat, glass jar was filled with a gelatinous goo that promised to relax even the most rebellious frizz. Felicity had called it “SHHHHut up and Curl.” Charlie unscrewed the lid to take a whiff of the faintly lavender scented pomade. “Mmm, it smells good, too.”

“Really, you like it? I experimented with a whole slew of scents. In the end it was between this and tangerine.”

“Well, if something is supposed to relax, better it smell like lavender than tangerine,” remarked Naomi, overhearing their conversation. She joined them at the desk and picked up the jar herself for a sniff. “Wow, this smells pretty delicious,” she added. “Are all of these yours?” She motioned to the now dismantled pyramid of jars and tubes.

“Yep,” answered Felicity with pride. “I've been working on this hair care line since before you were born, I bet. Just tinkering with different ingredients until I got it right.”

“Remember that shampoo from a few months back?” asked Charlie, laughing at the memory. “That was not one of your best works.”

“Oh! The one that promised volume but instead delivered instant dreadlocks?! I still don't know how that happened. A little bit too much of something.”

“What? Elmer's Glue?” teased Naomi.

“At any rate, my point is that you have come a long way. Just the other day some woman at the grocery store told me my hair was super shiny and asked me what I had done to it,” said Charlie.

“She did!?” exclaimed Felicity with glee. “What did you tell her?”

“Well, I told her all about you, naturally. But when she asked me where to buy it, I was sort of at a loss.”

“Asked you where to buy what?” interjected Bess as she came out of the bathroom. She was in a hurry to get home to Dan, but didn't want to miss any potentially juicy nuggets of conversation.

“My hair line,” explained Felicity. “I haven't been able to get around to marketing the products like I want to. Between the studio and my kids, I barely have time to make them in the first place.”

“You have kids?” asked Sabine, joining the group as she twirled her scarf around her neck.

“Oh yeah, two. Malcolm and Dionne. Although,
kids
seems to be a strange word for them these days. Malcolm is a senior in high school and Dionne is a freshman.”

“I can't believe your kids are that old,” said Naomi. “You have the skin of an infant. It makes me sick.”

Felicity smiled. “Thanks, love. But you're in for the same fate, Naomi. I really do think that black skin wears well. My sisters look about ten years younger than they actually are.”

“Really?” asked Naomi. “Even if I'm half and half?” She smiled mischievously.

“There's enough cocoa there to serve you well,” answered Felicity. She reached out and rubbed Naomi's shoulder as she smiled back.

“Yeah, and meanwhile us whities are practically born with crow's feet,” said Bess with a sigh. “The other day I looked in the mirror and screamed.”

Naomi laughed. “Bess, please. You are an ivory goddess.”

“Felicity, do you have a website at least?” inquired Sabine. “I would think that would be an ideal place to sell your stuff. You could link to other websites and voilà! Instant fan base.”

“Yeah, Malcolm and Dionne keep bugging me to get one up. I see their point, I really do, but I am embarrassingly ignorant about the World Wide Web. I can barely e-mail.”

“But who designs the website for Prana?” asked Sabine. “Why don't you just sign them up for your hair products?”

Felicity cocked her head and looked at Charlie. “Charlie? Want to answer that?”

Charlie fidgeted nervously. “Yeah see, we don't exactly have a Prana website.”

“What!?” shrieked Bess. “What is this, 1942? Hello? Without a website, you're toast.” Bess made a mental note to include this information in the article. Even Charlie, who seemed to be an anomaly to the rest of the group (well, besides herself, of course) was half-assing her way through life. How seriously did she take herself if she couldn't even announce her web presence with confidence?

“Hey, take it easy, Bess,” reprimanded Charlie, annoyed by the intensity of her outburst. “I just haven't had time to find a web designer yet. It's the next thing on my endless list of shit to do.” She scowled at Felicity. “Why can't Julian get it done? I don't see why I have to take care of every damn detail around here.”

The group was temporarily silenced by Charlie's tantrum.

“Hey Charlie, sorry to jump down your throat,” replied Felicity, placing her hand over hers on top of the desk. “I was out of line.”

