31. The Agent of Defeat

“It is important to understand that only rarely does the volume of stress defeat us; far more often the agent of defeat is insufficient capacity for recovery after the stress. Great stress simply requires great recovery.” —James E. Loehr

It was snowing in Michigan. Through the window of the airplane, Jen could see the white specks cutting a diagonal path across the dark pre-dawn sky as she arranged her books and carry-on bag for easy accessibility during the flight. The woman sitting in the window seat had boarded the plane already dressed for Los Angeles in a short skirt, her bare legs tightly crossed to protect her modesty. The cabin was chilly, and the woman hugged herself, rubbing her upper arms through her thin sweater.

Jen, who was always cold on airplanes, looked down at her own outfit: thick sweatpants that would serve as her pajamas in California, an old t-shirt, a giant, hooded sweatshirt. Even at the height of her fashion-consciousness, she had never dressed sexy when she traveled. She liked her airplane clothes to double as a blanket; once she got settled in, she would pull her hood up over her head, pull her arms inside the body of the sweatshirt, and try to sleep. Still, in years past, the sweatshirt would have been something more stylish: the top half of a matching designer terrycloth track suit, or perhaps a fashionably large cowl-necked sweater that she could sink her head down into while she slept and ignored the other passengers.

Usually flight attendants showered her with special attention, knowing that a complaint from her could get them fired. It had been years since she had flown without multiple inquiries as to her comfort: was she too warm, too cold, would she like more blankets, was she hungry, thirsty, did she need pills to sleep?

The male attendant on this flight seemed more interested in Jen’s short-skirted neighbor. “We have warm cookies,” he said to her, winking, looking right past Jen even as he handed her the warm face cloth that always marked the beginning of a flight in business class. “Let me know if you get hungry.”

Jen studied herself in the bathroom mirror as soon as she was allowed to rise from her seat. The flight attendant had looked right past her as though she were any one of the hundred anonymous passengers on the plane. Was she really so changed as to be unrecognizable? The dim, yellow light showed an athletic young woman whose muscular shoulders were apparent even under the bulk of sweatshirt. Her hair was still short; she had taken to cutting it herself, which she turned out to be reasonably skilled at. But this morning she hadn’t brushed it, so it clung to the side of her had in some places and stuck out at startling angles in others. She hadn’t bothered with dying it black after the first time. Without any coloring or highlights, it was the indistinctive color of dead leaves, a few shades darker than her face, which was still tawny from all the time she had spent practicing her forms outdoors before the weather had gotten too cold. Her jaw looked broad and strong, her eyes bright and focused below her messy hair.

She tried to remember what she had looked like before. It wasn’t so long ago—six months, she thought in awe, although it seemed like years—but she couldn’t get a clear image of herself with her long hair, her blonde highlights, her skinny limbs. All that came to mind were photographs from magazines, stylized images of exaggerated emotion: Jen looking sweet, looking angry, looking perturbed. Jen at her wedding, looking glamorous and happy. Jen after the divorce, tears streaming down her face, juxtaposed against a photo of Bradley rolling his eyes in exasperation.

No wonder the flight attendant didn’t recognize me, she thought, remembering the soft, sheltered look of her cheeks and neck in those photos, the frail femininity of her face. That sweet princess look was all gone now. It had been beaten out of her by six months of grueling workouts, of repeated blows to her face and body. And perhaps even more, by six months of life in a place where people didn’t care how she looked, where she hadn’t heard one comment, positive or negative, about her appearance, after so many years of constant scrutiny, cattiness, unsolicited opinions.

I look tough, she decided, pulling her sweatshirt hood up over her head and practicing mean fighter faces in the mirror until she remembered that there was a line of people waiting to use the restroom. It had been a relief not to always care about being pretty, about looking hot at this premier or that party, to know that her body was okay not because of how it appeared, but because of how hard and fast it could fly in and throw a kick at her opponent.

Back in her seat, though, doubt began to creep over her. She imagined how she would appear to her friends in Los Angeles, with her newly boyish physique, unkempt hair, and new secondhand wardrobe that had replaced her original clothing, which was not warm enough for winter and was all too small now at any rate. Her old shirts strained over her shoulders and biceps; her short skirts had gone from flirty to scandalous now that they barely covered her newly muscular behind.

