My partner is a shrink. Because of that she’s hung up on all kinds of things, like being healthy, not being unhealthy and watching Reality TV.

When we first met in October of 1990, the only real Reality on TV was the Olympics and those quick bits on the local news when a newscaster would mess up and you’d detect some joy or rage on her co-anchor’s face. Those stiff, little reveals were about all I could handle of people being Real on the increasingly larger and flatter box in our living room.

But Evelyn wanted more.

“They hate each other,” she’d say, all curled into my side like a sleepy cat. “Goddammit, I wish they kept a camera on during the commercials. I’d pay for that.” And I’d agree and even act out my version of their un-televised spat because back then even the most awkward moments could lead to sex or some intimacy.

And now she’s got more.

Everything on TV is real now, except the Dramas about people’s jobs. Those are my candy. Everybody fits in place, except the new guy; nobody looks into the camera. The characters are always falling in and out of love and running their un-sanitized hands through their hair, and you never have to listen anyone explain who he or she is in some sappy, ridiculous speech justifying themselves in a way that makes it obvious that the producers want you to enjoy mocking him or her. Mostly hers since Reality TV is especially bad on women. We’ll fight and cry and plot on camera like nobody is watching—as long as our hair looks good. It’s just not in our nature to conceal what we like about ourselves. There would be no reality without women, or girls, at least.

Evelyn loves the Dramas, too. There’s actually nothing on TV she doesn’t love. Sometimes we’ll be flipping through an infomercial and she’ll say, “Fuck, I love this part.” But Reality is her favorite.

We used to fight about it. A lot. I told her it was a consistently dumb fight to have. But she doesn’t believe there’s such a thing. So we even fought about whether it was worth fighting about.

Slowly, I sussed it out. Without explaining, I began to hang out in our office between the hours of 8 and 10, leaving her the dog and the cats to enjoy their Reality. Then after our biggest fight ever, which lasted the entire finale of Survivor III, it became official: She could watch whatever she wanted without grief, and I’d be back out right at ten so we’d get an hour of drama and snuggle towards bed in peace.

The only problems were when she still wanted to share something Real with me. But I’d just grin and bear it until I couldn’t anymore. “I’ll show you, I still’ve got the fucking thing on TIVO,” she’d say. “It’s cool. I get it,” I’d say in a manner that wasn’t only threatening but also begging her to let it go.

And she lets it go, 99% of the time. No one is perfect. Nobody who’d live with me, at least.

So, 8 to 10 every weekday is my private time. I don’t watch the other TV because that would feel like cheating. I used to surf the net for porn since that’s what the net is “for.” I gave that up because I got way too into it and figured watching dozens of strangers have sex must rot my brain a bit. So, then I read, which worked for a few months, maybe even a year. When I started practicing The Secret, I’d use the time for affirmations since it was the one time I was sure Evelyn would not walk in on me saying, “I am in the process of satisfying my every need and want.” When that got old, I started knitting, which I figured out does not calm me the way it does every other female on the planet. It makes me feel like choking something small and weak, and not in a good way.

Recently, I started taking Günter, our Bullmastiff, to the dog park. Evelyn always points out that it’s not really kosher since the park closes at sundown, but I’m one of a handful of proactive dog owners in our neighborhood who has received and passed on the code for the lock at the west gate. So, if I wanted to take our adorable pile of drool and fur to dog park, I could.

But Evelyn was right.

I should have never started going there so late. Only bad things were going to happen. And bad things almost did happen. That’s where I met the woman who just about ruined my nice, little life.

* * *

This girl was hot, of course, in a way that was more than distracting.

I try to ignore distracting things but they wear on you. She had a figure shaped like a nice round S and her dog was a Shitzu, literally translated Lion Dog, the oldest and smallest of the Tibetan Holy dogs, says Wikipedia.

If I had my choice, we would have ten Shitzus. But Evelyn was practical enough to want a big dog, too big to fight with our cats and big enough to actually scare off an intruder. It didn’t matter much that everything we co-owned was covered in a thick coat of dog salvia because we were safe and Evelyn was happy.

