Arthur/Penny: That's settling in TOO much!

Jessica eventually made it to Montreal, just a few days late. After spending a couple nights on my couch, she was looking forward to spending a few more days on Louisa's bed.

I was kind of surprised to hear Louisa talking about going to Montreal, but soon after I last saw her, the folks she was working for as a researcher had to make some tough decisions about how to allocate their visa sponsorships, and "Marie" was the odd one out. She did a good enough job that Parker's boss put in a good word for her with some people in Vancouver, but she didn't like it there. She put in a call to Jean-Michel, found out that André Trudeau had a new girl half his age and wasn't particularly concerned about Marie Desjardins any more. The coast being clear, she moved back to Montreal, and with recommendations from both Hollywood and Vancouver, was soon doing similar work there.

I imagine Jess and Louisa were happy to see each other; they became close on their road trip - I don't think Jessica would be nearly as open as she is now without Louisa. Jess was heading up north to do tourist stuff, so I was a little surprised when I saw her name pop up on my IM friends list, especially she immediately sent me a message: "Talk to Ashlyn. Now."

I texted back, saying I wasn't ready, and she said she didn't care. She sent me a couple of links to stories in the local papers, and said that being in a newspaper office myself, I could probably find more, and Lyn needed to know. As soon as I saw the first story, I knew she was right.

Jean-Michel Therriot is set to be tried for murder in late September.

Jean-Michel Therriot, for those who haven't been following the blog since the beginning, used to be Ashlyn Shelley, before she and Elizabeth Lee took a trip to the Trading Post Inn and... Well, it's all in the archives. We always knew he was involved in some shady things up up there - that's why the original Jean-Michel Therriot and Marie Desjardins were so hard to find, they opted to keep a very low profile lest some of their old lives came back to find them. Lyn used to keep in closer touch with him, but he's wrapped up in a lot of bad stuff - local mob boss André Trudeau on the one hand, Pygmalion on the other. Even if Lyn hadn't severed her ties with Pygmalion as much as we'd thought, she was staying away from that more.

I admit, I was still mad enough at Lyn that I didn't just drop everything and go tell her, although I told myself that the weekend baseball preview wasn't going to write itself. I finished that and called her. She said she had to work all night, a little frosty, and I said fine. Then immediately felt like crap and went to Headlights.

I've been there before in his body, and I'd like to say that I found places like it tacky even when I was a man, but, yeah, it's an experience walking into that pool of testosterone alone as a woman. The stripper-looking girl who greeted me at the door asked if I was meeting someone and I said sort of, I need to talk to one of the employees, Ashlyn. She said there were two, I said the redhead, and she pointed me at the bar.

Lyn was tending bar that night, and looked a little surprised when she saw me. She asked what I wanted, in an angry way, and I told her scotch, neat, and get one for herself, because she was going to need it. She said that me coming to her place of business to bitch at her was crossing the line, and I laid the printouts of the stories on the bar for her to look at.

She poured the drinks, and downed them both.

Then she surprised the hell out of me. She asked one of the other girls to cover for her and walked into the back. I ordered a beer from the new girl, and had just about finished it when she came out wearing street clothes. I said it was probably a good idea to take the night off, and she sort of grunted, saying she'd quit.

I knew why, but I still made sure I found a place that served fancy coffees and got her the most expensive one on the menu. She didn't say much as she drank it, just pored over the news stories. I got English translations where I could, but a lot were in French. The thrust of the matter was still the same, though - noted Trudeau family associate Jean-Michel Therriot had been careless taking out a bookie who was withholding the organization's cut earlier this year, and there'd been a witness. There was speculation that the prosecution was going to try to turn him, but so far, he'd refused to speak with anyone but his attorney, a noted mob lawyer. Everyone was very confident of a conviction.

Lyn read them all, and then just started crying. "I don't know why this upsets me so much... I mean, things are going so well with me and my boyfriend, Jean-Michel is no more Ashlyn Shelley these days than I am Jake Mathews, right? It's got nothing to do with me."

Some folks were starting to look our way, but I gave them a look that said to buzz off. "But it is all about me, isn't it? It's all about how I just slipped right into the life Ashlyn would have led if she hadn't gone to that Inn, just like she became a gangster. I mean, fuck, some nights, when someone would give me a ridiculous tip or a basketball player came in, I'd think this is better than being me, that my whole life as Jake existed just to get me to that Inn so that I could have this one. How stupid is that? I thought I was doing real well, taking a bartending course so that I could get some hours there. But if this is what Jean-Michel gets brought down to... Where's my bottom? Stripping? Hooking? Porn? Marrying Matt because I've got nothing else? Or just following some trail that some god-damn ghost has quietly laid in front of me?"

