CHAPTER THREE:

The next morning I woke trying to focus on the positive aspects of spending the rest of my life with an ex-fiancée. That might sound strange to anyone that hasn't watched the first forty years of their life fly by without being betrothed at least once, but for those who've ever had to stumble through a response to questions like "You mean you've never even been engaged?" you'll understand what I mean. At least I had something to throw out as an answer, something that wouldn't immediately render my sexuality suspect, or have folks wondering what deviate personality flaw I possessed that was keeping the keepers at bay.

"Yeah, I came close once."

That would be my response going forward, and for that at least I could take some solace from my breakup with Ms. McDonough.

I got to the paper early that morning, heading straight for Carl's office to give him the news that I was officially available for his little story after all. He seemed to know I was coming.

"Come in, Mark. I picked up an extra coffee at Starbucks on the way in. You want it?"

"Thanks. I'd love it."

Carl was still acting somewhat outside his norm, but this morning was different than the day before. He seemed nervous.

"So, it looks like my schedule is clear for your South Carolina gig," I said after a couple sips of the dark, rich Hawaiian Kona.

"Yeah, I heard. I'm sorry about all that, Mark."

"You heard? You mean word is already on the streets?"

"Well, you know...Karen and my Susan have gotten pretty close the past few months. They talk a lot."

As proud as I am of my ability to see things coming, it's a skill that doesn't seem to apply to my love life. It was all starting to come together, though.

"You knew yesterday, didn't you?"

Carl went from nervous to scared.

"I didn't really...not that she was going to..."

"You son-of-a-bitch. You knew she was going to dump me last night and you didn't say a word about it."

"No, you're wrong. I didn't know she was going to actually dump you. The only thing that I ..."

"Un-frigging believable. Is that why I've been banished to the sticks in the Carolinas?"

"No, the two aren't related," Carl said with a sudden burst of surety. " Be mad at me if you like, but you have to separate the two."

"Seems awful convenient, Carl."

"Yeah, well I knew that's what you'd think. You have to get over it though. I'm telling you this South Carolina story has legs."

Carl was getting animated.

"Relax, Carl. I'm gonna do the story. Fact is, it's probably a good idea to get out of town for awhile. Give myself something to think about other than women."

"Good. That's real good."

After a while of nothing between us, Carl may have been wishing he'd brought along an extra donut rather than a tall cup of hot Starbucks for me to sip at.

"So, what do you think, Mark? You and Karen going to be able to work through this?"

"I doubt it, Carl. I know it may seem sudden to you - on second thought, maybe with your Susan connection it's not all that sudden - but this has been building for awhile."

"Is there a compromise in there. A middle ground you two can meet on?"

"I don't see it if there is. Not unless you want me working out of a house a hundred miles north of here."

"Karen feels that strongly about taking the job upstate now that she has her master's degree?"

"Yes, she does. I guess she just finds it impossible to pass up the whopping thirty-six thousand dollar a year salary they offered her. You know - what with her gazillionaire parents so strapped for cash and all."

"Maybe she doesn't want to have to keep depending on them, Mark. There is something to be said for independence."

His words were almost laughable, close as they were to the exact same ones I heard come from Karen's very own mouth so many times. I don't know how I ever missed the back channel connection through Susan.

"Yeah, well it hasn't bothered her all that much up till now. The woman's going to be thirty-two years old next month, and her dear daddy's been supplementing her social worker income for her entire adult life. She lives in Manhattan, for crying out loud. Let's not even discuss the seven years of full tuition at NYU."

"I can't argue with you there. Wish I had that kind of a safety net. I'd still be in school."

"What the hell would you want to go back to school for? You already run the biggest frat house in New York."

"Ain't it the truth?"

Thankfully we'd found a way out of the conversation. There was a lot more to be said, but neither one of us wanted to get into it. We probably never would.

"I suppose I better get a travel request in. No sense waiting around here with a vacation paradise like Camden, South Carolina waiting on me."

"You really don't have to take off right away, you know. You could hang out for a few days and not miss anything important down there."

"What for?"

