26. Only Half Real

"The absolute absence of a burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into the heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant." —Milan Kundera

During Jen’s first week on her own in Michigan, Becky left six messages on Jen’s cell phone. Since she didn’t get reception at the lake house, Jen checked the messages every evening as she drove to taekwondo class. She always swore to call Becky back on the drive home, but the class left her too tired for conversation.

Finally, on a Tuesday morning, Jen called Becky from the phone in the lake house, feeling guilty for running up Paula’s mother’s phone bill. She had some things on her mind, and while she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear Becky’s opinion about them, she felt that just talking to a friend might help her clear her head and think more rationally.

“So,” said Becky. “What have you been doing with yourself out there? Did you find a yoga class yet?”

“No,” said Jen.

“That’s too bad,” Becky said. “You will, though,” she added. “There’s got to be something.”

Becky’s chipper tone waned at the end of her sentence as doubt crept into her voice. “Well, if not in that town, somewhere in Michigan.”

“I’ve been going to this taekwondo class,” Jen said. “For about a week now.”

“Taekwondo?” Becky said, laughing. “Really?”

“Yeah,” said Jen, a little annoyed that Becky sounded so surprised.

“How did you get involved with that?” Becky asked.

Jen wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t want to tell Becky the story of Rob, at least not yet; the disappointment and embarrassment were still too fresh. She couldn’t think of a reasonable lie that would be simple enough to make sense, though.

“The cashier in the grocery store recommended it,” she said.

“Oh, that guy at the co-op?” Becky asked. “He was cute.”

“Yeah, I guess,” said Jen.

To distract Becky from that line of conversation, Jen described the classes she had been attending religiously, every weeknight at six-thirty plus Saturday morning, for the last week.

Although the first day’s workout had made Jen so sore that she had been tiptoeing down the stairs from her bedroom like an old lady ever since, she not only continued to go to class each evening, but practiced her lessons every morning in the back yard. It was really quite lovely to get out of bed, make a cup of tea, and then do yoga and taekwondo outside by the lake. On the warmest day of the week, she had even gone for a swim afterwards. Then she would stay in the house reading (she had finished Zen for Times of Crisis and started on Zen for Everyday Living) or take a walk in the woods around the house.

She had avoided going into town for fear of running into the paparazzi again, instead living off the dry and canned goods that Becky had bought. There was plenty to eat, but the lack of fresh produce was becoming intolerable. The only place Jen knew to shop was the food co-op, though, and she didn’t want to see Rob any more than she had to. She kept intending to look for another store, but it always seemed easier to just stay at home and eat canned corn or beans.

By the time it reached six o’clock each evening, time to leave for class, she was restless and itching for human interaction. It was perfect timing; she didn’t mind the solitude during the day, almost enjoyed it, but the prospect of staying home in the dark forest alone as the sun went down seemed hopelessly depressing. She happily climbed into the S.U.V. and drove out to the strip mall at the edge of town.

Brittany had greeted her at the door each day. “Go warm up,” she would say, “and then we’ll work on your forms.” Jen had learned all of the first form, more stomping and blocking and punching, and was supposed to start on the second one this week. She had continued to work on her roundhouse kick, and had learned to throw a front kick as well. Brittany hovered around her like a personal trainer, giving Jen detailed corrections about the angle of her leg, the snap of her foot, ignoring all the other students, who took their instructions from Rob or Master Park.

Jen wondered how Brittany had time to teach class every single night. It seemed a weighty time commitment for someone so young, who presumably either attended college or had a day job.
And when did she do her own training, Jen wondered?

Even Rob took nights off. He had missed two evenings so far. Jen didn’t want to notice, but she couldn’t help it. Their contact had been minimal at the school. He said hello if they happened to cross paths, and she usually nodded in response, but otherwise they did not speak to each other.

With all the personalized attention from Brittany, Jen was advancing quickly. When she watched her own roundhouse kick in the mirror, it wasn’t half bad. Her foot even pivoted now, she had noted with pride and some awe just the other night. She looked over at the students in the general class, training with Master Park in the center of the room. None of their roundhouse kicks looked as good as hers, despite the fact that she was still segregated from the rest of the class as a “new student.” That boy Brittany had pointed out still couldn’t pivot his foot. Jen wondered when she would start training with the regular class; any day now, she imagined, she would be promoted.

