No later than five.

I’m pretty sure that’s what Chuck said when we spoke on the phone two days ago. Chuck is really Charles Vanderbuilt, (nope, no relation to those people.) He is my guy friend that now lives in Philadelphia. My name is Sandy McCartney, (I have no famous relatives either) and I live in Vienna Virginia. Chuck and I are more than platonic friends. We have been on again, off again lovers for over a year now. Chuck didn’t move away from me because he wanted to. He recently acquired his MBA and got a job offer from Heinz. (You know, the company that makes ketchup.) So he moved to Philly and we are in a trial period to see how our relationship fares over long distance. Since it hadn’t been all that great when he only lived seven miles away, I figured it really had no where to go but up. It’s been three weeks since our last visit.

“I can’t wait to see you Babe,” had been his final words when our plans were solidified. Well, not exactly… his precise final words were, “And make sure the beer is cold.”

Mostly I like Chuck. He is smart, funny and usually sincere. But there are things that I’m not so crazy about too; like when he acts arrogant, smokes cigarettes or sports a cruel sense of humor.There is also the fact that his weight keeps climbing. Now I know that sounds shallow, but in the two years I’ve known him, he has increased pant sizes twice. So you can believe me when I say that he doesn’t need the extra calories in beer, whether it is cold or not.

As I’m anxiously awaiting his arrival and slicing up carrots for the veggie platter, my cell phone rings. Chuck’s name and picture smile at me as I pick up. “Hi Sweetie,” I say, mid- chop,”Where are you?”
“Still on the road,” he huffs. “Traffic has been the shits! I’m going to be late.” (Hmmm, I kinda saw that coming since the microwave clock was reading 5:45.)
“How much longer?” I questioned.
“It’s pretty bad, maybe an hour.”
“What?” I cried in disbelief. And then it got better.
“Yeah, probably an hour and then I have to make a work related phone call at 7…. Oh and Babe,” he added, “you got plenty of cold beer, right?”
“Sure,” I said, feeling a little despondent. “There is a case of Corona’s waiting for you.”
“Excellent! See you soon.”
We hung up and I began slicing limes.

I should probably give you the lay out of my house so you can better appreciate the remainder of this narrative. If you were to walk up the path and come in through the front door, you would be greeted by a wall of glass surrounding the Great Room that over looks the driveway. If instead, you were to pull your car to the end of this driveway, you would enter the house through the garage, and walk up a few steps before beholding the same room. My bedroom is down the hall on the right and rests directly over the garage. The garage is where the Corona’s sit like waiting ducks in a fridge.

When Chuck called around 6:30 to say he was five minutes away, I went down to the lower level, raised the garage door so he could let himself in, and brought up three bottles of beer. I placed one in the upstairs fridge and was inserting freshly sliced limes into the other two bottle necks, when I could sense his presence behind me. I felt his warm arms encircle me and began melting back into his embrace before I realized that he wasn’t seizing me, he was lunging for the beer.

“Now that’s my girl,” he stated smartly. “I love a woman that knows how to be ready for her man.” With that, he leaned his head way back and slaked his thirst with the entire bottle in four gulps.
“Jesus Chuck,” I said a little appalled, “nice to see you too.”
“Oh come on Sandy,” he said with a boyish grin as he set the empty on the counter top, “it was a long drive.” He then obligingly bundled me in his arms and kissed me properly. Now, Chuck is a really good kisser. And he is a great hugger too, which means I simply can’t stay mad, and he knows it. Wasting no further time with affection, he stepped back, reached around me again and stole my beer. Pecking me quickly on the cheek, he headed back down the stairs. Over his departing shoulder, he threw me a bone, “Sorry Babe, but I gotta go to my car and make that phone call. I’ll only be a minute.”
“What?” I whined, “You just got here. What’s your hurry?”
“It’s business,” he affirmed, “I might as well get it over with and then it’s just you and me for the rest of the weekend.”

Although not pleased, I had to agree that getting that call out of the way early was probably the best idea. To busy myself during his absence, I took a load of clothes out of the dryer, placed another one in, and began folding. About ten minutes later, I walked into the Great Room, and peered down on his car. I could see him sitting with the phone at his ear, puffing on a cigarette. His driver’s side window was open and I watched as he chatted freely, swinging his bottle to and fro. Two empty Corona’s and three cigarette butts lay on the asphalt.

I must admit I was feeling neglected. He had come all this way to spend time with me and so far, contact had totaled less than three minutes. “Just be patient,” I reminded myself. “This is a new job and I’m sure he’s schmoozing some superior.”

