He/She is Typing Pt. 02

I had made peace with going to bed tonight without hearing from her, much less any of these things. Yet here they are.

JOANNA: I arrived late because I was stuck at the office trying to meet a deadline. Then I arrived at the play and something unpleasant happened. I won't get into the details of it if you don't want me to. But it forced me to leave early to try to fix it, or at least contain it, to the extent that I could. I can say with certainty that it ruined my night... and many more nights to come. I'm not sure about what I can do. Or if anything I did would make any real difference. I'm not even sure I'm willing to do much more at this point.

I hesitate. I don't want to pass up an opportunity to know more. It's not my business and this might be all that she's comfortable sharing... but I make a move regardless.

ALAN: I saw your husband leave before the show was over.

JOANNA: Yeah, that was him. He left because he'd said all that he'd been waiting to say.

ALAN: How do you mean?

JOANNA: He was eager to vent. I could tell, it was all pent-up. He made me feel like trash for arriving later than I said I would and for making work a priority... even though I had told him that tonight I might need to. He knew why. It didn't matter. He saw the excuse to attack and he pounced on it. Then in the parking lot, while the kids waited in the car, it got truly shitty. I said stuff, but he said worse. One thing in particular. And those are details that I definitely won't bother you with.

In between exchanging these lines I leave the sink and move onto the living room couch, having left some of the cutlery unwashed. But it's fine, as neither Sergio not Hiranur would feel obligated to touch them on a night when it's not their turn.

JOANNA: He's apologized now. But it's been happening for a while. Me having to walk on eggshells around his insecurity. His pettiness at times. Not only am I tired of it... I can't believe I'm the one who has to be this apologetic and this fucking accommodating. It should be him.

We've never been here before. Her married life was something that I always expected to remain forever unwrapped and unvisited. I'm not sure what to do with this sudden barrage of information... other than to keep listening.

Joanna tells me the story. He had an affair with a business partner for several months. She found out about it, he didn't tell her. The woman was someone he'd had over at their house several times, someone Joanna had even become friends with. She found the woman's earring in the master bathroom that she shares with her husband, and she later confirmed the suspicions by checking his phone. It broke her heart. She came all too close to leaving him. He begged her not to, he owned up to everything and ended it immediately. He had his reasoning for the affair but didn't try to justify himself. He was sincerely sorry, Joanna says. She knows that for a fact. He didn't want to completely kill what they had - and after some time she figured that, for the sake of the kids, neither did she. So she stayed.

JOANNA: But I don't know where I am anymore. This has messed me up big time. It's made me reassess everything. Absolutely everything. If he wasn't willing to make what we had the center of his world... why should I? I said I'd forgive him, but in all honesty, I haven't been able to do so completely. He's noticed and his response has been to punish me for it. He doesn't seem to realize that he's simply made it harder.

JOANNA: We had something good. But he ruined it, not me.

ALAN: You haven't given up, though. Otherwise, you would've left already.

JOANNA: I haven't. I go back and forth with it. But I don't feel I can just yet.

ALAN. Good. I hope it pays off. And that things work out for the best. Really, I do.

ALAN: But I've missed you. Even if I understand why you've been pulling away. Or I think I do, at least.

JOANNA: I think that if you were to tell me your reading of it, you'd be pretty much on the money.

JOANNA: It's crazy how well we know each other by now.

JOANNA: I've missed you too. More than you know.

I let some time pass before my next line. I think of only one thing to say.

ALAN: When you're done figuring things out, send me a line. I'd like to hang out again at some point. As friends. I'd like that a lot, actually.

JOANNA: I'd love that. And I will.

JOANNA: Thank you, Alan. For understanding.

...

JOANNA

This feels like an empty day still.

It's Friday. I spent the entire day covering a cocktail event thrown by city hall. By request from my editor I stayed until the end, only to quickly grow bored of it and fall behind on work that I could've gotten a head start on. Now here I am, in fancy wear and back at the paper because I needed to come back for my big purse. Katie's convinced me, by way of non-stop pestering, to hit a club for drinks before heading home. I'm spinning on a revolving chair while waiting for her to shut down the glitchy laptop that's the target of her constant cussing... when Alan's text arrives.