The weekend was the only thing that had broken her routine; on Saturday, the beginners’ class was held at ten in the morning, and on Sunday there was no beginners’ class at all. Jen had gone to watch the sparring class instead.

It was the first time she had seen Brittany in action. She was one of only two women there; the other was small and skinny and wore a yellow belt. Jen watched in admiration as Brittany patiently but firmly overwhelmed the girl, throwing three kicks for every one that the girl threw, several times sending her flying across the floor with what looked like a donkey kick to her stomach.

Brittany went on to spar each of the men who had shown up to the class. Only one of them seemed to be better than her; it was Rob. Several times he landed what looked like hard kicks to Brittany’s face and stomach. Brittany appeared unflappable, bouncing right back up each time she was knocked over, but once Jen thought she saw her lower lip trembling just a little.

As Jen watched Rob spar the yellow-belted girl, Master Park seated himself on the folding chair next to Jen’s.

“What do you think?” he asked her.

It was the first time all week that he had seemed to notice or acknowledge her presence in the class. She wasn’t sure how to respond; she knew from the discussion about “health” that he was fussy about wording, and she didn’t want to say the wrong thing.

“Scary?” he suggested.

Despite her fear that this was a trap, she decided to agree.

“A little,” she said.

He leaned in a little closer towards her ear. “You’ll be doing this in three months,” he said to her.

That had been the first alarm. And then, just last night, something else had happened, something that showed Jen that she needed to make a decision, now, immediately, as to how involved she wanted to get with this whole taekwondo thing.

Brittany had finally mentioned something about her everyday life, that she was taking an economics class. As Jen had suspected, Brittany was a student at MNCMU.

“It’s amazing that you can do your homework when you’re over here so much,” Jen said. “Don’t you ever get a night off?”

“Sure,” said Brittany. “I usually only teach three nights a week."

Brittany was giving Jen that look again, that steady stare, like she wanted to tell Jen something important. Jen had seen it a few times since that first night of class. A nervous, sinking feeling was growing in her stomach.

“I’ve been coming in extra to train you,” Brittany said.

“I don’t date women,” Jen blurted out. Then, not wanting to sound bigoted, she added, “I mean, I don’t know if I date women. I’m just trying to be on my own right now.”

Brittany began to giggle. Her laugh was surprisingly high and bubbly for someone so boyish.

“Don’t worry,” said Brittany, slapping Jen cordially on the shoulder. “I don’t want you to be my girlfriend. I want you to be my training partner.”

“What?” asked Jen. That didn’t make any sense. “I don’t even know what I’m doing. I’ll never catch up to you.”

“You will if I teach you,” said Brittany. “I’m a really good teacher.”

These two brief conversations, the one with Master Park and the other with Brittany, had been troubling Jen all morning. She didn’t mention either of them to Becky as she described the taekwondo class. She tried to minimize the impact the class was having on her life, not wanting Becky to know how solitary Jen had been otherwise, how confused she was about this new activity that was trying to suck her in like a cult.

“Sounds fun,” Becky said, after Jen told her about the forms and kicking practice.

“Yeah, pretty fun,” Jen replied nonchalantly.

“So, aside from hearing how you’re doing, there are a couple of other reasons I needed to talk to you,” Becky said. Her voice sounded strained and apprehensive, and Jen had the feeling that bad news was coming. She braced herself to find out what Becky’s mysterious illness was.

“Yeah?” Jen asked in a casual, lighthearted tone that sounded entirely forced. “Like what?”

“Well,” Becky said, “you might not like this first one. It’s about Groundbreakers. They want me to do this survey, and I’m supposed to get people who know me really well to answer a few questions. I didn’t want to ask you because I know you hate Groundbreakers…”

“I don’t hate Groundbreakers,” Jen said, relieved but defensive, although she realized as she denied it that it was in fact pretty close to true.

