Engaging Men (43 page)

He shook his head. “Oh, I get it. You run around playing at acting while I break my ass making money, so that when you realize you’re never gonna get anywhere, you have someone to fall back on. That’s a great gig, Ange. Where do I sign? Oh, and by the way, who is going to raise our children while you’re running around tilting at windmills? Because one of us is going to have to work for a living if we hope to have anything.“

My eyes widened at his words. “So that’s how it works? I’m supposed to be there waiting at home for you to be a big success while I raise your children!” Suddenly I was so sure I didn’t want to have those children he professed to want. At least, not with him. And with that thought came another—I didn’t love him enough. And he didn’t love me. Not enough.

That thought hurt the most. So much so that the pain began to flow through me, and I was crying. Crying! Because I knew that if I married Kirk, I would never get anything I wanted out of life. That thought made me so, so sad.

And my tears, apparently, made Kirk so, so mad. “C’mon, Ange. Does everything have to be a big fucking drama?”

“Drama?” I asked, my sorrow turning to anger.

He sighed, shook his head. “Look, let’s just forget about this for now. We’ll talk when I get back. I have a plane to catch. I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

“This bullshit is my life! And I don’t think I should settle for less. In life. In a ring—”

“Oh, so that’s what this is about? You’re just mad at me right now because I don’t want to drop ten grand on a ring?”

“It’s not about the ring, you idiot!”

“Now I’m an idiot, that’s great. You know, I feel like an idiot. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. You’re the one who was so hyped up about getting married. Now all of a sudden you have all these conditions.”

“The only condition I ever asked was that you love me.”

He sighed. “You know I love you, Angie.”

I shook my head. enough. And I don’t love you enough to settle for less than everything.“

“Look, can’t we just talk about this when I get back? I have a plane to catch—”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Kirk,” I said, a new resolve filling me despite the intensity of my pain. “It’s over.”

“So that’s how you want to play it?” he said, anger lighting his eyes. He shook his head. “You’re a fool, Angie.” Then, raising his hand in the air again, he said, “I gotta go. I have a real life I need to be getting on with.”

And with that, he jumped into the first cab that rolled up, slamming the door behind him as the cab darted quickly away.

Leaving me standing in the midst of all those glittering lights as the last flicker of every feeling I’d ever had for Kirk died away.

At least I thought every feeling had died. But apparently not. Because as I rode home in a taxi to my apartment, I began to cry even harder. It was over, I thought. Really over. Things would never be the same. I was no longer the same. But whether I was better was debatable at the moment, judging by the fountain pouring out of my eyes.

By the time the cab rolled up in front of my apartment, I was a mess. So much so that even the cab driver passed a box of Kleenex through the partition. His unexpected kindness made me cry even more. I reached out to grab a tissue, thanking him profusely. “Oh, it’s my pleasure,” he said, beaming a crooked smile at me. “It’s not every day I get to drive around a big celebrity like you, Ms. Tomei.”

I started to bawl even harder, which made the cabbie so nervous, he handed me the whole box of Kleenex. I, of course, handed it back, once I’d pulled myself together, paid my fare, and autographed “Marisa Tomei” in my best forgery on the receipt paper he handed me. At least I could feed someone’s illusions, I rationalized. Because mine were completely gone.

When I finally made my way up to the apartment Justin was there. On sofa #3. But rather than holding the remote in his hand, he held his guitar, looking every bit as happy as the night before. Until he saw me walk through the door.

“What happened?” he asked, immediately putting down the guitar and looking at me in alarm.

“I…Kirk…we…we broke up!” I said, throwing myself into Justin’s arms as I erupted in a new avalanche of tears, which I promptly soaked Justin’s T-shirt with while I sobbed out my tale of woe. How we had been shopping for rings (this caused his eyes to widen—I guess Justin didn’t think things had gotten that far), how I told Kirk why I didn’t want to sign the contract.

How he had, in a few short sentences, reduced my every hope and dream into a hopeless waste of time.

By the time I was done, I felt a calm descend over me that I had not felt for a long, long time. But like every calm I ever felt, it was immediately followed by an anxious flicker of doubt.

“Please tell me I did the right thing, Justin. That I didn’t just throw away my whole…future.”

“Of course you did the right thing,” he said, taking my hands in his and looking into my eyes. “You don’t want a guy like that, Ange.” Then he smiled. “Besides, you could never marry a Red Sox fan.“ He peered at me to see if he had provoked the smile he had hoped for.

