Emily's Diary: Confessions of an Emotional Predator, Page 2

  Part of my new job responsibilities includes attending conferences and workshops around the country. As a result, I’ve spent the last couple of days in Boston. And what a magnificent city it is.

  Though much of the time was consumed with business matters, we did have some time to see the sights…we being me plus Derrick, who was along to help coordinate my presentation.

  After our first-class flight into Logan Airport, we took the water shuttle across Boston Harbor to our hotel. We of course had separate rooms, but Derrick made it clear from the start that we would have a much better "collaboration" if we only made use of one. To this suggestion I responded with my usual grace and charm. I slammed the door in his face.

  Derrick as of late has been pushing for a more sensual relationship. But my aversion to the loss of physical and emotional control, which of course is the whole aspiration of sex, pretty much excludes me from participation in this sport.

  At dinner he made a few more subtle attempts at getting me to submit to his vile little scenario to which I responded with less than subtle refusals. He finally became resigned to the inevitable and spent the remainder of the evening in a sullen stupor.

  The next day, still nursing his injured vanity, Derrick spent most of the time behaving like a spoiled brat. I'm used to dealing with his little tantrums and childish behavior, and more than once had to give him a verbal scolding.

  By last night he had finally, at least on the surface, acquiesced to my disposition on the matter. Following our last business engagement, we enjoyed a delightful dinner at Durgin Park and afterwards strolled hand-in-hand thru Quincy Market, stopping frequently to browse at its many little stands and shops.

  We spent several minutes kissing and hugging in front of the door to my room before, with one last beseeching look, he trudged back to his own room despondent and unfulfilled.

  I know what he wants, but I'm afraid that at this time I am unable or unwilling to supply it. As wonderful as our relationship appears to be going at present, I'm afraid that this issue will be the point of contention that eventually drives an intractable wedge between us, overthrowing everything else that binds us together. How sad. How very sad.

  Saturday 7/2

  Dear Diary,

  Here I sit in my big red chair staring out the window above Belmont and Clark. How few opportunities I’ve had lately to snuggle up within its soft, willowy cushions and just think. Think about my life, my loves, my sorrows, and my dreams of the future.

  It's funny to watch my dog Maxwell sitting on the chaise lounge in front of the other bay windows staring endlessly down at nearly the same view as me. I wonder what he's thinking…or if he's thinking at all.

  Oh to have no thoughts. How glorious it would be to flow through life purely by instinct, with no worries, fears, or decisions to make which you know will result in self-inflicted agony.

  Before I met Riley my life made perfect sense. I knew WHO I was, WHAT I was, and WHY I was. Since his fateful intrusion into my life however, I've lost that person and I don't know where to find her....that's a lie.

  The fact is I know exactly where to find her. She's right where I left her. And tomorrow my Dear Diary I must go back and get her.

  Sunday 7/3

  Dear Diary,

  I rose early this morning, and with Maxwell in tow set out on my appointed journey to regain my past. Or was it to discover my future. Maybe it was both. Whichever it was, it was waiting for me at Broadway and Wellington. It was waiting for me in the guise of Riley Wells.

  I arrived at his door sometime before 8am…when exactly I'm not sure since I was beyond time and space. I was zooming around in some type of black hole, unsure of where I was or how to proceed.

  My finger once again floated uncertainly above his bell, trapped in a state of suspended animation. It was as if my brain cells had suddenly forgotten the neurological code needed to make the nerves in my hand obey the "push the button" command.

  Just when I thought that I would spend the rest of my miserable existence forever frozen in this position, Maxwell let out a series of barks and yelps that were so penetrating I'm sure even those long-since deceased would have been nearly awakened by the deafening clamor.

  Within a matter of seconds Riley had his head out the window ready to scold the violator of his precious last minutes of Sunday morning sleep.

  But before his mouth could form the words that were already being transmitted from his brain, his eyes had spotted the perpetrator and its master and the vocalizing of his beratement was terminated instantaneously.