“You know what I mean,” Becky said. “Anyway, I couldn’t think of anyone who knew me nearly as well as you do, so I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t,” said Jen, feeling bad that Becky had hesitated to ask her. Didn’t Becky know that Jen would be happy to endure a little discomfort to help Becky out? “As long as I don’t have to go to any of those stupid seminars,” Jen said.

“Great,” said Becky. “Okay, here’s the first one.” She enunciated more clearly to indicate that she was reading from a paper: “What are my greatest strengths? Please be specific.”

Several mean jokes popped into Jen’s head as responses, but she opted for a flattering one instead: “Oh, well, how long do we have?” she asked.

Becky laughed uncomfortably. “Thanks,” she said. “I’m sorry you have to do this; it’s pretty embarrassing.”

“No, no,” said Jen, “This one is easy.” And she meant it. Despite the recent tension between them, Jen really could list Becky’s positive attributes all day long. “Let’s see. You’re supportive, caring, non-judgmental…”

“Hmph,” said Becky, seemingly disagreeing with this last one.

“Well, you’re a little judgmental,” Jen conceded. She remembered how she had slept with Skipper just to get into the tabloids and make Bradley jealous, how her plan had backfired and caused so much trouble for Becky. “But not without a good reason.”

“Okay,” said Becky, sounding as though she had just finished writing this down.

“Wait, there’s more,” said Jen. She thought of the quality she most admired about Becky, the one that she had so often wished she possessed herself. “If you want something to happen, you make it happen. You never sit around waiting or wishing for things to happen. You take action, and it always works out.”

There was one notable exception to this characterization of Becky, Jen thought, but she didn’t say it aloud. Becky’s weakness. But this was about Becky’s strengths, and there was no reason to ruin the good mood.

“Thanks,” said Becky. “That’s a very sweet thing to say.” Becky’s voice warmed for a moment with a flush of sentimentality that Jen had seldom heard from her.

Then she regained her business-like persona. “So the next question is: What aspect of my personality or behavior do you think could use improvement? Please explain how so.”

Jen hesitated for a moment, and Becky added, “You can be honest.”

Again, Becky’s weakness popped into Jen’s head. But it was something that would hurt Becky’s feelings. Really there was just no reason to bring it up. She had learned years ago that there was no point telling people about problems they couldn’t fix. She searched her mind for something that wouldn’t make Becky upset.

“You’re kind of bossy sometimes,” Jen said.

“I knew you would say that,” Becky responded before Jen had even finished her statement.

“Well, just sometimes,” Jen added.

“No, you’re right. I’m bossy,” Becky said. “You of all people know that about me.”

Jen was relieved that so far she had managed not to upset Becky. This is going pretty well, she thought.

“Okay, last one,” Becky said. “What would you tell me if you knew I couldn’t get upset about it? I’m not allowed to get angry or even ever refer to it again.”

Becky’s weakness. I’m not going to say it, Jen resolved. “Hmm, that’s tricky,” she said, stalling for time.

“It could be anything,” said Becky. “Anything you’d normally be scared to tell me.”

“What is the purpose of this again?” Jen asked.

“It’s to help me learn more about myself,” Becky said. “To help me face realities I might not notice or want to see.”

Jen’s resolve wavered. Sure, she hadn’t wanted to tell Becky about weaknesses she couldn’t fix, but that was when she thought Becky was looking for ways to improve her life. If she just wanted self knowledge, if that was what she really wanted…

“Okay,” said Jen. “You’re never going to be an actress.”

Jen could hear the sound of Becky sucking in her breath; then silence.

Jen felt the impulse to say something else, to qualify her statement in a way that would make Becky feel better. But instead she just let the silence stretch on, interrupted. She asked, Jen told herself, so she wanted to know.

Okay,” said Becky. Her voice sounded shaky, like she might cry.

Becky didn’t say anything else for a minute more. Jen waited.

Finally, Becky spoke again. “Why not?” she asked, her voice perky with forced interest, but Jen could hear that she was still upset.