Eventually, we went back to my place - she didn't really want to see Matt tonight, just in case he was part of some Pygmalion plot. She demonstrated some mean bartending skills after we made a stop at the liquor store, more than enough to put herself out.

I don't know what she's going to do next, but I guess I'll wind up helping. She needs someone to trust, and I may have a ton of my own issues right now, but I don't know who else can be that for her.

-Art/Penny

Ashlyn--My life is an open book

It’s always odd meeting someone who has read the blog. It was true for when I met Jessica, and it turned out true for Louise Torrence. Having read the blog she did know how to bribe me to get me to meet with her; she suggested we meet at Starbucks, and the drinks were on her--not that she needed to bribe me; I’m always up for meeting victims of the Trading Post inn.

As I walked into the Cambridgeside mall Starbuck and I instantly recognized the form of Marie Desjardins; I had met “her” a few times around New Years when I went to Canada as Jean-Michel’s date. I walked over to the beautiful dark haired woman “Louise?” I ask.

She looks up from the book she was reading, surprised. “Sorry. I was totally absorbed; I didn’t see you come in.”

‘Marie’ was in her mid-twenties and had an attractive face and large expressive brown eyes. She was tallish and had a curvy, elegant figure which wasn’t totally hidden in her conservative style of dress. She wore a no nonsense white blouse and a long blue skirt. I felt a little self conscious because I dressed totally the opposite—denim micro mini skirt and a top that was very much like a red Polo except it was tight and it’s neckline plunged way farther than a normal Polo. I keep thinking I need to buy some more conservative clothing—but then again, what’s the fun in that? Besides, it's summer, and it has actually gotten hot lately--not Texas hot, but hot enough that I wanted to wear as little clothing as necessary.

We shook hands, and I sat in the seat across from her. Because of the shortness of the skirt I had to be careful sitting down, and had to cross my legs. This seems to amuse Louise. She puts a bookmark into her Mary Higgins Clark mystery novel and set the book aside. “Thanks for meeting me.” She says.

“No problem. I like to help out when it comes to things about the Inn. I assume this is mine?” I was pointing to the second Starbucks cup sitting on the table.

“Grande non-fat chai, right?” She asked.

I nod my head. “Thank you. I can’t believe you picked up that little detail up from the blog.”

She smiled. “You are welcome. I’m an avid reader and I tend to remember what I read. I’m one of those people who always carry a book or two with them. When I found your blog I ate it up like candy; it seemed like the thing to do now that I too am a victim of the Inn. It’s been the best resource so far as to what has happened to me.”

My hair was in my face, so I brush it back over an ear, and pick up my chai and take a sip. I can feel all the stress leaving my body. “That is so good.”

She watches me for a moment. “I don’t want to sound rude, “ she says carefully, “but you don’t come off as ‘manish’ at all.”

I laughed. “Expecting to see some trace of the man inside? Well you have to remember, I’ve been Ashlyn for nearly a year now. I’ve had plenty of time to adapt—or at least I have gotten really good at mimicking women.”

“Amazing. I don’t know if I would have done so well if I had woken up a man instead of Marie. Some of the other guests who were with me at the Inn crossed gender lines, we had one man, now a woman, threaten suicide.” She said.

“You’ve read the blog, I was a mess in the beginning as well. I equate the curse of the Inn to the death of someone very close—at first it hurts like hell, but as time passes it gets easier. I hope that guy doesn’t do something drastic.”

We sit for a moment, drinking our coffees and she changes the subject. “I’m looking for Marie Desjardins.” She says.

“I’m looking at her.” I joked.

“The original Marie.” Her face said she didn’t think I was funny.

“And you think I can help you find her somehow?” I ask.

“Elizabeth thought so.”

“Liz doesn’t read the blog, and she’s got her head buried in the sand. She doesn’t know I put basically everything I know about the Inn into the blog. Why do you want to find this woman anyway? She obviously didn’t want to have anything to do with her old life.”

“Her mother died. She deserves to know that. Family is important; I would have thought you would appreciate that.” She states.

I must have given her a blank stare, not following her line of thought.

“Because you lost your family at such a young age. Family seems to be important to you now.”