Shane had taken her to the giant secondhand store where the college students shopped. There Jen had found plenty of cute and practical things to fit her new climate, physique, and lifestyle: multiple pairs of running pants with stripes down their legs, thick long-sleeve t-shirts that could be worn on sunny autumn days, warm hooded sweatshirts, a puffy vest that she loved because it fit so neatly over a sweatshirt for extra warmth. And just as it had gotten too cold for the vest, and she had begun to pile two and even three sweatshirts under it along with a scarf and hat and gloves, she had found a perfect winter coat, long, puffy, filled with down, and in a style that seemed to be fashionable amongst the college-student crowd; “Score!” Shane’s girlfriend Brittany had cooed after Jen found it hanging alongside rows of pilled pea coats and boldly-colored ski jackets.

They are going to laugh at me in Los Angeles, she realized, imagining her appearance from Becky, Paula, and Chase’s perspective. Was she going to attend Becky’s shower in secondhand sweatpants? Even her “nice” outfit, which she had remembered to stuff into her suitcase the moment before she left the lake house, the stretchy black pants and tailored tank top with a pretty Asian design on it, would appear to her friends as hardly more than a glorified sweat suit. Yet in Michigan, this was as fancy as anyone she knew ever dressed. Of course, she still had several closets full of her old clothes at the house, she reminded herself, although they would be too small. Worse, she realized, they were over six months old, which meant that they would be laughably out of style.

Don’t think about it, she told herself, pulling her newest chess book from the seat-back pocket in front of her. It was the last in a series of three by Thomas Fo; The Meaningful Endgame, it was called.

By the time the flight arrived in Los Angeles, Jen was dreading the reaction she would receive from her friends when she met them in the airport. She could just imagine Chase eyeing her hair skeptically, telling her not to worry, that something could be done to salvage it.

But as she passed the security gate, only Becky was waiting for her. Jen could see her from a distance, staring into the crowd of arriving passengers. She looked remarkably unchanged for a woman who was eight months pregnant. Her trim figure was barely altered, except for the large, round belly filling out her stretchy tunic. As Jen walked up to her, she saw that her face still bore the same combination of girlishness and shrewdness that it always had, except with a bit of added rosiness in the cheeks, and tired-looking crinkles around the eyes that Jen did not remember having seen before.

Becky looked at her blankly for a moment before her face lit up with recognition. “Oh, hi!” she said, reaching out to enclose Jen in a warm, tight hug. Jen hugged her back, marveling that this pregnant lady who she could barely fit her arms around was her best friend of so many years.

“I can’t believe you’re pregnant,” Jen said. “You look just the same.” She realized too late that her statement invited commentary about her own changed appearance.

“So do you,” said Becky, automatically, before determining that her statement was too obviously false to stand unedited. “I mean, you look different, actually.”

“I’ve been working out a lot,” said Jen, trying to smooth over the awkwardness she had caused by bringing up this topic.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Becky said. “You look…” She paused to find a word. “Strong,” she decided.

Jen wasn’t sure if this was a compliment, directed at a woman in Los Angeles, but she decided to take it as one. “Thanks,” she said.

“So it’s just you?” Jen asked, as they walked towards the luggage claim.

“What do you mean?” said Becky.

“I thought Paula and Chase would be with you,” Jen said.

“We’re going to meet Chase for dinner,” Becky said. “Paula won’t be back for a few days, though. She’s on a retreat.”

“What kind of retreat?” Jen asked.

“I don’t know, some kind of sex cult,” Becky said.

“I thought she was celibate.”

“Oh, she’s celibate,” said Becky, her tone indicating that this had been a frequent topic of conversation. “But she’s into this tantric thing now. She’s got this new partner and I guess they’re into this tantric non-penetrative intercourse thing.”

“Partner?” Jen asked. “Is it a guy or a girl?”

“Well,” said Becky, “That’s kind of complicated.”

Normally, Jen would have found this response mysterious, but now that she had been hearing all about Shane’s intended transition from female to male, she understood the general idea without further questioning. She could find out the specifics from Paula when she returned.

Back at the house, Becky helped Jen find a suitable outfit for dinner. “I think this shirt will fit,” she said, pulling a sheer striped blouse from the closet. “It was a little big on you before.”

Jen tried it on and shrugged; “It’s fine,” she said, but Becky wrinkled her nose and began fussing with the sleeves, which were bunching awkwardly over her upper arms.

It was nice to spend time with Becky in the house like this, Jen thought. Despite her initial hesitance to break from her training schedule, once the trip was arranged, she had actually been looking forward to it. Shane had stopped training altogether while she got ready for her move to Ann Arbor, and the school was lonely without her. Jen realized that what had felt like a rich social life in North Middleton actually mainly consisted of her training sessions, plus an occasional evening at Shane’s apartment with her friends. Without Shane, Jen was only training with Master Park, either alone or in the advanced class, which consisted solely of college-aged men and Rob. Now, it was the thought of returning to Michigan, rather than the thought of leaving it, that was filling her with anxiety.