I wrote to him earlier today. We haven't communicated at all since the December talent show early in the month. We're now just days away from New Year's. He stayed all too true to his promise of giving me space. I decided on a whim, during a free moment at the cocktail party, that it was as good a time as any to renew friendly communications. I wrote, simply, that I hoped he'd had a good Christmas.

ALAN: I sure did. A very t-shirt themed Christmas, though. I probably look like someone who's short on polo t-shirts, because I got no less than five of those. No joke.

An Alan text on my inbox. I forgot how easily that could make me smile.

JOANNA: Ooh. Wear 'em with a popped collar!

ALAN: Hehe. I'd pull it off.

JOANNA: Let me guess what you actually wanted. Music. And more music.

ALAN: I would've loved some. But I'm joking, I like my new shirts.

JOANNA: See, music and books is all I get nowadays. It's all people think I'll enjoy. They're worried about getting me the wrong size, so they stay clear from getting me something to wear. You know not how lucky you are.

ALAN: Whatever, I'm spoiled. Let's trade stuff.

Katie goes for a last trip to the bathroom. While still spinning on my chair, I ask Alan conversationally what he's up to tonight, in teasing tones that assume he has nothing going on. But he mentions a party.

ALAN: It's the theatre guys behind the 'Gramping Amaze' musical, they're celebrating the super-successful year they had. They're inviting a talent manager, who's inviting a college buddy, who's inviting a bunch of us. It's supposed to be a wild one. I did not wanna go, I'll tell you that much. Sergio heard about it and got obsessed with me taking him. But I'll be seeing a lot of old friends, so that's fun.

JOANNA: Well, you sound super excited.

ALAN: OMG, I AM SO EXCITED. Not.

JOANNA: Hehe. Dork. You're such an old man already.

ALAN: Hey, why don't you come?

Katie's back. I'm not in the mood for a loud party at all. I actually understand completely why Alan wouldn't want to go. And yet.

"Hey."

"Almost done," Katie says. "Count till fifteen and we're out of here."

"Do you want to hit a party?"

"Are you serious? Whose is it?"

I ask Alan for directions and whether it's ok for Katie to come with. He writes: "Sure. Every party needs a sourpuss."

Then...

"I can't believe I got you to consider it."

...

The neighborhood's leafy and posh, with pretty houses left and right. I've been here before for a birthday that Jack was invited to. With Katie's car driving in front of me, I slowly make my way around the corner, where attractive grunge-styled partygoers have spilled out from the sidewalk and now occupy the street at large. The house, full to the brim, is impossible to miss. This is the last place I'd expect to find Alan if I didn't know better.

On the left side of the house there's a driveway that leads to where everyone is leaving their cars, a spacious backyard about four times the area of the residence. There's a casually-dressed pair of valets helping to coordinate the parking. Katie gets sent to the right, beyond the nice oak they've got planted right at the center. I'm told to go to the far left corner, right next to the shrub fence that surrounds the property - where some tricky parallel parking is required. As soon as I shut off the engine I pull out my phone to send Alan a line, but the signal is weak. I try to call him, but nothing.

"This looks fucking perfect," Katie tells me, looking up at the house as we make our way towards the crowded back porch.

"I know, right? You wanted booze and music and they look like they've got plenty." I keep throwing frustrated swipes at my phone screen. "Alan doesn't know we're here yet, I can't get a text out."

"Whatever, you'll meet him inside. Do you think someone will have pot?"

"Pretty likely."

"Fingers crossed," she says with a jittery chuckle.

Inside the house I find to my relief that we're nowhere close to being the oldest people here. The only thing we may stand out for is my formal pantsuit - white blazer and pants, black sleeveless blouse underneath - but I'm likely the only one who'd care. The vibe is uninhibited, loud and sweaty, with laughter ringing from all sides and two full dance floors on two separate parlors. The front hall is lined with two tables set with every liquor in the book. Not a minute has gone by when we see our first bong. I feel Katie excitedly clenching my shoulder.

Before I'm able to find Alan, I realize that Katie has started talking to two guys. Handsome, clean-cut, mid-twenties. It takes my ears a while to acclimate to the loudness.

"I said I'm Tim! And this is Derrick!"

"I'm Katie! Hey, Joanna, I think these guys think we're pretty!"