Charlie relaxed. “I know we need a website. I just honestly haven't gotten around to it yet. I'm pretty web-ignorant, too, and the idea of spending more money to set one up is a bit daunting.”

“Hey, Naomi is a graphic designer!” announced Sabine. As soon as the words were out of her mouth she wanted to take them back. She had an annoying habit of volunteering other people's ser vices without asking them first. She glanced at Naomi to gauge her reaction.

“I am indeed,” said Naomi. Sabine couldn't tell by her voice just how pleased she was to make herself known. “I design websites all the time,” she added. “I'd be happy to try to get one up for you.”

Bess wondered if Naomi would quote a price. Any man in that position clearly would. Why was it that women were so willing to undermine their worth? Obviously, Prana Yoga wasn't exactly swimming in cash, but surely they could pay her something.

“Really?” asked Charlie. “Are you sure? That would be amazing, Naomi.”

“Completely amazing!” echoed Felicity. “I'll keep you in hair products for the rest of your life.”

“Speaking of, I could also showcase your stuff on the Prana site, just to get you started,” said Naomi. “Two birds with one stone, you know?”

“Ooh Naomi, will you take pictures?” asked Sabine.

“I dunno,” she mumbled uncomfortably.

Sabine, oblivious to her discomfort, continued. “Naomi is the best photographer. I mean, the stuff she used to take in college. Her half of our dorm room was like a photography exhibit. She has the most amazing eye, seriously. She took a picture of me once, late at night in our room, and I still use it as my go-to photo to this day.” She paused. “Well, no, that's a lie. I had to retire it last year. College was a long time ago.”

“Ten years ago, to be exact,” added Bess.

“Anyway, Naomi, sorry to blow up your spot, but I've never forgotten how talented you were,” explained Sabine.

“Yeah, ‘were' as in past tense,” replied Naomi. She sighed. “I just don't really take pictures anymore. It's not the same to me.”

“Why not?” asked Bess. “You grew out of it or you just don't have time for it?” She was anxious for Naomi's answer. This kind of information was the fuel her article needed to run on.

“I'm not exactly sure why,” Naomi answered. “I just don't do it anymore, okay?”

Sabine felt terrible. “I'm sorry for opening my big mouth, Naomi. I didn't realize.”

“It's okay,” answered Naomi, slightly embarrassed by her defensiveness. “I'm happy to design the website, but I think you guys might need to supply me with the images, Charlie.”

“Oh, no problem!” answered Charlie. She wondered why Naomi was so adamantly against her own God-given talent, but she knew better than to push. Everyone had their reasons for things. “Julian is a decent photographer,” she volunteered. “I'll ask him to take some shots.”

“Yeah, and so is Dionne,” added Felicity. “Naomi, we are so thrilled about this. Honestly, I can't even tell you.” She got up from behind the desk and wrapped Naomi in a warm hug.

Naomi, flustered by Felicity's sweetness, detached herself from the embrace and smiled. “Oh please, it's my pleasure. Everyone should know about this place! It's about time for you to hit the Web. I'll try my best to get something together for you in a couple of weeks or so.”

“That would be amazing,” said Felicity, her warm brown eyes glowing with excitement.

“Okay, girls, I need to run to the restroom before my next class,” said Charlie. “Today was wonderful. I'm looking forward to next week already.” She smiled warmly and trotted off.

Bess looked at her watch. She had to run—no time for dawdling if she wanted to make it home before Dan woke up. “I have to dash! Bye, Naomi, bye, Sabine, bye, Felicity!” She waved good-bye and practically ran out the door.

“Be careful on those stairs!” called Sabine after her. “Jesus, she sounds like a herd of elephants. I wonder where she has to be?” She glanced at Naomi guiltily. She felt terrible about her faux pas. “Hey Naomi, really, I am so sorry about before. I went too far.”

Naomi smiled at Sabine. Ten years might have passed since college, but Sabine was still as sweet as the day they met, offering to share the giant bin of animal crackers she had brought with her to school. “Oh, it's okay. I overreacted.” They smiled at each other.

