Chapter 3: Ronny Has A Cat (Novel)

Chapter 3

It’s next week and I’m back in the office. The same routine. There was a movie about this, ‘Groundhog Day.’ Except in the movie the guy actually woke to thesame day over and over every morning. In my case it just feels the like the same day. This weekend had been a disaster. I came out of it feeling worse than I went in and now it’s all back: the same unaffectionate wife, the same shitty job, and the same temptress only one desk away trying to lure me back into old habits.

“So when’s that lunch you promised me?”

I had been doing my best to ignore Heather today. She came well prepared to defeat my efforts, wearing a knee-length form-fitting skirt, boots with heels, a loose blouse and those black plastic framed glasses that seem custom designed to bring out the school-girl fantasy lurking deep in my psyche. Normally she doesn’t even wear eyeglasses. Does she wear contacts? Why do I care? I know she didn’t wake up this morning and dress with my seduction in mind, but if she had she would have come in looking much like she does right now. Sadly, I did wake up this morning and dress with her in mind. I showered with her in mind and ate breakfast with her in mind.

“Oh lunch! I forgot all about it. When is good for you?”

“Forgot?”

“I’m sorry. No – I didn’t forget. When would you like to go?”

“Now.”

“Hold on a second now. How do you know I’m not busy right this minute?”

She was already grabbing her purse and standing. “I peeked at your calendar. You’ve got nothing going on except lunch with me.”

“Right.” I stand as well since it is apparent that I will be going to lunch now.

“And now that you’ve hurt my feelings, what are you going to do about it?” She had her purse held in both hands clasped at her waist and was swinging back and forth ever so slightly, looking up at me through those glasses. Those damn glasses.

“I’ll tell you what – lunch is on me.” I motioned to the door and she started toward it.

“Lunch was on you anyway. You’ll still owe me after this.”

“Yeah? What do I owe you?” We step outside into the sun. My eyes adjust and for a moment everything is blurry white. Then the dependable blue of the sky.

“I’ll decide after lunch. Once I’ve recovered.”

Lunch is at Pollo Asado. If I have my spanish right that means ‘chicken cooked outside.’ Which is what they do. Just a short walk from the office, the restaurant is built where there used to be a go-cart track. The concrete oval is still there, now with parking on the inside circle, and they have a little ramada set up in the middle of it with some bench seats and picnic tables. There is a huge barbecue just off the dining area and a dozen or so whole chickens are always cooking despite the number of orders in. I always wonder what happens when nobody orders any chicken – what do they do with the leftovers? Right now, for example, there are two customers: Heather and I.
We are not ordering a dozen chickens. In fact we both order the same thing: a quarter chicken with rice and beans and a Coke. There’s nothing to it, the only options are quarter, half or whole chicken with rice and beans. They serve the Coke in bottles, imported from Mexico, which is the only time I ever really enjoy drinking it. I have a theory that they make it differently down there, but like most of my theories I really doubt there’s any truth in it.

The food comes quickly and we eat without saying much. Every once in a while I’m sure she is about to say something. She stops eating, and wipes her mouth. She uses a finger to brush her hair behind her ear. She looks right at me but she doesn’t say anything. Sometimes she is drinking through a straw and I’m the one who stops and stares. She knows why I’m staring and she smiles. We are like a couple of teenagers here, having lunch together, making eyes and not saying anything for fear of ruining it. Finally she proves the braver of us.

“So are you leaving her yet?” She has her glasses pulled up and holding her hair back. Her arms are crossed in front of her and she leans in towards me.

“What?” It is a conscious effort not to look at her cleavage. I distract myself with a drink from my bottle.

“She doesn’t sound very nice anyway. I’m nice, you know.” She raises her eyebrows just a bit and winks. “Very nice.”

I’m stuck. It feels as though a giant rail tie
has been driven through my gut and has me fastened to the bench. The weight of it is amazing and a thousand responses run through my mind but none of them escapes through my lips. Her foot brushes against my pant leg. Then again. She is doing it on purpose. She puts the straw in her mouth and looks right at me. She’s posing. Jesus Christ. She knows what she’s doing now. She knows I’m about to have a heart attack. She knows I want nothing more than I want her. I stand.

“Where you going?”

“I.” It takes a moment. “I need to use the restroom.”

“You wanna cover that up that third leg?”

She’s right. My slacks are revealing way too much about my natural endowment than they ever should. I hurry to the restroom with the waitstaff chuckling behind me. With the door closed and locked I lean on the sink and try to calm down. Deep breaths. Wash my face. Close my eyes and picture nothing at all. If she asked me now I would take her anywhere. Do anything. The worst part is that she knows that. Her actions are intentional. Imagine how foolish I look, like a little boy staring at the girls in swimsuits on the beach. I step out and return to the table.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes. Much.”

“Did you? You know.”

“What? No! What do you think I am?”

“Sorry.” She’s laughing at me. The tension, the weight, is gone. “Not bad though.”

“You ready to go?”

“Let’s.”

And we did. Walking back I feel like I should say something to her. I’m even more like a schoolboy than I was at the table. I keep turning my head to her and starting to say nothing. There are no words there, nothing held back, just a strange urge to talk with nothing to say. Eventually, almost without noticing, I am holding her hand. My heart starts to quicken again but before I can get to worked up she pulls her hand deliberately away and quickens her pace.

“We really better get back.” Her voice is quiet now, not excited like at lunch. No longer friendly.

We remain silent for the rest of our walk. No glances, no smiles, no brushing against one another. What the hell was I thinking? This girl doesn’t want me the way that I want her. She is only playing a game, like any young college girl looking for fun. This can’t be a game for me – too much is on the line. I have my wife and my home. I have my sanity and a new life. Why would I try to tear that down for this?

I used to cheat. When I had girlfriends it often seemed like I spent less time with them than I did with other girls. When you deal drugs to the club goers you are never wanting for female attention. The girls figure you’ll give them freebies but they were usually wrong about that. I even had an informal set of rules so I could cheat without worrying. Never pick a girl who would end up at one of my hangouts without warning. Never pick a girl who might know my friends. Never cheat with the same girl more than once or twice – the last thing you want is two girlfriends. Most important, never let a girl get me on a regular schedule. If you’re on a regular schedule then you can’t cheat because the girlfriend will catch on quickly once you deviate from your routine.
For all of that planning I usually did end up getting caught. I would always screw something up, often on purpose, that would put the lie to me. There was some thrill to that, once the thrill of cheating on a particular girl had worn off. The ensuing drama served as some sick comedy for me. The yelling and crying. The best line ever: ‘how could you?’ Because nobody would ever suspect the party-boy drug dealer to be a bad guy, right? It had become another vice for me to add to my collection. And now I have quit. I have to quit. If I am the same man in one respect I am the same man in all respects, and that man is in the past.

Back at the office, the rest of the day passes neatly. Heather is out on appointments most of the afternoon, and Steve doesn’t see fit to give me any trouble today. At the end of the day Heather leaves without saying a word. I wait until she will likely have had time to get into her car and drive away before heading out myself.