"I love him! I absolutely love him! You were so right, Sonja, he is not only sexy as hell, but charming, doting and a perfect gentleman! Thank you so much for bringing him to my party. I really owe you one. So, don't leave me hanging, tell me everything he said about me, and don't spare the details," insisted my friend, Stacy.
Sweat was literally running down my sides, my palms were clammy and my heart was racing. I felt lousy about what I was about to do. I'd invited Stacy to lunch to tell her that the man I'd tried to fix her up with, the man I'd said time and time again was, "just my friend," the man that she apparently had become smitten with, was now mine. Jay had wanted to tell her himself, but I insisted that she should hear it from me, after all, I was her friend, right?
Now, before you jump to conclusions and start getting all judgmental, I have to say in my defense that I didn't try to steal Jay's affections from Stacy. As it turns out, he never had any. He didn't even know that he'd been invited to Las Vegas from Newport Beach to go to her party so that she could be fixed up with him. He thought he was just coming out to visit me, his best gal pal, and attend a party of one of my friends. He didn't know that Stacy had set her sights on him. And, when I had extended the invite, I had no idea (that's a lie, I may have had a slight idea) that I was actually in love with him myself; or better yet, that he was in love with me as well. Now she's crazy about him, he's crazy about me and I'm just going crazy.
Before I could open my mouth to speak, Stacy started up again. She was so excited and I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her look so happy about a man. I felt so low.
"Sonja, he was such a gentleman. After about an hour of small talk, I asked him if I could give him a tour of my house. When we got to the master bedroom, I sent him in to the bathroom under the guise of viewing my antique Italian marble tub. When he returned to my bedroom, I was lying on the bed, wearing only my Manolo Blahnik's and a smile. He blushed and told me to get dressed. He didn't even make one move, can you believe that? Gentle. Man. It was at that exact moment that I decided that I had to have him. I threw myself at him, trying to kiss him but he wouldn't ... he just..."
"Stacy, I'm in love with Jay!" I blurted, trying to stop her from embarrassing herself any further.
"Whhhhhat?" she hissed. Ice hung from the word as she sat there staring at me through narrowed eyes. She was burning a hole in my flesh.
"I'm so sorry," I said lamely. "I know I told you that we were just friends, and we were, I didn't even realize it myself. It just sort of happened. I, I didn't mean for you to get, to get ... hurt," I was faltering and she sensed my weakness. She always could.
"For me to get hurt?" she asked smugly. "The only person who is going to get hurt here is you. It is obvious that Jay cares about me. He came to my party to be with me, and who could blame him? Given the choice, do you really think you stand a chance?" she said coldly.
"Stacy, I know this is hard, and I am sorry, but Jay is in love with me too. He told me when he came back to my house after your party. He didn't even know he was being set up with you. He told me you called him Jon all night and that you were making out with some other guy in the kitchen. He said that you're really nice, but that you just aren't his type," I tried.
"Don't you patronize me you pathetic little bitch!" she spat. "You're nothing more than a *%$##@ !"
All I can tell you is that some of the words began with the letter "f" and others rhymed with the word "runt," but she wasn't even close to being done.
"You prostitute your lifetime of miserable stories to gain notoriety. You're nothing more than a low class, attention-seeking slut! The only reason I've remained friends with you all these years is because I felt sorry for you. But now, the person I feel most sorry for is Jay. I can't even wait to see how you f--k this relationship up. Everyone knows you're absolutely incapable of having a relationship that lasts longer than 90 days. You and I both know you'll ruin this one too! And when you finally do, don't you even think about calling me!" She started to get up from the booth we were seated in. People were staring.
I didn't try to stop her. She'd said her peace and I didn't want to ruin her dramatic exit. She was hurt and I had caused that hurt. I was willing to allow her to lash out at me, I felt that it was the least I could do. As I sat there staring into my now cold cup of coffee, I couldn't help but wonder: Exactly how was I going to f--k up my new relationship?
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?