The Seduction Rebecca's Lost Journals Volume 1(3)

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

            Josh, the good-looking banker I went out with a couple times last month, came into the bar tonight asking why I hadn’t returned his calls. How do you tell a guy that you dated him and had sex with him because you were lonely, and the net effect was still lonely? It wasn’t that the sex was bad; it wasn’t. I enjoyed it. I had an orgasm. I mean, that should account for something, because face it, how many first-time sexual encounters equal orgasm?

            Well, maybe they do for some people, but not me. I tend to think too much the first time with a man. Not that I’ve had a lot of men in my bed. In fact, Josh is only the third. But I can just give myself an orgasm and it’s much less complicated.

            He’s really a perfect guy—or he would be in my mother’s book. Good-looking, self-made, loves his parents, and all that good stuff. He has money and appreciates everything he has, because he earned it himself. I just don’t have it in me to play the relationship game right now. And maybe I can’t appreciate or deserve someone like him until I know who I am.

            I ended up telling him I was working crazy hours and I’d call him next week. I shouldn’t have told him that. Why did I give him hope? I know how much hope can hurt.





Friday, December 10, 2010

            I can’t get the man from the gallery out of my mind, but I thought at least the nightmares had ended. Then I had the same hellish one last night, on the same trolley with my mother. I spent the morning and afternoon haunted by it, and for once I was thankful that Friday nights are so chaotic. That meant I’d be too busy to think about it or him.

            But it’s nearly ten o’clock, and I’ve barely had a break. I’ve been slammed with customers, yet that sick, horrible feeling when I’m plunging toward the water still suffocates me. It’s frustrating and upsetting that I cannot get this nightmare out of my mind. It’s affecting my job, and the tips I make to pay the bills.

            I can’t get rid of this sense that something is wrong, something bad is going to happen. I haven’t felt like this since the week before my mother died. It’s driving me crazy, and all I want to do is make this feeling go away. But I can’t.





Monday, December 13, 2010

            I dreamed of the man from the gallery, but remarkably I can’t remember the details. I know it was dark and delicious, the way a man like that is meant to be dreamed about. Why can I remember the nightmare of being plunged into the bay by way of trolley car and my dead mother, yet the dream about a sexy, powerful man just plain escapes me? Truly, I don’t know what is going on inside me right now, but I feel as if I am spinning out of control. It was enough to push me over the edge today, and I did what I said I wouldn’t do: I found the man I had the encounter with at the gallery. I mean, what’s the point in thinking that he’s potentially life-changing if I avoid him?

            His name is Mark Compton and he’s the owner and manager of the gallery, and part of the family that owns Riptide, a famous auction house. That’s who asked me if I was applying for a job. The owner. This feels like a sign, the reason he felt so important when I met him. Because he can hire me for the gallery and my dream job. And as crazy as this is for me to even think, let alone write down, I think he wanted me to apply for the internship. I think he wanted to hire me.

            I want so badly to go apply now, even though it’s probably too late. These jobs go so quickly and the competition would be fierce. To apply for the job and not get it would be devastating, yet I went so far as to see if I could get my hours cut at the bar to accommodate a second job. After all my years there, the new boss’s answer was “no.” The job market is tight and there are plenty of people willing to do my job without special scheduling. So unless I can find a more flexible second job, I couldn’t even take the internship anyway.

            This is insanity. I can’t do it. I just can’t. Damn Mark Compton for tempting me and making me think that maybe, just maybe, I can chase this dream again.





Wednesday, December 15, 2010