Twenty-six

ON TUESDAY, WE met at Angie’s for another poetry rehearsal. I’d been so focused on my work deadlines and Jim’s family dramas that I hadn’t even had time to stress out about my impending presentation. But as I rang Angie’s buzzer, I could feel the familiar queasiness that always preceded my public speaking occasions. Tonight wasn’t really a public speaking occasion, of course, but Angie would obviously know that I hadn’t been reciting my verse four times per night in front of the mirror. In fact, I hadn’t even had a chance to read it! She was not going to be pleased.

And she was right. Preparedness was the key to overcoming stage fright—I remembered reading it in that Conquering Your Fear book. Yes, preparedness was the key—and some booze couldn’t hurt either. As I walked through her lobby and pressed the elevator button, I pulled the folded sheet of paper from my pocket. When I was safely enclosed, alone, in the metal box, I began to read out loud:

With touches soft as a baby’s breath,
Your bodies ache and yearn to become one.
With trust and faith, you’ve fought your desires,
Now the waiting is finally done.

Oh my god! Oh my god! I couldn’t believe it. The verse was all about Nicola and Neil finally having sex! It was too much! I simply couldn’t do it! There was no way I could stand up in front of three hundred people and read a verse about how Neil couldn’t wait to bone Nicola! I should never have traded. What was I going to do?

I would trade back with Martin, that’s what. He had duped me! Although, if I hadn’t been so fixated on my own breath and heartbeat, I would have actually heard the verse before I accepted it. And then, of course, I would have understood why Martin felt uncomfortable reciting these words. And why Sophie had rejected the swap, as well. God, it was my own stupid fault. We had traded fair and square.

When the elevator stopped on the third floor, I stepped out into the silent hall. Okay, I told myself, there was only one solution to this mess. I would read the verse at Nicola’s wedding, but I would completely ignore the meaning of the words. I would think of them more as sounds. It would be as if I was phonetically speaking Hungarian or something. And I certainly wouldn’t allow myself to visualize Neil and Nicola, touching each other with soft baby’s breath caresses and aching to finally have sex. Yuck! I already knew that Angie would scold me for my lack of emotion, but I would do what I had to do to get through it. Besides, she would undoubtedly read with enough emotion for all four of us.

“Hi!” Angie greeted me at the door with a kiss on the cheek. She looked stunning, as always, in a sexy off-white V-neck and four-hundred-dollar jeans. You look a bit like Sandra Bullock, I reminded myself as I followed my petite and perfect friend into the living room. “Okay, we’re all here,” she said, gleefully. “We’d better get down to business. I can’t believe it’s just over a week until we do our reading at the rehearsal dinner!”

“Wow,” Martin said, attempting to muster some enthusiasm.

At the thought, I felt a constricting in my chest, usually the first sign of hyperventilation. “How about a drink first?” I asked, in a high-pitched voice. Angie gave me a distinctly Kendraish look, but went to the kitchen to open the bottle of wine I’d brought. “So...” I asked, trying to postpone the inevitable, “how was the stitch ’n bitch club last week?”

“It was quite dramatic, actually,” Sophie said. “Nicola’s mom called about halfway through with some disturbing news.”

“Oh god! What?”

Martin picked up the story. “Their wedding photographer was in a car accident. He broke his wrist!”

“Oh no!”

“I know!” Sophie said. “There’s no way he can hold a camera. Nicola was completely devastated.”

“I’ve never seen her like that,” Martin added.

Angie, who’d returned to the room with the open bottle and four glasses, said, “She completely fell apart. The whole wedding thing has been so stressful, and now this.”

“Surely, they can get a replacement photographer?” I asked, apparently somewhat naively.

“Not of François Leblanc’s calibre!” Angie cried. “They’d booked him eight months ago.”

Sophie shook her head, sadly. “It’s such a shame. Your photos are your memories.”

“Well...” Angie said, handing me a glass of wine, “apparently Nic’s dad is pretty connected and might be able to pull some strings. But...it’s all the more reason we should really blow her away with our poetry reading.”

“Right.” I took several frantic gulps of wine.

Angie began with an extremely robust rendition of the first verse. She seemed to think that if she read with enough zeal, Nicola might not even care if she had any photos of her wedding. Sophie went next, shooting sideways glances at Martin as she recited her verse about “a love worth waiting for.” Martin read the “roots of a tree” bit and then it was my turn.