  Actually no sound emitted from him whatsoever as this new data was being entered into his still groggy noggin.

  "Well", I said finally, "aren't you going to invite me up for a nice cold beer?"

  Three minutes later I was sitting apprehensively in the Queen Anne chair sipping some apple juice and wondering what the hell was going to happen next. Riley sat across from me fidgeting with his shirt buttons while trying to apologize for how messy the apartment was.

  Only Maxwell seemed at ease as he lay contentedly on the hardwood floor half-way between Riley and myself. If I didn't know better I'd have said he was smiling.

  When Riley had finished buttoning he looked up and into my eyes for the first time since I had arrived. What he saw I can't be sure, but a faint smile crossed his lips.

  "This is a surprise", he said finally. "I thought that for some reason you had decided you never wanted to see me again. I'm glad I was wrong."

  "You weren't wrong", I responded. "That's exactly what I had decided."

  There was a short pause as we sat facing each other waiting to see who would speak next.

  "So what changed your mind?" Riley asked finally.

  I thought for a moment and then said directly, "I lost my persona here and I want it back".

  Riley's face suddenly took on a totally confused expression. Then he got up from his chair and started looking around the living room. "What color was it?" he asked worriedly. "Was there any money in it?"

  "NOT MY PURSE YOU IDIOT", I cried out as I rose involuntarily from my chair, "my persona, my identity, my essence. You stole it from me and I want it returned. I want things the way they were before I met you."

  And then after a momentary pause I despondently sighed, "I want my life back".

  With these last words I slumped back down into my chair and held my emotional face within the now moist palms of my trembling hands.

  When I finally pulled my fingers down over my drained countenance I looked up and saw Riley standing across the room staring at me with the most perplexed looking expression I had ever seen on another human being. He didn't have the slightest clue what I was talking about, did he?

  "I've got to go", I said as I rose from my chair and started gathering up Maxwell's leash. "It was a mistake to come here. Goodbye, good luck, good..."

  But I couldn't for the life of me think of anything else that I wanted to say that started with good, so I just repeated "Goodbye".

  As I turned and reached for the door knob I heard for only the second time that strong, thundering, unfamiliar tone of voice emanating from the mouth of Riley Wells.

  "NOW WAIT JUST A DARNED MINUTE", it bellowed.

  "Every time you come over here for some cockeyed reason or another, you always end up running out the door. I want you to turn around right now and sit your neurotic little butt back down in that chair. Then let's see if we can't find out together what it is you think you lost."

  WELL!!! Nobody has ever dared speak to me in that manner before, and my first inclination was to give him the verbal lashing of a lifetime. But that's not what I did. To my surprise, and I'm sure to his, I obeyed his orders and returned to my seat.

  Then we went silent for quite a few seconds before Riley, in a quiet, reflective tone said, "I like you Emily. I really do. And I don't like many people, especially many women.

  The better I treat them, the worst they treat me. The nicer I am, the m
eaner they seem to get. Maybe I don't know what they want. Maybe they don't know either. But in any case, I've spent the last few years just trying to stay out of their way.

  And up until you I was doing a pretty fair job of it. So maybe you're not the only one who lost something here." With that, he rested.

  Hmmm…maybe he understands more than I thought.

  "OK, fine", I said after a few moments of reflection. "We're both a little lost at the moment and we don't know how to proceed. Let me offer a suggestion.

  We'll spend some time together and try to help each other get back to where we were before we met. Once we see that this relationship can't possibly work we can both get on with our separate lives, a little older, a little wiser."

  There, that made sense…didn't it?

  "O.K", Riley replied, grinning from ear to ear. "If that's what you think we should do then that's what we'll do."

  He then hesitated a whole three seconds before blurting out, "So you want to go out today?”

  I just looked at him and shook my head.

  "We don't have to start this minute", I said curtly. "Anyway, if I'm going to be seen out in public with you then we need to get you something half-way decent to wear."

