Sarah Mlynowski - Monkey Business

Jamie waves goodbye and follows me into the elevator. “That guy has the hots for you.”

I blush. “Yeah?”

Jamie raises an eyebrow. But since he only has one, they both veer toward his bald spot. “Tall, dark and handsome not your type?”

“I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

He nods. “Still after your dream man?”

I sigh. “Yup.”

“Have you ever thought about dating someone that exists in real life and not just on paper?” he asks, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

Enough already. “I told you. I’m not dating Professor Rothman. Too close for comfort.” I decide to change the subject. “I gave you a sex change on Friday.”

“You did?” He closes his eyes for a second and looks relieved. “Thanks. Much appreciated. Can I interest you in some dinner tonight? I’m not going home until tomorrow morning.” He hesitates. “I want to thank you properly.”

Aw. “You’re so sweet. It really wasn’t a big deal. But no, I’m taking the seven-o’clock train back to the city. I decided not to drive so I can start my reading for next week. And I haven’t packed yet.” The doors open, and I plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Have a safe flight and a great weekend!” And then I bolt back to the Zoo.

9:30 p.m.

I’m about to ring the doorbell, when I stop myself. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. What am I doing here? She’s going to be able to tell. My face will be like a blackboard with my illicit affair written all over it in fluorescent-yellow chalk. If only it could be like in Superman: The Movie and I could fly backward around the world to turn back time.

Truth is, I’m not even sure if I want to erase the experience with Kimmy. I like knowing that a sexy woman like Kimmy wants me.

I should tell Sharon what happened.

It’s freezing out here. Stupid Canadian winter. I press the bell once, twice, softly as though I’m not sure if I want her to hear.

She must have been waiting for me, because right away I hear the click of the door unlocking.

The soft, silky, short brown hair, the big smile. The perfect earlobes. Sharon. “You’re back!” she squeals, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me hard on the mouth.

Guilt and sadness surge through me, like I’ve just stuck my finger in an electrical socket of pain. I love her, and I always have. What did I do? “I’m back,” I say, attempting to keep my voice afloat. Can she tell?

She kisses me deeply and presses her body against mine. Apparently, no, she can’t. And I can’t tell her. She’d kill me. I can only tell her if I’m willing to lose her, and I’m not. Her tongue feels soft and squishy, like a pillow. I push her up against the door, and I explore under her shirt. My hands feel at home, like Clark Kent returning to Smallville.

She pulls me inside and closes the door behind her.

Decision made. My fling with Kimmy is over.

Sunday, November 30, 10:07 p.m.

Why hasn’t he called?

I kissed him goodbye on Wednesday afternoon. I thought he would call the next day. Truth is, I hoped he would call Wednesday night after he landed. Or from the airport while he was waiting for his flight. That would have been amazing. But I wasn’t asking for that. No. All I was asking is that he call at some point over the weekend. Is that too much to ask? That the guy I’ve been hooking up with for the past month call me to wish me a happy Thanksgiving?

I’m lying on my bed, wearing a tank top and panties, sweating and staring at the ceiling. My flight landed two hours ago. I thought Russ would be here by now. The central heating is on full blast, so it’s boiling in here. I don’t mind the heat; I’m used to it from home. It was gorgeous in Arizona. A nice eighty-six degrees. Here it’s forty-two. My body is officially confused. And the Zoo feels like ninety degrees. I saw a guy wearing shorts and a tank top strolling through the hallways. I wonder if he’ll keep that outfit on all winter. The same weirdness occurs in Arizona. I’ll be wearing sandals and a minidress outside because it’s a hundred and thirty degrees, but I need to put on long underwear and a parka to go to the air-conditioned mall.

So far the cold in Connecticut hasn’t been so terrible. The gusts of air are refreshing. They make me feel alive. Like sex. Which it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting tonight. I left my cell phone on the entire time I was home so he could reach me. He could have gotten through while my mother was whining about how miserable her job is. Or while my father grilled me about whether I was wasting my time and money on getting an MBA. Or when I ran into Wayne and Cheryl together at the Rhythm Room and had to maintain a stupid plastic smile on my face.

It was the power-on cell in my purse that kept me sane, reminding me that, yes, there is something good in my life. The very possibility of it ringing was my reason for getting out of bed in the morning.

But now it’s Sunday night, and he still hasn’t called.

What does it mean? That he wasn’t thinking about me? That he was with Sharon the entire weekend? That he doesn’t want to see me anymore?

I feel sick and hot and nauseous. I open the window to fill my room with air so I don’t faint. Or cry. He doesn’t want me anymore. He’d rather be with Sharon.

What do I do? I need a new plan.

I pick up the phone and call him, but he doesn’t answer. What if he’s decided that he can’t live without her? That he’s going to transfer to the business school in Toronto?

The open window doesn’t seem to be helping the room temperature. What’s wrong with me? Why is my heart beating so loudly? I don’t understand why I want him so much. Yes, he’s hot and smart and serious, but so are other guys here. Why do I want the one guy who’s taken? Is it the challenge? Am I worthless if he doesn’t want me? Is it the way he plays with my secret ear spot?

I call his room again.

“Hello?” He’s back! Why hasn’t he come by if he’s home?

“Hi, it’s me. Can you come by?”

“I…um…” He’s stalling. Why is he stalling?

“Just for a few minutes, okay? See you soon.” I hang up before he can turn me down.

I open the bottle of red wine, pour two glasses, light two candles, turn off the lights and take off my clothes.

It’s all about strategy.

Monday, December 1, 7:02 a.m.

Ipush open the heavy oak library doors, slightly astounded that I was the only one waiting for the security guard to unlock them. How are more students not taking advantage of the library’s extended hours? From today, the first Monday after Thanksgiving, until LWBS shuts down for winter holidays on December 19, the library will be open from seven until midnight, seven days a week.

The rolling of my bag’s wheels against the polished floor echoes through the empty atrium. I ride the elevator up to the fourth floor and head for my favorite cubicle beside the window. First I skim through the business section of the paper while I sip my coffee. Then I pull out my pencil case, Economics textbook, course pack and binder from my bag. I’ve already done all my reading for today, so I’ll start on tomorrow’s cases. First thing in the morning is my favorite time to study. It’s quiet and serene. Three-thirty is the most frustrating time. Too many people are here engaging in group meetings. My classmates often fail to remember that they’re in a library and that others are trying to study.

For the next twenty minutes I lose myself in Economics, until a large hand squeezes my shoulder.