Can't Get Enough of Your Love (31 page)

“I just wanted a chance to explain. Can I come in?”

He steps out, closing the door behind him. “What's to explain? You played us all, you got what you wanted, and it's over.”

But he was so nice on the phone! “It's not that simple, Karl.”

“Look, I'm with someone else right now.”

Figures. My heart sinking, I look past him to the door. “Is she in there right now?”

“No, but if you're in there when she gets back, I'm going to catch some hell.”

I didn't come for a fight with Karl or his new woman. “Okay. Can we talk out here?”

He shrugs.

I turn away and look at the trees. “Do I know her?” I look back at him.

He folds his big arms across that big ol' smooth chest of his. “You said you were going to explain.”

He doesn't want to answer my question, which means that either I might know her or it's none of my business. Which it isn't. But I'm curious. And jealous. “Right, um, for what it's worth, I just wanted you to know …” No. That's not the way to start this.

“What?”

I sigh. Time to level with him. “I came over here to see if you still wanted me, Karl. I came over to see if maybe we could try again. I came over to find out if you still had feelings for me.” There, I said it. It's his turn.

“What goes around comes around, huh? Why would I want you after what happened? Huh? And why would
I want you when I don't even know who you are? Do
you
know who you are?”

I don't answer because I don't
have
a good answer.

“Because after talking to Juan and Roger, I found out that you were a completely different person with each of us. Were you
ever
yourself? And did you love
any
of us?”

“I loved you all.”

“Right.” He looks over my head. “Look, she'll be back any minute, so say your piece and get to stepp
ⁱⁿ
g.”

His words are making me shiver. “Is there anything you miss about me?”

“Miss about you? Hell no. You were always paging me, digging into my business, trying to control me. You were holding me back.”

“From what?”

“From my future, girl. You didn't believe in me, in what I was trying to accomplish. You didn't respect me, and you didn't respect my career. You remember that deal I was working on?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it's happening. I'm about to open my first store.”

“Yeah? What will it be called?”

“My Bag.”

That's an easy name to remember. “I like the name. Where will it be?”

“In a new strip mall at Shenandoah and Peters Creek, you know, where that Food Lion is. High traffic, lots of parking, no competition whatsoever. There's a Subway to my left and a check-cashing place to my right, a Chinese takeout two doors down. I'll be having my grand opening two weeks before Christmas so I can
cash in on the holiday rush, and I already have plenty of orders. My Web site gets a couple thousand hits a day, and I have a couple dozen orders to fill and ship this week alone.”

I can't believe what I'm hearing. “You have a Web site?”

“Yeah. MyBag-dot-com. I designed it myself. You should check it out.”

If I had only … No. Don't listen to yourself, Lana. You're supposed to be living in the present now. “Things are certainly working out for you.” I sigh. “I'm sorry we didn't work out.”

“I'm not.”

Ouch. “So, would you have broken it off eventually?”

He laughs. “Hell, I didn't even know we were together. We kicked it for a while is all.”

Damn, that's cold. “You weren't serious about me at all?”

“No. You were just a good time, Peanut. That's all.” Karl then throws back his head and sighs. “Shit.”

I turn and see a fancy black conversion van with chrome wheels and lots of dark-tinted windows come into the parking lot. “That's her?” And she drives a conversion van?

“Yeah. That's her.”

“Where's your Blazer?”

“I traded it in on that. I got a nice deal on it at Berglund thanks to Juan.”

But of course. “If you want me to go, I'll go.”

“Nah. It's too late. She's already seen you.”

The van parks….

And Izzie gets out.

No … way.

I look again at the door. This
is
Izzie's apartment. I had visited her only once or twice, when she first moved in. Was the door that color then? It's been painted or something. They've … moved in together, just like that, and she's at least two years older than I am. Does Karl even live here? Or maybe they both have their own phones at this address? That makes sense. He'll need a phone for his business, right?

I'm so confused.