  Riley was abruptly taken aback with this latest statement. Looking down at his flannel shirt and cutoff jeans he shot back, "What's wrong with what I wear?"

  "Nothing", I said, "If our dates are going to be on some uncharted desert island. But if you're planning on taking me to any restaurants that don't require me to hunt down and kill my own food then we need to get you something more suitable to wear."

  He had a hurt expression on his face, but I did not attempt to cushion the blow.

  "I'm only working half a day on Thursday", I told him. "Meet me down in the lobby of Water Tower Place at noon and bring your credit cards. With any luck we should have you ready to re-enter civilization by the time the stores close."

  With that I got up, called for Maxwell, gave a fleeting wave to Riley, who sat motionless and dumbfounded in his chair, and out the door I went.

  As I walked the still sleepy Sunday morning streets back to my apartment I suddenly became aware of a quiet contentment within my being. OH GOD! I can't be thinking that this relationship is actually going to work. That is NOT part of the plan.

  Leave it to my foolish heart to start trying to take over again at the first sign of romance. Well I'll be damned if I'm going to start feeling contented at this stage in my life. My far more dominant intellect will most surely come riding to the rescue to save me. Won't it? WELL WON'T IT??

  Friday 7/8

  Dear Diary,

  Through my many years of experience I have decided that there are only two types of men in the world, fools and idiots. Fools are the ones who have all the aspirations for greatness yet allow one small obstacle to keep them from its fruition. Idiots are those who have all the elements needed for greatness, yet have no aspirations for attaining it. Simply put, Derrick is a fool and Riley is an idiot. Let's start with Derrick.

  Though he's childish, self-centered, and terribly egotistical, Derrick has a certain allure that captivates my imagination. The inflated perception he has of himself as some irresistible romantic figure somehow transcends his human frailties. And at least in some instances he actually does appear to ascend to his own mental self-image.

  These moments are rare granted, but when this apparition materializes it truly is mesmerizing. It’s in these interims that I feel an almost uncontrollable urge to bask in the brilliance of his effervescent light and tingle in the heat of his incandescent flame.

  Unfortunately, due to his absurd lack of maturity he’s only able to sustain this level for short periods of time before slipping back once more into his ever so reproachable humanness. As with most men, the stake in the heart of his noble aspirations is his overriding proclivity for sex.

  Why men allow this only mildly titillating vexation to undermine their ascension to greater heights I will never know. Men associate sex with conquest when in fact it functions more as an undertow of sorts, pulling them down by the very appendage which they rely upon to deliver them heavenward.

  It’s ironic yes, but not funny by any means, at least not to me. For it robs me of my ideal man, a man that can stand tall before me, a man who I can admire and look up to.

  Not that sex itself is wrong. I'm not saying that. In fact, of course, it’s a natural and essential component to the creation of an all-pervasive bond between a loving couple.

  What I'm saying is that men, at least the men I've had contact with, hoist up the banner of sex on the tallest turret while relegating all other aspects of emotional expression to the dungeon excrement trough.

  In turn my love for them sadly drains down to the same trough, where it’s unmercifully carried away to that lachrymose land where all lost loves find there final resting place.

  The details of our last confrontation are insignificant, but yesterday Derrick was the latest emigrant to this land. I lament his departure, but rest secure in the reasons why I cast him away. I could have been his queen, but instead I became his executioner. Goodbye Derrick.

  Riley is a different animal altogether. He’s an idiot of almost Herculean proportions. He has all the elements for greatness and yet not the slightest impulse to procure it.

  He has even conquered the greatest obstacle to success, being a single-minded focus on sex. He has replaced this with passion, an expression of feeling that in my estimation is both more dignified and enrapturing than its baser, more popular cousin. What is there to do with such a man?

  The obvious choice would be to try to reawaken the warrior within him. To inspire in him some ambition to flaunt his manhood by confidently taking the reins of the bucking bronco heart of the woman he loves and ride it hard until it submits willingly to his every pull and jerk of the bit.

