Zoe West has always been the on-time type of person. I do love punctuality, but it’s different with Zoe. You know the type I’m talking about—contemptibly on time. Always right on the nose, never a minute late. It’s a kind of responsibility she likes to throw in my face. Me, except, of course, when it comes to such nonessentials as work, I try to be early–well, not really try, I’m just early. I usually leave home about half an hour before I have to be anywhere, and since I’m often only about ten minutes from where I am supposed to be, I have plenty of time to scout a location and pick a spot I wish to occupy, most times at the back of the room or in a corner, where I can see everyone. When Zoe and I were together, she was constantly using this compulsion against me. “Why do you want to leave so early?” “Why don’t we just wait?” “We’re going to just be sitting around and waiting like we always are.” Nothing I said was ever a good enough answer. She had this eternal quest to pretend she was my mother, but would then freak out if I behaved like a child.
Don’t get me wrong, there were good times. She could light up a whole room with that smile. She could fuck like a demon. She was beautiful to watch sleep. None of these are worthy of keeping a relationship going though, especially when marriage was discussed, and besides, these answers are all clichés that every poet trying to describe reasons to love will use. A poet I am not; just ask any of the major or underground magazines I have submitted to. Just think, she dumped me each and every time.
I arrive at 10:45. Zoe is not there. She will not walk in the door at 10:59, she will not walk in at 11:01, she will walk through the door at 11:00 exactly. I think she gets here even earlier than I just to synchronize her watch, and then waits in her car until it is time to come in. She does this not because she is prompt or reliable or because she is a good person. She does this because she knows I hate it.
What Zoe hates it when I don’t wait for her to order my food. Just to spite her, I order as soon as I get there, so that I will have my food and can be eating it when she arrives. She never told me this bothered her though. She would never admit a weakness to me. That would be getting a little lax on the reins. Instead, I had to watch and learn over the course of several years. The way she slightly puckered her lips, flared her nostrils, would look down at her hands for a split second, the sudden intake of breath—these were all the things to indicate that I had won a hard-fought battle.
At five of 11, my omelet is brought to me. I’m already halfway through my second cup of coffee. With some luck, Zoe won’t even show. I was pretty hard on her the other night at the bar; maybe she will understand this time that I actually don’t want to see her.
This, of course, is a bit much to ask. She will show. She will show and bring out her big guns, try to knock me flat and convince me I want her back, because I do, don’t I? No matter how much I talk big, no matter how much I boast, deep down inside, I know the real answer to that question. If she asked me to take her back, I don’t think I would say no. Even after all the heartache, even after all the lies, all the cheating, all the betrayal, I would still go back to her without a second thought.
I’m sure that’s why she’s back. She only comes back when she needs a handful of self-gratification from dear, sweet Rubin Valentine. I chop at my omelet in rage at these thoughts, and at 10:59, I have it half-gone and am most of the way through the third cup of coffee.
At 11:00 on the nose in she walks. My long, red-haired succubus nightmare steps in with her hand on her hip, scans the room, and smiles when she sees me. She strides deliberately between the tables, a wicked smile on her lips, and casually pulls out the chair across from me. “Good morning, Rubin,” she says sweetly. She sees that most of my meal is gone, and her nostrils flare while her eyes fall to her hands crossed on the table before her, almost too quickly for me to see the slight puckering of her lips. “Already started eating I see.”
Inwardly, I smile. “I got here a while ago, and I was pretty hungry.”
“That’s all right,” she says. “I forgot we were going out and ate earlier, so I think I’m just going to get coffee anyway.” She looks up over my head to make eye contact with the plump, red-haired, stereotypical diner waitress. She comes over in her pink uniform with her little blue notebook out and ready, eyes wide behind her horn-rimmed glasses.
“Could I just get a coffee please?” Zoe asks.
“Sure thing, hun,” the waitress says and waddles off.
Zoe looks around at all the memorabilia scattered around: old tins; pictures of Elvis; ancient Coke bottles. “God, can you believe we used to eat here all the time?” she asks disdainfully.
“I still eat here all the time,” I say flatly. “It’s cheap. It’s near my house. I haven’t turned my back on it.”
“Give me a break, Rubin,” she says with a half smile. “You make it sound as if this was our child that I’m abandoning. It’s a cheap diner we ate at. Get over it. You’re being ridiculous.”
I want more coffee. I want a beer. “You’re being ridiculous!”
“Stop being a child and tell me how you are.” she asks.
I finish the rest of my cup and look around for the waitress. “Well, I’m stuck in a place that I hate, with no money or ability to escape.”
“We’ve been over this,” she says dryly. The waitress, who I’m assuming is probably named ‘Madge,’ comes over and gives Zoe a coffee cup, refills mine, and wanders off again. “I’m assuming that’s not the only thing going on in your life. How is your writing going?”
