The Discount Life: Step Four: Cont'd

I woke up disoriented with a splitting headache. I smelled men’s cologne before I opened my eyes and a flicker of lashes confirmed there was a tall, dark and handsome man laying next to me, completely asleep, mouth open, slight bit of drool chasing the pillow. He was adorable even when he slept like an old lady. So I’d done it. I’d slept with Mr. Handsome. I laid my head back on the pillow, closed my eyes and tried to recall the events of the previous evening. I remembered the bar, a cool urban loft like place with orange lighting and the smell of orchids everywhere. I remembered being handed more than my fair share of Manhattans. I remembered him opening the front door to his apartment, his arms around me, helping me in. I remember the feel of my face against his chest provoking the delightful feeling that I did not have to be in control. That I was engulfed by a big wide chest with muscles that poked through his tee shirt. I remembered I traced the outline of his pecks just before….come to think of it, I don’t remember anymore. How can I not remember the best night of my entire life?! I opened my eyes and checked to make sure Christian was real and not a hangover hallucination. He was definitely next to me. I just couldn't remember the getting into bed part, which was a crying shame considering he may be the sexiest man to ever lie beside me.


I needed confirmation. I rolled on my side and ever so deftly, lifted the sheet that hovered over his well muscled upper torso. Hmmm, boxers. No help. But I was delighted to see he had a little softness around his middle. He was toned but no washboard abs. He wasn’t perfect after all, which took some of the pressure off me. I took a glance at my own midsection. AHHH. I let him see that! I have to hit the gym.

I caught a glimpse of the clock – 6:30am. I was supposed to return to work today. Crap. And now I had to make it across town, dress at Mel’s and get to the office by 8:30. I had to hurry. I jumped out of bed and dressed quickly. As I slid on my high waisted pants, I smiled to myself. Guess they really were hot. Christian was oblivious to my noise and sleeping soundly with his arms and legs flailing out from the covers. I resisted the urge to wake him and instead left a scribbled note on his kitchen table:

Have to get to work. Had fun last night. Repeat soon? Chloe

Of course, I lamented my wording all the way through getting dressed and going to work. Repeat soon? What if he said no. What if he wanted to say no but felt obligated to say yes. What if…oh Chloe. Stop.

I made it to work at 8:33, no one seemed to notice my three minute liberty, but Joan, the office accountant noticed something. “I thought you were sick,” she said. “You don’t look sick. You look ….almost radiant.”

“Thanks? I wasn’t sick sick,” I said. “I just needed some personal time. That’s all. Better now. Thanks for asking.” I skirted by her as fast as I could and camped out at my desk for the morning. By 9:45 I started to worry that he hadn’t called. Insecurities burned a whole in my brain. Did I sleep with him? I must of. It must have been horrible. I was terribly drunk. I DEMAND a do over. I shuffled papers, I checked my email, I answered the phone but I caught myself frequently staring blankly at the wall, lost in thought. Was he not calling because I was that bad? No he was just a busy working guy. Was he not calling because now that it wasn’t forbidden, it wasn’t exciting? Yes. That was it. Working is just a ploy! Oh god. And I went on like this for hours, the good and evil scenarios weighing equally on my mind. For a moment I wished I was a man with the ability to turn off communication without a second thought. Andrew and Mel regularly neglected to return my phone calls. I didn’t stress out over them? But this was different.

And then, at 2:30, he called. “You ran out on me this morning.” Relief coursed through my veins.

“You were sound asleep. Didn’t want to wake you.”

“Wish you had. Mornings are my best hours, if you catch my drift.” I blushed. I had seen but I wasn’t going to mention it. I put my hand up to my cheek to hide my face and said, “Christian, I’m at work. I really can’t talk right now.”

“Okay. Just wanted to tell you, I had fun last night. Can’t wait to see you again.” I wanted to jump up and down and do a little touchdown dance. Instead, I stayed rooted in my uncomfortable office chair.

“Me too.”

“Talk to you soon.” He hung up and I had to go pour myself a cup of coffee that I had no intention of drinking just because I was too excited to sit still at the desk.



For the next two days Mel and I relived every detail I could recall from the events of Thursday and Friday. “Did he dance well?”

“No. But he danced.”

“Got to give him credit for that. How was his bathroom? Was it dirty? I hate a dirty bathroom.”

“Very clean bathroom. I was surprised actually. He doesn’t seem like a detail oriented guy. But his bathroom was clean.”

“Does he kiss well?” Ahh, the kiss. I remembered the first kiss. We’d left the bar. He hailed a cab to take us back to his apartment and just before we got in he turned me to him, put one hand at the small of my back and one hand on my cheek, pulled me to him and gave me a long, soft, parted lip kiss.

“I think I made gaga eyes at him, which is embarrassing. I don’t know why I can’t play these things cool.”

“And then what happened?”

“We got in the cab and went home. And I told you I don’t remember if we did it or not.”

“Has he called again?”

I sighed. “No. We ended with him saying “Talk to you soon.”

“Okay well don’t stress. When guys say soon they mean anywhere between tomorrow and three weeks from now. He’ll call. I can feel it.” I stopped myself from saying I hope so out loud.

Sunday morning came and I busied myself getting ready for the DLA meeting. I checked my phone. No messages. No bother. I’m completely busy and unable to chat anyway. I turned my extra energy into extra effort picking out my clothes and gathered our things for the meeting.

