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When we first got together, I asked Ella if she’d ever been with a guy.
“Nope,” she said. I was surprised. Most gay women I knew at least tried the straight thing.
“Not even attracted a smidgen?”
She laughed. “Do I look like someone who’d want to be with a guy?”
“Well, no,” I admitted. Ella gets called “sir” by strangers all the time. “But looks can be deceiving.”
“How about you?” she asked.
“Sure,” I responded, and she looked surprised.
“I was with men until my mid-twenties. It’s not that unusual. It was all I knew, and it was kinda okay. But once I discovered women it was like, oh, now I get it.”
“Are you saying if you get fed up with me, you might start flirting with Doug, that barista at the Starbucks over in St. Pete who always eyes you up and down?”
“I’ll never get fed up with you.”
“But if you did,” she persisted.
“I only go to Kat’s café now. She’s the only one who serves me coffee.”
“You’re avoiding my question.”
“Trust me, you’ll never find me with Doug or any other man. Why settle for water when you can drink champagne?” She smiled at that, and I realized it was ironic, given that she didn’t drink champagne. “And you? I know you said you’ve never been with a guy, but can you seriously tell me you’ve never even thought about it?”
She nodded. “I seriously can. I knew from before grade school. From before I ever knew there was such a thing as sexual attraction. Growing up, when I watched TV shows and movies, I only ever identified with the guy who got the gal, never with the gal herself.”
“So then, did you want to be a man?”
“Never!” It was one of the few times I ever heard her raise her voice, not in anger, just as a way to emphasize her point. Then she grinned. “Maybe you could go both ways because you’re borderline, but I know exactly which side of the gender fence I’m on.”
Ella was the only one who could tease me about my personality disorder and get away with it.
I believed her then and I believed her now. I knew, with every fiber of my being, that Ella wouldn’t have been contemplating marriage, or even getting together with a guy.
Which is why the letter simply had to be a code.
I didn’t care that Detective Golders had treated me as if I were bitter okra that she wanted to spit out. All that bullshit about Ella not being Ella. It made no sense. Obviously, she’d made a mistake. Maybe Ella was short for something, or a nickname. The idea that Ella had been lying to me all along just wasn’t plausible. But as soon as Golders saw the letter, the case was closed in her eyes. She was convinced Ella left me for a guy, but she didn’t know Ella.
Earlier when I’d read the note, I’d been terrified. Now, I was still scared, but I was mad as well. Why didn’t Ella listen to Hank, whoever he was, and confide in me? And why have me find that letter tucked away in a drawer instead of just explaining where she was?
Detective Golders had implied I was crazy. I knew I could be deranged sometimes, but this time, I was pretty sure I wasn’t. I needed somebody’s feedback. I would go talk to Kat.
The café was humming, and I had to wait almost twenty minutes before she was free to chat.
“How are you doing?” she asked. “Any news?”
“I found a letter.”
“That’s terrific! What did she say?” Her eyes were shining, but then I guess she saw the expression on my face. “Oh no!” Her face fell. “She said she was leaving you.”
“What the fuck?” Was I the only one who thought Ella and I had a good thing going on?
“Sorry. I didn’t mean...It’s just...you didn’t look happy about the letter.”
“I’m not. It wasn’t a letter to me. It was to her from someone else, and it was encouraging her to tell me what’s going on because she might be in danger.”
Kat leaned forward and gasped. “Oh my god. What kind of danger?”
“I don’t know. Ella’s never mentioned anything like that. But...it...well it was a weird letter and had some other stuff in it. I showed it to the cop but now she’s convinced Ella’s left me for someone else.”
“Why?”
“It was signed with a man’s name, and congratulated Ella on finding Mr. Right.”
Kat raised her eyebrows. “Did you tell her it’s just code?”
I felt relief wash over me. Kat understood!
“That’s exactly what I told her. You understand, Ella’s not interested in guys, so it was obviously a warning to me that it meant something else.”