Carl shrugged his shoulders. We shook hands across his desk, a confirmation that things were back to normal for both of us.

While waiting for my computer to fire up to get to the paper's Intranet, I had a genuine moment of sadness. The night before I'd been frustrated and angry over the quick outcome of my near-dinner with Karen, but as I watched Windows go through its start-up routine, I would have sworn I felt a sensation that can only be described as melancholia. It didn't last very long, but it was real. I can't say that it was directly caused by what happened with Karen, probably more a realization that the disappointing pattern of my love life had returned. A pattern that has regrettably become the template for every single relationship I have ever had with a woman.  It took longer to appear with Karen than with the others, so much so that I had lulled myself into thinking that she might actually be the one to finally break it. Hell, for each and every other woman I've ever dated the time frame had been 90 days or less. Within weeks, the first signs of discontent would appear, quickly moving along the scale to disappointment and displeasure. Inevitably, disdain would rear its ugly head. And by that I mean that very real "I can't stand to be near you" kind of thing. Not from my side - from the side of woman I was dating. I could see it coming every time. Or maybe better said I could hear it.  I could actually hear the end coming in the words they would use. Words, phrases, clichés - always escalating in severity, until finally reaching a point of no return.

"Why can't you do these things? You should be able to do these things. I hate that you can't do these things. I just can't stay with you if you can't do these things."

That's just one example of what I mean by an escalation of the words and phrases, but I could provide dozens more. Suffice it to say that with each new sign my own interest became less and less profound. Regardless how wonderful the other person may be, by the time the whole pattern has run its course I could care less. I mean, isn't it natural to want to be loved for who you are? I have come to understand why the women in my life can become so disgruntled by what I'm not capable of, but what I have never understood is why the spotlight can't be put on what I can do.  You know - a little balance between the ying and yang. Once, I even took the huge step of trying to communicate that very thought directly to a woman with whom I had an exceptionally good start. It didn't have any effect on the outcome, however. It's like the story of the scorpion that stung the turtle halfway across a pond, after the turtle had agreed to give the scorpion a ride because it couldn't swim.

"Why did you do it?" the turtle asked. "Now we're both going to die!"

"I couldn't help it," the scorpion replied. "It's just my nature."

In all these years I haven't figured out whether I'm the turtle or the scorpion. It doesn't really matter though. Going against the natural order of things has never seemed to me the smart road to take.

I will say this about Karen - she tried. Not to change me, but to accept me for who I am. We were happy for a very long time, almost two years. And although looking back I know that the same inevitable pattern was there with Karen as well, it crept along slowly. In the end though, I was ready for our conversation at Il Vagabondos, and to tell the truth maybe even grateful in a way that it came so cleanly. I would have hated for the final part of our time together to drag on, hiding all the really terrific times we had together in a fog of bitterness. It was encouraging to know when the end came I still loved the other person. And despite her obvious frustration when we split, I'm fairly certain Karen still loved me, too. It was something to hold on to; something to build on. The problem is that I'm running out of time to build. I'd say the only realistic chance left for me to be married before I turn forty-one is if I start lying about my age.

Within a few minutes of submitting an on-line travel request through the Intranet, the phone rang at my desk.

"Mr. Daniels, it's Kathy downstairs in the travel office."

"Kathy, how are you this morning?"

"I'm fine, thanks."

"That's pretty quick service. It may even be a new record."

"Yes, sir. Mr. Odette called ahead and asked me to be on the lookout for your travel request."

So much for Carl's "you don't have to leave right away" BS.

"He did, did he? He must really want to get me out of here."

"Oh, no sir. He just wanted me to have his approval ahead of time so as not to hold up your travel plans."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's it. Listen Kathy, before we go any further, I need to ask a favor of you."

"What's that Mr. Daniels?"

"Don't call me sir anymore this morning. It's a bad time for me to be feeling old."

"You're funny, Mr. Daniels."

"And no more Mr. Daniels. My name is Mark."

"OK, Mark. Will there be anything else."

"Yes. Flirt with me a little bit."

"I'm sorry?"