Jen was silent for a moment more as she considered the question. She had always known: Becky wasn’t an actress. Becky was a yoga teacher. Becky was an accountant. Becky was a personal assistant. Becky was a public relations whiz. Becky made a killer lasagna; even the simple salads she prepared for Jen tasted so much better than the ones Jen made herself. There seemed no reason for someone like that to be running around to auditions, Jen reasoned, doing stupid commercials, when she actually had real skills to offer to the world.

It wasn’t an insult, Jen realized. It was a compliment. Being an actress was the insult, the lowly thing, the last resort. Becky had so much more to offer the world.

“You’re good at too many things,” Jen said. “You’re not desperate enough.”

“You’re just saying that,” Becky retorted. “To make me feel better.”

“No, I’m really not,” said Jen. “It’s the truth.”

“But you’re good at things,” Becky said. “And you were an actress.”

Becky’s use of the past tense stung a little, and Jen wondered if she had phrased it that way on purpose, to spite her. She decided to ignore it, though, since she had just hurt Becky’s feelings, and anyway this was supposed to be an honest conversation with no retaliation. Jen wondered if Becky was supposed to be arguing with her like this; it seemed to qualify as “getting upset.”

“I’m good at things like what?” Jen asked, wondering if Becky would come up with anything.

“You’re good at yoga,” Becky said.

“Not very good,” Jen said. “Not like you.”

“And you used to be good at some of your classes at school,” said Becky. She’s really in over her head here, Jen thought, almost feeling sorry for her. “You were good at English, weren’t you?”

“I was okay at it,” Jen said. “See, you’re just proving my point if you have to ask.”

A strange anxiety began to creep over Jen that she couldn’t quite identify, like she had just momentarily forgotten about some tragic news but would remember again in a moment. She searched her mind for a moment for the source of the feeling before deciding it was best to try to forget about it.

“Anyway,” Jen said, “This interview is about you. I’ve seen you at auditions, and you seem…”
Jen had to stop and think. She knew something seemed off about Becky’s performance, but it was difficult to put into words.

"Seem like what?" asked Becky.

Jen remembered her own early auditions. It wasn’t that she had been such a good actress; even in her own memory, she could remember forced lines, wooden delivery, exaggerated emotion. But she also remembered the desperation at those auditions, how she had absolutely nothing else to live for. Every last ounce of her will had been poured into her dialogue, her life preserver, saving her from having to figure out what she wanted to do with her life, what she wanted to be.

Jen returned to her earlier assessment: Becky wasn’t desperate, and that lack of desperation really showed.

“You look distracted,” said Jen. “You don’t seem like you’ve been awake for nights on end obsessing over the audition. You seem like you’ve just come from doing something else that was more important.”

“So what are you trying to say?” Becky asked, still in her hurt-but-brave voice. “Are you telling me I should give up? Stop going to auditions?”

“No,” said Jen in a patronizing voice, a voice meant to imply, “That’s not what I meant at all,” even though it was what she meant, truthfully. Now that the idea had been set free from its secret hiding place in her brain, Jen realized that she thought Becky’s acting career was a giant waste of her energy and talent.

“Well, I am going to stop,” Becky said.

“Becky,” said Jen.

“At least for a while. Not because of what you said,” she added. “Because of the other thing I need to tell you.”

This was it. Jen took a deep breath and waited for Becky’s news. Then she couldn’t wait any more; she blurted it out herself.

“You’re sick,” Jen said.

“I’m pregnant,” Becky said.

“Oh!” Jen exclaimed, her surprise pouring raw and uncensored into her voice. “That’s funny.” Jen slapped her hand across her own mouth before she could say any more; she had been about to note the odd coincidence that she had just found out she wasn’t pregnant.

Becky sounded as though she found this response suspicious. “Why’s it funny?” she asked.

“Oh, it’s not,” said Jen. “I meant surprising.”

Now that Jen had a moment to think about it, it really was surprising. Becky hadn’t been dating anybody, as far as Jen knew. Granted, they hadn’t been communicating well lately, but a boyfriend seemed like the sort of thing Jen would have heard about.

“With who?” she asked, realizing as soon as she said it that her incredulous tone was horribly offensive.