There it was again, she knew details of my life than you don’t expect from a total stranger. She was right, I never really got over losing my parents as Jake; and Ashlyn’s parents—my parents now—have been away on a business trip all summer. It was amazing to me how fast I bonded with them and how I missed them.

“Besides, she might be interested in getting her old life back if she knew she could be free of André Trudeau. Jean-Michel thinks he knows a way to do that.”

Okay, she had made several good points. She had won me over to her line of thinking. “How is Jean-Michel these days?”

Louise shrugs. “I don’t know how to answer that. I really haven’t known him that long. I would say he seems to be thriving under the circumstances.” She says. “Handsome man.” She adds.

“Yes he is.” I agreed—it just kind out slipped out. I realized a month ago I started noticing how Matt—the boyfriend—was in such good shape. And when a good looking guy would come into Headlights, all the girls would gather and gush over the guy—and let me tell you, girls are just as bad as guys when it comes to objectifying the opposite sex. “Did you see his ass? Omigod!” Lately, I’ve been able to see what they were pointing out.

I change the subject. “I don’t know how much help I could be in finding the original Marie, but I may know someone who might be just the person you need.”

“Yes?”

“She’s coming to visit me in a couple of days. Jessica.”

“The police detective who is now a teenage girl.” She remembered.

“Right. Only now she’s a high school graduate. If anyone could help you, she can.”

Louise seemed extremely excited about meeting Jessica. Jess is coming up to visit and hang out in Boston for a few days. “I want to let my hair down and act like a teenage girl for a while; and have some fun.” She said to me on the phone. I guess she decided I was the person to do that with. I hope she doesn’t mind I added something to her plate.

--Ashlyn

Ashlyn--Sex, Sox & Sacked

The Sacked part:

Wednesday, a week ago, I walk into the restaurant I work at and I could instantly tell something was wrong. The people who work there are generally a friendly group; but when I walked in no one said anything to me or even looked in my direction. Before I could corner someone and asked what was going on, Maddie walked into the main dining room and asked me into the office.

I knew what was coming. Maddie and I had been butting heads for a few weeks now, so I knew it was only a matter of time before I got the boot.

“Have a seat.” She motions to a chair opposite her desk.

I’ve never been fired before--mostly because I worked for myself most of my life. As a teen and in my college years I worked for other companies, and I never had any issues. Later in life, as I did freelance graphics, I was always heavily recruited by companies. I was turning potential employers away.

Yet mysteriously, after spending a little more than half a year as Ashlyn, I find I can’t keep a stupid waitressing job. I keep telling myself that—it’s a stupid waitressing job, it’s a stupid waitressing job—but I’m embarrassed anyway, and I actually fought back tears.
I sit down, my face hot with shame, and forced myself to remain calm and unaffected.

“So Ashlyn,” Maddie looked smug. I couldn’t help but imagine she was enjoying this—she was finally putting me in my place. “I’ve had to call you into my office a few times this month, and I think I have gone way beyond were I needed to go to resolve your issues. I’m afraid I am still not satisfied with your work performance. The restaurant has also received some complaints about you, so we have decided to let you go.”

“Complaints?” I was surprised, this was the first I had heard of any complaints. “Who has complaints against me?”

“We received some letters in the mail.” She states coldly.

“Can I see them?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

We talked for a little while, but to be honest, I can’t really remember what was said because I kind of tuned her out. I just sat there feeling like a complete idiot and failure.

Eventually she stood up and asked me to leave, the meeting was over.
And just like that I joined the ranks of the unemployed. She made me leave through the kitchen and out the back door—I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to everyone. Once I got a hundred yards away from the place I burst into tears. If I was still Jake, I wouldn’t had shed a tear over something like losing a job—but as Ashlyn, my emotions sometimes gets the better of me. It’s not that I’m more emotional as Ashlyn; it’s just harder to hide my feelings.

The Sox part 1:

My Secret Admirer has struck again. It’s like he knew I needed a little cheering up. The day after I was “let go” I received a letter. Inside was a simple message:

One of the best things about Boston are the Redsox.

Wrapped in the letter was one ticket to the Saturday Redsox / Yankees game(I’m a week behind in this blog—it was last Saturday’s game). I’m not much of a baseball fan, but I have lived in New England long enough to realize I had something pretty cool in a ticket to the game. People here are nuts for the Sox and absolutely hate the Yankees. I don’t know if I can convey the scope that the Redsox/Yankees series has for the fans—the city basically goes crazy for several days.

My roommates were jealous. “So are you going to the game by yourself? You don’t strike me as a ‘go by myself’ kind of girl.” Logan stated. I think he was subtly trying to get me to give him the ticket.

