CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE - THE LEGEND

Looks like Romeo might not be the only character in this story who hadn’t forgotten about me…

Back in college, I was a theater junkie. Acting specifically. I had grown up in the theater scene in New York City, and it was my whole world. I loved everything about it, from the musty smell of the costumes, to the dark recesses of the wings, to the bright stage lights. Vanishing into the life of another, and taking sometimes hundreds of people on that journey along with me. And I was good. Some even said I was great. But I was nothing next to Prince Escalus.

The Prince was only a year above me, but by the time I arrived as a college freshman, she was already a legend. Stunningly gorgeous. Intimidatingly so, with wide set brown eyes, and a ten thousand watt smile. Not only that, but she was ridiculously talented. Transcendent on stage. She made it look effortless, and I was in awe.

I never spoke to her if I could help it. Are you kidding me? I was terrified. Not only that, but she tooled around with a small flock, two other girls who were also amazing actresses, but didn’t hold a candle to the Prince. No, she was the type of girl your boyfriend could admit to being in love with, and you just had to say, “Yep. I get it.” (And I know because that happened to me, and I wasn’t even mad.)

I had almost made it through the Prince’s senior year with the most minimal of human contact, but as fate would have it, we both ended up getting cast in the same main stage show. Not only that, but she played my male love interest.

Dear Nurse, I can see it like it was yesterday. The Prince, on her knee, the most beautiful southern boy you’ve ever seen, professing her love for me rehearsal after rehearsal, performance after performance, in a perfect, sexy drawl. She was so convincing, so utterly rooted in that moment, that she took me away with her every time. I forgot she was the Prince. I forgot I was Juliet. Damned if I didn’t forget we were on a stage with tons of people watching us. She was all there was in that moment, and my heart responded, palpitating so vigorously that I often worried I wouldn’t be able to remember my lines.

But once the lights went down, I would come back to reality and chastise myself for letting my imagination run away with me. Whatever I was feeling had to be all me. There’s no way the fucking Prince was feeling anything real in that moment. She was just an amazing actor, and I was an overly emotional idiot.

One night after a performance, a few of us went out to the local bar. At one point a drunk kid sauntered over to the table and hit on me. I was about to respond, when I felt the distinct sensation of a hand grabbing the inside of my upper thigh under the table. I looked to my left, and there was the Prince, staring me dead in the eye. She then turned to the drunk kid. I don’t remember what she said. I was too thrown, turned on, and elated that the fucking Prince had her hand on my thigh. But whatever she said sent that drunk kid packing, and just like that, the hand was gone.

I never forgot that moment. I had been owned by the Prince. And I liked it.

The Prince ended up moving to Los Angeles as well, and we saw one another a small handful of times, but nothing meaningful. She got married, had kids just after I did, and from then on out, I saw her life unfold through sporadic posts on Facebook, just like everyone else from college.

Just days after leaving Paris, however, I noticed an unusual post.

The Prince was announcing the end of her marriage, and quite formally I might add. Exhausted from life, and without thinking, I fired off a comment.

Literally right there with you.

Within minutes, I started receiving text messages from college friends. I hadn’t told anyone about the pending divorce yet, and in that moment, I realized I wasn’t ready to talk about it. I deleted the comment, but apparently not before The Prince noticed it.

Hey. Did I see that you wrote you’re literally going through the same thing as me?

A few days had gone by. I thought I was out of the woods, but truth be told, I was glad she had seen it. Connecting with other women who were going through divorce, or wanted to, had become something of a lifeline, and I wanted to keep it going. So what if it was the Prince? We were almost forty now. Surely I could get over her college-legend status for an evening get-together by now. So, we made plans for a few weeks down the line, and I did my best not to think about it.

After all, I was feeling Romeo, right? Romeo was the light at the end of a month-long tunnel… until he wasn’t.

I discovered Romeo had most likely gotten back together with Rosaline the afternoon before the Prince and I were to hang out. I was exhausted from the adrenaline that had been pounding through my body, but something told me I had to go out anyway. I had to see her, and for whatever reason, I had to look fucking great.

Sure, Romeo was supposed to be the prize at the end of this, but like I said, I have no intention of being monogamous. Plus, women have always been a part of this whole reclamation-of-self project for me. I have been with a few in my life sexually, but nothing I’d call a relationship. Now that I was free, it was time to finally take that leap. But with the Prince? The idea was almost laughable. I mean, sure, we had a moment in college, but theater does that to people. You spend months manipulating your emotions. Of course you’re going to think you feel something you don’t. Besides, the Prince was straight. She had been married to a man, and had two kids. Also, fuck. We’re talking about the fucking Prince.

And then, there she was, standing next to me in the Thai Town bar she had suggested. And I shit you not, dear Nurse, she looked exactly the same.

But fucked if I was going to let on. I’m a grown ass woman now. I don’t get shook. Not by the Prince, not by anyone. So I hugged her, like I would any old acquaintance, and we sat at the bar and ordered drinks. (Yes, I had some wine. I had just broken the biggest rule of this whole project a few hours before, so I didn’t think it really mattered if I drank on top of it.)

But between the wine and the Prince’s surprisingly intense line of questioning, I started to feel exposed. Everything I said, she understood, agreed with, and had nearly the same experience. Everything she said, I found myself agreeing with as well. The synergy was disturbing.