Kat looked confused and a little embarrassed. “I just meant, obviously she’s not out to the person who wrote, so when she told them about you, she changed the pronouns. Made it seem like she’d found Mr. Right, when really, she’s Ms. Right.”
Of course! I was Mr. Right!
“You’re welcome to hang out here,” Kat said, “but I need to get back in the kitchen. I have a catering order for tomorrow that I want to get started on.”
I sat back in my chair and dug into my cake with gusto. I’d finish eating and then call Max and explain. If she wouldn’t listen, I’d talk to someone above her. As I spooned a big chunk of cake into my mouth a thought came to me. Kat said I was Mr. Right. But if that was so, why had Hank said Mr. Right might be dangerous and that she should “tell B.?” I’d assumed I was B. Something here still didn’t make sense. Unless Kat was correct about Mr. Right being female, and Max was correct that I’d been dumped for someone else.
I looked up to see Kat pushing past the wrought iron tables to get to me. She looked excited. Maybe she’d had a new idea.
“It’s Gordy!” she said. “I just got a text. Her dad’s out of ICU. Maybe that means she’ll be home soon!”
I wanted to give her a hug and tell her how glad I was. But all I felt was a massive thud in the pit of my stomach. I’d convinced myself that as long as Larry and Gordy were gone, there was a connection with Ella. If Gordy was coming back, did that mean there really was no connection and Ella had truly left? I forced a twisted smile on my face and patted Kat on the back.
As I walked home, all my emotions stirred. I was jealous as hell of Kat. And I still didn’t know whether to be scared or mad about Ella. A thought kept niggling its way into my brain and wouldn’t quit. Ella had told me she had no family and that she’d left her friends behind in California when she made a new start on the East Coast. If that was the case, who was Hank? I didn’t want to believe Golders when she said Ella was a big fat liar, but I had no idea who Hank was, nor why he was calling her “dearest.” If she’d deceived me about that, what else had she lied about?
By the time I’d walked the fifteen minutes back to the condo I was drenched with sweat. I was so tired of these long, hot summers where September was still over ninety degrees. When I was younger, it seemed like even here in Florida, we got a little fall just like everyone else in the country. But nowadays, the fall decorations everywhere just seemed like a mockery in the blazing hot sunshine. I was hot, cranky and fed up. I made an iced coffee and opened a bag of mini donuts, cramming them mindlessly in my mouth. The last few days, I’d been living on caffeine, alcohol and sugar, and the more I had, the more I wanted. When Ella was around, she encouraged me to eat healthy food. I always felt better when I did. With Ella I’d learned how to enjoy foods like quinoa and kale, but right now grains and vegetables were the last thing on my mind. I needed comfort food.
I turned on the TV. TCM was showing an old movie, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? I watched as Elizabeth Taylor screamed at Richard Burton, her face contorted in rage. It reminded me of the fight I’d had with Norm the day before. Stupid moron. I was still furious with him for throwing my emotional baggage in my face. He’d said that maybe Ella didn’t want to get married and that she couldn’t find the words. Didn’t he know I’d thought that plenty of times myself? Didn’t he know I was constantly amazed that she saw anything in me?
Elizabeth Taylor’s rage looked suddenly familiar. Shit, I thought, that’s me. Maybe I was the fucking moron, for believing that Ella would want to be with me. I was the asshole. Why had I thought this relationship would be any different than all the other ones that had ended disastrously? Maybe Norm was right. Ella had wanted to avoid having the Big Fight that she knew was going to happen eventually, the one where I threw her stuff out the window, or cut up her clothes, or made a spectacle of myself in a restaurant. In a fit of weakness, I’d warned her that most of my previous relationships had ended like that. Or if they hadn’t ended when I did those things, it was only because I’d crawled back to the ex, begging her forgiveness, assuring her I’d never do it again.
“It’s not domestic abuse,” I reassured Ella when I heard myself describe some of my worst moments. “I don’t do it to get control over the other person, like abusers do. I do it because I’ve lost control over myself.”
