You Smell That?- Chapter 9

Chapter 9 of "Exit, Stage Left"

I a was nervous wreck about going away. It’s been a while since I’ve done the casual weekender. I had a talk with my cat, Jeffrey, before I left. I explained to him that I would be away for a few days and Michelle or Ray would be by to check on him but there was plenty of food and water and I even filled an extra littler box for him. I have a friend, Sherri, who went away over Memorial Day weekend and left her cat with food and water and instructions for a pet sitter to scoop the box, but the pet sitter bailed without warning, and apparently the cat wasn’t too pleased about his litter box overflowing, so he pooped in Sherri’s husband’s shoe. Mark didn’t find out until a day later, when he slipped his foot in. Stuff like this worries me, because I sometimes think Jeffrey could be that much of an a*****e, given the right reason. I brushed Jeffrey, as much as he would let me, while I clarified exactly when I would be back, and how I think he should spend his alone time. I told him there were a few surprise shakes of cat nip around the house, and I scattered his toys around in different rooms, and I would leave the radio on for him. I would also leave it so the bathroom sink faucet would drip a bit, in case he felt like licking something other than his b-hole. 

The ride up to Ellicottville wasn’t awful. It took about an hour and a half, but we were hitting all kinds of traffic. Of course we were, it was Thanksgiving Eve. Liz was super excited, she had a bagfuls of groceries, and gave me complete reign over her SiriusXM Satellite radio. We sang and talked and only stopped once to pee. It’s a pretty easy drive, on 242 northwest mostly, through Little Valley up to Ellicottville. Along the way, I had asked Liz if she dated anyone while she lived up there. She said she had quite a few dates, and one attempt at more but it didn’t last long because the woman’s affinity for hunting and guns freaked her out. “It was all she talked about, and I just couldn’t stand it. She wasn’t even a big, masculine butch or anything, so it was a little startling.” 

I stop myself from asking about the sex, because if I’ve learned anything, it’s don’t ask something you may not want to hear the answer to. 

“...and the sex,” she says, “My God. Awful.”

I laugh, “Awful? Really? Like how bad?”

“Slobbery, thoughtless,” she says, thinking about it more, “I mean, when you’re going on a date, you kind of step it up a notch, right? You pick your nicer underwear, make a little more effort, you know?”

“Yeah, totally!”

“Well, this woman actually showed up at the restaurant where I was meeting her for dinner, wearing camouflage pants and a hoodie, straight from the gun range.” 

“No way!”

“Way. And, Dina, I swear, I let it slide, because I thought, ‘Ok, maybe she just sucks at time management’, and I shouldn’t judge, but later, after she pounded seven draft beers and ate a half a’ cow, I ended up having to drive her home, and get her inside, where she proceeded --Hey, stop laughing, it’s not funny,” she says, as I’ve already started giggling.

“Where she proceeded to what? What!?”

Now, Liz is laughing as she tries to finish the story, “...as she proceeded to take off the camouflage pants, only to reveal ratty, old camouflage boxers!”

“Nooooooooo,” I say, not even exaggerating.

“Oh, it gets better. They had holes in them.”

“Of course they did!” I say, howling with laughter. 

It was talking like this that made me glad I decided to do this. We went on for the next half hour about every really bad “encounter” each of us has had. I told her about the “milk sleeve” girl, and how I broke the dead dog picture frame and I even told her about the time I was making out with some girl behind a bar, after a few drinks, and I had to stop her because she had falafel breath. She got really mad, even after I explained that I had a bad experience with falafels once, and I wasn’t over it.

We both are laughing so much, we have to catch our breath for a minute. 

“So, seriously, though, if she didn’t smell like a giant falafel ball, you would have had sex with her?”

“Well...yeah, probably.”

“Right there? Outside? In the alley way?”

“Yeah, sure why not?”

She thinks for a second, the offers up a sly smile, “I dated this one girl, Pam, who always wanted to have sex in public. She was so kinky. Always talking about having threesomes and stuff like that.”

I laugh, “How long did that last?”

“About a month,” she laughs, “and she wasn’t even my type!”

“Doh! A fugg?”

“No, she was really pretty, just a little too aggressive for me so I had to dump her, but I felt so bad, I still keep in contact with her!”

“Oh, pity friendship!”

We laugh again, at our own shallowness.