I set the table, checked on the chicken, and continued waiting. I’m not a patient waiter, I know this about myself. So after another 10 minutes had rolled off the microwave and noting that he was still engrossed in conversation, I carried the folded laundry into my bedroom. Once again I peered down on him, but this was from a greater vantage point. I not only had sight, I had sound. Because of balmy weather, the window was open, allowing me to hear every word he spoke.

With a pile of clean towels in my arms, I stood there trying to assess why this was all taking so long. I wasn’t hiding or spying. I was actually hoping he would look up, see me, and realize that the end of this conversation was long overdue. But that’s not what happened.

Chuck continued his animated chatting, oblivious to the fact that he was under observation. Three dead soldiers now lay on the pavement while a half dozen butts mourned their demise.
“What the hell,” I wondered? “This is very weird.”
Instead of being upset, I found myself mesmerized. Holding my position, I watched and listened. “Ha, Ha, Ha… Yeah… that’s really funny. Awwww…come on now… you know you want to.”

Confusion was just added to curiosity. This seemed like a very unusual conversation with one’s boss, so I continued to eavesdrop. Chuckling Chuck’s next move was to open his car door.
“Finally,” I thought, “this call is terminating. I can’t wait to hear all the details.”

Chuck struggled a little to get out from behind the wheel, partially because of his extra pounds, but primarily because he was juggling bottle, cigarette and cell phone. I stared down at him as he swallowed the last swig, threw the bottle and butt on the pile, and headed into the garage.

Assuming he was coming inside, I turned to exit the room and meet him at the top of the stairs; but before I got far, I heard him bellow with laughter. Returning to the open window, I witnessed him sashaying back to the car with another pilfered beer in tow. Slouching into the driver’s seat, with the phone still glued to his ear, he lit up. I was dumbstruck by this visual, but even more surprised by the audio that filtered up through the screen, like smoke tentacles from a camp fire.
“It’ll be great, trust me! ….. Yeah, It’s a really nice bar, I’ve been there before.” He paused as he took a long drag and exhaled a voluminous puff of smoke. “ Ok, Thursday it is! ….. Don’t change your mind. …. You know you really want to.”

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. Holy crap! It was as if someone had just pulled the chain dangling from a light bulb. My world was suddenly flooded with insight. Chuck wasn’t talking to his boss or one of his colleagues, Chuck was making a date! And not a business date, he was making a hook-up! It was now painfully obvious that this call had been prearranged before he ever left Philadelphia. And, as if that weren’t bad enough, he was literally sealing the deal, right under my nose.

I must have been in shock, because my next move was very calm and deliberate. I gently laid the clean linens on the bed, walked confidently out of the bedroom and down the steps to the garage. I opened the door, raised my hand, drew out my pointer finger and pressed the button to close the automatic garage door. I can only imagine the dumbfounded look on Chuck’s face when the curtain went down and he realized that his supply had been cut off.

My cell phone lit up almost immediately with Chuck’s two-timing image. I watched it ring, but didn’t answer. His face reappeared again and then again. I gazed out the Great Room window and watched as a totally exasperated Chuck, with phone still stuck to his head, backed furtively out of the driveway, leaving a trail of litter in his wake.

It was his acquisition of that last beer that jolted my senses. Until that moment, I would have believed any story he told me. But when they say that one picture is worth a thousand words, and you actually HEAR words, denial is impossible
.
When I finally decided to answer one of Chuck’s many calls, he immediately tried to put me on the defensive. “What’d ya go and do that for?” was his imbecilic question to me. “Are you crazy?”
“Me?” I asked quite innocently, “Am I crazy?” (He had to be kidding right?) “Let me get this straight Charles. You were sitting in my driveway, guzzling my beer, trashing my yard, while making a date with another woman and you think I’M crazy?” There was a pause as I absorbed the truth of my own words.

“Yeah, I do,” he yelled back. “Jesus Sandy, it’s no big deal. I’m not seeing her til next week. Where the hell am I supposed to sleep tonight?”

I was stunned at that ridiculous statement, yet at the same time, knew he was absolutely serious. Chuck saw nothing wrong in what he’d done, only that I was denying him bed and beer. He was in mid-sentence making some other ludicrous declaration when I hung up the phone.

There is an old adage that says chalk it up to experience and that is exactly what I decided to do. With a Mona Lisa smile on my face, I turned off my phone and walked into the kitchen, where I opened the refrigerator and removed the one remaining Corona. After popping its top and adding a lime, I held the brew high and offered a cheer. “Congratulations Sandy, you have just elevated your prowess as a dietitian and socially responsible citizen by recognizing that your overweight friend has just had One Beer Too Many!”