Once Jen had tried on half a dozen outfits and Becky had finally deemed one of them acceptable, Becky drove them to meet Chase for dinner. The restaurant used to be one of Jen’s favorites. It had everything she used to enjoy: tiny portions, fussy ingredients, minimalist-chic décor. It’s pretty, Jen thought, eyeing the concrete tables and pale blue glass lamps as she and Becky waited to be seated. But all the careful thought that had gone into the decorations seemed to her now like a waste of effort and resources. Why spend so much energy on all of these hand-made tables and bars and lamps? She knew this was a silly train of thought, that decorating was not a waste of energy any more than taekwondo or yoga or brushing one’s teeth. But she couldn’t stop thinking of all the more valuable things that could be accomplished rather than getting these decorations just right; that kind of attention to detail could lead someone to throw a perfect roundhouse kick, she thought, or open a homeless shelter, or find a cure for a horrible disease. Even the people in the restaurant seemed excessively thought-out in their casual-but-stylish clothing that clung to their bodies just so, as though they had all come directly from a photo shoot for a yoga supply catalogue.

“For four,” said Becky to the hostess, who took them to a concrete table in the corner, lit by a steel lamp hanging overhead like some kind of Spartan boom mike.

“Who’s the fourth?” Jen asked, as she sat down across from Becky.

“Chase’s boyfriend,” Becky said. “Eduardo.”

“Oh,” said Jen, surprised. She hadn’t heard anything about Chase having a boyfriend. She wondered how this detail would affect her vision of Becky and Chase’s perfect co-parenting situation.

“What’s he like?” Jen asked. She had no idea what sort of men Chase was attracted to. She envisioned him towering over a petite, feminine hairdresser, then dwarfed by a strapping leather daddy.

Before Becky could respond, Chase was walking towards the table, followed by a tall, broad-shouldered man in a stylish olive suit. The man had the self-important air of an investment banking executive or advertising mogul. As they navigated between the tables she saw the man discreetly place his hand on Chase’s hip; if not for this small gesture, Jen would have assumed that this was not the boyfriend but some stranger on his way to the bathroom, the sort of stranger who had a trophy wife at home and a couple of buxom administrative assistant mistresses at work.

Becky and Jen stood to great them as they reached the table. Chase leaned in to give Jen a hug. He looked the same as ever, beaming handsomely in his casual-but-expensive designer sweater.

“Jen, this is Eduardo,” said Chase as he released her, smiling proudly as he looked his boyfriend up and down. The guy was pretty good-looking, Jen thought, in a kind of overly-put-together way that matched her feelings about the restaurant.

Eduardo leaned in and kissed her on one cheek and then the other before sitting on the seat next to her. “So nice to finally meet you,” he said. “I’ve heard so much.”

“Likewise,” said Jen, hoping her expression wouldn’t belie the fact that she hadn’t known of his existence until two minutes ago.

Eduardo reached across the table to Becky and laid his hand over her round stomach. “How’s our little mama?” he asked, giving her belly a rub.

Jen winced, expecting Becky to shake his hand off and offer some withering comment in reply, but she just smiled politely. “Pretty good,” she said. “Ready for baby to make her grand debut.”

“It’s a girl?” Jen asked. She hadn’t even thought to ask about the baby’s gender. That shows how disconnected I’ve been, she chastised herself.

“Oh yeah, I didn’t tell you?” Becky said. “I guess we really haven’t talked much.”

Jen wanted to ask more—what names was Becky thinking of? Had she been hoping for a girl or a boy? Was she going to dress the baby in pink or in more unconventional, unisex clothes? But Eduardo spoke first.

“Chase and I are so excited about the baby,” Eduardo said, as he pulled out the chair next to Jen, waited for Chase to sit, and then seated himself next to Becky. “I keep telling him how lucky we are that Becky is having a daughter for us. So many men have to adopt or get a woman to have a baby for them, and here we just stumbled into it. It’s a perfect way to get a baby, without any of the work.”

“I did some of the work,” Chase said.

“Oh, I forgot,” said Eduardo, patting Chase’s hand over the cold concrete table. “You are very manly.”

Jen looked over at Becky to see if she was troubled by this line of conversation, but Becky’s face was impassive as she studied the menu.

“Champagne!” said Eduardo, as the waitress appeared to take their drink order. “Something mid-priced, not too dry. We need to celebrate.”

“Should I bring four glasses?” the waitress asked.

“Three please,” said Eduardo. “None for mommy.”

“I’ll have a glass,” Becky interrupted. “One drink is okay.”

“And I don’t need one,” Jen added. “I haven’t been drinking.”

