I Left My Back Door Open (8 page)

I wore a dark, loose, African print dress that I hoped camouflaged my weight. I'd been good last night. I'd walked on my treadmill forty minutes and avoided my usual late-night snack. I'd eaten a light breakfast and a vegetarian lunch. Tomorrow night, I'd be taking my first belly dance class. Now, if I could just land this brotha, it would feel like Christmas in July.

Skylar cleared his throat. His eyes were earnest. “I asked for a private meeting, or ‘caucus' as we like to call them, with one disputant at a time”—he paused, massaging his chin with his thumb and index finger—“in order to first get a clear idea of your goals and needs.”

My goal is to get to know you better, and my need is get to know you better
, I thought, gazing accross the conference table. I'd always been a sucker for earnest eyes.

“Mediation is a non-adversarial process,” Skylar continued.

I'm a lover, not a fighter
, I thought, dreamily supporting my chin with one hand.

“I don't serve as a judge or jury,” Skylar explained. “It's not my job to determine right and wrong or to place blame.”

I sat up straight. “But don't you ultimately render a decision?” I asked, confused.

Skylar shook his head and clasped his fingers. I gazed at his large hands and couldn't help wondering whether he was well-endowed. I tried to pay attention to what he was saying, but I wished I had X-ray eyes that could see the chest underneath his short-sleeved business shirt and the bulge inside his pants. You have to understand: It had been a long dry season.

“My role is primarily that of facilitator. My only interest is in helping you to resolve your differences and reach a negotiated settlement based on a ‘win-win' solution.”

“Well, how do we achieve this negotiated settlement that results in a win-win solution?” I asked.

Skylar smiled and adjusted his glasses, like he lived to answer such questions. “By my providing you with a forum to see conflict as an opportunity.”

“An opportunity for what?”

“An opportunity to acknowledge and appreciate differences.”

“Say what?”

He glanced down at his clipboard. “I facilitate communication by helping disputants describe their feelings, clarify issues, determine their true interests, identify underlying concerns and, where possible, reach agreement. That's my role in a nutshell.”

Well, you must be a nut if you think that I have any wish to determine Bill's true interests or identify his underlying concerns
, I thought. I had absolutely no desire to explore the reasons why Bill was a jerk. “Where are you from?” I asked.

“Santa Cruz, California. Why?”

No wonder. “With all due respect, I have no interest in acknowledging and appreciating Bill's differences. As far as I'm concerned he's a dog, bow, wow, wow. I let him know that I didn't have any bones for him. And he put his tongue back in his mouth. End of story. So, long as Bill doesn't interfere with my fifty thousand watts of radio power and stays in his little booth, we're cool.”

“Daphne. May I call you Daphne?”

I nodded. “Everyone's on a first-name basis here. You can even call me Dee Dee.”

“Daphne, may I ask you where
you're
from?”

“I hail from Alabama, but I've lived most of my life here in Chicago.” I eyed the framed poster on the wall with the famous slogan
CHICAGO AIN
'
T READY FOR REFORM
!

Skylar glanced at the poster. “I've heard that there is such a thing as a Chicago personality. Do you think that's true?”

I nodded. “If you look up ‘real' in the dictionary, there should be a picture of a Chicagoan.”

Skylar chuckled. “Is that right?”

“Yeah. We tell it like it is. We give it to you straight, no chaser.”

“Funny we should be having this conversation, because on the way over here, a cabbie said to me, ‘You talk to a Chicagoan for five minutes, and you feel like you've known him your whole life.' He said that I'd quickly learn to love it here, despite the weather. I'd told him I was new, that I was still learning my way around.”

“You told a cab driver
that
? I hope he didn't take you on the scenic route.”

“I hope not, either,” Skylar said sheepishly. “Anyway, the cabbie said some places, you never feel like you ever get to know folks. But here in Chicago, you do.”

“That's true,” I agreed. “Chicagoans are easy to get to know. And we're loyal. You make friends with a Chicagoan, you got a friend for life. ‘Got to Be Real' is our theme song,” I added.

