Dani's First Adventure

Tomorrow was the Fourth of July.

This was my fifth cigarette this month.

I wore a shit-eating grin to everyone in the public eye, lying through my teeth about how I had worn nicotine patches to cure my smoking addition.

The irony wasn't lost on me being a former doctor that was celebrated in the Chicago community.

Being a doctor was never something that I had envisioned for my life. It was my mother’s idea. As narcissistic as she was beautiful, Jacqueline Evelyn Tamblyn was the first person who taught me everything

I guess I fit that cliché after all: the overworked modern woman who couldn't have a husband and kids.

In fairness, I had always been ambivalent to the idea of motherhood. It's not that I didn't love children. I did.

I still do.

But let’s be real here. No matter what modern feminism does, women will always be responsible for raising the children. Who wants an emasculated man? I love it when men dominate me.

I live to regain that wonderful power again. Power mixed in with vulnerability is the perfect recipe for a great relationship.

Aside from being a liar, I also added the skill of being an asshole on my list.

Women who had given up their own pathetic, mediocre lives by settling for incompetent men. I don’t like those women. Why have a life when you’re going to drop everything for a guy that gave you a rose and asked you out for coffee? They were already at the bottom of the food chain for me. I didn’t pretend to not notice their vicious stares at me every time I went to the supermarket. Even if it was something as simple as buying tapioca pudding from Alonzo near his beloved bakery, they would hate me.

Who needed women anyway? Maybe having one friend was better than having fake friends at all.

I’m Daniella “Dani” Helen Tamblyn, a proud member of high society.

Why am I lying to myself?

To make matters worse, I started my blog, The Tempestuous Woman, back in 2018. It wasn’t like I was actively attempting to bring more harmful stereotypes to a woman’s personality. It was my own sardonic joke that I shared with my former ocean-eyes lover.

He doesn’t matter anymore either.

In my iPhone, there was the number of the man that changed my life the summer before the 4^th of July in the year of 1998. How could twenty years just fly and go in the blink of an eye? Or was it dime? Doesn’t matter. Instagram was barely a thought, everyone didn’t text on their phones, and we all lived like we didn’t have a care in the world.

Chicago was the last place I ever expected to be in. Hollywood was my original dream. But, then I realized that, as an entertainer, I couldn’t carry a tune to save my life.

So, I became a film producer.

Of course, I couldn’t have done it without Cynthia Raymond.

Cynthia was my film professor. She had the blonde steely looks of Rosamund Pike with the attitude of Nora Ephron. I loved her in a heartbeat (on a professional level of course.) Despite the fact that we grew up in completely different backgrounds, we really got along in my sophomore year of college. I was the awkward, introverted geek that was never going to go back to not feeling unattractive.

Besides, there was no one else that knew about my past of being the unattractive geek.

Well, except for one person.

Damn it, why can’t I let go of him?

I quickly shook my head to let go of my former lover.

Cynthia had mentioned that I had a true gift for making movies on an aesthetic level. Her exact words to me were “Your films and television shows contain an element of surprise in an opaque lens. When I see them, I feel the elements of intensity and shock. Think Gone Girl meets The Brady Bunch mixed in with US from Jordan Peele himself.”

I never forgot what she said to me. To this day, it’s the best compliment that I had ever received from anyone. Basically, I’m good at writing family dramas.

I ditched the medical jargon of battered bodies and exchanged all of that for the lifting art of fixing the broken souls of psychological thrillers I created. While I find my work fulfilling, I wish my love life could climb the fantastical heights of critical acclaim.

I couldn’t put my finger on it. I had everything I ever wanted. So why was I still unhappy?

Was it because of Eric?

God, where the hell did he come from? I’m surprised that I was still able to remember his name five years later.

I hadn’t thought about him since our sexual dalliance in Santa Monica, California. He always allowed me to do insane dares. Taking risks was our way of living life. It didn’t matter what happened tomorrow; all that mattered was what happened right now.

We used to have this cheesy tradition. Every night, before the fireworks fought the dark sky on July 4^th, we vowed that we would never take our anger out on each other. Eric was the only person I ever trusted in this sadistic world next to Cynthia. Both of them knew how I had let my narcissistic, abusive ex-boyfriend. He was such a fucking prick.

I don’t even want to say his name out loud. I gave him a nickname after therapy, my support group for other domestic violence victims, which I’m not for the record, and Eric gave me the love and compassion I needed to move on in life. Therefore, I call him “Pricky Dicky.”

Pricky Dicky, you’re nothing but scum compared to Eric.

Eric Walter was so inspiring to me. He was kind, compassionate, and not the type of guy who was only nice to sleep with me in bed.

I thought every guy in the world was always the same: just wanting sex. But Eric was so different. He took care of himself, went to therapy, while joining me in some sessions as well, and never judged my hobbies and interests, and he loves me for me, not the idea of who I’m supposed to be.

We had a bad fight once. I still cringe whenever I think about the details.

“This guy doesn’t deserve you, babe! I love you and I will always love you! You don’t have to change anything because you’re perfectly made the way you are.”

I knew that he was right. It wouldn’t be right to take my anger out on him. That night, we made love.

My iPhone started to ring as it abruptly interrupted my thoughts. I stopped typing on my computer and answered it.

“Hello?”

“Dani?”

“Eric? Hi! It’s been so long.”

His laugh was still angelic towards my ear. God, I wanted to embrace him so badly.

“I missed you, too, beautiful! How’s it going?”

“It’s going alright. I’m currently writing the next screenplay for my upcoming project. Honestly, I’ve hit a bit of writer’s block."

“Well, maybe opening the door will change all of that.”

I arched my right eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Just go to your door.”

I hung up the phone, walked towards my apartment door, and there he was, standing there in the flesh.

His boyish grin had matured into a full-fleshed manly grin. He wore brown pants, a white button-down t-shirt that made his muscles pop out in a sexy way. His black hair had become more alive, while complimenting the great tan of all of the summers he had worked on carpentry at his father’s house. Even now, I almost dropped to my knees seeing his passionate stare from his brown eyes staring at me.

“Hi.”

I smiled with tears welling up in my own dark brown eyes.

“Hi. I can’t believe you came all the way to my apartment. How did you find me?”

We fully embraced.

“Your mother said that you would be writing at home and gave me your address. She was always really fond of me.” He whispered in my ear.

“I missed you, Eric, so much.”

“I missed you too.”

“Come on in. I don’t want to be rude to you.”

We both awkwardly laughed as we sat down on my dark blue sofa.

“Did my mother tell you that I also struggled with writer’s block?”

“Yeah, what’s going on with that?”

“My characters are finally together after fighting the demons in Greendale, Arizona. The problem is, I don’t know how to end the story.”

Eric listened while rubbing his arm. God, he was still a sight to behold.

I snapped out of my thoughts to stay focused.

“Maybe you could have them kiss at the end.”

I cringed. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s been played out in Hollywood so many times.” I leaned back against the sofa. Then I thought about July 4^th.

“Hey, Eric?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember when we had sex back in Santa Monica?”

That bastard actually smirked. I took that as a yes.”

“What if I make the characters fight the demons, have everyone applaud, and then I can make a scene where they’re at home and they’re snuggling in bed together?”

“That could actually work!”

I was so proud of myself. I guess inspiration does take many forms.

“So how about we create our own inspiration right now?”

He leaned down to gently kiss me on my lips.

“I would love that.” I kissed him back, telling myself that fairy-tales do exist in real life when you have the remains of an unforgettable summer.