"You know, let's have some playful banter back and forth. The kind that two people have when they're teasing with the idea of a dating ritual."

"I know what flirting is. Though I must say you writers always seem to find so many complicated ways to explain things. I'm afraid I can't comply, however."

"Why not?"

"You're engaged, Mark. Remember?"

I debated whether to share the news, but the idea of a sympathy flirt wasn't very appealing.

"Yes. Well then - tell me what my options are for travel to Camden, South cack-a-lackee."

"For starters, you'll have to fly into Charleston. There's plenty of direct flights going in and out of there, but the best I can tell you've got about a two-and-a-half hour drive into Camden."

"Is it close to an interstate at least?"

"Depends on what you call close. I looks to be about 45 miles form the nearest exit off I-95."

"You're kidding. I don't think I've ever been 45 miles away from an interstate exit in my entire life."

"Yeah, well from what I understand there are people down there that haven't ever seen the interstate."

We both laughed, but I could easily imagine her light-hearted assertion might be more on the money than she thought. At least it would fit within the stereotype we Yankees have of all Southerners. A sense of superiority helps us get through the brutal winters our cousins below the Mason-Dixon Line don't have to put up with. It's our only answer to the seemingly logical January question of "why the hell do you stay there?"

"OK, then. Make sure you get me a decent rental car for the drive. No compacts. A mid-sized at the very least."

"You've got it. What day would you like to leave?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"Early, or..."

"Get me the first flight out."

There was a delay while Kathy checked the system on the other end, an interlude where I almost jumped back in to give myself another day. Another day to see if maybe Karen had a change of heart.

"It looks like the first flight out tomorrow is at seven-fifteen from La Guardia. Is that too early for you?"

I hung on to the Karen idea a bit before answering.

"Mark - are you still on the line?"

"Book it, Kathy. No need to delay the inevitable."

"Consider it done. Now, the only hotel I recognize is a Marriot Courtyard, but, I'm afraid it's back at the exit off the interstate. That's a pretty good sized commute if you're going to go back and forth to Camden every day."

"I'll take it. There's no way I'm going to roll the dice on the standards of the local establishments. I've developed a real quirk about having my own bathroom when I'm on the road."

"I understand, completely," Kathy said, enjoying my quip.

It took a just a minute or two to get everything finalized, and before she came back on the line I heard the ping of an email landing in my mailbox.

"You're all set Mr. Daniels. I just sent you the itinerary and confirmation numbers. Is there anything else I can do for you today?"

"No, you've been great Kathy. Thanks."

"Oh, you're very welcome. Mark - can I give you one small piece of advice before we hang up?"

"Um...sure. What've you got?"

"Don't flirt with any of the woman down there. I've heard horror stories involving angry fathers and shotgun weddings."

I laughed loudly. "Good safety tip, Kathy."

"If the urge to flirt gets a little too overwhelming, call me back on the toll free line and I'll do what I can to help out."

A small dollop of salve to apply to a wounded heart.

"I will absolutely keep that in mind. I'll talk to you soon."

"Have a good trip."

After buttoning up a few loose ends for the intern that would be taking over the Hodges story, I took the rest of the day off to get myself packed for the ridiculously early flight Kathy booked for me. I always seem to do that to myself. Book the first flight out, and then regret not asking for one at a more civil hour. I think that somewhere drifting in my subconscious is a bent for wanting to use the words "get me the first flight out". It's so dramatic. It seems like anyone taking the first flight out of New York must be awfully important, because to catch it you really have to start for the airport the night before.

By early evening I'd finished the job of getting ready. After laying out the clothes I would to wear for the trip, I set my fully packed bags next to the door for the cab driver to help carry downstairs in the morning.  That was probably a mistake - the symbolism was pretty powerful. With nothing left but to knock around a little and take it easy, I sat down in the corner chair in my living room to watch TV. The thing is I never sit in the corner chair to watch TV. It has the worst angle for viewing and for all intents and purposes is there for decorative purposes only. It is closest to the phone, however, and I think some small part of me was waiting on a phone call that would never come.