“Well, tell me straight up, Ms. Windy City, are you open to mediation or not?” Skylar asked with a twinkle in his eye.

I was tempted to say, “Baby, I'm open to you.”

Instead, I answered, “Hey, I'm not advocating that people duke it out in the alleys, but mediation just sounds so textbook and apple pie. I mean, some people are just jerks. And everything is not always equal.” I raised my eyebrows. “In some cases, there
is
a right and a wrong.”

Skylar stood up and paced in front of me. “We encourage disputants to walk in the other person's shoes, to see things from his or her perspective, and vice versa. Sometimes, it's not what is said, but what is meant. The same communication may have different, even opposite, meanings for different people.” He glanced down at me. “For example, a marriage may mean one thing to a wife and something completely different to a husband.” He caressed his empty ring finger.

“That's certainly true,” I interjected. “At least, that was my experience.”

Skylar shot me a sympathetic look. “And a belly dance performance can be a form of artistic, even spiritual expression for one person,” he continued, “and arouse prurient interests in another.”

I stretched my legs underneath the table. “That person can still keep his prurient interests to himself,” I said. “Or at least be willing to take ‘no' for an answer.”

Skylar stood in front of me with his arms folded. He glanced down at his clipboard. “Mediation permits a disputant to model useful behavior and techniques for avoiding future conflicts.”

I made a scornful face. “Bill can avoid future conflicts by not acting like a dog. It's that simple.” My tone turned playful. “Some answers are not on your clipboard.”

Skylar blushed beneath his brown color. “You referred to Bill as a dog earlier, and you just did it again,” he pointed out, sounding like a damn lawyer.

“So?”

“So, mediation permits parties to become human to each other.” He smiled. “The conventional negotiating world is controlled by egocentric self-interest. But mediation is controlled by enlightened self-interest.” He was reading from his clipboard again.

I felt my shoulders tighten. I was getting pissed. I was tired of this clipboard bullshit. Why were we even having this conversation? Skylar and I should be strolling along the beach, whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears. It wasn't every day that I felt physically attracted to someone. I needed juice, not sawdust. I needed a chocolate Superman, not Clark Kent.

“This is not about enlightened self-interest!” I blurted out. “This is about a creep sneaking up behind me and massaging my shoulders, with his fingers damn near touching my breasts. If I want a massage, I can pay a professional!”

“It sounds to me like your feelings regarding Bill are unresolved.”

“I prefer to let sleeping dogs lie.”

Skylar sat down across from me and folded his hands. His long, sexy fingers were a turn-on. Ham-hock hands with stubby fingers turned me off.

“One possible solution might be for Bill to hear, from you, what emotional meaning his words and actions had for you,” Skylar suggested quietly. “Also, correct me if I'm wrong, but maybe it would be helpful for you to hear from Bill the meaning he ascribes to his actions and comments.”

“You're wrong. So, I'm correcting you,” I answered with a fake smile. “I have no interest in the meaning Bill ascribes to anything, except radio engineering.”

“I can understand why you might've been offended by Bill's behavior,” Skylar conceded. “But …”

“But what?”

“But strange as this sounds, he may have intended it to be complimentary.”

I stood up and threw my arms in the air. “I don't care what Bill's intent was! And I'm not that hard up for compliments.”

“I'm not saying that Bill has acted appropriately,” Skylar said almost apologetically. “But what requires mediation is less the conflict between intent and interpretation than between the meanings different parties find in the same terms. Mediation reveals the parties' deeper motivations.”

Skylar's gobbledygook was getting on my last nerve. And yet, to my frustration, my undies were still in a bunch. “I don't care about Bill's deeper motivations!” I shouted. “I'm not sure I even care about my own.”

“Growth can be scary,” Skylar replied.

“I'm already grown,” I explained with exasperation. Skylar had severed my last nerve. “Besides, this is not about growth! This is about a jerk saying, ‘I like my women, like I like my coffee, hot and black!' This is about a dog saying to me at the watercooler, ‘They've only got these small cups. They hold just enough water for my dick!'”

