But she did fake things. Lots of things.
We went home, car windows wide open to the cool air and made love slowly, desultorily. I took a long time to come and when I did it was fitful and barely satisfying. And again I marvelled at how such a stunning woman could have liked, even loved, a man so bland.
Until I remembered how tightly he grabbed my wrist and the look on his face as he stood in the doorway and I realised that perhaps she’d seen that look, that anger before too. Perhaps she liked it.
I think maybe she did.
Only one of the women lovers was a problem. She wanted to be my friend. I didn’t even want to know her.
Victoria Cook was an artist.
I expect she still is, but we don’t send Christmas cards.
She was a painter who exhibited at small, primarily women-only galleries. And after we’d been together for about a year and a half, Victoria Cook decided she wanted to be our friend. My friend.
Dolores knew her through a women artists’ group she used to go to. She thinks she’s weird. And if Dolores thinks Victoria is weird then she’s got to be strange. However she, and most of the rest of the world also think Victoria Cook is very, very beautiful. Cool, charming, tall and gracious. All the things I always wanted to be and never became, being too short and loud and “cute”. Cute is good, but it’s not gracious. And unfortunately Victoria isn’t one of those women who avoid their ex-lovers at all costs. She “maintains relationships”. She takes her problems to her therapist and uncovers a “difficulty-strategy”. After staying away for quite some time Victoria realised that she had a difficulty with me being the new lover and came up with a strategy that involved me becoming her new friend.
I’d rather appreciated her staying away. They say it’s better the devil you know, but I prefer my devils snuggled up with the skeletons in the closet where they belong.
Victoria wanted to come to terms with me. Which meant she got to share her tales of life with the Woman with the Kelly McGillis body. She got to give me their history, when I liked to think there was no past before me. Victoria invited us both for lunch twice and drinks once. I went, each time feeling like I was late for the execution of my own relationship. They’d been together for just seven months and much of that time Victoria had been “developing an installation” so they’d only been able to see each other once or twice a week.
“And you know Margaret, I never felt I really had a handle on her. Always felt there was something else going on.”
I always want to hit people who call me “Margaret”.
“Well, you were busy with your work Victoria.”
“Yes, but I always felt she was not quite as committed as I was.”
That lack of commitment had caused Victoria to end the relationship with a terse note asking for no contact for six months.
“To give me time to see reality.”
Within those six months the Woman with the Kelly McGillis body had met me and I’d become her reality. We saw Victoria three times and each time led to huge arguments between us.
“Look Maggie, she only wants to get to know you. Can’t you humour her?”
“It doesn’t humour me to think of you being with her. Where’s the comedy in that?”
“It was years ago, I’m with you now. I want to be with you. For God’s sake, I’ve been with you longer than I’ve ever been with anyone!”
The more I heard about Victoria, the more insecure I became. I know jealousy isn’t attractive but there’s nothing like wishing it away to make it even stronger.
Wishes are for the tooth fairy.
When Victoria realised I wouldn’t play along in the way her therapist would have preferred, she sort of dropped away from our life. Slowly, like the scab coming off a particularly nasty sore. I don’t know if the Woman with the Kelly McGillis body missed her or not. But after all, she did have me, and I’m enough for any woman.
Or should be.
And the
We went home, car windows wide open to the cool air and made love slowly, desultorily. I took a long time to come and when I did it was fitful and barely satisfying. And again I marvelled at how such a stunning woman could have liked, even loved, a man so bland.
Until I remembered how tightly he grabbed my wrist and the look on his face as he stood in the doorway and I realised that perhaps she’d seen that look, that anger before too. Perhaps she liked it.
I think maybe she did.
Only one of the women lovers was a problem. She wanted to be my friend. I didn’t even want to know her.
Victoria Cook was an artist.
I expect she still is, but we don’t send Christmas cards.
She was a painter who exhibited at small, primarily women-only galleries. And after we’d been together for about a year and a half, Victoria Cook decided she wanted to be our friend. My friend.
Dolores knew her through a women artists’ group she used to go to. She thinks she’s weird. And if Dolores thinks Victoria is weird then she’s got to be strange. However she, and most of the rest of the world also think Victoria Cook is very, very beautiful. Cool, charming, tall and gracious. All the things I always wanted to be and never became, being too short and loud and “cute”. Cute is good, but it’s not gracious. And unfortunately Victoria isn’t one of those women who avoid their ex-lovers at all costs. She “maintains relationships”. She takes her problems to her therapist and uncovers a “difficulty-strategy”. After staying away for quite some time Victoria realised that she had a difficulty with me being the new lover and came up with a strategy that involved me becoming her new friend.
I’d rather appreciated her staying away. They say it’s better the devil you know, but I prefer my devils snuggled up with the skeletons in the closet where they belong.
Victoria wanted to come to terms with me. Which meant she got to share her tales of life with the Woman with the Kelly McGillis body. She got to give me their history, when I liked to think there was no past before me. Victoria invited us both for lunch twice and drinks once. I went, each time feeling like I was late for the execution of my own relationship. They’d been together for just seven months and much of that time Victoria had been “developing an installation” so they’d only been able to see each other once or twice a week.
“And you know Margaret, I never felt I really had a handle on her. Always felt there was something else going on.”
I always want to hit people who call me “Margaret”.
“Well, you were busy with your work Victoria.”
“Yes, but I always felt she was not quite as committed as I was.”
That lack of commitment had caused Victoria to end the relationship with a terse note asking for no contact for six months.
“To give me time to see reality.”
Within those six months the Woman with the Kelly McGillis body had met me and I’d become her reality. We saw Victoria three times and each time led to huge arguments between us.
“Look Maggie, she only wants to get to know you. Can’t you humour her?”
“It doesn’t humour me to think of you being with her. Where’s the comedy in that?”
“It was years ago, I’m with you now. I want to be with you. For God’s sake, I’ve been with you longer than I’ve ever been with anyone!”
The more I heard about Victoria, the more insecure I became. I know jealousy isn’t attractive but there’s nothing like wishing it away to make it even stronger.
Wishes are for the tooth fairy.
When Victoria realised I wouldn’t play along in the way her therapist would have preferred, she sort of dropped away from our life. Slowly, like the scab coming off a particularly nasty sore. I don’t know if the Woman with the Kelly McGillis body missed her or not. But after all, she did have me, and I’m enough for any woman.
Or should be.
And the
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