A Life More Complete(29)
“It’s like crack. You can’t stop,” I say as I comb my hair.
“What?” Ben responds, confused.
“Trini. You can’t stop watching it. You and everybody else. The thought of seeking pleasure or enjoyment from someone’s misfortunes makes me sick. It disgusts me that the public longs for it, yet this shit,” I motion toward the TV, “is what keeps me employed.”
I too, can’t take my eyes off it, but for the opposite reason. This is news? A poor girl’s rise to fame and her subsequent fall keeps all eyes drawn to it in a way that is unhealthy and unrealistic. Yet this whole fame obsession has become reality.
This is my life. Somehow, somewhere I took one small misstep and ended up here. A part of something I despise with everything in me and as someone with a journalism degree, I see it as travesty, but I do nothing to change it.
“I’m sorry, Krissy. I wasn’t thinking.” He reaches for me pulling me into his chest; he kisses my hair and holds me a few seconds longer. “I have to go. I’m sorry. I know you care about her. I feel like an ass for getting sucked in.”
“It’s okay. It is what is. They wouldn’t keep running the story if no one was watching, right? I’m sorry I got upset with you.” I lean back and kiss him good-bye.
I pull into the parking garage of my office without even a vague remembrance of driving from my house. I make my way to my desk with the same effort I gave to driving and pretty much the rest of my morning goes along following the same pattern. Around noon Melinda sends me an email asking if I want to meet her and Bob for lunch.
I walk to the small deli around the corner from my office. The air is cool for February and I breathe in a slow breath in an attempt to regulate my muddled mind. I can’t stop thinking about Trini, the interview and what I could have done differently. It replays over and over, a never-ending loop in my brain. Melinda and Bob are sitting at a table near the window and they smile as I walk up.
“Shit show, right? Who called that?” Bob says with a smug grin on his face.
“I know. Can we talk about something else?”
“How’s Ben?” Melinda asks sweetly.
“He’s good. We’re good.” I say this knowing that we’re not good; things are strained. I’m working too much, I’m gone too often, late and absent. I won’t tell them the truth because I can’t bring myself to say it out loud. I’m screwing up and I know it. “Not much else to report. Sorry nothing interesting.”
“Well, Bob met someone. He’s been holding out on us.” She glares at him and my mouth falls open.
“Seriously? When? I’m gonna be so pissed at you if this has been going on for a while. How could you keep anything from us?”
“It’s been a few months now. Three, maybe? His name is Jon. He’s in advertising and for some reason he likes me. I think it’s my amazing good looks and stunning personality,” he deadpans. “While you were off falling in love with Ben and Melinda was off doing whatever it is that she does, I was actually alone and able to meet someone. You two can be a real relationship killer.” I laugh, but Melinda looks genuinely insulted.
“Now I’m all alone and you two just seem to think it’s okay to make fun of me. You guys are the only ones I want to spend my Saturday nights with.”
“Mel, that’s sad,” Bob says making an over exaggerated sad face. She cocks her head to the side and flips him off.
“Nothing like you two to take my mind off of all this bullshit,” I laugh.
We eat and Bob fills us in on his new boyfriend, Melinda and I hanging on his every word because as far as Bob goes he rarely finds anyone worthy of his company. I feel normal creeping back in and I relish it. I didn’t realize it until now that I missed Melinda and Bob and the comfort of being with them. They’re the only friends I have that understand the obsessive nature of our job.
“What are you up to this week?” I direct the question at both of them as we finish our lunch.
“I’m free all week. Just the usual office stuff and a magazine release party on Friday, “ Melinda says casually.
“I gotta head down to Mesa for those spring training interviews. How did I end up with all the minor league baseball players? They’re punks,” Bob replies with annoyance in his tone.
“That’s true. You did get them all. Nothing worse than mediocre athletes who think they’re great. I have to be in New York tomorrow for that author we signed. She’s doing a book signing and interviews. Should be a blast. Flight leaves at 4:30 in the morning.”