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This time it’s to New York in a hotel where everything is miniaturized. All pop out furniture and the bathroom glass door is directly opposed to the Murphy bed. It’s a very classy Murphy bed, though. The decor is all white and purple.
When we’re all unpacked and I’ve spent an appropriate amount of time pushing and testing every button in the room, we go downstairs to the purple and white bar for purple and white drinks. Because why not?
I munch on delicious appetizers provided free of charge (spinach and gruyere quiche and fancy olives and fake bacon wrapped dates which are surprisingly tasty, plus a range of tasty miniature cakes and different mousses in tiny cubic plastic dishes), and I drink Purple Rain cocktails. My life is feels like an episode of Sex and the City way too often to be healthy for me. But I kind of don’t care. I’m not hurting anybody. And I’m kicking butt at self-care. I drain the glass, and head upstairs to bed to make sure I’m ready when he’s back from his work day.
* * *
December 20, 5:00pm
I’m loungingon the couch in the hotel room, snacking on crazy bread and sipping champagne that I ordered for absolutely no reason at all. The hotel person answered the phone with, “Hello, Mrs. David which kind of threw me off, but I didn’t correct them. They didn’t really care who I was.
He’s distracted, on his phone. So, I ask a question to break the quiet.
“What do you want?” I’m not asking in accusation. I genuinely just want to know, but he’s just looking at me like I’ve either accused him of murder or to calculate the airspeed velocity of an unladen African swallow. “Not with us,” I say flustered, thinking he thinks this is one of those “Let’s talk about the future” talks. “I mean, just in general. What makes you happy?” He starts to speak, then stops. “Nobody ever asked me that before. I suppose the easy answer is, my kids and my work…. but I guess I’d have to think about that.” And we lapsed back into silence until it was time to get dinner.
We pick this fancy tapas place for dinner. I like dinner that comes on little plates. What a cool concept. And then I order several cocktails to fit the theme, making sure I coordinate them with the next color of the rainbow. I might be a little obsessive compulsive.
Maybe.
But I’m okay, aren’t I?
* * *
11
Kitten Finds a Home
When we travel together, by the way, we play together. I want to own you, he says, but I don’t want to contain you. I want you to have a woman in your life, too. I only want to be allowed to share it with you. And I cannot disagree with that. I want to share with him, too.
* * *
December 28 , 10:00pm
“I know.I know. You’re not social. And I’m happy, I really am. I’m not trying to complain. You aren’t making me miss out onanything. Quite the opposite. I thought I’d have to leave international travel as something I got to indulge in in my twenties, but that part of my life was over. And now it’s not. And I don’t need exciting trips all the time. I like just spending my evenings with you and letting the world disappear. I mean, it’s not exactly a tough life. I have exciting professional opportunity in front of me. Plus, I’ve got this wonderful woman with whom I’ve been sharing intimate secrets and passionate love letters— and she’s marvelous, really. I love being just her and you and me, too.
But I need this, too, please. I need somewhere we can go out and just…be with people. And I want this place, this one place, to feel like home. Surrounded by friends.
Please?”
My reflection gives me a hopeful look. Okay, I think I’ve practiced this speech long enough. I’ve got it down pat. It’s just I’m really quite worried he’ll say no. He’s such a home body, really. I think he’d make a lovely stay at home dad. He likes staying in with me. He likes not having to worry about what to say or how to say it. And the rest of the time, he loves being with his family. Plus, he does have afewfriends that didn’t abandon him because of his ex-wife’s lies. Maybe that’s enough for him.
I adore our nights in, too. Turns out I’m such a domestic kitten. I’m safe and happy and purring in front of a fireplace (his place has two). But, God, I need to just socialize around other people. And not just parties. Nobody really connects at parties.
We’ve gone to a few parties since the one where I met Laura. She’s a fantastic organizer, as it turns out. She and he and I have even gone on some dates of our own. She’s quite playful. I guess she used to be in accounting, but it wasn’t her (I met an accountant at Burning Man who also had to hide everything about himself and cover the fact that he was gay). So now she runs sex parties. It’s not as easy as people think, she says, but so, so worth it! I guess people think sex work is so easy. Sure, anyone can repost some nudes they took for an ex and charge money for them on some third-party site (that will take 20% and own the content, but whatever). That doesn’t mean all sex work is easy, and certainly the quality stuff is just as hard as quality in any profession.
She runs excellent parties. Top notch. I’ve been to some sketchy ones and, trust me, you do not want to be a part of those. Not worth the potential for getting raped. Even at hers, one must be careful and bring a protector. I’m lucky I’ve always had David as mine. But it helps when you’ve got a solid organizer behind the party. I don’t know why, I’m not an organizer. All I know is the parties are better. More fun. What’s the point of going if it isn’t fun? But…there’s just one small problem.
It’s not her. And it’s not her parties. I love her parties. Sure, we end up being the odd couple that talks politics all night with the other weird couples. I’m never the normal one at these parties. But I never, ever feel uneasy. I know I can trust her and her partner that runs the parties with her. I know if something happened to me, she would take me seriously.
But…it’s hard to make connections. Besides her, I don’t really know anyone. Yes, Vegas is a transitory city. Nobody stays for long. But I want someplace we can make friendships and have a social circle. Where am I going to get that and not have to hide a quarter to half of my life? It’s tiring enough to do that with my own friends. Maybe I can talk to people and not have to stick to the weather, fashion trends, and the latest political shenanigans.
* * *
January 11, 7:00pm
Another new year,another new experience! Ooh, I’m at my first munch! The great thing about Vegas is that the community is small, but very, very tight. Everyone here has been coming for a while and they all know each other. The place didn’t look like much from the outside – one of many seedy seeming bars with slot machines in one of many strip malls.Everyone thinks Vegas is just the Strip, but really, it’s more of land of strip malls off the Strip.The inside is just as odd as the outside is nondescript. Lots of 1970’s wood décor, slot machines built right into the bar (newer addition, I suppose.) Bar stools look like they’ve gotten a lot of use.
I walk in, get greeted by the host committee and survey the room. There’s maybe fifty or so people here, some on the well-worn bar stools, some on the even more well-worn couches. There are two servers running back and forth from the bar with drink trays. I dub one “blue” because her entire left arm is covered with a bright blue tattoo, and the other one “red” for the very same reason.It’s going to be fun watching “blue” vs. “red” all night.At least I’ll get some amusement if nothing else pans out.
