Barbra decided for us to escape to Palm Springs for the weekend, staying with an old friend of her's in Cathedral City. Joey was what you'd call "a catch." Gay, recently divorced, and one of those people that unmistakably turns heads when he walks into a room. Not only handsome, but a shining smile that radiates everything I detest in a happy and healthy man-- confidence. However, I soon found myself falling under his charm, pondering what his statuesque lips would feel like against my skin.

The lemon blossoms from the small citrus orchard to the side of his house were in full bloom, filling the air with the pungent aroma that reminded me of white linen, tanned skin, and two people's naked bodies embracing in a passionate kiss of limbs, nipples, and open eyes.

Needless to say, I was in a romantic mood. Me-- Mr. Asshole-- was actually calm enough to enjoy Barbra's company. We were laughing, we were relaxed, and we were thrilled by Joey's constant movement through the house wearing nothing more than faded boxer underwear.

As we sat across from each other sharing a dinner of salad, bread, and a bottle of chilled Chardonnay, I realized one overpowering thought-- Barbra would soon be dead. No amount of lemon blossom aroma, beautiful Joey, or the relaxed atmosphere of a wonderful dinner would make these thoughts dissapate.

It would be an "accident" and something I would have to live with the rest of my life.

Joey kept pouring the wine and smiling, sharing one of his many stories about his fascinating and extremely full life. Great. Not only was he charmingly beautiful, but he was entertaining.

And then my mind raced to what this evening would be like if Barbra wasn't here. Joey and I would be alone, the conversation would be different, and the mood pitched at a different angle. I certainly wouldn't mind getting horizontal with Joey, I thought to myself, taking another sip of wine.

Barbra looked at me, her eyes filled with love-- and then quickly she paused-- catching me stare at Joey a tad too long as he cleared the table.

"What?" I questioned her.

She waited until Joey was in the kitchen and then leaned over the table, "Careful Steve, I know he's a charmer-- but don't get any ideas."

I couldn't help but smile. She had read me-- completely.

"What do you think that would be like?" she asked, swallowing another mouthfull of wine.

"I don't know." Boy, could I lie when I needed to. What I wanted to say was, "Well, when I slept with your son, it was great." But of course, I held my tongue. "I think Barbra, it would be awkwardly interesting and erotic."

"What are you two whispering about?" asked Joey, returning with a tray full of sorbet and fresh fruit.

"Fantasies," quipped Barbra.

"This house has seen its fair share of that," retorted Joey. "Although, my marriage to Troy was hardly what you'd call a fantasy. More of a dream that never woke up to reality." And for the first time, I could see a tint of sadness in Joey's cherubic face. This man was strong-- and strong enough to show us his loneliness of a failed relationship. Not lonely for what I've felt most of my life-- a sense of being incapable of love-- but for Joey it was something else.

"Sometimes," Joey shared, "love isn't enough to save itself."

We continued talking, but I couldn't stop thinking about what he said, "Love isn't enough to save itself." Yes, you need more than that I suppose.

As I went to bed with Barbra later, I had thoughts of this woman next to me and how I too would soon be as alone as Joey. Love wasn't enough to save us. And in a brief moment, I realized why-- because I had no idea what loving her meant.

I felt alone. More alone than Joey, more alone than anyone could ever be.