"I want you to move to New York." Oh how I would have wanted to hear those words when I was twenty-three, but I'm not, I'm twenty-nine and although I am a little star-struck over him, I've grown up and gained a little wisdom.
Still, my head is spinning and I'm having trouble getting my breath. Although I want to get off his lap I'm not sure I could stay steady on my feet if I did. Instead, I bury my head in his chest and hold on tight.
When I finally catch my breath I ask, "Do you want me to move to New York for you or because you think it will be good for me?"
"I want you to move for me, you knucklehead, and because it would be good for you to get away from here. When's the last time you actually breathed clean air? You were coughing last night."
My heart has finally stopped pounding and I'm breathing normally. I gently disentangle myself from him and stand up. "Rick, I can't, you know I can't. My friends are here and my job is here. The area around Woodstock is all little towns, no good prospects for employment there. I'm not going to waitress, clean rooms, wash dishes, or be a store clerk. And what about school? I'm excited about starting classes, it's been over ten years since I was in college. When I dropped out I promised myself that someday I would go back."
"There's a good liberal arts college in Woodstock, you could get a teaching degree—I think you'd be a good teacher. How long would it take to get your Ph.D. in archaeology, ten years? More, maybe? And tell me, didn't you get an offer for a promotion at work?"
I held up two fingers, "Two offers, I turned them both down. I want to be down in the trenches where I won't have to kiss up to management."
"So how long are you going to do the same thing? Until you retire? Come on, Dacy, you're wasting your talents just to collect a paycheck. I know some smart people and you're one of the smartest. You've gotten lazy and could do a lot more with your life."
"And how am I going to support myself? I'm not going to run through my money waiting to find a job—and isn't Bard private? And expensive? I need a way to support myself."
"I can help, I know a lot of people. You might have more options than you think—you're only looking at the downside, not the fact there might be something out there that would suit you. Anyone who knows you knows you won't wash dishes and you probably couldn't get hired as a waitress—maybe a barmaid though, I bet you'd get a lot of tips."
I raised my fist to hit him and he caught my arm, laughing. "Calm down there girl. Look, why don't you get a three day weekend and fly to New York and check it out? How do you know you won't fall in love with Woodstock? Fall is coming and the colors are amazing. You'll have to get used to snow but you could trade surfing for skiing. You can hike, you can ride your bike..."
"But I can't surf and I won't be near the beach.
"No, there's no surfing, but there are lots of things to do. Please, just think about it, that's all I'm asking. What time do you have to be at work?"
He's changing the subject and I suspect why. "The same time as always—if you've forgotten you've been away too long."
He says nothing but takes my hand and pulls me back to the bedroom. I'm going to be so sore I won't be able to walk normally for days. I wonder for the millionth time why I can never tell him "no".
I left Rick with a promise to think about what he told me. "You're not being fair, you can't just drop this like a bombshell on me. You're asking a lot, don't you know that? I haven't seen or heard from you in six months and now this? Please, give me some time, all right?"
I don't think I've had a weekend like this in my life. Sex, a lot of sex, with two men in three days is a little out of my experience. It was a lot of fun but it was exhausting.
I need to talk to Robbie. I want to hear from him that moving to New York is a bad idea and I will be better off staying here. That's what I want him to tell me anyway, what he'll probably tell me is something along the lines of, "You know Rick and you know what you should do, I can't really help you."
"You look terrible," Gina says when she sees me, and I know I do. I have violet circles under my eyes that no concealer could cover. "Must have been some weekend in San Fran."
"It was," I reply, "Gina, I have something to confess, I've turned into a slut. I slept with two men over my three-day weekend."
Her eyes widen, then she laughs. "Dacy, you're not a slut but I've got to admit I wouldn't think you had it in you! Okay, now that you've told me I want names—and don't lie."
"Well," this is proving harder than I thought. I let out a breath then say, "Bob Weir, and Rick."
"What the fuck?" she says under her breath, "I thought Rick was gone. I thought he was back in New York and was going to leave you alone."
"So did I, in fact, I was counting on it. He was in my apartment..."
"What was he doing in your apartment? You mean you didn't get your key back when he broke up with you?"
"In all honesty, the damn key was the last thing on my mind. I don't know why I forgot, or why he didn't give it to me, but yes, he let himself in and was sitting on my sofa when I got home." I thought I would leave out the fact that he was sitting on my sofa naked.