  After which we would journey forth together into the valley of utopian bliss where we would eat freely from the mango tree of love, and drink eternally from the ever flowing spring of silvery passion.

  The question here is whether this ambition is inherent within him or if it’s forever dangling just out of his reach. This I have not yet determined.

  The only positive signs that I have seen so far were his verbal changes in tone the two times it looked as if I was walking out of his life. Both times the words that blistered off his lips had their source from a reservoir deep within his being…a reservoir rich in golden masculinity which even to Riley is totally virgin and uncharted territory.

  It is in essence the mother lode of his intrepid virility. If only I can somehow manage to gain access to it I might be able to bring its contents to the surface.

  As for our shopping spree at Water Tower Place yesterday I would have to say it was an unmitigated success. Not that it wasn't without its rough edges and ruffled feathers mind you, but in the end the desired results were arrived at.

  Riley, at least for the time being, has submitted to abiding to the dress code required to be seen in my presence. And I have to say he does look cute in his new little outfits.

  Maybe some would consider my methods for changing Riley somewhat heavy-handed, but I would rather be direct and risk some hurt feelings at first then to do what most women do, which is to try and covertly change their man little-by-little without him being the least bit aware of it.

  For one thing this takes far too long and I don't have the patience for such antics. And secondly, I don't like dealing in subtleties when I know with all certainty exactly what it is that I want.

  Many women want the man to believe that he’s in control, so they feel the need to manipulate him secretly. I on the contrary want my man to know up front who's in charge…ME. And the sooner he gets used to the idea the quicker we can get on with things.

  Did I just say my man? Oh dear God just listen to me. I sound like I'm actually considering Riley as a lifetime commitment or something. Of course it would probably take that long just t
o beat him into shape. Oh well, somebody's got to do the dirty work and right now I guess I'm the most qualified person for the job.

  Sunday 7/31

  Dear Diary,

  The last few weeks have been filled with halcyon days and dream away nights. Magic moments and simple pleasures lapping over me like gentle waves upon a lonely shore. My resplendent heart has at one moment felt the intense heat of lava spewing from an erupting volcano, and the next moment sailed away on a cool, exhilarating ocean breeze.

  My brain in the meantime has been mysteriously quiet regarding these emotional escapades. I suspect that it’s lying in wait patiently anticipating the inevitable lethargy which arises as familiarity sets in.

  "Have your fun now", it says to my heart. "For the fog of beguilement will soon dissipate allowing reason and logic to once again shine down upon this sapient soul."

  As always, I myself remain little but a third party in this ongoing battle between head and heart, heeding only the call of whichever one is currently in control. Most recently, as I've just alluded to, the one in control has been my pathetically irresponsible heart.

  As to my affairs of late I’ve been seeing Riley almost on a daily basis. And as you can surmise from my initial soliloquy, the experience at least for now has transformed my translucent covering into a sheet of clear glass. No longer can I hide my emotions or shield my desires from the outside world, or from myself for that matter.

  I walk to and fro allowing all who care to look the chance to see the boundless joy that is teeming up within me. No matter what manner of mundane work or tasteless task I’m doing, the mere sense of being elevates my performance of said duties to near Quixotesque proportions.

  And although I’ve been a bit concerned about my propensity for making more silly errors as of late (due in most part to my incessant daydreaming), any lingering traces of self-contempt for my shameful mental meanderings are swiftly swept aside by a glorious feeling of utter contentment and the wistful dreaminess of what will enfold in our next rendezvous.

  Of course all is not wine and roses. There is still much work ahead in molding Riley into the viral godlike creature I require. I intend to accomplish this transformation by constantly challenging his manhood while pushing his willpower and personal ambition to their ever expanding limits.

  And although he still shrinks inward a bit when I'm too coarse in a reprimand or reproach, I believe I can see his fighting spirit starting to extricate itself from the shadowy recesses of his inner being.

