I realize I need to finish the last post, but it's a weighty topic and for now, I want to flit away to something lighter.
Yesterday, I was offered another job. In short, a better, more lucrative job that allows me to continue the retail marketing post I already have. It's also an opportunity for me to more directly help others, working for a senior health care company that specializes in providing benefits to the low-income, disadvantaged population.
"This gets you more of that social services aspect you said you want in your life," Vickie, the program director, says.
The call comes out of the blue while I am making dinner for the African. My kitchen counters are pockmarked with dirty pots, pans and utensils. Onions, mushrooms and garlic sizzle softly on the back burner. Pasta simmers on another. I am blending with a hand mixer a combination of sweetened condensed milk and some powder that promises to yield cheesecake.
Bowling for Soup rumbles from the stereo. I sing along and drink white wine. The glass is sticky and blotched with traces of syrupy milk.
I turn to discover my dog has vomited on the virgin white carpet. Twice. She is eating it. I keep singing and pretend not to notice.
When the call comes, I am startled to hear that it is Vickie, for whom I have been working on a contract basis through an East Coast marketing company, and flabbergasted by her offer to contract with me directly. "You come up with some figures for me. I don't know what range you're thinking, but I know you're worth a lot. I don't know if I can afford you, but let's talk and see."
After a year-and-a-half of feeling useless at my job, and a lifetime of being underpaid, her words almost provoke laughter. Instead, I say, "Yes, I'll give that some thought. Let me get back to you."
I hang up and stand there, a cream cheese-covered spatula in one hand, a wine glass in the other, staring unseeing out the sliding glass door. Truthfully, I don't yet quite understand what has just happened.
A few minutes later, I open the door to Roger, who is smiling and more handsome than I remember. He kisses me, and with the sexiest accent that has ever hovered an inch above my ear says, "How are you? It's good to see you."
It is lately as though my life is a Disney movie. With a PG-plus rating.
I can't see them, but I think they're out there - a no-nonsense director and a cast whose members I mistake as regular folks in my life.
I hear him faintly in the background of these recent days.
"OK folks, start the fans for the cool breeze.
"Now, cue the guy. That's it, Roger, you're on.
"The phone - ring it now. Vickie, make the offer.
"And you, open the door for her at the grocery store and smile.
"Now, dim the lights. Bring up the stellar sunset."
And there am I, the unwitting protagonist, answering the phone, staring in awe at the sunset, kissing the leading man.
These flawless phases in life can't last, I know. Enjoy it while you can; the phrase becomes a mantra.
Roger's visit is the icing on it all. Last week, I volleyed back and called him. This time, I reached him live, and when he heard my name - I swear - his voice lit up. He asked to see me immediately and was disappointed to learn it would be a week before my schedule allowed it.
Finally, it is here.
We have a fabulous evening. We eat, we linger on the patio and drink wine, and sit alone in the hot tub. We talk, a lot, about his youth in South Africa, our jobs, our children and our families. I sense no secrets, no hints of a troubled past, not even of emotional trauma. Nothing but niceness laced with a surety that doesn't extend to arrogance. I search hopefully for flaws - something to which I can point as sound reason for a future rejection - and came up empty handed. It's the third date, damnit. Something sure as hell should have come out by now.
Instead, I see only more remarkable features. If the man was a car, I'd have fallen for the clean lines, the powerful build, and the fact that it looks as fine from the front as the back. I'd have driven him off the lot, deeply, happily in debt.
He gets out of the hot tub, and I note the perfect V that forms from his waist to his broad shoulders. I think my jaw has come unhinged; surely, his back is burning. He turns to offer his hand to me. Cue the towel dropped carelessly around his neck. Flash the rakish grin.
How did I get so lucky?
But then I feel the seeds of a potentially large problem plant themselves inside me. They are small for now, but they're already wrapping sturdy roots around my core, and I know from past history that they grow with feverish speed and have weedlike tenacity. It starts as a twist in my heart at something he says, the way he tilts his head, a turn of a phrase, the simple fact that he listens to me so attentively, that he hears me so well, that he smiles so often.
I am tipping.
Where is the weed killer for my all-too-fertile heart?
When he leaves, things between us are again left vague. I resolve to keep them that way. I decide to push back from what I want the most, to be cool and safe. (I hear you laughing. But pay attention; the director is shushing you.)
Perhaps I should look at it all through a different, wider lens. The truth, if I only see it as such, is this:
Vickie's right. I am worth a lot. It's those before her who under-valued me. It's the jobs I chose to take, the famously low-paying career I optimistically began 20 years ago, that led me to believe I was worth less than I am.
It seems Roger is an unexpected and precious find. But so, I know, am I. And I dare not be so dazzled by these initial impressions that I lose sight of that. In the end, I believe it's him who's really the lucky one.
That aside, the beer-drinking guy with the Weimaraner is out there somewhere, too. And the cool evening breeze has been cued up. Ally needs a walk. I grab her leash, forgo the beer and we step out into the summer evening. The next act is about to begin.
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1 comment:
What an awesome day!! You are TOTALLY worth it -- I'm glad you're in a position for that to materialize into something tangible. I'm even more encouraged by your successes that I'll have better opportunities when I move on, too. You rock! -- Gina
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