So, I succeeded in ignoring this girl for about two weeks, nine weekdays including two Sunday nights. I sat on the table, played Spider Solitaire on my cell while Günter circled the park with the pack. I only looked up if a dog starting yipping so I could stare down the owner so she or he didn’t ruin it for everybody.

Finally I slipped and this girl caught me talking nonsense to the nose of her little lion dog, which had ambled up next to me like it’d been programmed. I had to smile at her. But I didn’t make any conversation, which is against my natural instincts. I love chatting, especially with attractive women. Flirting is kosher, even Evelyn would agree. But as soon as she looked at me, I knew I needed to avoid my natural instincts.

Besides her body, which seemed to grow more appropriately curved each time I saw her, she had Janet Leigh’s eyes.

The first time in my life I ever got a sexual feeling I could recognize and place inside my body was when I was staring at a picture of Janet Leigh in one of my mom’s old movie magazines. Her eyes were huge. All pupils. I had the urge to hide that picture under my bed and stare at every night and never let anyone else see it. When I realized there were thousands of people with the same magazine it made me so sad I wanted to cry or scream or do whatever I did when I was sad and eight or nine.

So, instead of saying anything I checked my watch, 9:55, and hollered, “Günter!”

After a few hollers, he came and I led him to the west gate, put his leash on and cleared out with Janet Leigh’s eyes stuck in my mind.

Günter seemed to sense something was wrong. He stared at me the whole way home, like he was trying to talk me out of something. He even kept his tongue in his mouth. It was that serious.

“OK,” I told him as I parked in our driveway at 10:59. “You’re right, old man. No more park for a while.”

He licked at my face and missed.

Right then, for some reason, I felt very, very mature.

That feeling didn’t last, of course. Not sleeping because I was thinking about Janet Leigh’s eyes didn’t help anything, I’m sure.
* * *

The very next night I was heading through the living room back towards the office to invent some way to kill two hours when Evelyn said, “You have till eleven.”

“What?” I said. But it probably just sounded like a little roar.

“Yeah, fucking results show tonight. They play it out forever. I’m TIVOing whatever CSI shit is on tonight. We can watch it after.”

“Right,” I said and cut back towards the kitchen to grab Günter’s leash.

“I don’t have to watch that shit,” I think I heard her say as the door swung shut. That was a very nice thing for her to say. But it was definitely a lie.
* * *

The S-shaped woman with Janet Leigh’s eyes wasn’t there when I arrived at the dog park that night. The chubby little Beagle who yipped like crazy was. So, I spent a couple of hours alternating between staring at my cell phone and the Beagle’s owner until I made it uncomfortable enough for her to leave.

At 10:00 I finally won a hand of Spider Solitaire, definitely the hardest Solitaire game that exists on Earth, and decided that it was time for us to go. Maybe we’d go to the Supermarket, or maybe we’d just sit in the driveway for an hour. I just knew I had had enough of the dog park.

Of course, as soon as I looked around for Günter the first thing I saw was that little lion dog trailing after him, chasing him. He’s such a wimp.

I tried to look down at my cell, but I knew she was out there and that made it ten times harder to start another game. But I did because I’m good.

It was probably ten minutes later when I felt someone next to me and heard a “Hi” that was in some accent I couldn’t place. Something British maybe, but none of the dialects from My Fair Lady.

I said hi without looking up but that didn’t last. She was too sweet, too interested. Finally I had to look up into those eyes and listen. I couldn’t even place what she was saying. At some point I think I she asked me if I’ve ever dreamed of just quitting my job and working for myself. I said that’s not the kind of thing I usually dream about. She nodded, knowingly, probably blushed, but the lighting was too dim to get a good view. And she kept talking, moving in closer, using my name, which I should never have given to her because it was like heaven hearing it come out of her lips.

When I looked at my cell again it was 10:55.

“I’ve gotta get home,” I told her and called for Günter who was lying in the woodchips letting himself be chewed on by her lion dog.

I had to grab himself but before I could make my move she said, “What are you doing this Sunday?”

“I don’t know. You got a plan?” I couldn’t even stop myself from flirting.

She took at a business card and started writing something on it. She handed it to me. It was a room number. “That’s at the Freemont Marriot. I’ll be there at 8. I’d love to see you.”

“Right, thanks,” I said. I backed away from her, stuffing the card into my pocket with no idea how I’d gotten myself into such a mess.