“Hey, want to get some breakfast at this diner down the street?” she asked Sabine. “I am famished!”

“Yes! Only if you promise to split some hash browns with me.” Sabine ignored the manic prom queen inside of her. She wasn't seeing Zach for ten hours. There was only so much hair removal one woman could do. Besides, hanging out with Naomi alone sounded really enticing.

“Done,” replied Naomi, her stomach already growling in anticipation.

B
ess sat on the subway, thinking about the power of sex. She had been an irritated ball of amplified estrogen just days ago—wanting to murder her boss with a chainsaw each time she presented her with yet another asinine story idea, wanting to pour Rob's soup bowl all over his keyboard while she listened to him greedily slurp its contents at lunch, even cursing an elderly Chinese woman under her breath as she blocked her path hobbling along Ninth Avenue in her plastic slippers. Even thinking about Dan's imminent arrival hadn't helped to quell her unmitigated evilness. Since their IM argument, they hadn't really connected on the phone—it was all pleasant jibber-jabber about their days, but no real meat to the conversation.

It was only when Dan called her to tell her that he was in a cab, on his way to her apartment, that the tide had started to turn. The mere thought of seeing his scruffy face and putting her arms around his broad, boy back brought a smile to her face—the first smile that face had seen in weeks. Bess was almost embarrassed by her lust. It seemed silly somehow, especially in contrast to how rational she usually was. It was only when Dan walked through the door, and the warmth flowed through her body like blood, did rationality pack its bags and take a much-needed vacation.

They had tumbled right into bed, hungrily groping at each other and laughing with giddy glee. Afterward, Bess had showed him the itinerary she had crafted for his visit. Dan had smirked and taken it from her, ripping it in two and throwing it on the floor.

“I just want to be with you,” he had said, hugging her close. “No fancy plans necessary. As far as I'm concerned, we never have to get out of bed.” Bess had hugged him back fiercely, surprising them both with the ferocity of her grip. Having Dan in her bed—in New York—made her deliriously happy.

At least for the first, sex-filled twelve hours,
she reminded herself. If only they could truly section themselves off from all forms of reality, including her doubts about the durability of their relationship for the long haul. This morning's reality had delivered itself as Bess's yoga class. She really hoped that Dan had come to the realization that his opinion about the article was better left unsaid. She would hate to taint their very limited time together with a pointless argument. Maybe a surprise bagel and lox ambush of deliciousness would head off any of his rumblings at the pass.

Once off the subway, she went to her bagel shop and picked up Dan's favorite: toasted everything with scallion cream cheese, onion, and lox, and the same for herself.
If his breath is going to reek anyway, I have nothing to worry about,
she told herself. This was one of the gigantic benefits of coupledom: you could eat anything offensive that you wanted to and you never had to worry about not getting kissed. Well, maybe that was true almost always. It was certainly true if you both ate the exact same olfactory nightmare.

The warm brown paper bag clutched firmly in her hand, Bess bounded up the stairs to her apartment. She looked at her watch: 11:45. She really hoped that Dan was still in bed. That way, she could just offer up her yoga explanation casually when he inquired as to her whereabouts, and hopefully his grogginess would overwhelm any judgments.

I can't believe I'm sneaking around to go to yoga class,
thought Bess. Even though she considered this in ironic terms, part of her was wary about the concept. To have to lie about anything to your boyfriend, or even belittle an experience so as not to evoke anger, was not a happy foreshadowing. Her excitement about seeing a sleepy Dan began to wane as reality—this time in the form of resentment—crept in.

Bess shook it off as she opened her apartment door. She peeked around its corner into her laughably small living room. To call it a “living” room was a joke. It would have been better described as the “couch” room as that is really all that fit inside of it. It was empty—no signs of Dan.

Yes!
she thought to herself.
I can make like Martha Stewart and bring him bagels in bed.
She wondered if she had anything that could pass as a tray.

“Mornin', beau-tee-full,” she heard from the kitchen. Happiness flooded her body at the mere sound of his voice.