“Rejection after rejection after rejection. Publishers don’t like my books; magazines don’t like my poems,” I say, dumping cream and sugar into my coffee. “I refuse to let it get me down though. Just because I’m the biggest failure in the writing industry is not enough to break my spirits.” I sip my coffee with my eyebrows raised.
“Oh, come on. You’re not a failure. Your stuff is good,” she defends. “Don’t beat yourself down like that. I still keep all the stuff you wrote for me.”
“A no-talent hack like Stephen King can make millions, but the best I can do is that Zoe West keeps the poems I wrote for her, even after we broke up,” I moan.
“Rubin, you don’t have to be such a dick,” she hisses. “If I knew it was going to be like this, I wouldn’t have shown up.”
I roll my eyes and fall back in my seat. “Zoe, this was your idea. I clearly remember saying I never wanted to see you again.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t mean it,” she says with a quirky smile, holding her coffee cup in both hands like a shield before her.
“How do you know what I do and don’t mean?” I snap.
“Because you’ve said it before, and we always end up getting back together.”
I raise my eyebrows and lean forward. I’m at the same moment filled with elation, anger, grief, terror, surprise, and awe. “Is that what this is all about? Is that why you wanted to talk to me?” I ease back in my seat. “Is this the proverbial truth coming out?”
She sighs and puts her coffee cup down. “I don’t know, I don’t know at all, Rubin.”
“You’re engaged.”
“Yeah, but I hate it. I hate being with Russell. I hate being engaged. I hate all of this.” She offers up a weak smile. “All I can really think about is how good it was with you.”
“Do I need to remind you that you were cheating on this guy with me?” I offer, taking a triumphant sip of my coffee. “Do I need to remind you that I was also unaware of this until I realized you dumped me because he asked you to marry him?”
She rolls her eyes and turns her head away. “Yeah, so I’m guilty of that. That’s not the point, though.”
“How could that possibly not be the point?!”
“He gave me something I wanted all my life, and I couldn’t turn that down. I’ve always wanted to be married, Rubin, and I didn’t see you doing that. Russell, though, I mean... he’s got everything I’m supposed to want. He has money. He has a good job. He’s got a future...”
“I’ve got a future.”
“He has a good future,” she says venomously.
“Ouch.”
“The point is, I thought I would be stupid to pass it up. I thought I was doing the right thing. I’ve been miserable though. My life is so dry. We come home from work and watch TV.”
“You always made me watch TV. You made me watch 'Friends.'”
“That’s all we do. Russell is not like you, Rubin; he gives me everything I’m supposed to have. I had a hard time getting you to buy me something on Valentine’s Day.”
“It’s a stupid holiday,” I snarl. “I loved you every single day— why was I encouraged to show it only one day of the year. Fuck that.”
“Exactly.”
“So Russell gave you everything. Why are you considering breaking your engagement and eating breakfast with your scumbag ex?”
“Because you make life interesting,” she says. “I never knew what was coming from Rubin Valentine, whether it was good or bad.” She raises her eyebrows. “You’re the only boyfriend I’ve ever had who wrote me poems.”
“You should read the ones I wrote after we broke up.”
“I can imagine.”
“So I’m unpredictable. That makes me better than Russell the Love Muscle?”
“You always made me smile,” she said. “Do you remember the naked didgery-doo recital?”
I nearly choke on my coffee as I’m forced to laugh, caught off guard. “Yes... Yeah, I remember.”
“Russell would never do anything like that.” She rolls her eyes, and shakes her head. “We’re engaged, and he still will hardly even be naked in front of me with the lights on.”
“Which of us is better?”
She sighs bitterly and rolls her eyes. “Rubin...” she moans, trailing off.
“Who?”
She licks her lips. “You both are about the same, but in different ways. You both became really damn good.”
“You said I was good from the start.”
“You were, then you got better. Same with Russell.”
“Thank you.”
“He gave me an orgasm before you did.”
“I didn’t ask that.”
“Thought you might like to know.”
“It doesn’t matter what you want,” I tell her, making eye contact with Madge. “I’m seeing someone.”
“You’re not seeing anyone,” she says with a dismissive spray of the lips. “Todd told me.”
“His name is Doctor Filth, not Todd. ‘Todd’ sounds fucking retarded.”
“You guys and your little names. When are you going to grow up?”
“I just started seeing this girl. Doc doesn’t even really know yet. She’s wonderful. Completely not the type of girl to construct a web of cheating on two separate guys.” I pause and look her over. “Does Russell know you were fucking me behind his back? No, I guess he probably doesn’t.”
“No, he never figured that out.” She puts her hand over mine. “So are you going to dump this bimbo for the girl you really want?”
“No.”
“Are we going to go back to your place for a while?”
“No.”
“Are you going to give me your phone number?”
“No.”
“I already looked. It’s in the phone book under your name. Can I call it?”
“No.”
“I’m going to anyway. Are you going to be surprised when I do?”
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