  Whether our relationship withstands this pressure until the desired results are achieved will depend mainly on Riley's emotional fortitude and, of course, his love for me. So far both are holding firm, but with something as fragile as the male ego you never quite know when one more push may shatter the whole thing into a million pieces.

  Wednesday 8-3

  Dear Diary,

  As I sit here now in my big red chair reflectively staring out the window, I can't help but wonder if the brilliant flames of passionate desire burning within me aren't already beginning to diminish in illumination and radiance.

  Waning and ebbing towards their inevitable fate as smoldering embers of a festering love. Or maybe I'm just tired and need a break.

  Whichever, tonight for the first time since our torrid little affair began I cancelled a date with Riley. I gave the latter of these two possibilities as an excuse, and Riley reluctantly acquiesced to my disposition on the matter.

  Really though I still do feel as much enamored of Riley as ever. It's just that I've started feeling smothered by all the attention he’s been showering upon me as of late and felt the need for some time alone in order to step back and take stock of things. Not just with Riley, but with the rest of my life as well.

  My job for the most part is satisfying my intellectual needs, and my early morning runs along the lake with Maxwell are providing me with at least the minimum of physical stimulation needed.

  My poor Maxwell! I have all but abandoned him the last few weeks and I know he's hurting inside. It's a wonder he even acknowledges my presence anymore. I'll make it up to you soon my darling sweetheart.

  Speaking of sweethearts, Gregory my former pursuer is after me to be his "sweetheart" again. Ever since my breakup with Derrick, Gregory has been somehow under the delusion that he has a chance of catching me on the rebound. He’s unaware of my romance with Riley and I feel no current urge to tell him. Why should I?

  He has in the last 21 days invited me to countless lunches, a couple of parties, and even a wedding. I did go to lunch with him once, but then only because I had a taste for Thai and only two bucks in my wallet.

  Since then though I’ve put him off with any number of excuses hoping beyond hope that he might get the hint rather than having to become engaged in yet another confrontation regarding our future, or should I say non-future, together.

  Derrick on the other hand looks past me as if I didn't even exist in his universe. He has most recently taken up with some yellow-haired floozy from the secretarial pool. And I'm sure he’s taking his hatred of me, and probably of all womankind, out on her.

  He has paraded her countless times past my desk hoping I suppose to inspire in me some wanton desire to come crawling back to him and beg forgiveness for my foolish behavior.

  "Please, please take me back", he wants me to plead. And then after benevolently consenting to give my worthless self a second chance, he'll glorify in throwing this act of generosity up in my face on every possible occasion until I relent to his every whim and desire, sexual and otherwise.

  This is the way his mind works regardless of the reality of the situation. Within the universe created by his boundless ego, it isn't possible for a woman to dump him as I did without him inventing some future scenario in which he ultimately becomes Lord and Master over the silly wench.

  Let me tell you now that there is as much chance of that happening as there is of me becoming Miss Congeniality in the Miss America Pageant, or as I call it the Miss America Pungent.

  That's all I really have to tell you now, my dearest Diary. It's you and only you Dear Diary to whom I can unburden heart and soul without fear of judgment or condemnation. What would I do without you? Don't answer that.

  Sunday 8-7

  Dear Diary,

  A PLAY

  [The setting is a rather large Deli Restaurant at the corner of Clark and Belden. The time is around 11:30 PM on a Saturday night. Amid the noisy and bustling activity of the crowded room there walks a woman…a woman in her late-30s, tall, angular, and handsome.

  She eyes her prey and stealthily approaches him. She’s reeling with anticipation as she draws nearer to him. He excites her still. Who's that with him? Ah, only a mere child; easily dealt with. Her now moist hand reaches out to touch his all too familiar shoulder.]

  Handsome woman: RILEY…IS THAT YOU?

  Riley: [Turning quickly, startled first by the touch, then by the recognition] Gloria!! [Said with widening eyes and a suddenly smiling face] WOW! What are you doing here?