Günter and I walked in the door at 10:59.
* * *

Evelyn made the mistake of checking her TIVO Saturday night and realized there were almost three hours of her shows that she’d missed. She had just taken me to my favorite Sushi place and given me an old book about the Law of Attraction I’d been looking for everywhere. So, I decided to be nice and headed to the dog park.

It was just Günter and I.

So I did more thinking than playing Spider Solitaire. By the time I locked us out of the park, I decided I was going to Freemont the next night, even if it was an hour a way, maybe even especially because it was an hour away.
* * *

The hardest thing was inventing some lie about why I had to leave at seven. She must’ve had something on her TIVO because she let me go without asking one clarifying question about why I had to stop by Marshalls and the yarn store.

Günter’s disappointment was easy to conjure. He just put his head out the window like he couldn’t even stand to breath the same air as me.

When we parked, I explained to him that I would be back as soon as possible. I’d done the math in my head a million times. We had no more than an hour and twenty minutes. Eighty minutes. What I could do with Janet Leigh in her prime and eighty full minutes. I had to know.
* * *

I’d never been that girl, that girl who sneaks in and out of hotels, and I think that’s why I expected to suck at it. I spent the ten minutes I’d earned by being early walking up and down halls trying to find her room. Finally I had to give up and ask the front desk.

I handed over the room number and the little man said instantly, “Oh that’s Peerways. Right down the hall. I think they’re starting.” He pointed and I wasn’t sure how many of his mumbles were a reaction to whatever he was typing on his computer or me.

It seemed strange and convenient that her room was on the first floor.

I stopped in the bathroom to make my hair as right as I could make my hair and walked over to the door at exactly 8:00. It was a large room. Everything felt exaggerated, out of place. And that made a lot of sense.

A smiling bald man in a suit answered the door. For a second, I thought I was part of a setup by Cheaters or some other Reality show. But I looked in and saw my Janet Leigh sitting at a round table waving. She jumped up to get me before I could summon the courage to run.

She led me to an empty seat across from her and pointed up at the podium. A speaker had just been announced and about a fourth or fifth of the people were clapping like crazy. As the speaker began I looked around the table. There were four men and two other butch types. Everyone was staring at Janet Leigh. But the speaker was trying to change that:

“Do you know how much Madison Avenue would have to pay to find out the kind of psycho-social information you have on the top of your head about your friends and family? You’ve spent your whole life doing market research and tonight you find out how to make that pay off for you! Can I get a round of applause?”

As I clapped I wanted to kill myself.

I think I was in mourning for the next forty to fifty minutes. Pie charts were representing my heartbreak; line graphs were charting the increasingly unpleasant pace of my pulse. Finally when the speaker had us applaud for the third time I was ready to bolt. I waited until they were passing out notebooks and ducked out of my seat.

I was barely out of the door when I felt Janet Leigh’s hand on my back.

“Hey,” she said in her fake accent. “Bathroom?”

I don’t know why I didn’t just lie. “Günter is in the car. I gotta go.”

“It’s about to get really good.” She pressed up into me. Her eyes were inches away. “If you leave now, you may regret it the rest of your life.”

All I could do was stare. But she looked away. A guy from our table was speedwalking down the hall past us. “Gary!” she yelled. “Gary, wait!”

As she trailed after him, I ducked into the restroom to douse my face and maybe cry for a second.
* * *

I had to find a place to let Günter pee and poop. He lollygagged. Then two lanes were closed on the freeway. It was 9:30. Then 9:45. Minutes were lasting one breath. I visualized myself walking in the door at exactly 10:00 but I couldn’t put my heart into it. Too guilty.

As the road opened up I sped up, over 90, cutting through sleepy night drivers at an alarming rate.

I pulled into our driveway at 10:01.

Evelyn hollered a hey at me as I came in the door. Before I could put the leash down she was telling me I had to see this fucking Big Brother recap and tell her if I thought this one thing was date rape.

Günter ran past me, up into her face. It was like he was consoling her.

“Sure,” I said.

“Sure?” she said, avoiding all kinds of licks and slobber.

“Sure.”

This story was inspired by Jeff Hurlow’s Myspace Portrait Project.

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