I give him smirk and shrugged. “I didn’t know, maybe I will. This is a really good seat. Maybe I’ll meet someone at the game.” Standing in front of him, I run the ticket under my nose and take a big whiff like I smell something delicious. “Besides, it’s a Yankees game!” I teased.

Logan stomped off grumbling something about redheads.

I’ve struggled with keeping the gifts from my admirer. Last month, before Jessica went back to New Haven, she gave me a little advice from her previous life as a police detective:
“Your secret admirer isn’t an admirer—he’s a stalker. He is probably watching you. Don’t keep the gifts he sends. When you keep the gifts it means you are playing along with whatever sick little game he’s playing—and it empowers him.”

At the time—I totally agreed with her. “You’re so right. I’ll get rid of everything.” I told her.
Only I didn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to throw away the iPod with the 80’s music he sent me. Instead I started using it. I started taking it everywhere, it became my constant companion. I listen to it when I work out, when I am on the T, and I sometimes even fall asleep listening to it.

I stuck the ticket in my purse—It would seem like such a waste not to go.


The Sex part:

Jean-Michel arrived in Boston last Friday. He showed up on our doorstep in the afternoon dressed to the nines and sporting a five o’clock shadow. He had that hip and dangerous look about him—or maybe he looked dangerous to me because I know what he does for a living. I’ll admit it—I’ve been looking forward to his visit ever since he called and said he was coming. Our time together in Canada had been extremely—pleasurable--and I was interested in picking up where we left off. I opened the door, stepped out to kiss him hello—at least that’s what I intended to do—Jean-Michel took it a little farther. He pulled me close and gave me a good ten second kiss. I guess he had been looking forward to seeing me too.

We broke from the kiss and there was some awkward silence as we grin at each other. “Come inside.” I say to him. “I’ll introduce you to my roommates.”

He steps into the house and takes a slow look around. “It feels so weird to be back here.”

Billie and J.J. come into the room; I’m guessing they were curious who was at the door. Jean-Michel didn’t miss a beat; he made his way over to them and turned on the charm and his French-Canadian accent. He took Billie’s hand as if he was going to shake it, but instead just held it.

“You must be Billie.” He pretends he doesn’t know her. “You’re as pretty as Ashlyn described.” He turned to J.J. and gave her the same treatment. I thought he was laying it on pretty thick, but my roommates seem to enjoy it. Logan walked in, and the reaction between him and Jean-Michel wasn’t so pleasant. I would say that the two of them had an instant dislike for each other, but Jean-Michel already knew Logan. Jean-Michel wrapped one arm around my waist and stuck out his other hand to Logan. Logan stiffly shook his hand.

“I’m Logan.”

“Jean-Michel.”

It wasn’t that there were hostile words were exchanged—it was just the look on Logan’s face expressed how he was feeling. The conversation got awkward after that, so I took Jean-Michel by the hand and led him away.

“I want to show you my bedroom.” I said for the benefit of my roommates—after all, Jean-Michel knew what my bedroom looked like, it was his not long ago.

“What’s with Logan?” Jean-Michel asked.

“I’m not sure.” I tell him. “I been dating one of the guys at the firehouse on and off for the past couple of months. Maybe he’s watching out for a buddy.”

“Is it serious?” Jean-Michel asks.

“What? The thing with the firefighter? Definitely not. He’s just a kid.”

“Have you looked in the mirror lately? You’re not that old.” He walks up behind me and gently turns the two of us to face the large mirror that hung on the wall.

“Do you remember the last time we stood together in front of a mirror?” He whispered in my ear.

I did. It lead to the first time I had sex as a woman—it was a pleasant memory. He started kissing my neck and I turned to face him, finding his lips with my own.

Whenever I kiss Matt—the fireman I date from time to time—there is always the thought in the back in my mind that I’m really a man, I shouldn’t be kissing him. But with Jean-Michel it’s different. With him it’s easy to let myself go and forget the past.
I eventually push him away. “I need to change into something to wear to dinner.”

“Don’t let me stop you—I’m starving.”

I hesitated, but went ahead and changed in front of him. I told myself I didn’t have anything he hadn’t seen before—or if the evening went well, he was going to see it all again later.

“How do you feel about packing an overnight bag?” He asked me. “I’m staying at the Hotel Marlowe here in Cambridge. It’s within walking distance, but it’s a beautiful room…”

“I’d love to.” I told him.