Izzie doesn't look confused. She walks right up to Karl and gives him a deep soul kiss right there in front of me. She then turns, grinds her little booty against him, and smiles at me. “Wow, look at you, Lana, all skinny and shit.”

No … way.

Karl has rubbed off on Izzie in the worst way! She has both ears pierced every which way, and one of her eyebrows is pierced. Is that a tattoo on her neck? I wonder what else is pierced or tattooed. I shudder. No. I don't want to know.

She takes Karl's hands and wraps his arms around her. “Boo, you didn't tell me Lana was coming over.”

“She just dropped by out of the blue,” Karl says. “And she was just leaving.”

“Boo, why haven't you asked Lana inside our apartment?”

Did she say “our” a little louder? Of course she did. “I was just leaving, Izzie,” I say. “It was good to see you.”

“Oh, do stay,” Izzie says.

I see Karl shaking his head slightly. I
know
it's not a good idea, Karl. You don't have to shake your head at me. “That's okay, Izzie. I have a long drive home.”

She steps closer to me. “Notice anything different about me, Lana?”

That suddenly you look like a pavement princess? I point to her eyebrow. “That's new.”

Izzie turns to Karl. “Go on in, boo. I'll cook for you in a few.”

Karl escapes, closing the door quietly behind him. Yeah, Karl has dinner taken care of, and no wonder he has his own store. I'll bet Izzie is paying most of his start-up costs.

Izzie leans in like a conspirator. “I got my nipples done, too. Wanna see ‘em?”

“No, thank you.”

I have
got
to stop blinking. Is my head shaking? It is. I'm almost having a seizure.

“I've been meaning to invite you over, but Karl was against it for obvious reasons. I hope you aren't offended.”

“No. I'm not offended.” Shocked, yes. Offended? No. “So, how long have you two been, uh, been …”

“Together?”

I nod.

“Let's see … three months now.”

That was quick. He left me and went to her almost immediately. Damn. She got a phone call that night …. Shit! I guess I
was
just a good time to Karl! He hooked up with Izzie later that night? Did I ever really have Karl all to myself?

“And guess what?”

I don't want to guess.

“I'm pregnant.”

My legs turn to jelly.

“Now, I know what you're thinking, and you can
stop thinking it. I didn't trap him. You know I have a thing about … fluids. Karl wanted this child, and I was only too happy to oblige him.”

Damn. He really meant what he said to me that night. He really wanted to settle down and start a family.

The door opens, Karl popping his head outside. “You gonna be long, Isabel? I'm starving.”

“Oh, boo, I was just telling Lana the good news about our child.”

Karl's eyes zero in on mine. “You mean the
great
news, right?”

“Of course,” Izzie says. “The doctor says I'll be showing in another month, and I can't wait. I'll have to get my belly button ring taken out, of course. I wouldn't want to have my belly button pop out with the ring in there. The ring might kill someone!” She laughs.

Yeah. How interesting that would be. Ha ha. How funny.

“There's another one a little lower, you know,” she whispers. “I'll have to take that one out before the birth.”

Oh wow. That is just … so gross. Now what? “Well, I'm glad that things have worked out for you two.”

“Did Karl tell you about the store?”

I nod.

“Girl, I can't wait till that place takes off, so I can quit working. Did he tell you about his Web site?”

I nod.

“It is the bomb, girl. Every kind of bag you can imagine. And once a customer places an order, we get a printout of what to send and where, and the money is deposited electronically into our checking account.”

And
they
have a checking account.

“We're using our second bedroom to store all the bags now.” She smiles and looks at Karl. “That's going to be the baby's room. Girl, Karl is blowing up!”

Yeah. Izzie is blowing up, Karl is blowing up, and the Web site is the bomb. I have so much … artillery going off in my head right now.

“Well, I have to go,” I say. “I'm glad things are working out.”

“And you brought us together,” Izzie says. “We
should
be thanking you.”

Yeah, right. This is all going so fast! I haven't said what I've come to say yet. I look at Karl. “Karl, I want you to know how sorry I am. You were—are—a good man, and I was stupid. I wish you both lots of happiness.”