"We had our eye on you guys for a while! Since the moment you stepped through the door!" says Derrick.

"That's not even five minutes, is it?" I say.

"You guys look fancy!" says Derrick, eyeing my pantsuit. "Let me guess, talent agents? Or at least YOU are!"

Katie and I share a laugh. "Totally."

Tim and Derrick ask us who we're with, how we know the party throwers, what we do for jobs. Katie asks them offhandedly if they know Alan, but they say they don't. Just as Tim starts gravitating towards Katie's side, Derrick does the same in my direction, and I take it as my cue to leave. I tell Katie something in private and excuse myself as smoothly as I can.

Only once I start looking for Alan do I realize how inappropriate it might be. He came here to hang out with his friends, not me. Still, he did invite me, and flirting with single men alongside Katie is not what I came here to do. I'll limit it to a hello and a quick drink before heading home, which is looking more and more tempting. The non-stop dancing of dozens of people is having the effect of a dialed-up heater, which compels me to linger by the open doors or windows whenever I pass them. I'm in the middle of taking off my white blazer when my eyes are drawn to a group of friends occupying two couches in the corner, right by the sliding back doors that lead to the porch. I get the sudden certainty that I'm about to recognize him. They're singing to the tune of two guitars. Alan's right in the middle, his cheeks a little reddened. They hold their tune earnestly, heaving and huffing, almost overpowering the loudness of the dance music. Until one of them screws up and they break down laughing. So endearing. This is the best possible way in which I could've found him.

He sees me. His eyes go wide, as does his smile, and he immediately stands up to come greet me. His friends stare after him.

"You came!"

"Look at you!" I say, admiring his party duds. Black shirt with short sleeves, fancy dress shoes. "You really mean business. No polo shirt, though. I'm disappointed."

"Were you marveling at my singing? Be honest."

"Yes. But fortunately I couldn't hear anything."

He laughs. "Eff you. I'm going for another drink, you want one?"

"Of course. Because it's right by the open door, where oxygen is still a thing."

We open our beers and drink them standing by the table... and we just dive into talking, moving only when people let us know we're blocking their access. We talk about everything, allowing ourselves long detailed tangents, like we used to. He tells me about his class, I tell him about my kids and work, and somehow everything feels like a worthy and fascinating anecdote. He takes my jacket, which I'm carrying in my hand, and asks an acquaintance on a different couch to keep an eye on it. I tell him I don't want to keep him from his friends for long, but he shrugs it off and insists that I let him introduce me. We go back to their corner, and as I hear their names I'm engulfed by the sense of mystique that I've always felt for Alan's college years. His theater exploits, the plays where he performed, the girlfriends, the goofs. I get to hear about the time he got comically angry at everyone during a hungover-heavy rehearsal. The time his wig fell off while he was up on stage and someone slipped on it. His friends are as laid-back and unassuming as he is. The girls seem particularly comfortable with him, like he's a big brother whose neck they can casually wrap an arm around while smoking a cigarette.

When they start setting up a drinking game, Alan excuses himself and comes to my side.

"Are you not gonna play?" I ask. "Come on, let's do this!"

"No way. You can't get too drunk, you still have to drive home."

"Oh, whatever! What are you, my dad?"

He laughs hard at that one. "Fine. Get super hammered, see if I care."

"I don't want to anymore. Not a fan of Vodka."

"You're a pain in the ass. You know what? Let's dance. Like the cool kids we are."

I require no convincing. I haven't danced in a while, but I'm not allergic to it. I'm left completely taken aback by how smooth Alan is on the dance floor. Confident, sexy, capable of drawing fluid semi-circles with his hips and feet to the tune of his own finger snapping. His black shirt and thick arms do the rest of the work for him. He very easily stands out from the bunch. I also give it my best shot, and once I start enjoying myself I simply go with the flow. Every so often Alan spices up his act with goofy disco moves just to make me laugh. It takes me a long time to remember that Katie's here with me, somewhere in the crowd. But my phone hasn't rung. Surely she's fine.

A Salsa song starts playing. Following the lead of couples around us, Alan requests permission to put his hand on my waist, which I grant with a nod, and proceeds to show how well-versed he is in this, too. Pushing me away, pulling me back close, spinning me, all while putting his own feet through these complex back-and-forths. I tell him I underestimated him; he replies with a joke I can't quite hear. I feel myself melding completely into the crowd. I'm now like any other guest, someone who found here their own way to have fun.