Trying to mitigate her rudeness, she added, “I mean, who have you been…You haven’t…” Damn, Jen thought. She was getting this conversation all wrong. There must be a correct way to construct this sentence, but she couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Chase,” said Becky.

“Chase?” Jen repeated, no longer making any effort to hide her astonishment. “Isn’t he gay?”

“Yeah, so?” Becky said. “Gay men have sperm just like straight men.”

“But did you guys have sex?” Jen asked. The clinical nature of Becky’s statement had her wondering if perhaps they had made some sort of alternate arrangement.

“A few times,” Becky said. “Right when we started hanging out together. We were drinking a lot,” she added, by way of explanation.

“I was so worried about you,” Jen said. “You looked so sick when you were here. I thought you were dying or something.”

“I’m sorry to scare you,” Becky said. “I wanted to tell you earlier, but I wasn’t sure if I was going to keep it.”

“So you’re keeping it?” Jen said. Damn, more rude questions, she chastised herself. It was so difficult to talk about pregnancy; there were more impolite things to say than acceptable ones.

“Yeah,” said Becky, evidently not offended; she sounded as though she herself found it a bit surprising. “I talked to Chase about it, and he’s ready. He actually seems pretty excited to be a dad.”

Jen tried to envision Chase cradling an infant in his oversized arms, but the image that came to mind was him accidentally crushing it—she thought it might be a scene from a book but couldn’t remember which one. “I squished the little baby,” Chase-in-her-mind said sadly, waving it around by its foot.

“Us raising a kid together, it’s the ideal set-up, if you think about it,” Becky was saying. “I mean, I’m not sleeping with him.”

“Anymore,” Jen said.

“Right,” Becky said. “But we spend all our time together. He’s my best friend. I mean, beside you,” she added quickly.

“Right,” Jen said.

“I mean, kids ruin marriages,” Becky said. “But we won’t be married, or living together, or even a couple. So we can really focus on the kid without worrying so much about our relationship.”

“It does sound nice,” said Jen, in part to appease Becky, although in reality Jen could see the value in her reasoning.

The more Jen thought about it, once they had said their goodbyes and promised to talk again soon, the more she really did see what a good arrangement Becky had stumbled into. A gay best friend father wouldn’t leave you for another woman, couldn’t cheat on you and destroy your family. When Jen used to envision herself having children with Bradley someday, she had always worried how a child would affect their marriage. She had seen so many women’s husbands become frustrated with the hectic home life, the mother’s focus on the children instead of the him, the lack of sex—and there was the nanny, so young and cute and available. A gay father, Jen thought, was probably the best way to ensure that he would always be in the baby’s life, as well as the mother’s. What a happy life it would be for Becky, what good news.

Jen realized with surprise that she was jealous. Up until this moment, she hadn’t been sure how she felt about her own potential pregnancy; now she was starting to feel pretty sure that she was a little bit devastated to have lost the baby she hadn’t quite admitted to herself that she was expecting.

And something else about that conversation was bothering her, she thought, staring pensively at the living room wall as she paced the floor. In a tribute to Thomas Fo, she had begun to cut out the most embarrassing passages from the magazines and tabloids she had purchased last week and tape them to the wall across from the sofa. She was fashioning a collage of shame to remind herself of her old life, just like Fo’s stack of video cassettes.

Her eye fell on a shiny clipping: “Jen’s lackluster performances over the last five years have caused film critics to speculate that she may be developing a serious drug habit.”

Though she had read this sentence at least ten times already, Jen still winced. The fact that she had quite decidedly not been on drugs made the criticism all the more cutting, especially since the other part of it was the truth: Jen’s recent performances, while not flops, had all been categorized by the press squarely as disappointments.

Suddenly she remembered what was making her uneasy. It was all that talk about her not being good at anything. What had always been an abstract source of self-criticism was about to become a concrete obstacle in her life: if she wasn’t going to act, what would she do? She wanted to work at something, to become really good at something, to dedicate herself with the level of attention that she so admired in Becky.

It’s taekwondo, she said to herself. I’m really going to do it.

She headed to the back yard to practice her forms and kicks. All of her earlier doubt and anxiety about the class became irrelevant in an instant; she had decided.

Chapter 27