Skylar looked taken aback but not blown away. I was surprised by my outburst. But it felt good to get angry. Maybe Skylar and I could still make mad, passionate love together, even though we pissed each other off.

“Perhaps Bill was just trying to say he had a small dick.” Skylar winked.

“Yeah, perhaps,” I said, unable to keep from smiling. “I hadn't thought of it that way,” I acknowledged. I could feel myself letting go of some of my anger. I liked it that Skylar had finally said something not on his clipboard. Maybe he could actually be fun. I'd love to give it up again to a man with a sense of humor and a twinkle in his eyes. I looked at Skylar and saw possibilities. “Sorry I went ballistic.”

“There's no need to apologize,” Skylar insisted. “So long as I didn't have to duck.” He pretended to move out of the way of a flying object.

“I believe in nonviolence,” I assured him.

“That's comforting,” Skylar said with an exaggerated sigh of relief. He folded his arms. “So, Dee Dee, do you want to give this process a shot or not?”

I noticed that he had called me Dee Dee. It sounded so sweet coming from his lips. I was definitely feeling open to him again.

“I see the value in mediation,” I answered, diplomatically. “I honestly do. In fact, I think it might really be positive for Bill and Jade to go through it, since their conflict is ongoing and unresolved. But I'm content to sit on the sidelines.” I shrugged. “Maybe I just wasn't raised to make a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Do you consider sexual harassment a molehill?” Skylar asked, looking concerned.

“It all depends on the severity of it,” I said flatly. “I'm not trying to minimize sexual harassment, because it can be a serious problem. But my situation with Bill was something that I was able to handle on my own. I grew up learning how to fight for myself,” I bragged. “At least when my big brother wasn't around. Plus I had to take up for my little sister. Anyway, the focus needs to be on Bill and Jade, not Bill and me.”

“There can be more than one focus,” Skylar said. “I mean, a few minutes ago, you seemed pretty upset about Bill's behavior. You know these resources are available to you as much as anyone else. The radio station is happy to provide mediation to you free of charge.” He paused. “Do you feel like you don't deserve to participate in this process?”

I groaned. “No, I don't feel like I don't deserve to participate in this process,” I answered sarcastically. “I just don't believe in sweating the small stuff, that's all.”

“I see.”

“You ever been through a winter here?” I asked.

“Not really. I just moved here this past April.”

“You haven't encountered the Hawk full blast then.”

“The Hawk?”

“The wind. It blows off the lake and it takes no prisoners. It cuts through you like a knife.”

Skylar's eyes widened. “It's been windy, but I can't say I've had that experience.”

“Maybe that's why I can't dwell on every little thing. I've been through too many Chicago winters.”

Skylar sighed. “Well, I hope I haven't wasted your time.”

“Not at all. When I came in here, I was pretty ignorant on the subject of mediation.”

“We're all ignorant about something. Try moving to a strange city. And have everybody tell you how easily laid out it is.”

“It is,” I insisted, talking with my hands. “The streets here are all numbered and laid out like ladders. The corner of State and Madison, downtown here, is ground zero. State is the dividing line between North and South. Madison is the dividing line between East and West. The West Side is west of the Loop. And there is no real East Side, just the Lake. It's very simple and to the point,” I said breathlessly.

“Everyone gives you a similar speech.” Skylar smiled lazily. “I think I've finally got it.” He paused long enough for me to admire the way his lips curled when he smiled. “You know, the pace here is somewhat faster than I'm used to,” he admitted. “And I'm accustomed to pedestrians having the right of way.

“And I'm not saying that the people here aren't friendly,” he said hesitantly. “But their attitudes seem so cut-and-dried sometimes.”

“Chicago is called the city that works,” I informed him. “Everything seems so concrete here. I mean that figuratively more so than literally.”

“We may appear tough on the outside, but inside we're like marshmallows,” I confided.

“I always have to remind myself not to compare my inside with another person's outside.”