We finish out of breath and sweatier than I was prepared to get. If not for the heat, I could've kept at it a while longer. We crash on the couch where we had laid my white blazer and I finish the rest of my beer with two long swigs.

"See how everyone's looking at us?" he asks.

I chuckle. "They are not."

"They are. We looked good up there."

"Am I wrong or did I step on you?" I ask.

"You did a couple of times. But it's ok, I stepped on the guy behind me a couple times. Why do you think he changed spots? What goes around comes around. Are you glad you came?"

"I am. And no one's stolen my abandoned jacket yet, so that's good."

We continue catching our breaths in silence. I could use another beer to cool down, but for various reasons I don't want him to see me drinking anymore. We chitchat at odd intervals, comfortable with the silences, me suppressing the urge to push him towards his friends again. My internal clock is set on going home in a few more minutes anyway.

"Hey, I'm gonna check up on Aurora," he says, suddenly getting up. "She'd said she might need a ride at nine, maybe she still does. Are you planning on staying longer?"

"I need to ask Joanna first. I've totally abandoned her."

"Gotcha. Well, see you later? If you stay."

"I mean, I might not. But If I do, I'll bother you for sure."

I stay on the couch an extra minute or two, enjoying the bits of breeze that reach me from the open front door. Later, I find Katie in the other lounge, dancing closely with Tim, her guy from earlier. He lays a long kiss on her, which she returns in eager fashion. It's certainly not their first of the night. I'm about to turn around, but Tim sees me and lets her know I'm there. She comes up to me laughing, as if I've caught her doing a shamefully hilarious thing, like talking to herself on the mirror.

"Good for you!" I say. "He looks friendly."

"What have you been doing?" she yells excitedly. She signals Tim to give her a minute. "I'm sorry, I feel that I abandoned you!"

"You didn't at all, I'm glad you're having all the fun. I actually felt the same."

"Did you find Alan?" she asks as we move to the nearest couch. She's not drunk, but she's definitely buzzed. Tim signals at her again. He leaves the dance floor and heads for the stairs.

"I did, we said hi and everything. I was thinking of heading home now, but I'm worried about you. How much longer are you gonna stay?"

"I'm not sure... but it's ok, they say that the guys who rented the house are fine with people leaving their cars here overnight as long as they don't have to drink and drive. I was thinking of you as my ride, but if you're about to leave it's no problem, Jo, I'll just call a cab."

"No, it's ok. I can wait for you. I was just worried you'd get too hammered. Really cool of them to let people do that."

"Yup. And that's not the only thing they're ok with people doing. Why do you think most of the rooms upstairs are locked? Locked from the inside, baby."

"Shut up."

"True story."

"Is that's why Tim ran upstairs just now?"

"Nah, we were just gonna smoke a bit in privacy." She then adds with a grin, "But I shouldn't waste a party, should I?"

...

I know why he left my side. Even if the "she needs a ride" story was true, Alan's doing what Alan does. Giving me space. Making sure he's wanted before he covers his own half of the distance. Despite the fact that I contacted him first, came to his party and danced myself out of breath with him, he still sees a need for it. I settle on the same couch where we spoke last - my legs crossed, one arm spread along the backrest, my head tilted back - and I'm suddenly overcome by a very filling sense of comfort. It's not quite sleepiness, even if it could become that if given some time. It's just a nice sense of ease, an acquired lack of rush. I've been having my second beer of the night while I wait. Every swig is a cold delight. Also enjoyable: the cool air on my bare arms, courtesy of the open windows.

"You a dancer?" someone says, making me open my eyes. A handsome guy, older than me, his hand outstretched. I shake my head with a smile and he goes back to his spot on the floor, well aware that he flattered me. Then I see Alan. Way in the back, emerging from the kitchen, talking to his gang. I look away and return to my lull... but I can't suppress my relief at seeing him back.

I wait calmly for his eye contact. When he finally sees me he starts making his way towards me in his very own dorky manner. Performing old timey disco moves, the twist, the mashed potato. It gets a hearty laugh from me.