“Oooo, goodness, that is some funny stuff, isn’t it?”Liz says, “So, I get the feeling you’ve been with a lot of girls since you’ve come out, haven’t you?”

“What? Me? (insert a weird ‘pfffftt-snort” noise here) No. Nooo! I wouldn’t say a lot...I mean, a few...some.”

“Is Billy the only person you’ve ever been love with?”

“Um....”

Danger, Will Rogers! Danger! Abort!

In the past, even over a few drinks with girls, they would have an instant resentment to me having an ex husband, so I always smell danger with this topic. 

“I think Billy and I had a great love for another, but I’m not sure we were ever ‘in’ love...”

“Oh, I think he was,” she says. 

“I don’t know. I just think we mistook what we felt for each other for being ‘in love’ but it was more of a best friend thing.”

“Sweetie, best friends don’t have sex, have a big wedding, get married, buy a house,” she says.

“I know, I know. At first, we really did want all those things but I still think we had these feelings for each other that we didn’t have figured out so we were just taking the next logical steps,” I say, as it’s actually dawning on me, because I don’t think I’ve explained it this in depth to anyone.

“There’s nothing wrong with saying you loved him, Dina. Maybe things just changed as you were exploring your sexuality,” she says.

“No, I don’t think it was that because I had sex with a girl before I had even met him, so I was on an exploratory path already. I just think that the timing was right, we clicked on all levels, we had fun, so we just followed what everyone else was doing, and I chalked up my girl on girl thing as an experience or something.”

“Well, I can tell by how he looks at you that he cares for you very much, and I would venture to guess that he was IN love, even if you weren’t.”

“Really? I don’t see it.”

ARE WE THERE YET?

I can never really begin to explain how I feel about Billy because, he’s BILLY. I don’t have a bad thing to say about him. He treated me well, he was patient and understanding, he was a good provider, our families get along great, the sex was fine, he was smart and funny and we had a lot in common. Of course there were things I didn’t like about the relationship, I hated that he left wet towels in the bathroom, I hated that he left coffee cups everywhere, I hated that he snored so loud, I would have to move to the couch three nights a week, I hated that he was obsessed with b***s, I hated that he wouldn’t feel like shoveling the walk way in the winter, I hated that he would rate his farts, and I hated giving him blow jobs. So, yeah it wasn’t a fairy tale romance, it was just my reality at the time. Overall, he’s a good guy and I feel like because he’s always stuck by me, supported me through my coming out, and he’s always there for me now, that I owe him the common courtesy of NOT trashing him because I’m a lesbian now. That wasn’t his fault, it’s no reflection on him as a husband, he had nothing to do with MY self discovery. I have to believe that Billy felt the same way about me, as I did about him, otherwise,  wouldn’t he be a complete dick about everything? I mean, really, think about it- his wife turned out to be a lesbian. Things between us could have been a lot worse. I’m sure him meeting Hannah so soon after we separated certainly helped distract him for wallowing in self pity, or being angry with me. I feared both things happening, and went through a guilty phase, where I thought “Maybe, we could live in the house together and be like roommates, so he wouldn’t feel abandoned,” and then I realized that wouldn’t be fair and would prevent both of us from moving on. I’m completely aware that it’s got to be confusing to an outsider, looking in, like Liz, but I can only hope she trusts that we’re all just fine and in a good place now.

“Okay, here we are!” Liz says, turning onto a long winding gravel road, as we approach the cabin. It’s just after 7:30pm and dark now, but with the moon is already so bright, I can see how picturesque it is. It’s just like the pictures she’s showed me, only better. It’s just secluded enough to not feel like a creepy horror movie, because you can see the lights from the neighboring houses through the trees. The rustic feel to it makes you well aware you’re out of the city limits and on vacation. 

As we carry our bags in up the porch steps, Liz unlocks the door and let’s us in, flipping on the lights to reveal a very comfortable, homey, setting yet something out of “Ideal Homes” magazine. It’s like every cabin you’ve ever seen in a sitcom or TV show where the cast goes away to a ski resort or to the mountains. I set our overnight bags down in the entry way, and take it all in.

“Wow! This is incredible! Did you do all this decorating yourself?” I ask, looking at all the hundreds of books that line a half wall surrounding part of the living area. “I mean, was all this stuff yours before you moved to Castleton?”