  Gloria: Eating, silly. [Then after a momentary pause for eye contact] So how are you my darling?

  Riley: Oh I'm fine. I'm doing just fine.

  Gloria: You look great….REALLY great!

  Riley: You too. Geez, you haven't changed a bit.

  Gloria: Oh silly, you always say the sweetest things. [She regards the child out of the corner of her eye as she continues] How long has it been, [She asks rhetorically] maybe four, almost five years now?

  Riley: Has it been that long? It hasn't seemed that long.

  Gloria: Oh silly, it seems like FOREVER. I think about it constantly. [Then with the slightest of pouts] I was TERRIFIED that I would never see you again.

  Riley: Well, [He laughs that stupid, goofy laugh of his] here I am.

  Gloria: [Now turning for the first time to acknowledge the ‘child’]

  So Riley, aren't you going to introduce me to your little friend?

  Riley: [As if j
ust first waking up to discover a stranger in his midst] Oh! [He stumbles] I…I'm sorry [He says to Gloria, not the child] this is uh...[More hesitation] Emily. [He finally blurts out] Yeah, this is Emily.

  Gloria: [Laughing] Are you sure? [Then reaching out a heavy bejeweled, extra-long finger-nailed hand] Hello Emily dear. I'm Gloria.

  Emily: [Making no movement to grasp the ring-encrusted, talon-like appendage thrust condescendingly in her direction] So I've heard silly.

  Gloria: [gradually pulling her unclasped pincer back across the table and turning her attention once more towards Riley] We must get together and reminisce about all those WILD [said emphatically for effect] times we had together. Here's my new address and phone number [she pulling a finely printed card from her silver pocketbook] I'll NEVER forgive you if you don't call me.

  Riley: Oh, uhh…don't worry, I'll call you. [Then turning to notice that the color of Emily's skin has recently turned a lovely shade of purple] Yeah ah.., I'll try to call you sometime…maybe [Another glance and goofy smile in Emily's direction]

  Gloria: Well, tata must be off. Have friends waiting and all that. [Then to Emily] Nice meeting you Amelia. I'd love to see you again someday. Perhaps I'll meet someone special [Looking at Riley] and you can stand up at our wedding. You'd make a lovely flower girl.

  Emily: Perhaps. [In a voice trying to imitate Gloria's haughty tone] I hear Edward Scissorhands is looking for a wife. And it would be so fascinating watching to see which of you could slice the wedding cake faster.

  Gloria: [Her face drops and her composure suddenly disappears] Uh…Oh. Well, goodbye [she says as she quickly turns and almost trips over the hapless busboy just passing by]

  [Riley's eyes follow her haphazard trek back towards the door where, with another woman, she disappears around the corner]

  Riley: [Finally turning back to Emily] UHH….That's my former fiancé. I told you about her. Funny running into her after all these years. [A half-grin, half-grimace as his eyes move rapidly trying to avoid the icy glare that is now focused directly on him]

  Emily: Oh Yeah, hilarious. I can't remember the last time I've laughed so hard.

  Riley: Not funny that way silly [His voice tails off, perhaps realizing that the more he talks the more trouble he's in]

  [After that not more than a couple dozen words are exchanged between the couple for the remainder of the evening. The taxi ride back to her place is deathly silent. His offer to walk her to her door is rejected, as is his awkward attempt at a good night kiss]

  Riley: [Despairingly as she exits the taxi] I'll call you.

  Emily: [Turning abruptly with fire in her eyes] Call her and we're through.

  [With that she slams the cab door and doesn't look back. Upstairs she sits curled up in her big red chair by the window, making no attempt to wipe away the tributary of tears that are streaming down her now pallid cheeks and dripping gently into the small reservoir of water of what once had been her lap.

  As the curtain comes down and the theater lights come up Emily, while tenderly rubbing the neck of her dog Maxwell, is heard saying five simple words]

  Emily: I'm back, Maxwell, I'm back.

  End of Act I