The Love of My Life Read online

  The Love of My Life

  By Dale Chase

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2019 Dale Chase

  ISBN 9781634868044

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  The Love of My Life

  By Dale Chase

  I met the love of my life twenty minutes after I lost the love of my life. Reeling from an unforeseen breakup, I boarded a plane for Los Angeles on a warm June day in 1998. During the one-hour flight I was resurrected and set adrift into what would ultimately become my life. So crazy, that awful mix of pain and promise, and so confusing.

  Apparently, Raymond had been planning the breakup for some time. To avoid a scene and any long discussion, he purposely chose to tell me his news when he knew I had to get on a plane. Two seats were booked and paid for, only one was to be used.

  He was talkative on the way to the airport, as if letting me get a word in might derail him. I’d witnessed this kind of hyper monologue when he was drunk so I attributed it to excitement over the trip. I didn’t have a clue.

  We’d both packed carry-ons so he was safe there, no baggage going on with the jilted party. After we took our seats in the boarding area, ten minutes had gone by when he said, “I’m not going with you.”

  “When?”

  “Now. To L.A.”

  It took several seconds for this to sink in because it made no sense. When I understood what he meant, it still made no sense. “What?” I said.

  “You heard me. I’m staying here. And while you’re gone, I’m moving out.”

  “What?”

  “Stop saying that.”

  I turned toward him, though he kept facing forward. I spoke to his brown brush cut, to his ear. To the neck I’d kissed that morning. “This makes no sense,” I said.

  He sighed heavily, as if annoyed with my incomprehension. “I’m breaking up with you,” he said. “There’s someone else.”

  “And you chose to tell me now, when you know I have to get on a plane?”

  “Yes.”

  The weight of his betrayal, coupled with his blatant manipulation, began to press down on me with a heaviness that started in my chest and ended in my stomach. My heart began to pound. He was leaving me by default, leaving by way of staying.

  “So you’re leaving me?” I managed.

  “Yes.”

  “Just like that.”

  “No, not just like that. I’ve given it lots of thought, agonized over it actually. It didn’t come easy.”

  “And you couldn’t tell me there was a problem?” I said. “Couldn’t give me a chance to speak up? You had to wait until…” I looked around at families, at couples with their vinyl bags and strollers and kids, their magazines and their lives.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, his voice sinking a notch.

  “Nothing?” Seemed to me we had everything to talk about.

  At that moment the flight was opened for boarding and people began to move toward the gate in a polite stampede. I didn’t move. “What’s your number?” Raymond asked.

  I clutched the boarding pass in my right hand which hung limp between my legs. I didn’t resist when he pulled it up to look. “One-thirty-two,” he said. “You’ll be in the last group.”

  The heaviness spread over me to such extent I felt there was no way any plane could get me airborne. I wanted to dive into the matter at hand, but all I could do was skate blindly along the surface. “Poor planning,” I mumbled. “If we’d gotten here sooner, I’d have been given a lower boarding number and I’d now be on the plane, but you’re stuck. Another ten minutes at least.” I stopped to do some quick addition in my head. “Eight years,” I said, “four months, six days, and ten minutes.”

  He sighed again, uncrossed his legs, and glanced at the herd of people.

  “What happened to forever?” I asked.

  “I was wrong,” he said. “I don’t think things are meant to go that long. I just didn’t know it until now.”

  “Who is he?”

  “You don’t know him.”

  “Where’d you meet?” I asked.

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “It does to me.”

  “Look, what we had was great—”

  “What we had?” I cut in. My voice rose and I heard it as so much noise, disturbing the hubbub around us. Heads turned, but I kept going. “What we had?”

  “Calm down,” Raymond said. “This isn’t helping.”

  “Oh, I’m supposed to help? Help you dump me in an airport for God’s sake? An airport of all places. You’re such a shit!”

  “Stop shouting.”

  Rows thirty-three to one-hundred were boarding. Raymond took note. I could see him calculating our remaining time together. His eyes flitted everywhere but to me. I wanted to scream, but found myself suddenly empty. When I went quiet, it made him attentive, which in turn made me want to throw up, maybe on his shoes. When the final numbers were called I rose and joined the throng of people. I passed the threshold, moved down the jetway, and didn’t look back.

  * * * *

  Inside the plane, the aisle was predictably clogged, and I waited. There was no longer any purpose to my life. I moved when I was allowed, stowed my bag, and dropped into an aisle seat in the next-to-last row. Near the tail, I thought, picturing it falling off en route to L.A. Tears welled.

  The flight attendant had to remind me to fasten my seat belt. Then the plane was airborne, and I imagined Raymond driving away free of me. I had never felt so alone.

  When the drinks cart came by I declined, but the guy in the window seat ordered a bloody Mary. When it arrived, he mixed it and handed it to me.