I really am a sucker,
she thought. Dan shuffled into the room and smiled broadly at her—his face still creased from the pillow's imprints and his hair matted into a roosterlike approximation.

“Hey sleepyhead. I have bagels!” she exclaimed, holding the bag out in front of her and rattling it excitedly. “Your favorite!”

“You are the best,” replied Dan, moving toward her and scooping her into a hug. “Bagels are against the law in LA. Anyone who even thinks about one gets life at fat camp.”

Bess laughed as he took the bag into the kitchen. She unzipped herself from the confines of her down prison.

“It is no joke cold outside. Sometimes I become convinced that winter never actually ends—that summer is just a myth.”

“It does last forever here,” agreed Dan from the kitchen, putting their bagels on plates. “I made coffee. Want some?”

“Yes, please.” She wondered if she should get out of her yoga gear and take a shower before eating. She did feel a bit grubby, but not grubby enough to trump the promise of food. That was the thing about yoga: she never really sweat her brains out the way she sweat when she ran at the gym, but her muscles still felt pleasantly exhausted afterward—perhaps even more so.

“Here you go, madam,” said Dan as he handed Bess her bagel on a plate. “These look so delicious. Thanks so much for getting them.” He plopped down beside her and took a giant bite of his bagel.

“Mmmm, blurgh rerr boo meeve?” he asked, his mouth full. Even this was adorable to Bess. She chewed back at him, her eyes sparkling.

“What?” she asked after she swallowed.

“Sorry. Forgive me, I was raised by wolves.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Where were you this morning?”

Bess took a deep breath before answering. “Yoga,” she explained, refusing to meet Dan's eyes.
Please, please, please, no argument.

“Oh,” answered Dan, as he examined his bagel for the next best bite. “That's cool.” Bess noticed that he wasn't meeting her gaze either. “How was it?”

“It was good. Really good. My muscles are aching, but in a good way, you know?”

Dan nodded in response as he chewed. Bess moved closer to him on the couch and laid her head against his warm chest. How was he always so warm? It was incredible.

“I'm so glad you're here,” she said, partly to change the subject and partly because that was really how she felt: incredibly happy to be sitting next to him on the couch, eating bagels.

“Me, too,” he replied, snuggling into her. “You know, if you moved to LA, you would never have to deal with this winter crap.”

“Thanks, Al Roker,” she replied, already slightly defensive. They had talked about the idea of her moving once or twice before, and Bess was always adamantly opposed. Not only because she had grown up in southern California and had a hard time with the idea of settling there as an adult, but because she didn't like the idea of turning her entire world upside down for the sake of a man. It felt too fifties housewife to her.

“Dan, I know the weather rules in LA.” She sat up straighter beside him. “But you know how I feel about leaving my life completely behind for you. I don't like what that sacrifice entails. It sets a tone.”

“Jesus, when you start spewing that ‘setting a tone' bullshit, my arm hair stands on end. What does that even mean?”

“What do you mean, ‘What does it mean?'” Bess shot back. “It means that I would be giving up everything I've worked for to follow you across the country. And for what?”

Dan placed his cup on the tiny coffee table with studied concentration. “First of all, you are using this bullshit explanation as an excuse. You wouldn't be leaving shit behind, really. You could transfer to the LA office and you would have a much better chance of getting your freelance stuff published in LA newspapers than here. You even have a hook-up there that you refuse to utilize.” It was true; Bess had gone to high school with the head of the
Los Angeles Times
Metro desk, but she barely knew him. She felt like Dan was grasping at straws.

Bess tried to remain calm. “I have come too far in New York to turn back now. And I'm really excited about this article. I really think it has a shot at being picked up by a major publication.”

Dan was silent as he eyed her with disdain. Bess could tell that he was holding something back. “What?! Go ahead and say it,” coaxed Bess.

“You know how I feel about the article. There's no point in bringing it up again.”

“You know, it's interesting that this article upsets you so much.”

“How so?”

“I think its premise scares you. I think its premise scares every man,” she explained.

“Bess, no offense, but what the hell are you talking about?”