“Oh, champagne doesn’t count,” said Eduardo. “We’ll take three glasses.”

“I guess it counts for me,” Becky said in a quiet voice that it seemed only Jen, sitting directly across the table from her, could hear.

“You can have mine,” Jen mouthed to Becky as the waitress left.

His order completed, Eduardo turned sideways to face Jen. “So great to see you in person,” Eduardo said. “Chase and I just watched Love at Dawn.”

“Oh?” said Jen, not really wanting to talk about it. It was a big-budget tearjerker drama and it hadn’t received great reviews. She had played the lead’s troubled-but-insightful best friend. She had only done it for the money; it was right before the divorce, and she had felt worried about her finances.

“Not great casting,” he said. “I liked you better in Meeting Elizabeth. You’re not really cut out for dramatic roles.”

Jen wasn’t sure how to respond. Everyone agreed she was best suited for romantic comedies, from her old acting coaches to her former agent to Becky—but they didn’t usually tell her so bluntly, especially when she had just met them.

“Eduardo is a casting director,” said Chase. “He’s a total rock star, very in-demand. I need to book weeks in advance to get a date with him.”

“Don’t listen to him,” said Eduardo, waving his hands to erase Chase’s words, as though they were floating in the middle of the table.

“Didn’t I schedule this dinner with your secretary?” Chase asked.

“Stop it,” said Eduardo, giving Chase’s hand a little slap.

“I want to hear about Jen’s fight,” Becky said. She turned to Eduardo and said, “Jen’s been in Michigan studying taekwondo.”

“That’s right, you told me that,” said Eduardo to Chase.

“She’s really good,” said Becky, despite the fact that she had never seen Jen fight or even train. “She practices every single day.”

“That’s fascinating,” said Eduardo. “So that was to study for a role?”

“No,” said Jen, annoyed to be returning to the subject of her movie career after Becky had so skillfully steered them away from it. “I’m taking a break right now.”

“The new look is interesting,” Eduardo continued, without seeming to have heard her response. “Different, but I’m into it. Kind of butch. I could see you playing something like a gym teacher. Or something military, like a chick in the army or something.”

“Oh, that would be so bad-ass,” said Chase. “Could you get her something like that?”

“Thanks, but I’m actually not looking for work,” Jen said.

“You know I can’t just ‘get’ people roles,” Eduardo said to Chase. “I mean, I could keep an eye out in case anything comes up.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Jen.

“Don’t mention it,” said Eduardo, giving her a little squeeze around her shoulders.

As they ate their healthy meals of sashimi and kale and frisée, Jen asked Chase and Eduardo where they had met.

“I had heard of Chase, of course, but we had never met in person. I called him in for the lead in this movie called For Better or For Hearse, and the first thing I thought when I saw him was that he was perfect.”

“So you’re doing a film?” Jen asked Chase. She knew he had been struggling for roles and hadn’t had work in a year or so. She was excited for him, though it seemed odd that Becky wouldn’t have mentioned it.

“No,” said Chase, shaking his head.

“Well, ultimately the director and I decided he wasn’t perfect for the role,” said Eduardo.

“Too old,” Chase said.

Jen expected Eduardo to contradict him, but instead he said, “Well, we did go with somebody a little younger and fresher.”

Jen turned to see Becky’s reaction, but Becky was still smiling pleasantly.

“But,” said Eduardo, “I mean I thought he was perfect in general. Perfect for me.”

“What did you like about him?” Jen asked, hoping to elicit some compliments to counteract Eduardo’s harsh words about Chase’s lack of youth and “freshness.”

“He’s so masculine, you know. So discreet. Just very typically male. I hadn’t met any guys in Hollywood like that.”

Jen was incredulous. Was he saying that the main thing he liked about Chase was that he didn’t seem gay? Jen turned to Becky, waiting for her to come to Chase’s defense, but she was smiling politely as she chewed her frisée. She looked at Chase; he was looking down at his sashimi as though it wasn’t him who was being talked about.

“And he has such a nice, dominant energy about him,” Eduardo continued. “The broad shoulders, the deep voice, the messy hair.” Eduardo reached across the table and cupped Chase’s chin in his hand. “That strong jaw.”

“You’re embarrassing me,” said Chase, blushing.

“It’s all true,” said Eduardo.

“So, Becky,” said Jen, unable to take any more of this. “Have you thought about names for the baby?”

“I like Tamlyn,” said Eduardo. “Very hip.”