We’d moved the venue indoors at the same coffee shop that Christian and I sipped coffee on our first…well you couldn’t call it a date now could you? But on our more than just coffee get together. It was getting too cold for outdoor meetings. With Thanksgiving right around the corner, our fingers were going to freeze on the park bench. And today was the day we brought our DL partners. Andrew agreed to meet us there. I felt an anxiousness about his arrival that I couldn’t explain but did not share with anyone and brushed off.

Mel, Jack and I arrived on time. The coffee shop was nearly empty at this early hour and Mel and Jack went straight to the counter to order. I was stopped – assaulted, if you will, by Agnes, the joint DL partner of Lizzie and Tucker.

“You what they calls the ring leader ,eh?” she pronounced it lead-ah with a cockney sing song that almost made me laugh.

“I don’t know about ring leader,” I said, stressing the ‘r’ in leader. “But I did start the DLA.” She was dressed well in black slacks, a velvet throw. Her hair was immaculate and frozen in place. From appearances Agnes was a perfectly polished British transplant. It was the smell of scotch on her breath that gave her away.

“Wells' you might have guessed I’m an alcoholic. But it’s we low life’s that bring the most fun. What’s a gathering without a middle aged woman without a filter?” Her syllables were so crisp they had the effect of biting into an apple everytime she approached a ‘t’ or ‘d’.

“I suspect that’s why you’re here then, right?"

“Right ‘o. You’re going to fix the old bag up.” She slapped my shoulder and I laughed as she walked away to join Lizzie and Tucker.

We mingled while we ordered. Shot the breeze. Tucker said he’d been living at the 17th Street shelter, a place that he absolutely detested for its lack of lighting and the fact that it was “full of degenerates.” He neglected to include himself among them but who was I to judge. Everyone ran their marathon at their own pace. Lizzie regaled her youngest daughters performance in the Thanksgiving play at school while we stood at the pick up counter. “She was a cow. I had to find a cow costume. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but were there even cows at the first Thanksgiving?”

“I’ve never seen them but then again, Thanksgiving never really happened. So who’s to say?” said Jack. I listened to their gibber jabber for several minutes, scanning the door for Andrew. He wasn’t there. We took our seats and I was just about to pull out my notebook when he came strolling through the door, 12 minutes late and with baggage. A pixie like carry on, tiny as a toddler. “Hey Chloe,” he walked straight for me and leaned in for a hug. He searched my eyes for a minute and said, “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” I stiffened under his touch. I was uncomfortable with discount girl watching. And who said he could bring her? He was my discount partner. Now, what, we were going to share him?

“Good. Good.” He turned and put out a hand to usher Discount Girl to me. Chloe be nice. “Chloe, this is Marie.”

I hate her. “Nice to meet you,” I said holding out my hand. She accepted with a, “Nice to meet you” in return. I managed a smile, with the equivalent sentiment of a shrug, and motioned for them to sit at the last two seats available – located, unfortunately directly across from me. They surveyed their chairs, undid their coats, and during their inattention I took a moment to size her up. The thing was she wasn’t 8 feet tall or a Victoria’s Secret model. She was short and rail thin in that impish sort of way. She had poorly highlighted hair and carried the facial expressions of a mannequin. This was the no discounts girl? The one he was going to settle down with and buy new furniture for? Chloe, I admonished myself – You. Are. Not. Attached. Be nice. He’s happy.

“Thanks so much for letting me come,” Marie said. “I’ve been excited to meet you.” I wanted to say, I didn’t invite you but smiled instead and said, “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Half truth. I imagined a lot about her but actually knew very little. My dislike was based purely on principle – she was sitting on my porch, which wasn’t mine at all, and drinking my sangria, which …also…wasn’t really mine at all. Why did I hate her again?

Agnes leaned over, studying my face. The smell of scotch on her breath nauseated me as she said, “That one’s a wee bit of an elf, isn’t she?”

I stifled a laugh and said, “Agnes, do you need a coffee?”

“I like myself better on a cup ‘o gin but I’ll settle for coffee and Kahlua if you’re buying.”

“How about just coffee?”

“Well if you’re going to take all the bloody fun out if it then just forget the whole bloody thing.” She turned away from me dramatically. I motioned for the waiter to come over and ordered her a coffee with a shot of Irish crème flavoring. That would have to suffice.

“So,“ I said. “Let’s begin the meeting.” I counted the number people around our tables. “Eight members.”

“Nine,” said Andrew. He jerked his head in Marie’s direction.

“I’m not officially joining yet,” she said. “Eight is fine. Maybe nine next time.”

Alright enough. I swallowed hard and forced myself to smile genuinely. “Either way, eight or nine members, the more the merrier right? Can’t put a limit on self truth,“ I said. “So last time we left off with Step Four: Allowing a State of Process…..” Marie smiled at me with gratitude. Oh fine, I’ll do it. Here we go – let the gradual amity begin. She looked up at Andrew with her mannequin expression. Blank but loving. He smiled at her broadly as if to compensate for her lack of animation and darted his eyes in my direction. I had to look down to keep from betraying myself…...

*Next Time on the DLA - the meeting's resolution, Thanksgiving Dinner and a confrontation with Stanley leave Chloe finally ready for Step Five....