He surprised me with his choice of restaurant. I expected to go to something extravagant and expensive; instead we went to a place called “Redbones” in Somerville. It was a barbeque joint.
“I thought you might be missing Texas food. This might be the closest thing in Massachusetts.” He says to me.

I was thrilled and kind of went nuts. I ordered a sweet iced tea, Texas style ribs, macaroni and cheese, and fried okra. It was a ton of food—I ordered like I was still Jake and barely put a dent in it. I felt guilty eating such ‘heavy’ foods in front of Jean-Michel, I didn’t want him to think I mistreated his old body on a regular basis.

“I normally don’t eat like this. I don’t want you to think I’m letting your body go to hell.” I tell him.

He laughed. “Don’t worry about it. You look good! I can tell you keep in shape—if anything you might be in better shape than when I was Ashlyn. I was thin, but I don’t remember my abs looking as good as they do now. You work out?”

“Yeah, nearly every day.”

“Amazing. When I was you I might have worked out once a week.”

I passed on the sweet potato pie for dessert. I wanted it, but there was just no room—and because of the heavy meal I was already computing the extra time on the treadmill I was going to have to spend, and the pie was just going too far.

We went dancing after dinner. I was glad to work to work off the calories. We also started drinking heavily—or at least Jean-Michel did. I had a few, but I was amazed by the amount of alcohol Jean-Michel could consume.

“One of the perks of being a guy.” He says to me. “I’m no longer a lightweight.”

I however, was the lightweight now. I got a little uninhibited and Jean-Michel and I started making out on the dance floor.

“Maybe we should go to the hotel.” He says to me.

We catch a cab to the Marlowe and we continue to make out in the cab and in the elevator up to the room. I was crawling all over him and he basically carried me from the elevator to the room. As soon as we stepped into the room clothes started flying off--at least I hope I waited to remove clothes until I got to the room--I have vague memories of not being fully dressed in the elevator. Once I’m naked he picked me up and tossed me on the bed—I laughed my ass off.

There wasn’t much more foreplay. We were both hungry for each other and we got to the main event quickly. We were in a missionary position when he entered me.

I’m all gasps and small words at this point. “Oh….. oh god. Oh my god.” You get the idea.
We hadn’t been at it long, but I was so turned on I was already close to cumming.
“I’m close. Faster. Harder! Fuck me harder!” I gasp.

He complied. Soon I was crying out in pleasure as we both orgasm.

We lay there together for a while before either one of spoke.

“That was intense.” I said.

“Yeah.” He nods his head in agreement.

“So is this the weirdest sex you’ve ever had?” I motion to myself. “I mean, this used to be you.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, it's up there, although that first time with "Marie" comes close.”

I sat up in bed, surprised. “You what? She what? After all she put Art through, she goes and does that—“ I was mad.

“Hey, don't judge her too harshly. There's a scary guy who expects her to put out whenever he comes calling; it's not so bad for her to occasionally want to be with someone who knows who she really is and likes her for that. Besides…”.

“Besides what?” I demanded.

“Well, even though I know what a girl likes, it was good for my first few times to be with someone who knew me for me, too. We helped each other. Of course, then Andre noticed we were spending a little more time with each other than he'd like, so we had to cut it down. What? Are you jealous?”

“No! I’m upset for Art.” I knew I had to tell Art. I wondered how he was going to handle the news.

We have a little tension for a moment, which was cut by my cell phone ringing. It was at the bottom of my purse so I took out several things to get to the phone. Great, it was Art who was calling—I guess his ears were burning. I couldn’t talk to him at that moment—this was a conversation worthy of a trip to Starbucks. I turn the phone off as Jean-Michel reached for the small pile of items I removed from my purse.

“Hey, what’s this?” He said picking up the Redsox/Yankees game ticket.

“Oh, it’s to the game tomorrow night. I have a secret admirer who sends me things from time to time. Unfortuantly he only sent one ticket.”

Jean-Michel jumped up out of bed and pulled something out of his suitcase. It was also a ticket. He looked at both of them for a moment and then handed me both of them.

The seats were next to each other.

“I have a secret admirer too.” He states.

For the second time in the last ten minutes I was surprised. I told Jean-Michel about some of the gifts I received—the flowers, perfume, scooter and the iPod. Especially the iPod because it came installed with music from my old CD collection from my life as Jake. Jean-Michel also had received gifts in the mail.

“I received the car and some cash. In my early days of being Jean-Michel, I don’t think I would have survived without the help from our ‘secret admirer’.

