Stephan stopped reading again.
How can I go on like this? I read such pages about me and I feel confused. It is as if Dreama and I have a secret reality away from the real world. When we are together, it is as if we only exist in the moment. When we are apart, I realize that it is an illusion. I never touched a strand of her hair or felt the warmth of her skin. It has never been real, so why does her diary escalate the sense of separation?
I’m just an ordinary guy. My wife Lisa and I recently built a traditional brick house with black shutters next to a golfing community in a Virginia Beach suburb. We both have good jobs, a dog, a boat for deep sea fishing. Life is ideal.
Lisa and I went to the University of Virginia together and now she works for an insurance company. She loves her job and meeting with clients. Everyone adores her. After all, she is beautiful with thick brown hair, dark elusive eyes, and an impeccable wardrobe. She could be a mannequin in Nordstroms’ if she weren’t the center of a party. She is definitely the social type.
In fact, she is always throwing dinner parties and inviting coworkers and friends. It is nice, but I’ve come to wish things could be a little less formal after a hard day. I want to come home and relax; maybe go fishing or hang out with my buddy, Todd Rubenstein. He is a waiter at the country club and still struggling to get a degree from college, but he is down to earth and friendly. We have fun. Sometimes we grab a few snacks and watch a game on TV.
Todd tells me that I should be proud to have Lisa at my side. She could go for a more handsome, more powerful man. Todd is a jerk at times.
I’m proud of being able to afford this house. I even built the bookshelves by the fireplace. I’m good with my hands. I like to feel useful and to see some sense of accomplishment. I should enjoy the rewards.
“What are you doing?” a silky voice asked from the foyer.
Taken by surprise, I saw tall Lisa looking putty as she stuffed my golf clubs in the hall closet. She seemed irritated by my things.
“Just thinking about adding some lighting. It is too dark, don’t you think?”
Lisa shrugged and said, “Marla and her boyfriend are coming over for dinner.
Anger welled up inside of me. I’m not sure why. Maybe I’m tired.
“You don’t like them, do you?”
“Not really,” I answered. “Why are we having them over again?”
I followed her into the living room. She started picking up newspapers and some empty glasses. Her long hair draped her heart-shaped face and she looked lovely despite her serious expression. I helped her clean up. I thought it might fix her mood.
I reached for her manicured fingers and pulled her to me. She was a little taken aback. Her mouth fell open.
“Why don’t you and I have a night alone?” I asked, fingering a strand of her luscious hair. “Just you and me. We never have that anymore.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said, laughing. “I see you every day. I want to see my friends. Now, please change. You aren’t going golfing.”
“These aren’t my golf clothes.”
“Oh, whatever,” she said, patting my chest. “But I want to enjoy this evening. Okay? For me?”
What about me?
I gripped her tighter and brushed my lips over her forehead and then across her cheek, but she seemed annoyed. I must have appeared hurt, because she gave me a quick hug. I didn’t return it.
“They will be here soon. We can talk later,” she told me. “You understand. Don’t you?”
Boy, do I. I went into my study with the diary and shut the door. This is my space. I picked out the cherry wood desk, the leather chair and the golf pictures. I even have golf desk accessories that were a gift. The sight of them makes me laugh to myself. The fact that my golfing irritates Lisa made me laugh even more. I feel at ease among my things.
I propped my loafers up and opened the diary. I want to feel the way Dreama makes me feel, even if it could never be a reality. Sharing in this daydream aroused me to new depths and it took me for a ride through the tantalizing unknown. I get to cheat without having the baggage of the real thing.
Just then, I heard the doorbell ring. I heard Marla’s shrill voice. She’ll probably talk about herself the whole night and how she almost got to be in a commercial. Her boyfriend Bill will attempt small talk. He is a computer programmer into science fiction. He seems okay. Both of us are usually bored by the end of the meal, so we’ll try to catch a game on TV. He doesn’t like sports a whole lot, though it saves from dull chatter.
Where is Dreama right now? I wouldn’t mind having dinner with her. Maybe somewhere like Fellini’s downtown. We’d have a quiet table away from everyone. We’d blend in with the dark decor, prepared to drape our secrets. The maroon color would subdue the mood, already heavy with emotion, and yet the candlelight would stir the smoldering desire. To have her there in this romantic setting would accent her mystery. I just wanted to look at her from her intense eyes to her graceful neck to her silky arms. What would she be wearing? I imagine her in a crimson dress. The hue would hint at her level of passion.
“Stefan?”
The daydream has to end here for now.
“I’m coming.”