5B)### Com Ave (Kenmore Square)

Looking back I can�t believe the two of us got on so well living in such an uncomfortable and claustrophobic space. Let me give you an idea of how small it was.

Penny had a bed in the far-left corner and I slept on 2 beanbag chairs laid lengthwise on the floor. During the day we shoved them under Penny�s bed; if we had left them out, there wouldn�t have been anywhere left in the apartment to stand.

Against one wall was a miniature futon made of foam rubber which might have been worth three dollars and was slightly less sturdy than a Jell-O mold. The futon had a matching chair which in our drunker moments was hoisted off the ground and passed back and forth across the room, volleyball style. Referring to either of these objects as �furniture� would be akin to describing Riuniti Blush as � fine wine�.

Between the futon and chair was a purple coffee table littered with old magazines and empty bottles of New Castle. Next to Penny�s bed was a card table, the sole use of which was to display dirty stuffed animals, plastic tiaras, and strewn about jigsaw puzzle pieces that never found their way into a puzzle.

There were several wrinkled posters scotch taped to the walls: one of Janis Joplin atop a psychedelic roll Royce, another of Billie Holiday wailing in a Harlem nightclub circa 1948, and several out of place looking action photos of tigers ready to pounce on their prey.

Everything about the Punk-Rock-Time-Share felt paradoxically manufactured and downright sincere. Living there was like being on the set of a movie based on the life of a real person.

That summer I spent with Penny was an endless drunken slumber party, albeit a party interspersed with the requisite melodrama and occasional terror � two motifs, which threaded through my late teens and early twenties. Imagine a Fellini film as scripted by the author of the Baby-sitters Club, and you�ll have a good idea of what my summer was like.

And this is how it starts.

I spent my first night there alone, pleasantly sloshing on Captain Morgan�s & Diet Coke while watching re-runs of SCTV. The next morning I awake with a splitting headache to the blistering ring of the telephone.

It�s John.

You still up for that beer?

Whaaaa?

imatient sigh

You asked me to come down for a beer today, remember? Last night? After you told me you slept with Angus?

Oh of course. Beer. Angus. Slept with. It all comes rushing back to me.

I mean... if you don�t want me to come down, that�s cool.

No, that�s fine. I don�t have anything else to do. It�s Saturday. Penny�s out of town. We�ll drink some beers. Play some cards. Come on over.

Summer conference won�t be starting for another couple weeks and John is cooped up at home with the �rents. I figure that his impetus for wanting to see me is equal parts jealousy re Angus and sheer suburban ennui. Since I now have the upper hand in our non-relationship, the idea of hanging out with him for the day doesn�t intimidate me; in fact I find the prospect amusing. It will be the first time we hang out outside of work since I found out about the latest What�s-Her-Name.

John shows up a couple hours later with a twelve pack of Sam Adams and a surly countenance. I put on a They Might Be Giants record and we make small talk.

So I still don�t understand why you did it.

Why I did what?

Why you slept with Angus.

Silence.

I mean, he�s my boss.

Hey John? This may come as a shocker but not everything in my life revolves around you.

He�s your boss too.

Yeah. He was also my next door neighbor and my friend way before we started working together. Besides, it�s the Stupid Company�it�s not like it�s a real job. It�s not like I�m Michael Douglas and he�s Demi Moore or something.

What?

Nevermind. Can we talk about something else?

He�s a bastard at work too. How could you sleep with such a bastard?

Well ...It seems I have a penchant for sleeping with bastards. I would say that Angus is probably the least bastard like individual I�ve slept with in a long time.

silence.

So... do you want to badger me about Angus all day, or do you want to have fun?

John drops the subject. We drink too many Sams and watch something inane on television.

We are both drunk and weary from nights spent drinking and days without recovery. We are sitting on Penny�s bed as the futon is not conducive to the weight of two people. We drift off to sleep.

When I wake up from my nap, John is looking at me intently as he plays with my hair. I guess that he has been awake for quite some time.

Hi there.

Hi yourself.

I turn over and lay facing the wall. John continues stroking my hair as he spoons up against me.

We lay that way in silence for a long time.

His hands drift from my head and down to my shoulders and back.

I can hardly breathe.

I turn to face him. I can hardly speak.

What are you doing?

He kisses me softly and I am frozen by this kiss as though we are living Snow White in reverse and he is kissing me back into slumber.

I do not move or kiss him back.

And I also do not say, �Stop�.

His hand moves down along my breastbone and to my belly where it rests. He pulls up close against me now, his breath is warm on my cheek. His voice is horse.

We really shouldn�t be doing this, you know.

Boy do I ever know. I want to ask him, if you don�t think we should be doing this, then why are you doing it? And yet the chemistry is so familiar and supercharged, that I find myself responding to him. My hand moves to his hair and my lips reach for his hungrily.

He kisses me wildly and our tongues are like two serpents at war with one another. Such delicious, delectable poison. I had forgotten how I craved him and his cruelty.

He speaks again as his hand drifts farther down my body and his lips move over my neck and my ears. He is on top of me now, pulling at my skirt.

We have to stop doing this. It�s such a bad idea.

And suddenly I stop.

I yank my hand from his hair. I sit up as though I have just finished conducting a business meeting and am anxious to get out of the office. I know the game he's playing. I am outraged. He wants this and he wants to turn it around and make it my fault. He wants to seduce without the responsibility of seduction. He wants to be able to say later, �Well, I told you we shouldn�t have done that but you tricked me into doing it.�

After the heartbreak and the abortion and the cheating and the lying and everything that had supposedly died between us.

Human beings can be so horribly delightfully evil.

Clever boy. I can play your little game.

I all but kick him out of bed. This takes enormous will on my part as I want him so badly right now in a way that I never wanted him before. The reasons for this are perverse and scarcely definable. Even three years later I will not understand the forces that drove me to want him so much.

This love is paradox-- such sickness and its antidote forever becoming one another.

I walk across the room and I turn on the lamp. I light a cigarette before turning back to face him.

God, I am so glad we didn�t do anything. I guess old habits die hard.

He looks up at me with astonishment.

Um...yeah.

I move over towards the bed. I sit down next to him. I whisper in his ear.

I think sleeping together would be a bad, bad idea. don�t you?

He is breathing hard and staring at me.

If we�re going to be friends, we need to find other things to do.

I lean over and grab my socks off the floor. I stretch out my legs on the bed as I put them on.

We could write a song or play chess....Or are you hungry? We could go to McDonalds...

John grabs my foot and his hand moves up towards my thigh.

I pull my leg back and I fix him with the most withering gaze I can muster.

I thought you said we shouldn�t sleep together. I thought we agreed on that.

He lunges towards me and I dart backward towards the wall.

I thought you said you didn�t want me anymore. Remember?

He doesn�t speak.

Well? What�s the deal?

He hesitates.

I do want you.

Why?

Because you�re beautiful. Isn�t that enough right now?

This stunted admission of fault outrages me further. And yet, it is all I need to hear.

We struggle and claw each other. We kiss so hard my lip bleeds. We betrayed our hurts and we betray each other.

When it ends, he rolls over and says,

I can�t believe I just did that.

This is a joke.

Sort of.

I throw my shoe at him with more force than I intend.

Get the fuck out of my apartment.

He grins and winks at me. Then he leaves.

And I am alone.

God damn�t. I have lost my fucking upper hand.

Stay tuned for Part the Ninth...