Going to Extremes

Hmm, that sounded familiar.

Being young and naive and uncertain of himself, he was soon drowning in the whirlpool of her passion. He couldn’t be away from her, began failing classes, avoiding his friends, until he had nothing else but her. In short, he completely lost sight of his identity, his needs and his life goals.

This was about Dan and her, no question. Electricity rushed through Kathleen. She skimmed ahead.

Of course, inexperienced as he was, the young man was unable to recognize the psychological problems with which his lover struggled. Her obsession with pleasure kept her from recognizing real emotion. Sex was like a drug to her. The young man’s intense reaction—she’d forced him into her world of excess and extremes—affirmed her sense of herself and her importance in the world. Her narcissism made it hard for her to see the damage she was doing to the man she believed she loved.

Luckily, the young man had enough self-knowledge to realize what was happening before it was too late. After a terrible incident of anger and jealousy, he broke away from the woman before her emotional recklessness destroyed him.

Oh. My. God. So much for Dan’s “We were young…I was bewildered” bullshit. He thought she was narcissistic, unbalanced, immature and emotionally reckless?

She’d accept immature and unbalanced. Maybe even reckless. But she’d been crazy over him, too. A little scared, but mostly because of how jealous and possessive he’d acted at the end. In his book, he sounded noble and brave, standing up for himself against the depraved nymphomaniac.

Oh, this was outrageous. Anger pulsed through her in thick clots, thudded against her skull, pounded at her temples. She would talk to him right now. Straighten him out, once and for all. She launched herself out of the bed and marched across her suite, her feet barely touching the carpet.

At her door, she stopped. If she burst into his room and yelled at him, she’d look like an emotional maniac. Any person would be upset—no, enraged—at being maligned, even anonymously, in a book to be read by thousands. Tens of thousands if their promotional tour had its intended impact.

But she would not give Dan the satisfaction of seeing her yell or cry. She would calm down first and rationally explain how dead wrong he was.

She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, dizzy with fury. She clenched her fists, then forced herself to release them. Calm, calm, calm. You can handle this. But her anger wouldn’t go away that fast. She began to pace, stopping each time just as she reached for the door to go to him, spinning on her heel and marching the length of the suite again, like a caged leopard—a caged, furious leopard…the source of her fury just outside the bars.

Dan McAlister was not above the sexual fray. Maybe he could fool his readers, his clients, the Rhondas of the world, but he couldn’t fool Kathleen. She knew him. That way.

For some reason, JJ’s words came to her: So sleep with him. Show him the error of his ways. No. Absolutely not. Sex was a beautiful physical connection between two caring people, dammit. It should never be an act of revenge or anger.

Besides, how could she sleep with a guy she wanted to deck?

No, she would talk to him. Gently explain in her most sensible voice what a wrongheaded, self-centered dick he was.

4

THEY’D BARELY checked in to the hotel in Chicago, when someone banged on Dan’s door. He had a whole hour before dinner with Kathleen and Rhonda, and he needed every second to recoup, relax, meditate and do some writing.

Through the peephole, he saw it was Rhonda. Better than Kathleen, at least, who’d been oddly irritable all day—in the car to the airport, on the plane and at the book-signing, shooting him angry glances and eye rolls and delivering unnecessary jabs about his work. He expected their after-dinner media training to be similarly unpleasant.

What the hell had happened overnight? He’d thought they’d had a nice closure moment, agreeing that they were both better off after the affair. She’d given him an odd look with a spark of resentment, and she’d waved away his good-night kiss as though he had bad breath. Maybe he’d sounded smug. He tended to do that when he was self-conscious. And around Kathleen, he was nothing but self-conscious.

Maybe she’d slept poorly on the hotel bed, even with the extra padding Rhonda had arranged for her. She was the princess and the pea when it came to beds. He knew that from college.

Meanwhile, here was Rhonda. On the plane she’d asked his advice for a “friend who might be seeing an old boyfriend.” Evidently, Rhonda had an ex in Chicago.

With a sigh, he opened the door and Rhonda breezed in, looking earnest and upset, holding a foam cup, a bakery sack and a small tin box. “Can we talk?”

“Of course.”

“I hope you can help me.” She handed him the cup. “It’s a chamomile-lemon blend. Not your favorite, but variety is good, too, right? No, wait, that’s Kathleen with the variety stuff. You’re with ritual and habit.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Taste it before you thank me.”

He took a sip, feeling her eyes on him. The tea had a medicinal lemon and herb flavor. “I like it.”

