A good life takes money. I'm exhausted from having to struggle to pay for everything from postage to Postum-- as well as doing favors.
I pulled the drawer of my night stand and looked at the Xerox copy that Thea was coming to acquire. I wondered if I gave it to her, would I ever see her again? And if I didn't give it to her, would she ever stop bothering me about it?
She knocked at the door but I remained on my bed. She knocked harder, knowing I was there-- but yet I made her wait.
"Fran?" she yelled and knocked.
Finally, I answered the door but not before slipping the Xerox paper beneath the couch cushion.
"So what is it? What did you get? A great design, I'm sure." She was too excited.
"Maybe I didn't get anything."
"You told me you got it."
"I told you I had something for you, but you just assumed it was a design. You know Thea, stealing is a big deal and to you it seems to be like changing underwear."
"Fran, we're not going to go over all of this again, are we?"
"Yes, we are and don't be so condescending. I don't have to give you shit."
Awkward silence filled the room.
"Fine Fran, I'm tired of this, too. Just forget it. I thought I was dealing with a different person, a grown up person." She went to the kitchen and pulled down a bottle of red from the top of my refrigerator.
She wasn't leaving. I was confused.
I was still standing by the door, ready to open it and slam it behind her. Instead, she came in and plopped herself on the couch. "Let's just watch some television. What's on?"
"What are you doing?" I demanded.
"You want me to leave?" She looked at me like an innocent child being sent home from school.
"Well, yeah."
"Oh I get it, you want me to leave because I do things that you don't approve of. Well, get real." Thea's arms, flung out of control lifting her from the couch. "You know Fran, I don't judge you like that. I see your weaknesses, your insecurities, and I tell you about them-- but I won't leave you Fran; I'll stay because I love you."
Was this woman a lunatic or for real? I honestly couldn't tell.
"You really want me to go?" She asked, staring me down.
"No...I don't. I just thought you wouldn't stay if I didn't give you the design."
"Well, I'm staying and I'm gonna watch television." She sat and clicked the remote.
A rerun of Gilligan's Island. The one when the frustrated Sergeant who was always trying to get something from the Indians on F Troop played a crook hiding out on the Island. He had a gun and made Ginger his woman. Poor Ginger had to play along to help double trick him.
Suddenly I felt my television childhood was mirroring my life.
I looked at Thea and a surge of wholeness rose. She liked me-- maybe she even loved me for who I was: a blob of desperation, self-consciousness and anxiety.
I sat next to her on my dilapidated couch, watching television, when I slowly slipped my hand beneath the cushion and handed her the stolen design.
Maybe it was the thrill of the caper that pushed us to make love. I hoped it wasn't. I hoped it was love.
Hope. I can be such a sucker.