I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes for just a moment. I envisioned myself standing in the Spanish Ballroom before Nicola and three hundred wedding guests—another trick picked up from Conquering Your Fear. Over the sound of my rushing blood and pounding heart, I spoke soothing words to myself. What was the worst that could happen? So I fainted or had an attack of diarrhea? Embarrassing, yes, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to die. I didn’t even know any of those people. I was there for one person only, and that was Nicola. I would do it for her, my dear sweet friend Nicola.

I began reciting the sounds—not words about Neil and Nicola aching and yearning to finally get it on. Pretend you’re reading phonetic Hungarian, I instructed myself. You can do it...

... With trust and faith, you’ve fought your desires,
Now the waiting is finally done.

Before Angie could read the last verse, I blurted out, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“What?” Angie squawked. “You have to!”

“We traded!” Martin shrieked, his voice tinged with fear.

“But it’s all about how they’re going to have sex!” I cried back. “I understand that they’re proud of themselves for waiting, but do they need to, like, advertise it at their wedding?”

Sophie said, “Do you think Neil’s a virgin, too?”

Martin answered, “Probably not.”

Sophie continued, “I agree it’s a little unusual to announce that you haven’t had sex...” Her eyes moved to Martin’s face. “Even though you’re really dying to.” Martin cleared his throat nervously.

Angie addressed me. “You’ll have lots of champagne to drink! It’s one little verse! You said you could do it.”

“No one will be listening to the words, anyway. They’ll all be drunk by then,” Martin said, desperately.

God! If only I could go back in time to that last rehearsal, I would never have traded! “Look,” I explained, “I’m a nervous public speaker to begin with, and this . . . sexual verse doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Think of how much this will mean to Nicola!” Angie cried desperately.

“Maybe we could switch?” I suggested to her.

“That would mean I’d be reading two verses in a row and I’ve already memorized the first and last one!”

Sophie tried to placate me. “You’ll be fine. Just think of Jim supporting you in the audience.”

Was she crazy? Reading these words in front of Jim would have made it even worse! “He’s not going to be there, thank god.”

“Why not?” Martin asked.

“He’s going through a lot, right now. His mom had a stroke on Thursday night.”

“Oh no!” Sophie cried. “Is she going to be all right?”

“It’s touch and go at the moment.”

“That’s too bad.” Martin gave my arm a sympathetic squeeze.

Angie said, “I hope she pulls through.”

“Me too.”

“So, I guess this means you guys didn’t...” Angie trailed off.

“No,” I said, morosely, but then brightened. “But we could have!”

“Great!” Angie instantly got my meaning. “Well, sounds like Jim’s overcome his stage fright. Now, you just have to get over yours.”

She was right. It was too late to back out now. I couldn’t add to Nicola’s anxiety over losing her photographer by refusing to read the poem. Somehow, I just had to get through it without hyperventilating or having to run to the toilet. “Okay...” I said, grudgingly. “I’ll do my best.”

The next morning I paced the apartment, repeating my verse over and over. Angie had insisted we memorize our lines. Apparently, she felt that it wasn’t quite stressful enough reading a verse about Nicola finally losing her virginity to three hundred people. We were going to do a dress rehearsal for Nicola at Thursday’s stitch ’n bitch, so I had to be prepared. When the phone rang, I answered it somewhat gratefully.

“Beth?” the male voice asked.

“Yes?”

“It’s Martin.”

“Oh, hi Martin.” I’d sent the Northwest Life article to him yesterday. Hopefully, he’d had a chance to read it and was calling to thank me.

“I was wondering if you could come down here. I . . . need to talk to you.”

“Okay. Have you read my article?”

“Yeah, I read it. Look...could you come now? This is important.”

“I’ll be right there.” As I sat on the bus, I pondered the reasons behind Martin’s urgent request. It could be about my article, of course. Maybe I’d skewed it too much in favour of the little independent grocer? Or focused too much on the shopper’s perspective and not the business end of things? I suppose Martin might want to apologize to me in person for convincing me to switch verses with him. Perhaps he’d summoned enough courage to read the aching and yearning part himself? Oh, pleeeeeze! But as I stepped off the bus across the street from his office building, I knew in my heart what this was about.

“Thanks for coming,” Martin said, ushering me into his tiny glass-walled office. He closed the door behind me as I took a seat across from his cluttered desk. “So . . . I uh, got your article.”

“Uh-huh?”

“I had a quick read of it and it looks great. I’ll have some more in-depth feedback in the next couple of days.”

“Great.” So it wasn’t about the article.

“I also wanted to thank you, again, for trading verses with me. You’ll do a much better job than I ever could... honestly.”

I shrugged. Obviously, he wouldn’t have called me all the way down here to say that.