“Great. Here’s more.” She handed him the tin, then swept past him to fling open his curtains, washing the room in late-afternoon light. She sank into a chair at the table under the window and dug into the pastry bag for two large muffins, extending one to him. “They’re healthy, don’t worry. Bran and oatmeal.” She took a huge bite of her muffin. “I only eat when I’m anxious.”

Dan put the tea tin and the cup she’d brought him on the table and sat across from her.

“Dry as dust.” She made a face, then glanced at his tea. “Mind if I make myself some tea?”

“No, no. Make yourself at home.”

She busied herself at the refreshment area and, while the water percolated through, talked about room service and how stale the in-room tea usually was. “Practically fossilized. I use raw sugar in mine. Sure you don’t want some more?”

“No, no. I’m fine.”

“I always add cream. It cancels the tannic acid, which can be a carcinogen. Did you know that?”

“I didn’t.”

“It’s in Kathleen’s book. Kathleen knows so many fascinating things.” She returned and sat, dunking her tea bag methodically in the mug while she talked. “So, anyway, what I wanted to talk about… Aren’t you going to eat your muffin?”

“I’d rather wait for dinner.” He rarely ate between meals, preferring a gentle hunger that made him appreciate each bite of food.

“I wish I had more self-control. I’m weak with food and love.” She sighed. “I have to tell you that the friend with issues is really me.”

“I kind of got that idea.”

She smiled sheepishly. “I’m obvious, huh?” She tucked her hair behind both ears and folded her arms across her body, holding in both anxiety and excitement, he could tell. “Anyway, the guy’s name is Dylan and he lives in Chicago. I did, too, two years ago. We were in love. At least I thought we were. But then Dylan started disappearing on me.”

She gulped more tea, ate more muffin and kept talking. “He claimed he was just out with his friends, but then he got a message on his answering machine from a woman.”

“And you overheard it?”

She blushed. “I figured out his check-messages code, so I’d been anticipating a problem. You know, to brace myself? Checking now and then. Well, every day. Sometimes twice.”

He just looked at her.

“I know. Unhealthy sign, but my instincts were dead-on. There was a woman. I confronted Dylan, but he said I was trying to put him on a choke chain like a dog. I told him he was a dog—a bad, bad dog—but he said I should enjoy the time we had, we only have the present moment and other existential blah-blah.”

“So, what did you do after that?”

“I couldn’t hack it. Smelling another woman’s perfume in his place or finding a forgotten hair band on the sink just brutalized me. So I broke up with him. There was this amazing job in New York, so I went.”

“So, you made a decision to take care of yourself.”

“What else could I do? I was miserable, eating my roommates out of house and home. I would tell them to hide the good stuff, but I’d hunt it down and eat it anyway. Totally out of control.” She finished her muffin, then glanced at his.

“Help yourself,” he said.

“If you’re sure.”

He nodded. “So, you moved on…” he prodded her.

“Yes. To New York. And that’s been awesome. I love my job. I have friends. And I’m dating this guy Mark. He’s not exactly my type, but he’s always buying me gifts and flowers. And he listens to me. Dylan never listened. I think Mark wants to get serious. Which is all good…” She made another face. “This muffin is even drier than mine.” She tossed it into the trash basket.

“Mind if I check out your minibar?” she asked.

“By all means. Like you said, that’s what it’s there for.”

She shuffled through the contents of the small refrigerator and emerged with a packet of Lorna Doone cookies and a bag of Raisinettes. How did she keep her weight under control? Maybe she didn’t do anxious eating often.

She ripped open the candy bag and offered him some.

“No, thanks.”

“Oh, right. Waiting for dinner.” She put a few raisins on the cookie and wolfed it down. “Where was I?”

“It was all good?”

“Yes. But just before we left New York, I called Dylan to tell him I was coming. And he was so happy about it. And I do want to see him again. So much. I’m afraid that going to New York was just running away from our problems. But maybe that’s fooling myself and I should let it go.”

“That’s a serious dilemma that many people—”

“It’s like sticking your tongue in a sore place on your cheek, you know? How you can’t leave it alone?”

“In my experience, after a breakup, there is a tendency to want a chance to revisit the relationship.”

“That’s from the ‘Love…the Ultimate Imbalance’ chapter in your book, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and—”

“But maybe until I say goodbye to Dylan, I can’t say hello to Mark. Does that make any sense?”

“That’s a possibility, but—”

“But I could be rationalizing. Except Dylan sounds so different. People can change, can’t they?”

He opened his mouth, but she kept going.