I didn’t disappoint him, but my grin was halfhearted. Even though I felt lighter now that I had unleashed my burden, I was still scared.

“What am I going to do now?” I asked, realizing that in the course of a weekend, I had decided to wipe my life clean of both a boyfriend and a career.

“What are you going to do?” he asked, taking my face in his two big hands. “You’re going to go out there and be the star you were meant to be.”

I knew he was trying to comfort me, but the thought of going out there and suffering more rejection only filled me with more sadness.

“But am I going to be happy?” I asked him, gazing into those green, green eyes as if I could find the answer there.

“I would never let you be otherwise,” he said, gazing back at me steadily.

I believed him in that moment. He seemed so sure. I guess he had reason to be sure. I mean, in his own life everything came so easily to Justin. He wanted to make a film, he made a film— and gets an award. He wanted to be an actor, so he landed a commercial spot that heaps residuals on him and buys him all the time in the world to be anything he wants. He wants to be a musician; he gets up on stage and wows the crowd. Things were just… easier for Justin. Did he realize how not easy they were for me?

As if he read my mind, he said, “You can be anything you want, Ange. You’re smart. Talented. And beautiful.”

I was sure “beautiful” was not a word that could possibly describe how I must have looked in that moment—puffy-eyed, mascara-streaked. But the way Justin was looking at me, I believed it. I would have believed anything in that moment. Except what happened next.

Because suddenly Justin’s mouth was on mine, kissing me like I was the most beautiful woman on earth.

And I discovered something I didn’t know about my roommate. He had the softest lips I had ever tasted. So I kept on tasting them. Until he parted them, and his tongue was tangling with mine so tenderly I felt a fresh wave of emotion wash over me.

Opening my eyes, I found myself staring into Justin’s. “What are we doing?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” he whispered, eyes wide. But in typical Justin fashion, he gave in to the chaos of the moment. And suddenly I was pulling off clothes even faster than he was. It was like a challenge. Or a revelation. For as long as I had lived with Justin, I had never seen him quite like this. I mean, bare chested he was always amazing. But naked, he was…glorious. And he clearly thought I was pretty glorious, too, once he had helped me off with my bra and panties (I had gotten a little shy at that point) and he lay on the sofa beside me, leaning away from me just to look at me.

“Ange, I always knew you were pretty hot, but damn,” he said, his eyes roaming over my stomach, my breasts, as if he were seeing them for the first time. And I guess, technically, he was. Then, as if he had suddenly gotten shy, he looked up at my face, seemingly asking permission to touch. I think I must have nodded frantically, because suddenly his hands were caressing my breasts, my hips, my thighs as his lips came down on mine.

It was almost painful when he started to move down my body, as if he was trying to record every curve, every beauty mark (and I had quite a few), with mouth and hands. By the time he reached my lower abs, I almost cried out. And when he reached Avenue A, I did.

How did I ever think I could live without this? I thought, as his tongue moved on me in a pleasurable rhythm. Then I wasn’t thinking anything anymore. I was just…living.

And the living was good. So good it was almost scary. Even more scary when he moved up my body again, then finally— finally!—slid inside. The feel of him surprised me at first. I realized that, in this regard at least, Justin was a stranger to me. But once those green eyes were locked on mine as our bodies moved in time to each other, it felt like…coming home.

Whenever I thought about the fact that I had (nearly) pledged my life to a man who understood me less than his doorman probably did, I had to ask myself the question: What was I thinking? But over the wildly euphoric weeks that followed, I only asked myself the question twice. First, of course, was when Justin gave me a refresher course on the glory of downtown loving (was there anything he wasn’t good at?). The second time was when I was having dinner with Grace, during which I confessed that not only had I passed Go and not collected my engagement ring from Kirk, but that I was having a torrid affair with the man who had been living right under my nose for two years. And it was torrid. I think in the few weeks since that fateful night, we had made love on every piece of furniture that could sustain us, and even a few that didn’t (I never did like that Early American desk anyway). And I do not use the words “made love” loosely. Because having sex was what I’d been doing with Kirk. I knew now that while all that premeditated button-pushing that he passed off as lovemaking could certainly make me come (I had no problems in this area), it could never get me where I really needed to go.

“You’re in love with Justin,” Grace said, smiling at me over her glass of wine as if she’d just revealed a secret.