“This idea that women no longer have to feel as pressured to push their own dreams and goals aside for someone or something else. It's not like it used to be. Men are like accessories now. Women don't need them to thrive.”

“What the hell does that have to do with your article?” snarled Dan angrily. “Your article is about the groundbreaking idea of ‘women working at jobs that they don't love—to survive in one of the most expensive cities in the world.' Wow, what a novel concept! Give me a break. Your article has nothing whatsoever to do with men and whether or not they're accessories. And what's with the word
accessories
? Who are you? Gloria Steinem or Paris Hilton?! I don't even know what you're talking about! You're making no sense, Bess.”

Bess felt the anger rushing through her body like a sandstorm. Part of her was outraged by Dan's arrogance and part of her—a tiny, boiling part—knew that what he was saying was true. Lately, she had been paralyzed by the thought that maybe this article had no legs at all to stand on. That, ironically, she was just as guilty as Sabine and Naomi of selling out.

That was the thing though—writing the article was her ticket out of that same classification. She had to complete it just to prove to herself that she did still have a creative vision—that she did crave a life beyond her mundane nine-to-five one. That she wasn't going to stop striving just because she had gone and done something stupid like fall in love with a man who lived across the country.

All of her thoughts, reservations, and anxiety had swirled into one giant mass of confusion in Bess's head. She had been avoiding this tornado of emotion for a good week and a half, and here it was, touching down in her living room. Too bad she couldn't hide under the couch until it passed.

She held back tears of frustration. “I am going to take a shower. I can't talk about this anymore right now. Nothing is making sense and you are being an asshole.” Dan opened his mouth to argue against the moniker, but thought better of it as he saw a tear roll down Bess's face and betray her tough facade.

“Okay,” he answered, fighting the urge to take her in his arms. He hated arguing, too, but he couldn't be a no-opinion doormat. It just wasn't his nature. “I'm going to go for a walk.”

“Fine,” she replied over her shoulder as she walked toward the bedroom. She closed the door and flung herself on the bed in a heap of emotional exhaustion. What if Dan was right? What if this article was nothing but a sad attempt at greatness with something that wasn't even good? Facedown on her bed, she couldn't see the door open, but she felt Dan's presence instinctively. She tensed up, like a threatened snake ready to strike.

“Hey, Bess,” whispered Dan. She didn't answer.

“Bess,” he repeated, moving to sit on the bed beside her. He put his hand on her back. Instantly, Bess felt warmth radiate up her spine. She relaxed against it, damning the power of physical chemistry. It was impossible to fight.

“Listen, I'm sorry I'm being so hard on you about LA and this article.”

Bess turned over to look at him. “You should be sorry. I feel like you're giving me no room to breathe on either subject, Dan. You're backing me into a corner.”

“I just, well. . .I guess I'm just worried about the future.”

“Really? Why?”

“I mean, I look at our dreams as easily intertwined, you know?” explained Dan. “I just don't see us as having to strive for such separate goals. We can both strive for creative fulfillment together, you know?”

Bess fought back tears. “Oh Dan,” she said, sitting up and enveloping him in a bear hug. “I know you're right, but it's hard for me. I've been single for so long that I never really thought that I could have everything I wanted. Career fulfillment and love? How can you have one without sacrificing the other?”

“Wow,” he said, stroking her hair. “That's crazy to me. You are so someone who deserves everything in life. The fact that you see love and personal fulfillment as two separate entities makes me sad.” He kissed her cheek. “I know you can have both.”

“But at what cost? I mean, something's got to give.”

“Maybe you'll fall behind on your fruit canning,” teased Dan. “Or your embroidery. Come on, Bess, you're not giving yourself enough credit. I know you can make your life as full or as vacuous as you want it.”

Bess laughed. “I have the power to live a life completely devoid of meaning! The power is within me!”

Dan squeezed her tightly as he laughed with her. “You know what I mean. I just want us to do this together. I don't want to lose you to your insecurities about your independence or lack thereof.”

Bess stroked his scruff. “And I don't want to walk away from what we have because of those insecurities, either. But it's not just the insecurities. I mean, what are we doing?”