Every Saturday, we’ll be posting a new illustration by David Lester. The Mecca Normal guitarist is visually documenting people, places and events from his band’s 26-year run, with text by vocalist Jean Smith.
It was time to implement the end, which was going to be tough with Veronica bubbling along beside him, grabbing his arm, prattling about the price of olive oil and the crazy idea of introducing him to her parents.
It was March already, three weeks to the day since they met, and Frank felt guilty about ending it. He bought Veronica shoes, used shoes, but she seemed happy with them. He would prefer that Veronica thought breaking up was her idea—this was easy enough with most women; all he need do was make classic remarks about the small amount of money he earned and women started their retreat, but Veronica wasn’t as interested in his money as most women. He was actually a little bit afraid that Veronica had fallen in love with him, or thought she had—or, worst of all, might tell him that she had. Frank felt an urgency to get it over with before things got any more complicated.
The olive oil was a very good price. Frank was thinking about picking up a bottle or two himself, and her parents actually sounded interesting, but really, he wasn’t going to meet any woman’s parents.
Settling into the wicker chair at her favorite Indian restaurant, Frank made his money comment. “Not sure how I’m going to get by,” he said, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers. Veronica reassured him that things would be OK. One of these “fiercely independent” women you hear about, Frank surmised. He added the part about being in debt and that his wife—and he chose to say “wife” this time instead of “ex-wife”—would be getting half his pension. He watched Veronica’s face, hoping to see her re-calculating—her future going up in smoke. Veronica asked Frank if he wanted a scoop of the mango chutney.
Frank reviewed his agenda. Exhibit distance—stage one of pulling away. Veronica would start to see that things were changing between them, but right at that moment she was over-the-moon about the butter chicken, wanting Frank to enthuse with her, and even though it was the best thing he’d ever eaten in his entire life, he did not join in. He refused to comment on it.
“What are you thinking?” Veronica asked. Like nails on a chalkboard to Frank. He couldn’t believe Veronica didn’t get the irony—she was the one who said she couldn’t abide clichés. Is there any bigger cliché than a woman asking a man what he’s thinking?
Frank was making his completely-without-expression face, but maybe he needed to reconsider this—maybe he needed to use the very-tired look or extremely-bored face. Maybe she wouldn’t ask, “What are you thinking?” if it was more obvious.
“I was just thinking about how happy I am since I met you,” Frank said, kicking himself for saying the opposite of what he wanted to say, knowing he was only making things more difficult, but it was what she wanted to hear.
Veronica did notice the distance. Acutely. And she noticed that his response was a cliché. Frank was simply telling her what she wanted to hear, while he thought his own thoughts, which might well be, “How the hell do I get out of this thing?” He’d started acting distant. Veronica had noted the look on his face when she told him she wanted him to meet her parents. Without expression—or so he imagined. Stage one, thought Veronica. Frank had begun stage one.
They sat in the car for a moment before carrying in the four quarts of olive oil, the new, but slightly used, shoes and Veronica’s weekly supply of fruit and vegetables. Frank couldn’t believe it when Veronica, who had been happy all day, calmly said, “I guess it would be pretty hard to break up with me, the way I’m behaving. I mean, wouldn’t that be strange? You know, in a sort of fictional way. What if a guy was trying to break up with a woman while they were having such a good day together?”
Was it a fluke? A guess? Or just his lucky day? Essentially, it didn’t really matter. It was there between them—and by her invitation.
Veronica suggested they have a bath. Once in the tub, Frank seemed to have forgotten how they had both fit in there the week before. Veronica asked him to sit back and submerge his slightly stinky feet, thus giving her access to the depth of the hot, soothing water.
Frank picked up the plastic tumbler of ice water from the ledge of the bathtub. It sloshed into the tub near Veronica’s left knee.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warned.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, placing his free hand over his heart.
Veronica, intent on trusting Frank, closed her eyes and relaxed, sinking farther into the water. She was slowly exhaling when the cold water hit her exposed knee. She gasped and grabbed the sides of the tub.
“You did that on purpose,” she said, and yes, she was angry.
“Your accusation wouldn’t hold up in any court in the land,” Frank said quickly, brutally. Veronica knew how much Frank hated lawyers and courts. She wondered if he wanted to start a fight, something to position them closer to the end.
Women exhausted him. The very idea of women exhausted him. He could really only do a few weeks before he started thinking about changing things up, getting another type of woman. He’d already figured out what he wanted next: a tall, young blonde with big tits. Enough with the short, intellectual type. For god’s sake, Veronica was nearly his age. He could easily get 10 or even 15 years younger. So why wouldn’t he? He noticed people in the street looking at them, thinking, “Why is a good-looking, well-dressed guy like him with her? He could get anyone he wanted.”
Frank lay on the bed and she lay down beside him. “I’m sorry I’m so overly sensitive,” he said, knowing she’d have to say, “About what?” Which she did, right on cue.
“I read the story you wrote for the online magazine. The unbearable lightness of whatever it was,” he said.
“Oh,” Veronica said, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him. “And how did it make you feel?”
“It hurt. I didn’t like it.”
Veronica thought about the story, which was based on a guy she went out with five or six years ago, a guy who was very difficult to understand. Whenever they’d started getting close he disappeared, and when she asked him about it, he said that when he really liked a woman he needed distance from her. At that time, because she was naïve, she took that to mean that he was telling her he liked her. Distance. In the end, distance turned out to mean that he was using her for sex and that he had no intention of being in any sort of relationship with her. He came and went, delivered excuses, lied, used her and disappeared. Distance.
Veronica didn’t want Frank to feel hurt—but jeepers, everyone has a past. She tried to reassure him and suggested that he not read her stories if they upset him. She wondered how this would impact her writing, knowing that every sentence, every word of her constructions could hurt Frank—and there was that unpleasant feeling that she’d done something wrong. She had hurt him.
Frank’s baggage was considerably more than her own, but now he had something on her—and there was nothing she could do about it. Guilty as charged. She’d had sex before she met him. There wasn’t a court in the land that would believe otherwise.
“What have you done in the past when this came up?” she asked, hoping to learn what she could do to help the situation.
“I’ve always put distance between myself and the subject. The subject —that would be you.”
Frank had read the story about the man needing distance and seen that she’d fallen for the I-need-distance-thing before. She’d practically written the script for how to end it.
Frank presses his face to her neck, noticing that her tears have already rolled down her face, to where he is hiding, awaiting her reaction.
Distance. He wants distance. Christ, thinks Veronica, how much distance does this guy require? They live in different cites, he can only see her once a week and he’s made it pretty clear it’s temporary. Like his profile said: “Not looking for commitment or a relationship of any kind.” And now he needs more distance, and distance is starting to seem like a good idea to her, too.