Liz sets the grocery bags on the counter, and turns around, beaming, “Some stuff. The rest I bought after I decided I’d be renting it out. I was blessed though. I had a lot of help.  My friends did the wood workings, beams and cabinetry. I did have a few things upgraded after Uncle Jim passed away, while I was living here, but I kept a lot of the things the way he and Aunt Jan had them, because it brought back my childhood memories of summers up here, and that was important to me. So it’s literally a mish mash of old, and new,” she says, unloading some things into the fridge. 

 There are three steps down that take you into the main areas. The kitchen is to the left, with nice range, deep sink, sizable fridge, a little eat-in area, an oversized countertop with two high bar stools and an archway into the dining room that has  a bigger table, gorgeous wooden hutch with cabinets and shelves lined with china. I notice the dining room table has, what looks to be a wooden hand carved train set as the centerpiece. Very cute. I get the feeling that was Uncle Jim’s.

 To the right of the entry way is the living room with a big flat screen TV, fireplace, and a big velour, brown, cushy wrap around, sectional sofa. The pictures all have a movie theme to them. There are framed movie posters from “The Holiday”, “The Bodyguard”, “The Big Chill”, “Steel Magnolias” and “Mystic Pizza” (that one is in the kitchen, of course).  

“Oh, big Julie Roberts fan?” I ask. Liz laughs, nodding, “My movie criteria is easy, I’m a sucker for a good looking woman or a great soundtrack.” 

“I loved that movie,” I say, pointing to “The Holiday”. We both smile and at the same time..I say “Cameron Diaz”, she says “Kate Winslet”.  We laugh.

It dawns on me that Liz actually looks a little bit like Kate Winslet with her porcelain skin, wide set big eyes and full lipped smile. I don’t know exactly what it is. Her hair is much darker, with a few more curls but still, looking at the movie poster and back at her, I can see theres a faint similar resemblance. Like, if you added 15 really good years to Kate Winslet, you’d have Liz. Oh my God, did I just think that in my head? Was that bad? I meant it as a compliment. Oh, thank goodness I didn’t say it out loud.

Every knick knack seems to have been hand chosen. There are big sliding glass doors that lead to a screened in patio on a deck that overlooks a lake in the distance. You can see the moonlight dancing on it from here. I can see nice wooden Adirondack lounge chairs out there. There is a short hallway, off the living area where, I assume the bathroom and two bedrooms are. A big spiral staircase in the corner leads to an upstairs loft bedroom that over looks down over the whole first floor. The highest wall of the living area has built in shelves and cabinets. The shelves are lined with tons of DVD’s, and board games. The top of the cabinet base could double as a bench seat. There is a chess board on it, and fabric covered cube seats near by. The coffee table looks handmade of wood with a backgammon board built into it, covered in glass. 

“I just can’t believe this, it’s so beautiful,” I say, now wandering around, looking at everything. “All these books, and games, it’s just so....perfect.” 

“It took me forever to get everything just the way I wanted it. I mean, when I lived here, there were way more plants, they were all over, everywhere. And personal things, pictures, blankets, different rugs, different window dressings, bedding, of course, and the kitchen had a lot more things. When I decided to rent it out, I changed a lot of things, to keep it...more or less..generic, you know? I took my crockpot, blender, major utensils, and stuff like that. So, to me, it still looks so bare in here.”  Bare? I can’t even imagine that. 

There is a wooden coat rack standing near the doors to the patio with rain coats and a big heavy jacket hanging off of it, as well as a suede cowboy hat. Makes me wonder if that was Uncle Jim’s, too. Oddly,  though, it’s not the least bit “Southern Living”. More like “Sundance Film Fest” chic, actually. Very Aspen, Telluride, Sun Valley-ish. But, in New York. 

“I think it looks great,” I say,  “Have you read all these books?”

“Oh God, no,” Liz says, “Some, yes. But I got a lot of them at second hand book stores and charity shops. Same with the games. That became like an addiction, I swear. I loved looking for all those,” she says, washing some tomatoes, and pulling out a cutting board, I liked how the part of the kitchen counter faced the living area. She wipes her hands, on a dish towel. “What can I get you to drink? I have wine, soda, bottled water, tea, coffee, or juice, and there may be something harder in the liquor cabinet, but I haven’t checked in a while...”