  “What’s this?” I rasped, barely able to speak.

  “You look like you could use it.”

  My hand flew to my cheek. “Oh, God,” I said as I frantically wiped the stream of tears. The drink was still in the guy’s outstretched hand—the middle seat was empty—and when I didn’t take it, he pulled down my tray and set it before me, along with the napkin which I used to mop my tears. I then took a long swallow of the drink and felt the spicy liquid free fall into my stomach. “Thanks,” I said.

  I looked at him then, blond and blue-eyed, Raymond’s opposite. His smile was tentative, as if he didn’t want to make light of an obviously difficult moment. I tried to return the smile and found I couldn’t so I turned away. I wanted to empty my mind, but I couldn’t shake the image of Raymond staring straight ahead as he told me our life—my life—was over. I could see him breezing along the freeway, talking on hi
s cell phone, sharing the story with his new love. Maybe they’d planned a celebration fuck. The idea sent a wave of anguish through me and I grabbed the drink and swigged.

  “Hey, take it easy,” my seatmate cautioned.

  “Impossible,” I snapped when I’d drained the glass. “In fact, I’m going to have another.”

  He said nothing as I summoned the attendant and mixed a new drink. The first had begun to work, loosening everything except Raymond, who still clung to me even as he sped toward a future that didn’t include me.

  “Want to talk about it?” the guy asked.

  I shook my head. “Talking won’t help. Killing might.”

  He turned to the window, and I knew I’d gotten too dramatic. I wanted to tell him I wasn’t serious, but kept quiet. There was some truth to the comment, however. As I finished the second drink, I wondered what I’d do if Raymond and Mr. Whoever were in front of me. I spent several minutes crafting a bloody scenario, knowing all the while I’d never commit such mayhem. Against myself maybe. I let out a heavy sigh, drained my glass, sucked in an ice cube, and let it melt on my tongue.

  When I had a third drink in hand, I told my seatmate my lover of eight years had broken up with me ten minutes before I boarded the plane.

  “That’s terrible,” he said.

  “It’s more than I can handle.” Tears started rising again. I downed more of the drink and let them come. He offered me a handkerchief, which I accepted.

  I had four drinks during the one-hour flight and we finally exchanged names. He was Tom Genser and I told him I was Alex Toomey, or at least I had been. He helped me off the plane. He got my bag from the overhead and carried it and his own, since it took all my concentration to walk. In the boarding area I collapsed into a chair.

  “I shouldn’t have gotten you started,” he said.

  I laughed. “If you hadn’t, I would have. Sometimes getting drunk is all you can do.”

  “Where are you staying?” he asked.

  It took a few moments to retrieve the information from my vodka-soaked brain. “Manhattan Beach, the Quality Inn on Sepulveda, but I need to get my rental car.”

  “You’re in no condition to drive. Why don’t you get the car tomorrow? Let me drive you now.”

  He was bigger than me, which I found comforting. He exuded warmth and a calm assurance as he guided me from the chair and out of the terminal. I walked slowly, moving along in a fog. We took the shuttle to long-term parking to retrieve his car. I slumped into the passenger seat and when Tom had the engine running, he asked me, “You going to be okay alone?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied, starting to cry again. He put his hand on my shoulder and gently squeezed. “How about you come home with me. I’ve got plenty of room.”

  “I’ll be terrible company,” I sobbed.

  “I’m not looking for entertainment. I just don’t think you should be alone.”

  I didn’t pay attention to where he was taking me. We were on a freeway, things whizzing by, and I fixed on the blur. I stared out the side window as life truly passed me by.

  * * * *

  When we got to Tom’s apartment, he had to help me out of the car. I tried to explain that I usually held my liquor better, but he shushed me. “It’s okay. Come on up.”

  The stairs were a challenge. Partway up I began to list to one side and Tom, behind me, put his hands around my waist to guide me. I liked the feel of him. His hands were bigger than Raymond’s. “Easy,” he said when I stumbled on the top step.

  Once he had me inside, he pulled off my jacket, helped me lie down on the couch, and put a pillow under my head. “Thank you an sleep?” he asked.

  “I have no idea,” I said. That was the last thing I remembered until I woke hours later. It was night. Lamps were on, drapes were drawn, and Tom sat across the room, reading. “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Ten thirty-five.”

  “P.M., right?”

  “Right.”

  “I wish it was A.M. because then this day would be over.”

  “You’re almost there.”

  I sat up, and my head began to spin. “Whoa,” I said.

  “Still drunk?”

  “A little, yeah.”

  “You’re welcome to stay the night.”

  I took a long look at him. “All I want is sleep.”

  “That’s fine.”

  I followed him to the bedroom and stripped while he turned back the covers. Nothing had ever looked so inviting as that big bed. I climbed in, curled up, and shut my eyes. I felt Tom get in with me, but he made no move. Nice, I thought as sleep took me.

