"Something in the way she just is
Makes me wonder who the hell I've been
And something in the way we are
Makes me wanna dive down into a brand new sin."
~BETTY, "Jesus" (Original Version)
May 1990
It was three years of constant wanting, of constant waiting, of constant expectation and little reward. It was three years of constant frustration that eventually led to a payoff that was bigger than she could have possibly imagined. It was three years of an addiction she knew she wasn't going to be able to cure, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. It was three years of something she couldn't explain.
But Grace had to admit, she loved every minute of it, even if she had her suspicions about Karen's motives.
After she gave Karen her phone number—or, rather, after she left her phone number on a piece of paper for Karen to find when she woke up—it took the woman six months after the message left on her machine to pick up the phone and call Grace, successfully getting the red head on the other line. After that, months went by before the next time she heard Karen's voice, leaving her in a constant state of anxiety over the phone's ring reverberating through the apartment. It went on and on like this, never stopping, constantly leaving her in the dark, always telling her where to go, expecting her to drop whatever plans—if she had any—and rush to be by her side. And it wasn't like she had any qualms doing so. Even though it pissed off her boyfriends.
It usually took two last-minute cancellations to cause the guy in question to stop calling. Matt took one cancellation, surprisingly, some superiority complex that made him find it hard to accept that she had something more important to tend to. With Paul, though, it was different. When they met, Grace could tell in his eyes that he meant for this to be a long-term thing; because, when it gets right down to it, isn't that what you strive for when you ask someone out on a date? So when Grace had called to cancel one dinner, and then another, he didn't seem put off. He seemed to understand that there are some things you have to tend to that just can't wait, and while there was no way that Grace would ever tell him what those things were, she would certainly take advantage of his willingness to be so flexible. She used to feel guilty about it. But since Karen's calls happened so infrequently, it wasn't a matter of cheating on him, necessarily; it was just a matter of getting her fill of that touch, to tide her over until next time and to make her a happier girlfriend to the guy who wants her on his arm. She just wished that getting her fill didn't hinge so much on Karen's whim.
Grace was convinced that Karen called out of sheer boredom. That's the only reason she could come up with for the giant spaces between their encounters, the way that Karen started their conversations over the phone ("Grace? It's Karen. Do you remember me?" Of course she remembered her; there was no way to ever get rid of her footprints in her mind). But it didn't deter her, not in the slightest. As soon as she heard that unmistakable voice, she was taken back to their evenings in blue-black, and she could not resist. It worked, every time, even though she partly didn't want it to, and amidst the excitement, she always felt hesitant about it all.
Because now, she was lying on the couch, her legs stretched out and a sigh of boredom and longing on her lips, waiting for the phone to ring once again, like she had spent so much of her time in the past three years. And she felt that mixture of anticipation and dread. She jumped when the phone rang, almost as if she had willed it to sound, and stared at it sitting on the table, screaming for her to take action.
"Grace?"
"Paul, hi." Her heart slowly climbed from her throat to the place it belonged as she listened to his voice on the other end of the phone. And as she heard him ask her out tonight, she became a little saddened that it wasn't the voice that filled her desire. She agreed to meet him, got ready, and walked out the door.
She was outside of her building when her phone rang again.
It was the fact that Grace didn't pick up that made her want to move. There was always a chance that she wouldn't be home, or she would be fast asleep, unaware of anything going on in the real world (and that was always a valid possibility; Karen had been known to call her late at night, when the loneliness struck hardest). And most of the time, the calls that led nowhere didn't faze her. But tonight…tonight was supposed to be the night. The night when she was finally ready to jump back in with her.
And when it didn't pan out, she found that she just could not stay home.
Karen knew what Grace must be thinking about their arrangement. She knew that it was unfair. Karen was the one with the phone number, Karen was the one to call at erratic times, leaving a constant state of uncertainty. But it wasn't for the reasons that must be prevalent in her mind. And it was those made-up reasons that had to have been racing around in Grace's head that made Karen wish that she didn't have a conscience. That was what was screwing her on this.
She would meet Grace and be transported to another world, where nothing else mattered but the two of them, and Grace getting the things that made her agree to come back. But there was always the journey home after. There was always Stan's greeting, asking her where she ran off to in a way that wasn't suspicious, but genuinely inquisitive (and it made her regret ever agreeing to move in with him). And she scrambled to make a plausible excuse for her absence, never having the heart to tell him everything. And her confidence that she could handle being with two people at once was shot, shaking her and making her crawl back to the hole she had made her home.
It usually took her a few months before she stopped feeling guilty. But the day she couldn't feel it anymore, she dialed Grace's number, her fingers gracing the keys in a rush, and it would start all over again.
And tonight was supposed to be the night. Their last encounter was more than it had ever been before, and while she couldn't possibly gauge what Grace was feeling inside, Karen knew it rocked her more than it ever had. And it made her all the more aware of how deceiving she was to Stan. It sparked something that at once made her nervous and slightly frightened. She was usually able to come out of her encounters with Grace without a bleeding heart and a longing to immediately break all ties she had with Stan. But last time, she made the realization that she was only happy when she was sneaking around behind his back with this woman. And while it was a welcome if unexpected part of the plan, it through everything off balance.
It took her four months to make that phone call. Four months for her to finally come to terms with what she had been feeling. And Grace didn't pick up the phone. So when Stan wasn't paying attention, she slipped out of the house, hailed a cab, and travelled downtown, not sure of what she was looking for, and not particularly caring whether or not she would find it.
She got out of the cab on a tree-laced street in the West Village, reveled in the hushed hum of the city, the soft buzz from the avenue not enough to disrupt the peace. She wondered why she hadn't made her way down towards this part of Manhattan more often; free from the perils of streets of Midtown heavy with tourists, with an edge she couldn't get on the streets she called home. She walked down a random street, saw a couple hand in hand crossing to get to the coffee shop on the other side. The red hair was unmistakable. And in an instant, she realized why Grace didn't pick up the phone when she called.
Karen couldn't help herself. Her feet moving across the concrete of the sidewalk, feeling the magnetic pull towards the coffee shop, opened the door to it before she fully realized what she was doing. She couldn't find them anywhere; it was as if they had walked through the door to another dimension that she couldn't access. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her. Maybe it was the withdrawal that made her start to see things. Maybe…
"Karen?" She heard the voice next to her and looked to find Grace seated by the entrance. The look in her eyes was far from what she was used to seeing. She saw concern and the fear of being caught red-handed. "What are you doing here?"
"I was just walking around and thought I saw you. I just wanted to see you. I called, but you never answered."
Grace sighed. "I was probably already out. If I would have known, I would have canceled with Paul. You know I wouldn't pass up a chance to see you." She glanced over at the line and saw that Paul was already giving their order to the cashier. "He's about to come back. I don't want him to find out about us."
"I've been unfair to you," Karen whispered, cutting to the chase. "Maybe this will even things out." She fumbled in her purse for a pen and scribbled her number on the back of an old receipt. "I'll answer as soon as you call." She slipped out of the coffee shop before Paul had a chance to notice Grace talking to someone he didn't know.
Paul set their drinks down on the table. And as Grace pocketed the receipt without any acknowledgment from him on her actions, she waited impatiently for a chance to get out.
Grace waited until Paul got back in line to get a refill on his coffee, until his back was fully turned and his attention had shifted, to get out of her seat and rush out the door to the nearest payphone. She heard the metal clink of her change before dialing the number she had been given.
"Hello?" If there was one thing Grace had to give her credit for, it was that Karen never lied.
"I want to make it up to you," she murmured, loud enough for her to hear. "Tell me where to go."