“Wine is good. I’ll help you,” I say, as she finds a corkscrew in one of the drawers. She takes down two wine glasses that hang from a rack suspended over a tiny wrought-iron wine bottle holder that sits on the counter with five or six bottles resting in it. 

“Red?” she asks, looking at the bottles. I nod, as she hands me a bottle to open. 

I uncork it, as she slices the tomatoes and opens the refrigerator and takes out a package of cheese, and a small bundle of basil. 

“I thought I’d make us a little something to nibble on,” 

“Perfect,” I say, pouring the wine and handing her a glass. 

“To a relaxing evening for us,” she says, as we clink glasses. We both take a sip.

She gives me the grand tour of the downstairs bedrooms and bathroom and the little laundry room while the bread is warming in the oven. She saves the best part for last- the upstairs loft bedroom and bath. A sprawling, spacious room with a queen sized four poster bed. But, it was the bathroom that stoled the show. 

When Liz mentioned “long, hot bubble bath” she wasn’t kidding. The bathroom was huge, with a walk-in shower, basin-style sink, and an old chest-like trunk that sat opened, with soaps, and lotions, and hair dryers, and towels. Very creative and clever. But the tub...Oh, the tub. That is the main attraction. It’s an old-fashioned antique porcelain tub, sitting on these ornate feet, complete with metal fixtures, and a high back. Three long rectangular windows that showcase the greenery and woodlands are on the wall behind it, with bamboo blinds, and shelves under each pane. I heard myself gasp at the sight of it. Liz smiles proudly. “I know, this was the hardest thing to leave when I moved to Castleton.”

“It’s gorgeous,” I say, moving closer, studying it. “This whole place is just amazing. How on earth can you be away from it?”

“Well, I spent almost two years here and kept really busy doing new things to it. This bathroom was the hardest, longest project, and the most expensive, as you can imagine, and I did little things to the downstairs, in stages. When it was all done, as much as I loved it, I kept thinking about the future and how this place could easily make me some money by renting it out. Plus, I wanted a safety net in case my business failed. I guess because I know that one day, this is where I want to end up, right back in this cabin, when it’s time to settle down- that allows me to be okay with just knowing it’s here for me when I’m ready. And I love my townhouse in Castleton. I love it’s location and the fact that I can walk out my door, and be in the middle of the action, you know? A block away are the coffee shops, cafes, plazas, marketplaces and that hustley-bustley good city stuff that makes me feel alive.”

There is something so unmistakeable about Liz. She seems to surround herself with peace and tranquility, yet hangs onto that little bit of “Bright Lights, Big City” mentality from her glamour days with Gianni Versace. It’s a very delicate balance. Everything about her exudes big city business woman, and yet she seems to constantly crave the serenity that comes from relaxing in that tub.

The evening is slow and easy. We’ve had some fresh Buffalo mozzarella cheese with tomato & basil, drizzled with extra virgin olive oil on toasted ciabatta bread slices. Later, we change into comfortable pajama pants, and sweatshirts, and lay around on the sofa, sipping wine, with low music on in the background. Liz was reading my “What Would Cagney Do?” play and I was thumbing through one of the many design magazines she has in a basket next to the end table. Every once in a while, I steal a glance at her, she catches me grinning and  squeezes my leg that’s draped over hers. At times, when I look around this place, I try to image myself having something like this, and for the life of me, I couldn’t see myself ever having the money, the patience or the vision. I wondered why I don’t dream big. Fear of success? Fear of failure? It’s like without even trying, I live in the minute and really don’t look very far ahead for some reason. Liz slaps the binder closed, which startles me out of my own thoughts.

“Dina! This was great!” she says, sitting up straight, knocking my legs off of hers in her excitement. 

“Oh, cool. Thanks. I’m glad you like it,” I say, pleased.

“No, you don’t understand,” she says, slowing down her words, “This...is...GREAT.”

“Thank...You.” I say, mimicking her, and laughing.

“I mean, oh my God, it’s funny, and touching, and the way you’ve made the ‘Cagney’ poster come to life with just a voice in the main character’s head, it’s so innovative, and smart. Do you have any idea what you’ve got here? This has to be produced, Dina. Please. Let me show this to Roni Havens. I know her. She will jump on this so fast, I can already see her going nuts over it,” she says. 