“Damn. I feel slighted. You got a car.” I was kidding. “Why do you think this person is doing this?”

Jean-Michel climbed back in bed and wrapped an arm around me, pulling me to him. I leaned into him, resting my head on his chest.

“I think he’s helping us somehow.” Jean-Michel states. “I think he’s helping us establish our new lives.”

Hmmmm. That sounds nice, but it doesn’t explain why.

Ashlyn--Nobody knows the troubles I've seen...

Yeah, I admit it, I’ve been kind of down lately—so I haven’t been in the mood to write in this blog. Why am I down you ask? Here’s my list:

Taxes…

First of all, I’m not done with my taxes. When I was Jake I had an accountant. I would drop by his office, ask how much I owed, wrote a check, signed a few documents and was out the door. If we didn’t stop to talk about the Mavericks, it took less than fifteen minutes.
The original Ashlyn didn’t take care of her taxes, so her files were a huge mess—what little files that she had. What is really upsetting is the fact that she didn’t make any quarterly payments and didn’t set any money aside. I’m stuck with the bill which I really can’t afford—and if I don’t pay my taxes in full and on time, my monthly payment agreement for all of Ashlyn’s back taxes will be voided.

I am so screwed. I had been saving up to buy a new computer; something that might let me get back into doing graphics professionally again—I guess that money is going to Uncle Sam instead. I guess I’m stuck as a waitress for a little bit longer.

Speaking of work…

Maybe I should have said “I guess I’m stuck as a waitress as long as I don’t get fired.” The restaurant that I work for has two managers. They tend to break up the day in halves—one manager will work the day shift and the other the night. Maddie, one of the two, has had it in for me every since she walked into the ladies room and caught me changing into the skimpy outfit I wore for St. Patrick’s Day. I don’t know why that should have made a difference, but it has. Before that day she was warm and friendly toward me—now I can’t do anything right.
What drives me crazy is I have a strong work ethic, and I put 100% of myself into whatever I am doing. It’s what made me a moderate success in my graphics work—and even though being a waitress isn’t as challenging as some jobs, I try to bring a sense of professionalism to my work. I show up early and always try to have a good outlook.

Maddie called me into her office last week. She told me I needed to improve my attitude, spend more time with all my guests and to not spend so much time flirting with the guys. She also suggested I start dressing more conservatively. “This isn’t Hooter’s” she told me with a self righteous tone.

I wanted to tell her to stuff it—but I needed the job. So I took my scolding--but decided I might start looking for another job.

I have abandonment issues…

Art’s going back to the Inn in less than a month. By June he’ll be back in his own body and back to his life in California.
I’m happy for him. I swear. This isn’t bitterness that he is going to get his old life back and I wasn’t so lucky.

This is about a good friend going away.

I’ve made my peace about being turned into Ashlyn. My existence has gone from “struggling to adapt” to “it gets easier every day” to “it gets to be more enjoyable every day”. Some mornings I get up, look in the mirror, and consider myself damn lucky.

But even though I’ve accepted who I am now, there are times when the girl stuff is just too much. My brain rebels and demands I dwell on guy stuff: Sports. Movies with lots of explosions and special effects. Foods that have nothing to do with watching your weight. You get the idea.

Sure, I’m not pretending anymore—how I act from now on is how Ashlyn is going to be—I just find it’s easier to just be myself whenever Art and I hang out. Our conversations over a Starbuck’s chai are my opportunity to “let my hair down” and just be myself. You should have seen the confused looks some of the girls (from one of my radio station gigs) gave me when I started talking about how much I was looking forward to seeing Spiderman 3.
“I was such a big fan of Spiderman growing up.” I said. “I can’t wait to see how the special effects with Venom (a villain for you who didn’t grow up on comics) turned out.”
I get a lot of blank looks, and then we start talking about Kristen Dunst’s hair.
Art gets Spiderman—and all the other things that make up “guy talk”. Selfishly, I’m going to miss that.

Abandonment issues the sequel…

If it wasn’t bad enough that Art is leaving town, here’s insult to injury. A voicemail from my “mom”:

“Hi Sweetheart! I have amazing news! Your father ‘s work needs for him to go to New Zealand for a while! It’s a special project. He’s going for so long I’ve decided to go with him. We are leaving early June and won’t be back until August! Is that amazing or what! Call me!”

Great. Everyone is leaving me.

One bit of good news. Jean-Michel called. He has business in Boston this week and wanted to know if I wanted to have dinner. I gave him an ethusiastic yes.

Ashlyn