“Umm . . .” He cleared his throat nervously. “I wanted to talk to you about... Sophie.”

I knew it! “Yes?”

“She . . . uh . . . Sophie’s . . . interested in me, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” I ruefully admitted.

Martin puffed out his cheeks and let the air out in a long, steady stream. “Don’t get me wrong, I like her a lot. She’s a really sweet girl, but... she’s just not my type.”

Not his type? What did he mean by that? Not his type as in, she had a husband and a baby? Or not his type as in, she had breasts and a vagina?

“Maybe, if things were different, it could work out between us . . . but it’s just not going to happen.”

“I completely understand.” Of course I did. I just didn’t quite understand why.

Martin leaned forward, looking at me intensely. “I know this is a lot to ask, but... will you help me, Beth?”

“Help you how?” I gasped.

“You’ve got to talk to her for me, tell her that we can’t be together,” he said, desperately. “Please, Beth. She’ll be humiliated if I have to tell her.”

I didn’t like how Martin was getting me to do all his dirty work for him lately. First, I had to read his dirty poem, and now this! But curiosity had gotten the better of me, and I finally saw an opportunity to uncover the truth. “I don’t know...” I said, hesitantly. “What would I say to her?”

Martin looked at me. “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

“Uh . . . Sort of?”

“Beth...” He seemed incredulous that I was having trouble finding the words. “Just tell her the truth.”

“Umm . . . ?”

“I can’t have a relationship with her because she’s married.”

“Of... of course,” I stammered.

“It wouldn’t be right. They have a child together and they should try to work things out.”

“I agree. So . . . couldn’t you maybe just tell her that? I mean, I’m already reading the aching and yearning verse for you.”

Martin heaved another heavy sigh. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just thought it might be easier hearing it from a friend. I mean, I’m her friend, too, but if I tell her, it’s going to be really hard on her ego. I just thought...” He leaned back in his chair. “No, you’re right. I’ve asked too much of you already.”

Oh shit. I had to agree with him. It would probably be less painful for Sophie to hear that Martin wasn’t interested in her from me. If he told her, it would be almost like he was breaking up with her before they’d even started dating! “I’ll talk to her for you,” I said, glumly. “It’s probably better that way.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Oh, Beth, you are such a great friend.” He reached forward and clasped my hand in his. “And I really appreciate you switching verses with me. I don’t mean to sound all macho, but I feel kind of weird reading a love poem in front of so many people.”

“I understand.”

We said nothing for a moment, just smiled at each other. Now that I knew Martin was straight, I probably shouldn’t sit there, holding his hand and smiling at him. But I already knew he wasn’t interested in me. In fact, it was his lack of interest in me that had led me to assume (hope) that he was gay in the first place. Obviously, there was nothing to worry about.

Finally, he released my hand and spoke. “So I promise I’ll get back to you soon about your article. But at first glance, it looked great.”

“Thanks.” I stood. “And I’ll try to talk to Sophie before we get together on Thursday.”

And I did try. I phoned her as soon as I got home and left a message inviting her to meet me for coffee. “I’d really like to talk to you...” I said, “the sooner, the better.” Of course, I couldn’t spell it out on her voice mail in case Rob listened to it, but I was sure Sophie would get my gist. I really hoped she’d call me back soon. While I dreaded giving her the news, she needed to know the truth. Once she realized there was no chance with Martin she could refocus on her marriage. And, of course, we would all appreciate it if she stopped giving Martin meaningful looks while she read Nicola’s wedding poem.

So, when the phone finally rang at four o’clock, I assumed it was Sophie.

“It’s me,” he said, when I answered.

“Jim!” My heart leapt to hear his voice. “How are you?”

“Oh . . . you know . . . hanging in there.”

“How’s your mom?”

“No change. Look... I only have a second. I’m in Toronto for the next few days, but I just wanted to hear your voice.”

I was touched. “It’s great to hear your voice, too.”

“I miss you.”

“And I miss you.”

“Have you thought about where we should go on our holiday?”

“I’m still not sure,” I said, with a delighted giggle. “I’ve never had the opportunity to just choose anywhere in the world to visit!”

“Well, now you do. Name the place, and we’re there.”

“Okay!”

“I’ve gotta go, babe. Love ya.”

Love ya? Did he say love ya? That was the short form of “I love you,” was it not? It was! Jim loved me and he wasn’t afraid to say it! He didn’t care if we’d only been seeing each other for a couple of months and hadn’t even managed to have sex yet. He loved me! Hurray! “Love ya, too,” I replied, and then hung up.