“Veronica Havens? She's a big time producer, Liz, it’s so not ready for that level,” I say, sitting up, too.

“Nothing about this play needs to be tweaked or changed, it’s just perfect the way it is. The dialog, the stage direction, the description of the set, it’s all perfect!”

“Oh, I don’t know, Liz. I mean, only Holly and you have read it. I’ve never even showed it to anyone else in the business.”

“Don’t! You don’t need to! It’s too much of an original idea to risk having someone steal it.”

“It’s never been workshopped or anything, you can’t just shove it Roni’s face and expect her to love it. I mean, how do you know her? What makes you think she’ll even look at it?”

“Listen,” Liz says, turning towards me, now face to face, taking my hands, “I’ve known Roni and her husband, Marshall for years. She’s one of my best client’s at the spa and Marshall rents this place out for a month at a time when he’s on a writing bender. I give them breaks, they give me theater tickets, we’ve been to a few of their Broadway shows together, we’ve dined out before, I donate to their projects, they send me gift baskets, we all send each other Christmas cards and have friends in common over the years-whatever-we’re friends! Dina, seriously- just let me do this,” she pleads, squeezing my hands. I take a deep breath. 

“There’s so much stuff involved in it, though. I mean, there’s legalities using all those ‘Cagney & Lacey’ and Sharon Gless references, I’m sure. I haven’t even looked into any of that sort of stuff yet,” I say.

“I know, but Roni would do all that, you’d have nothing to worry about.”

“Can I just ...sleep on it before agreeing to anything? It’s all a little sudden, ya know?” She lets go of my hands, patting them gently, with a smile.

“Sure..of course, yes. I didn’t mean to smack you in the face with a frying pan here, I just think this...this, Dina...” she says, biting her lip, and clasping the binder to her chest, “Oh, God, baby...this is a hit.”

She leans in for a kiss. Putting her hands on my face, she kisses me again, before opening her eyes and looking into mine, “Honey, you are so talented,” she says, “and here I was telling you that you should act, but then, it turns out, you’re this amazing writer, too.”

As she speaks, I can clearly smell something in the air. A kind of smoke, but a good smoke.  Hmm..the fireplace isn’t on. The windows aren’t open. 

“Hey, you smell that?” I say, sniffing around. I stand, following my nose. I can see a tiny bit of smoke from the oven. Just as I notice, Liz jumps up. 

“The pot brownies!” she says, running towards the kitchen, and flinging the oven door open. I follow her closely, grabbing the oven mitts off the counter. 

“Here, here, “ I say, as she puts them on with lightening speed, pulling the big pan out of the oven and closing the door with her foot as she sets it on the cutting board and pushes a button on the exhaust hood over the range.

“Oh no, are they ruined?” she says, inspecting the pan. 

“They don’t look too bad, actually,” I say, “..especially, if you like the crunchy edges, which I do.” 

She makes the funny, fake-sad face look. “My first attempt at baking you something special, and look at it...”

I laugh, “It’s fine, look, it’s not even burned over here,” I say, pointing at most of the middle. 

After we demolish an entire quarter of the huge pan, and make a remarkable pot of Colombian coffee from fresh ground beans, the weed kicks in. We head up stairs and Liz fills the grandiose tub, turns on the CD player, and we both strip, and sink into it, in all it’s luxury. She’s even brought up a few crunchy edge pieces of brownie. She reaches to the shelf, and handles the napkin carefully, with the brownie bits on them. She leans forward and pops one gently in my mouth, letting her finger linger just long enough for me to give it a good lick, swirling my tongue around it. Stoned, everything feels so slow, and sensual. It takes us both a moment to even notice that the other brownie chunk has kerplunked into the tub from the napkin. “Oh, s**t,” I say, scooping it out in one piece. She is laughing so hard she can barely hand me the napkin to put it in. I’m cracking up in an “Eww!” kind of way. I toss the wet paper ball out on a towel, and lay back, wrapping my legs around hers. She settles back, too, as the steam from the hot water fills the air, and the bubbles gently crackle. We both, sigh, heavily, as we relish in the good buzz, feeling every ounce of tension drifting away.

“Dina?”  Liz, asks, without opening her eyes.

“Yes?” I answer, without opening mine.

“I promise I won’t f**k up dinner tomorrow,” she says, laughing.