“I know. People are basically who they are. If Dylan is toxic to me, I’ll get my heart broken again.”

While she paused to prepare another raisin-topped cookie, he managed to say, “So, you’re concerned about how it will be to see him again?”

“Yeah and I know you’ll tell me not to sleep with him.” She took the cookie in one bite and washed it down with tea.

“If it distorts your sense of self and direction, then—”

“Don’t do it. Right.” She spilled the last of the cookies from their package onto the table and dunked one in the tea. “Except our best times were in bed, Dan. How will I know we’re over if I don’t sleep with him?”

He didn’t speak. What was the point? His role seemed to be sounding board and refreshment source.

“So I should use the willpower mantra from your book—‘Stop, challenge and decide’—when I’m with him, huh?”

He waited to be sure she actually wanted him to answer, then said, “And take your emotional pulse from time to time.”

“So I’ll get some self-control practice at least.”

“Sounds like it.” He resisted the urge to say more. She’d clearly decided what to do.

“Thanks, Dr. McAlister,” she said, emotion shining in her eyes. “I know, call you Dan, but this has been therapy, so I owe you a doctor or two, don’t you think?” She dunked the last cookie into the tea and inhaled it, then looked at her watch. “Sheesh. It’s dinnertime and I’m full.” She shook her head, then looked at him, sheepish now. “Do you mind if we do the media prep session in the morning? I kind of told Dylan we’d get together after dinner. If it’s all right with you and Kathleen.”

“Not a problem. I don’t think I’ll need help.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Though right now, he’d prefer Rhonda’s chit-chat to another cranky encounter with Kathleen. Too bad she didn’t have an old boyfriend in Chicago to visit. Besides him.

THIS WAS RIDICULOUS, Kathleen thought, rushing around her suite after dinner refreshing the flowers and lighting new candles for Dan’s arrival. She was acting as though this was a date, not a disagreement.

But bustling kept her from stewing, which she did every time she thought about the section she’d practically memorized in Dan’s book.

She regretted being testy with Dan today. She needed to behave rationally if she expected to convince him that he was as much responsible for how crazy things got as she was. No matter what, she would not yell or make snide remarks…

Or threaten him with nail scissors.

Her heart thudded against her ribs as though it was doing the bunny hop on speed. What was going on here? Her desire for Dan and her anger at him were mixing dangerously, like the two parts of nitroglycerin—separately serene, but explosive together.

To enhance the moment and reduce her distress, she’d ordered a selection of desserts from room service, chilled drinks—champagne for her and flavored mineral water for him—put a soothing instrumental on her CD player and misted the room with lavender-rosemary for its calming effect.

For comfort, she wore her stretchiest T-shirt and a pair of jersey shorts so soft they felt like a second skin. How things felt—and smelled and tasted and sounded—meant everything to her. She’d been that way since childhood. Mostly since the accident. A memory she usually avoided. Being around Dan brought up lots of disturbing memories.

She’d been ten and her father had allowed her to ride her bike on the big street—usually against the rules, but he had a client coming and wanted a quiet house. She’d had a blast and felt so grown-up and adventurous riding over to her friend’s. On the way back, she’d misjudged a corner and been hit by a car.

Spinal damage caused much of her body to go numb. Her limbs felt the way an arm does when you sleep on it. Except without the tingles that promised life would return to the bloodless limb.

She would tell herself to lift her arm and watch it rise, but it didn’t feel like part of her. It was strange and surreal and terrifying. Especially because, at first, the doctors weren’t sure she would get the sensations back.

After three weeks, though, tingling started here and there—wisping along her nerves like an ice cube down the back. Her first real awareness was of the weight of a book her mother had braced on her stomach with a pillow. Kathleen had grabbed its edges, squeezed its corners, rubbed its smooth surface and burst into tears of relief.

She’d appreciated every moment of her recovery. It was as if someone had opened her up and poured new life into her.

After that, all sensations took on an unexpected vividness—the nothingness had made her appreciate every bodily reaction. Not just touch, but also taste and smell and sight and sound. In a way, the accident had set her on her life course.

It had done other things that weren’t so good—like led to her parents’ divorce—but she preferred to focus on the positives.

She hadn’t written about the accident in her column or any of her books. Unlike Dan, she didn’t feel compelled to confess painful seminal moments—not even disguised as a “young woman of my acquaintance.” Her philosophy stood strong and fine without explanation. Besides, the story was far too intimate.

She pushed away the memories and focused on displaying the desserts to their best advantage…much more satisfying than a walk down a mucky memory lane.

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