"Damn, Dacy, I thought he was gone, I was hoping he was gone and you could get your life back."
"Well, me too, but it gets more complicated than that—he wants me to move to New York."
"Oh no, oh no, you are not moving to New York, not if I have anything to say about it. Come on, we've got to plug in. You haven't heard the last from me about this, believe me."
I wanted to call Robbie when I got home from work, but I fell asleep on my sofa and didn't wake until about seven. I look up at my wall clock and decide it's too early to get up so I stumble to my bedroom and sleep until noon and wake feeling better.
I'm still tired when I get off work, but I have enough energy left to call Robbie's private number. I don't know if I'm going to get his answering machine, but a cheerfully stoned voice answers, "Hello" and I'm relieved to know I got to him so easily.
"Hello, Robbie? It's Dacy. Uh..." I start to stumble over what I'm going to say but he breaks in and says, "Hey girl, I was just thinking about you. How are you doing?"
"Robbie, I need to talk to you. Do you have some free time coming up in the next few days?"
"For you, always. What's going on, is something wrong?"
"Well, yes and no. I don't want to talk over the phone, I spend too much time talking on the phone. Can we meet, please?"
"Sure, sweetie. Why don't we meet at the beach behind Shangri-la tomorrow, say around one?"
"Is that one normal people's time, or one musician's time?"
"Well, let's make it normal time. Dacy, seriously, is something wrong? Do you need help?"
"I'll tell you tomorrow, I really appreciate this Robbie."
"It's okay, sweetheart. I'll see you tomorrow. And call me if you need to."
It's a bright, sunny day at Zuma beach. The sky is cloudless and the sun is shining down, but I bring along a denim jacket in case it gets chilly. People think it's always sunny and warm in California, especially Los Angeles, but it's not. We have cold days in the winter, though when it drops below seventy it does seem cold to us.
I see Robbie and wave. He's got a blanket spread on the beach and I can see a picnic basket and a thermos. I look at this picture and think how perfect it is, but remember that it's getting a little out of control, well, more than a little. I saw Keith Moon passed out on the beach one morning, and it's gotten way too easy to score drugs of your choice these days.
"Hey Gorgeous," he says and hugs me tightly. I like Robbie's hugs, they're sincere, he doesn't feign affection, for all people criticize him, Robbie is the real deal. I'm happy to be one of his friends. "What's going on?" he asked as I started to tear up.
I shook my head and wiped my eyes. "I'm okay, what's in the picnic basket?"
He opened the lid and the sharp smell of pastrami wafted up. "Pastrami sandwiches, yours with no cheese and ice tea in the thermos. He set the paper-wrapped sandwich on a plate and handed it to me, then poured a big mug of tea out of the thermos. "Beer for me, ice tea for you, eat up then tell me what's wrong."
I don't where he got the sandwiches, but they're good--marble rye bread and tender pastrami. There are some really good delis in LA and out-of-sight Mexican restaurants. When it comes to food Los Angeles can really hold its own.
We don't talk much while we're eating, but he's looking at me and he can tell something's wrong. When we're finished he places the plates back in the basket and refills my tea. He sits back and looks at me then says.
"Okay, Dacy, tell me what's wrong."
"Rick wants me to move to New York, he wants me back."
"Whoa, what? When did you see him?"
"Day before yesterday, I came home from a weekend in San Francisco and he was sitting in my apartment."
"How? Did he have a key? What was he doing there?"
I don't tell Robbie I came home to a stark naked Rick sitting on my couch, that's too much information and none of his business. He'll know what happened anyway.
"I never got my key back from him, I was so upset it was the last thing on my mind. I didn't think I was going to see him again."
He looked out at the ocean, not saying anything, then turned to me and said, "Don't do it. You have a chance to start over, you don't need him. You deserve more than what he will give you. I love Rick, you'll never find a sweeter, kinder person. If he wasn't with Elizabeth the two of you might be a good match, but you don't want this—you had six years of it. Move on."
"You know, I don't envy Elizabeth, but I love that asshole, I really do." I got up and walked to the edge of the water, "I've told him I have to think about this, that I couldn't give him an answer right away, but if I said I'm not tempted I'd be lying."
He came and stood behind me and slipped his arms around my waist, "I know, Dacy, I know. You don't fall out of love with someone in six months, but if you stay here you'll have a chance to get over him. Just don't do it, please!"