And I do. I want Karl to be happy. He wanted a child, and I didn't.

“You be sure to come visit often, okay, especially after the baby is born,” Izzie says. “And call me sometime. Maybe we can have a girls' night out or something.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Not likely.

And as I'm walking away, I can't help but think,
Will the baby come out pierced and tattooed, too?

I
have to get out of the house. If I sit in there any longer beating myself up over Karl, I'll go crazy. He had been homing in on me—on
us
—with his plans, and we were
this close
to making it. And now Izzie is getting the good loving I used to get, and Karl is getting … Izzie. And Izzie's money, too.

Karl said I was too controlling, so I took an online survey to see if that was true.

It was.

Whenever Karl and I went out, which was rare, I always got my way. Whenever we watched movies at his place, I held the remote. Whenever we ate out, I chose the restaurant. And all that calling I did to him, all those pages—I was a control freak with Karl, hardly spontaneous at all. The survey told me that I would miss out on great chances for love.

And I have.

I did the same survey with Juan Carlos and Roger in mind, and I wasn't nearly as compulsive or controlling. In fact, I let Juan Carlos control me almost completely, but with Roger, we shared. Roger and I had a balance.

I don't usually take much stock in surveys, online or otherwise, but this one … This one was absolutely right.

On a warm, sunny, Indian summer October day, I decide to get out of the house and visit Bobby's grave to spruce it up. We've been having lots of rain and wind, and I'm worried that leaves have covered his grave. That wouldn't be right. I mean, you lay down for your eternal rest, and a bunch of crunchy orange, red, and brown leaves block your view of the mountains and the sky.

Okay, okay. Yes, I want to check on Bobby's grave, but mainly … mainly, I want to see Roger.

When I stand over Bobby's plaque in the ground, “Beloved son and friend to many” shines brightly. There isn't a single fragment of a leaf, a stray blade of grass, or even any dust on the plaque. Roger obviously takes good care of these. The grass around the plaque seems cut with scissors, not a blade out of place. A little sconce above the plaque contains a fresh arrangement of orange and yellow mums.

“Hey, Bobby Fischer,” I whisper. “How ya doin'?”

I hear the rumbling of a tractor in the distance.

Roger.

“I'm … I'm okay.”

The rumbling grows louder.

“You know, Bobby, this is a good day to play some football, huh? Not too hot, not too cold, just enough of a breeze to make passes interesting.” It might be a little too cold to play naked tackle football, though, but I don't tell Bobby that.

I sit, tracing Bobby's name, the rumbling growing even louder.

“Who am I going to play chess with now? It's no fun
playing by myself. I always win, you know? I need some competition.”

I see Roger's head in all its blazing orange first, then the tractor, then the little trailer behind him.

“I wonder if Roger plays chess. You think he does, Bobby?”

Roger sees me, and the tractor stops about fifty yards away. Has he shaved off his “man-gina”? He has. I like it.

“Should I wave at him, Bobby? Hmm. I don't want to seem needy.”

Who am I kidding? I
am
needy.

I wave.

Roger waves back.

I feel several goose bumps creeping up my legs. “Should I go to him, Bobby? Should I go talk to him?”

Roger and the tractor leap forward, and he moves down another row away from me.

That was pretty obvious.

“The chess game begins,” I say, laughing. “And white moved first.” I laugh again. “That's Roger, Bobby. I like him. A lot. He's a really good man, and he used to play games with me, football mostly.”

And maybe we're playing games again.

I watch Roger work on another gravesite, this one marked by a huge marble headstone. He parks the tractor and leaps off, snatching a weed eater and cranking it up. In a few sweeps, the grass around the base of the headstone is gone. He turns off the weed eater, laying it in the trailer and withdrawing a rake. He rakes up the clippings and puts them in a black plastic bag. Then he shines up the front of the headstone with a cloth. He pulls a clump of wilted flowers from the sconce, gets a
fresh bunch of mums from the trailer…. He's very efficient.