For the rest of the meal, they discussed baby business: the shower, the ultrasounds, the due-date, Becky’s heartburn and sciatica. Eduardo offered his viewpoints liberally, while Chase quietly munched his dinner. Jen thought Eduardo’s involvement in the baby planning seemed awfully presumptuous, given that he couldn’t have been dating Chase for more than six months. But Becky seemed untroubled by his invasiveness, smiling at his suggestions, pleasantly answering his bold questions. As they parted ways in the parking lot, Becky gave Eduardo a hug goodbye before he climbed into the driver’s seat of Chase’s S.U.V. and drove them away. If Becky likes him, Jen thought, that’s what matters. Oh, and also if Chase likes him, she reminded herself.

When Jen lay down in her room that night, her bed felt like every bit of the several thousand dollars she had spent on it. She lay on top of the covers with the lights on, still in her dinner outfit, staring up at the tastefully painted ceiling. But as her back sank into the thick mattress, every inch cushioned yet supported, she found herself missing the ascetic plainness of the rickety single bed that she had been occupying for the last seven months. This feels like a hotel, she thought, stretching her arms above her head and wondering if she should read a bit more of her chess book or just get undressed and go to bed.

She heard footsteps in the hall, a knock at her door. “Hey, Jen,” Becky said, opening the door before Jen could respond.

“Come in,” said Jen, sitting up, but Becky had already entered the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. In her oversized pajamas, she looked more like a little girl than a grown, pregnant woman. She stared past Jen at the wall, chewing anxiously on her lip. She looks sad, Jen thought. She wondered if she was jealous of Chase’s relationship.

“You know what I was thinking of on the flight over here?” said Jen, hoping she could cheer Becky up. “That time we got caught shoplifting. Do you remember? We had to wait in that security office, and we were banned from the mall for life.”

Becky was still looking at the wall, unsmiling. Then she looked straight at Jen. “You need to move back,” she said.

“What?” Jen asked, startled.

“It’s time for you to move back,” Becky said. “You’ve been in Michigan for more than twice as long as you were supposed to. You were only supposed to go for the summer.”

“I know,” said Jen. She had hoped that no one had noticed her extended absence; she had been choosing to imagine that life in Los Angeles had been progressing smoothly without her. The revelation of Becky’s pregnancy had only confirmed her belief that Becky and Chase were getting along just fine without her, setting up an idyllic little life in which Jen would be nothing but a disruption.

“I’ll come back soon,” she said, and then, feeling bad about lying, added, “eventually.”

“It’s so lonely by myself here in the house,” Becky said. “This house is really huge for one person.”

“What about Chase?” Jen asked. “Doesn’t he keep you company?”

“Chase,” Becky repeated, spitting his name scornfully through her teeth. “I don’t get any time with Chase. He’s always with Eduardo.”

“You don’t hang out with both of them together?” Jen asked. “Eduardo made it sound like you were all one big happy family.”

“We are not one big happy family,” said Becky. “I can’t stand that guy.”

“Really?” Jen asked. “Why were you so nice to him at the restaurant?”

“I have to be nice to him,” Becky said, her voice pained. “Otherwise I’d never see Chase again.”

“Oh,” said Jen, relieved. “I am so glad you don’t like him! The way he was rubbing your stomach, it was just…” She paused to find the right words.

“Completely inappropriate,” Becky said.

Now Jen felt free to air all of the complaints she had suppressed during dinner. She shifted up on to her knees and began to laugh at the absurdity of their dinner conversation.

“I can’t believe he was trying to pick your baby’s name,” Jen said, laying her hand on Becky’s knee. It was hard to speak through her flood of relieved laughter. “Like it’s his baby. How long has he been dating Chase, a few months?”

“Five,” said Becky.

“And that thing with the champagne,” Jen said, catching her breath. “He acted like he was your doctor or something.”

“You need to move back,” Becky said, her solemn tone interrupting Jen’s waning hilarity. “You can do taekwondo here. There are schools in Los Angeles. I looked them up. There are at least thirty of them.”

Thinking of how her life in North Middleton was about to change, how lonely the academy would be without Shane, seeing how lonely and sad Becky was, Jen felt a strong wave of desire to say yes, to make Becky happy, to help raise the baby, to be with her friends. Moving back would fix everybody’s troubles all at once.

But she also knew that moving back would leave too much business unfinished. She hadn’t mastered anything she was working on: winning a fight, learning chess, even living in the Midwest.

Becky must have sensed her moment of weakness. “You’ll think about it?” she asked.

“I’ll think about it,” Jen said, and she wasn’t lying. She would think about it. She was pretty sure she would think about it all week, all through Becky’s baby shower, through evenings with Chase and Eduardo and Paula, and even as she packed her things again, drove to the airport, and got on the plane back to Michigan to resume what was now her life.

Chapter 32