On How My Exboyfriend Of 5+ Years Is Now With A Porn Star (Ex-Porn-Star, Allegedly)
In the mornings, I would wake to find a giant mug of cafe au (soy) lait next to the most recent expensive publication that I pretended to read but actually used to fan my face. Sometimes, a romantic little note written in his lefthanded scribble would lean on the mug. I would rise, look out of the mansion window, and let the neighborhood animals dress me as I sang to the sun or the outside bushes or the Land Rover and credit card and apartment he got for my use.
One day I decided to leave.
Then, I came back. But then, I decided to ACTUALLY leave. And then—
Anyway, there was, eventually, a final departure and not long thereafter he called, all casual-like, with: “This Maxim model is OBSSESSED with me.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” I said, shrugging into the phone. I recall that I was taking a hot bath because all of a sudden I felt like if the phone fell into the water, it would be alright by me.
“No, really, I’m very scared. What if I go, you know, missing? What if she has my babies? I think she is that kind of girl.”
“You could try not having sex with her.”
“Can I send you a picture in case I go missing?”
“If you’re really nervous, you could send me ALL of your passwords, especially the offshore account ones.”
“I just sent you two pictures. In one she’s blonde. In the other, she is a brunette.”
I peered at two scanned images of lingerie shots.
“Please commit this face to memory,” he said.
Yah. Hokay.
Several weeks later: “Maxim girl is stalking me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, she waits outside my gate for me to come home and let her in! She comes with a suitcase and stays for a week!”
“Why don’t you call the cops?”
“BeCAUSE,” he explains, “Then she’ll just get more psycho.”
“On a scale of one to ten, how high would she rate herself as your girlfriend instead of a stalker? Pretty high, right?”
This story recycled itself for about a year; the only variable was the girl’s name. Incidentally, these girls always had names that started with a “K” sound and ended with an “Eee” or “Uh” sound (Kristy, Kara, Chrissy, Kaylie, Kayla, etc.) Ooh, wait, one time there was a Rachel, though! Until one day, the story began with: “What’s with women and Hello Kitty?”
“You mean children and Hello Kitty,” I said.
“Here, look at THIS. It’s a Hello Kitty scarf.” An iPhone-in-my-face later, he waited proudly for me to react at the person standing next to him wearing a scarf in his gigantic kitchen, smirking sultrily at the lens.
“Oh, that’s your favorite por—”
“Her NAME-name is ####.”
“Ah.”
“So, what’s with this whole Hello Kitty thing?”
“I have no idea.”
