Esme & John, Part 1

They met at the same time Esme met her boyfriend. John was a rough and tumble kind of guy, but sincere and as warm as a summer day in Florida. When she first met him at a fundraiser, she was struck by his contrasts. Although big and imposing, with a Bronx tang in his speech, John was not the stereotypical Mafia mobster but he was often mistaken for one. In reality, he was a “fixer”. He found women that needed help, and he tried to fix everything for them.

Esme was never in need of help. She was fiercely independent, and John often privately thought that she behaved a great deal like Katherine Hepburn although she looked like a blond pixie.

They stayed friends, throughout the ups and downs of her one long-term relationship and his serial dating. He left hearts littered behind him. Ever popular, John’s exes would still call him, but they never had the friendship which he shared with Esme. That relationship was unique, almost sacred. They were careful to reassure each other that they were “friends”. They never said “only friends”, but it was implied. There is so much safety in friendship, and no danger of a broken heart or a commitment that has to be wriggled out of later.

But Esme’s relationship with her boyfriend deteriorated. It had never been healthy from the start but the chemistry had been powerful, and that was the bait which kept reeling her back in, as ungracefully as a desperate fish on a line. At first she was afraid to confide in John, fearing that she would appear needy or grasping: “This guy isn’t working out, how about you?” Knowing John was a fixer, she was certain he’d come riding over on a white charger in full-blown medieval armor, clanking all the way. She didn’t want drama.

Esme’s boyfriend was manipulative, and would break-up with her every time they were in an argument. If you can’t win the fight, confuse the enemy. It worked on her the first several times. She would tearfully plead with him to come back, and tell him anything he wanted to hear. Time would go by and their relationship would be exciting and wonderful for another couple months until the next disagreement. She despised herself for allowing it to continue. And each time, she believed that this break-up was the final one.

She eventually began telling John each time that a break-up occurred. After a while, it almost seemed routine. “Yeah, yeah,” John would say, rolling his eyes. “Give it a couple weeks and you’ll be back together.” Everyone said the same thing. Even Esme stopped believing the break-ups were genuine, although they still made her miserable. There were times that she called it off, only to be cajoled back into the relationship once more.

“Is this the way you want to live for the rest of your life?” her friends asked her (and she asked herself the same thing constantly). The last time, she decided to end it with him. She felt she simply could not live on the rollercoaster any longer. But the relationship died a slow death. He couldn’t afford to move out, and she didn’t have the heart to kick him to the curb. So they merely existed, silently ignoring each other and living their own lives and pursuing their own interests, yet still tied to each other. She and John would meet for lunch and talk about it.

“You know, he doesn’t love you. Not the way you should be loved. I think he loves you the best way he knows how, but it’s just not good enough,” said John gruffly one afternoon, patting his mouth with a napkin. “Oh and what do you know?” growled Esme, fondly. “You haven’t had a stable relationship in your life!”

“You know what your problem is, girl? You’re a fixer, just like me,” John pronounced. “No, no, you are. You know it, I know it. We both want to help people, we take in the strays, and then we don’t like what we get.” Esme made a face, but nodded in agreement. “This guy,” continued John, “takes advantage of you, uses your money, leeches off you, picks at you, neglects you every night and ignores you every day. What is it about him?”

Esme sighed and toyed with a slice of bread and a pat of butter. “I know, I know. But I don’t know how to get out of it any more,” she said. “I’m somehow stuck, and I don’t even know if there’s anyone else out there for me. I have a horrible feeling that this is it, he’s the best that I can do.”

John looked at her incredulously. “You’re kidding, right?” he asked. “You’re beautiful, you’re intelligent, you’re fun! You’ve got more in you than 10 other girls put together. Whaddya talking about? It’s me that hasta do the worrying. I’m 44! I’m not gettin' any younger, ya know.”

“Oh puh-leeze. You're laying it on too thick; you’re just trying to make me feel better,” sighed Esme. “You’re a catch and you know it. Wasn’t it you that just told me last night about Tiffany?” Tiffany was his latest ex, a red-headed bombshell, who had been finding excuses to call him lately. She finally had put all her cards on the table and told him she wanted him back in her life and in her bed again.

“Her,” snorted John. “She’s a wack.”

“You think every ex-girlfriend’s nuts,” Esme pointed out.

“Well yeah, cuz they are,” John said reasonably, spreading his hands apart, palms upward in an “I-don’t-get-it” gesture.

It was Esme’s turn to roll her eyes. “Of course they are, John! You’re a fixer! You pick a nutcase and take her on, thinking you’ll fix her. You can’t do it, and you know it, but you still keep trying!”

“You know, that’s why we never would work,” said John. “You and I are too normal. We’re the healthy ones.”

“Oh sure, define healthy for me so I can identify it next time,” said Esme, sarcastically. “We’re only normal in an “enabling, co-dependant sense”, and you know that.”

“And your point is…?” asked John.

“Yeah, nevermind. My bad. I’m stating the obvious again,” sighed Esme. Both of them chuckled. “I’m going out tonight with Yolanda,” said Esme. Yolanda was her best friend. “Maybe we’ll call you while we’re out. You can come rescue us if we get into any trouble! If I’m hit on by anyone obnoxious, I’ll call you and tell them you’re my husband.” John had an intimidating presence. Guys left him alone. He’d never been in a fight his entire life, because he looked as if he’d just come fresh from a street brawl.

“Sure, do that,” said John affably, signaling for the check. The rest of the time there was spent in the banality of paying the bill, collecting their things, and leaving the restaurant. They hugged outside, and John gave her a peck on the lips, which was unexpected. “See ya around, baby,” he said casually. “Who knows, when you get this all sorted out with the boyfriend, maybe there’ll be more!” He always said that. It was part of the routine. She grinned, slightly surprised by the kiss, and he opened the door for her. “Whew, check out those legs,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

“Thanks,” Esme said awkwardly, at a loss for words for once. She normally had a snappy comeback: quick on her toes, light in her banter. She hoped John didn’t sense the unease. He didn’t.

“See ya,” said John as he walked away, with a confident swagger born from years of taking on the world and successfully beating it each time. Esme started up her car, thoughtfully. He had never kissed her on the lips before. Friends only, right? Somewhere there’s an unwritten law that friends don’t kiss each other on the mouth.

c. 2006
Tomorrow: Part 2 of 2