“And then after it was all over, I had to come out to my family…” She said, and that’s when I stopped listening.

Come out? Come out about what? That she had gotten divorced? Is that how we refer to it now?

“And when I started dating women…”

Hold the fucking phone. The Prince is gay?! I felt like my brain was frying. What was going on?

“Omigod. I can’t believe you’re saying this.” I stammered. “Literally, the day I met Paris, right before, I had this shitty, awful experience with this guy I had been dating, and I finally made the decision. I was going all in on women.”

I felt like an idiot. Like I was making up a story to have something in common with this woman, but it was true. I had decided to start dating women the day I met Paris. But then I met Paris. It was love at first sight - or so I thought - and from that point on, experimentation was out of the question. But now, that marriage was over…

“You have to do it!” She said, her eyes wide with excitement. “It’s amazing.”

But I was reeling now. I hadn’t expected any of this. I thought the night would be two alumni shooting the shit about their recent divorces. And it was that, but it was also more. Our experiences with insecurity in our marriage, our philosophies on parenting, self empowerment, the pandemic, not wanting to be monogamous again, for christ’s sake. I couldn’t say anything without her agreeing, and she couldn’t say anything without me shouting, “me too!”

I mean, I must have sounded stupid. I must have, because suddenly, I wanted very, very badly to impress this woman. To have her want me. To see me as a potential addition to the small harem it appeared she had in her orbit. To have her hand on my thigh again, owning me. My personal protection from douchebag drunk kids, and anyone else who fucked with me. But I couldn’t tell for the life of me what she wanted. What did she think this was? She had made a point to tell me about the difficulties she was having with her "primary partner", but what was that supposed to mean?

I was searching, while talking, while drinking wine for the first time in a month. Without thinking, I brought up the play. How incredible her performance had been, and how I lost myself every time. She remembered the play, too. That scene. Had thought about it many times during her marriage, and how inhabiting that character made her feel. How I made her feel. And then I was touching her leg. Why was I touching her? What was I doing? And did she just touch me? We had started out facing the bar, I remembered that. But now, somehow, we had turned to one another, our legs dangerously close…

I could feel myself slipping, the ground falling out from beneath my feet. I was losing myself in this moment, just like the play all over again, feeling weirdly exposed and completely destabilized. No offense to men. I love men. But they’re easy. You can almost always tell what a dude is thinking in any given moment. Women on the other hand? Not so much. Now, add that we’re talking about The Prince, and I felt like I was lost in the jungle on acid. I had to get out of there.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you out too late.” I said, out of nowhere.

She smiled, that amazing, mega-watt smile, and checked her phone. I realized then that was the first time either of us had looked at our phones the entire evening.

“Yep. My nanny is off in… thirteen minutes.”

We had been talking for almost three hours straight. The fuck had the time gone? And yet, the Prince didn’t seem in any rush.

She offered to pay the tab, but then went to the bathroom. This isn’t a gay thing, or a me-trying-to-play-the-dude moment, this is just me. I always try to pick up the tab. Call it a power play, I don’t care. It’s my thing. So, the minute she left, I handed the bartender my card.

“The whole thing on this?”

“Yep.”

I was signing my name when she returned.

“Well, I guess I owe you dinner, then!” She chirped.

Whaaaat? My knees almost gave way.

“Oh, sure!” I said too loudly, my voice cracking like a thirteen-year-old boy.

I gave her a quick hug, and spun on my heel, when a small part of me returned to myself. Make a strong exit, [Juliet]. Come on! You can do this!

I stopped and turned back.

“And hey,” I said, the distance between us bolstering me. “Send me your phone number, will ya?”

“Sure!” She smiled, and off I went.

I shit you not, dear Nurse, from the moment I left her sight until I walked through the front door of my apartment, I was frantically texting Benvolio.

Let her take you to dinner. Kiss her and see where it goes.

I scoffed out loud, reeling at the mere suggestion. Benvolio knows the Prince from college also. The two of them were in the same class, and come to find out, they hooked up freshman year. This was news to me, but Benvolio has always been a baller. She’s got more guts than a Korean butcher shop. The experience was probably nothing for her. For me, going in for a first kiss with the Prince felt akin to picking a bar fight with Amanda Nunez. You have one shot at this, and if you miss, your life is fucking over.

You’ve got all the swagger you need. Benvolio reminded me. You’re just as much of a legend as she is, I promise.

I stared at the text, finally getting in to bed, much later than I had expected. And I realized, Benvolio was fucking right. The Prince is smokin’, but so am I. I have no idea what was behind her decision to reach out and get together. Maybe it was just as old acquaintances. Maybe not. Either way, college was long over, and so were our marriages. We had our kids, fulfilled our biological imperatives, and were both on the hunt for greener pastures, regardless of what form they came in. She is fair game just as much as I am. And honestly, what’s the worst that could happen? She’s not into it? Fine. I’m a fucking writer in the entertainment industry. I hear “no” for a living. I’ll survive. But Benvolio is right. I’ll never know if I don’t take a chance. And that is, what I am now discovering, what life is all the fuck about.

Before going to bed, I checked my phone.

Wonderful to see you! The Prince had written, and left me her number.

We have tentative plans for the end of the month, and I’ll tell you something, dear Nurse, I am just a little bit excited about all that.

Sincerely yours,

Juliet