  Sometime during the night I reached for him. Awakening to confusion, then panic, I clutched his arm. He murmured, then stirred, rolled toward me, and put an arm around me. Together we drifted back to sleep.

  * * * *

  I woke before Tom. Dawn, the gray light of reality, seeped from behind the curtains as he softly snored. I eased from under his arm and took a good look at the man who had rescued me. Big, but well-proportioned and furry, the embodiment of the classic bear. His golden hair was thick and cut short, while his eyebrows were brown. The pelt across his chest was more of the blond. I found this an interesting mix and couldn’t resist pulling back the covers to see the rest. His lower half had more of the brown hair at his crotch, lightening to blond on his thighs. The mix gave him an endearing quality, earthy, not purebred.

  Nestled in the patch between his legs was a sizeable cock which was fully hard. My own stirred at the sight, but my arousal brought Raymond to mind. We always started the day with sex. I imagined him in a bed like this one, and I hated the duplicity, same scene, different players. For all the wrong reasons, I slid a hand around Tom’s dick and began to stroke him. He let out a moan and opened his eyes. “I need you,” I said.

  His look was tentative—the last thing I expected. I could see he knew what I really wanted was another rescue. “Please,” I added and he took me into his arms.

  He was ardent, expert, forceful yet caring, and he took me to where I wanted to go, which, of course, ultimately proved to be a mistake. Seconds after I came, I burst into tears. Tom allowed me a good cry and, mercifully, didn’t scold me for creating an even trickier situation than the one I was already in. Not that I had forced him to do anything; he had, after all, enjoyed himself. But I saw he was one of those people who are actually concerned with the bigger picture.

  I didn’t want to talk about what we had done. “I need to shower,” I said, almost adding, “Maybe I can wash Raymond off.” Fortunately, I kept this to myself, but as I stood under the strong spray, it all came back. As the airport scene played, I experienced the abandonment all over again. I emerged from the shower clean but less than invigorated.

  Tom had coffee brewing when I found him in the kitchen. “Hungry?” he asked.

  “Maybe some toast.”

  “You won’t mind if I have bacon and eggs? Maybe the smell will make you hungry.”

  I doubted this. I climbed onto a stool at the kitchen counter and watched him work. In seconds he had bacon going, cracked eggs into a bowl with one hand, and began stirring them with a whisk. I then took another good look at him.

  He wore a blue tee shirt and white cutoffs. The sun coming in through the window over the sink highlighted the golden hair on his arms. His big hands were nimble, and he moved about his kitchen with an easy grace. He obviously enjoyed cooking. “Are you a chef?” I asked.

  He laughed. “Landscape architect, but I do like to fix a good meal.”

  “Where are we?” I asked, realizing I had no idea.

  “Santa Monica.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Nine forty-two,” he said, glancing at an old kitchen clock.

  “Oh, shit. I’m due at a wedding at two.”

  “No problem. We can get you there in plenty of time. Where is it?”

  “Palos Verdes.”

  “Who’s getting married?” he asked, sliding eggs o
nto a plate.

  “My sister. The whole world will be there.”

  “Ah, yes, the family function. So that’s why you flew down.”

  He noted this in passing, just everyday conversation, and the comment should have had little impact. As it was, the previous day appeared before me, as if I’d never gotten through it, as if I were caught in my own version of Groundhog Day. For what seemed the millionth time, I heard Raymond tell me it was over.

  I fell silent, and Tom settled onto the stool beside me. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that so breezily.”

  “No, it’s all right. I mean, it was an airplane ride and a person has a perfect right to talk about an airplane ride.”

  He said nothing more and concentrated on his meal, which was starting to look good to me. When he noticed my interest, he handed me toast and a piece of bacon.

  After breakfast I discovered he didn’t have a dishwasher, which I found hilarious. Interesting how distress skews things. I heard myself laughing. “It’s an old building,” Tom said when I told him what I found so funny. “No garbage disposal either.” I watched as he washed dishes, and when he handed me a towel, I began to dry. It was oddly comforting.

  “I should get to my motel,” I said. I was feeling better and figured I should try to face the day. “And I need to get the rental car.”

  Tom nodded and said he would take me to Hertz whenever I wanted. I stood at his front window and looked out onto a courtyard thick with well-kept shrubbery, a few trees, and lots of colorful flowers. “Did you design that?” I asked. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah, it’s mine. I’ve been here quite a while.”

  It would have been the time to ask about his life, his relationships, if he’d ever been dumped like me, if he’d ever been so much in love that he wanted to die, but I couldn’t do it. Instead I asked him to take me to bed again.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said.

  “All right, forget it,” I snapped.

  He took me by the shoulders and looked into my eyes. “You want it for the wrong reasons.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “It will only make it worse.”