I’d assured her that I didn’t do that anymore, that ever since I started working with Marion, I’d changed. But what if she hadn’t believed me? What if that discussion about our wedding had felt to her as if it were the precursor to a bigger drama? And what if I really hadn’t changed? I hadn’t handled myself well at Norm’s, and he had every right to be upset, given Larry’s departure. I’d expected a cute text suggesting we make up, but I’d heard nothing from him. Obviously, my behavior had been worse than I realized and once again I’d fucked everything up and blown yet another friendship. Much worse than that, it looked as if I’d lost the only decent woman I’d ever been able to hold onto.
By the time the movie was over, I was convinced I was the biggest loser who’d ever existed. I couldn’t stand how I felt so I took out the Johnnie Walker and sat down at the kitchen table, cradling the bottle against my breast, as if I were swaddling a baby. Across from me on the table, my gaze fell on my bible. Not a real bible, though I’d clung to it as much as any born-again person who’d found salvation. It was my Master Your Emotions manual, the book that had helped me regain my life when I’d been at one of my lowest points.
Now I stared at the book, remembering the first time Marion introduced me to the idea of emotional skills training. I’d felt confused. I thought of skills as being things like carpentry or map-reading. But she said there was a whole other skill set that some people were born with, but others, like me, needed to learn and master as if we were children learning how to play a musical instrument. I was doubtful that there was any book that could solve my constant inner turmoil, but I was hooked from the very first handout she gave me. “Do you want to decrease interpersonal chaos, labile emotions, impulsiveness, and confusion about self?” it asked. It said I would be able to regulate my emotions instead of being at their mercy and that I’d learn how to tolerate distressing situations, instead of blowing up at them.
“I’m not going to lie to you and say it’s a cure,” Marion told me. “This isn’t bipolar disorder where the right kind of medication can stabilize you. Taking a mood stabilizer will help you but it won’t change your personality. If you work hard, however, I promise you everything will improve.” I had worked hard, really hard. I’d done everything I was supposed to, and for a while I really thought I’d turned my life around.
It turned out I was wrong. Ella had been a liar and she’d left anyway. I was tired of working so hard. For what? My personality wasn’t going to change.
I slugged back as much of the whisky as I could without coughing and set the bottle on the table. My eyes narrowed at the manual, “My Man,” as I’d always called it until Ella complained. She said it sounded extremely unfeminist to look to my Man for advice. I thought it was amusing, but it was an easy thing to compromise on. Well, she was gone now, and I could call it whatever the fuck I wanted to. The title winked at me, mocking and jeering. Master Your Emotions. Some things were beyond mastery. I’d never be able to master relationships, be they friends or lovers. Worse, I’d never be able to master myself. I’d imagined that some stupid book and a few pills could really make me into someone else. Someone another woman would love. Not just any woman, but one like Ella, who was gorgeous and smart and easygoing. I thought she would love me enough to spend the rest of our lives together. How fucking gullible could I be? I’d thought I had the perfect therapist, but Marion probably didn’t care about me either. Who knew if she was even really on vacation? Maybe she just wanted a break from me. She probably told me I was the ideal client because my being on disability meant she could bill Medicare weekly for the rest of my natural life.
I lifted the whisky bottle and tipped my head back, pouring the amber liquid directly down my throat. Fuck them all. I was done with it. Done with believing I could have friends, or a fiancée or any kind of manageable life. I stumbled to the bathroom where I opened the cabinet and extracted a bottle of pills.
Gordy was coming home to Kat. Maybe Norm would survive without Larry, and Dustin would figure out a way to move on. But I was done trying. I’d given it my best shot. Worked my way through all the stupid exercises in that dumb book. Given myself to a woman I thought could handle who I was and love me, despite everything. I’d been wrong about it all.
I tipped my head back and threw a fistful of pills into the back of my throat. I swallowed them down with Mr. Johnnie’s help. I repeated the exercise until the pill bottle was empty. I forced myself to keep drinking until the whisky bottle was empty as well.
Then I staggered to my bed, where I threw myself face-down into the pillow, and waited, longingly, for an endless oblivion.