Page 11 of Almost Not Quite Engaged

“Packing.”

“For what?” I ask.

Ginny steps on the garbage can pedal opening it, then sweeps my leather goods into it.

“Let’s just jump right to the insane life altering idea, shall we?”

Chapter 4

For My Next Trick…

ZANE

Canyon Point, Utah

Florida has its highlights, that swamp thing wasn’t one. But Bill insists he got good footage. I was hoping for kind of a Naples, Sarasota vibe but that’s not what I found. I replaced a lens for Bill’s camera today. This better work. Budget wise we’re okay for a moment but the mystery fiancée announcement money will run out soon. I might need that baby if I can’t get a woman to lie for me.

I’m walking around the backside of the sweat-lodge looking for my cohorts who seem to be hiding in this dusty hellscape of holistic healing. There’s a reason when people film ‘Mars’ for movies, it’s in Utah and places like this.

I pause and scribble down some thoughts on an old hotel note pad from a Hyatt in Vienna. I steal the little pad of paper in hotel rooms as a nod to an ancient time where people needed to take a message. Or the urgency of writing a note down instead of tapping it out on your phone. There’s a part of me that romanticizes the analog of it all, so I carry the little pads of paper and jot down random ideas. I toss all the little pads into a big bin at my townhouse in Boston when I go home. I grab a couple when I set out for a new trip.

I keep all the notes in a series of padded envelopes from each trip I take. I have plans for them to be something someday. But today, the dusty, healing, chanting, world of this holistic spa and finding a story that’s funny but doesn’t mock this shit is my mission.

I’m toying with writing something for real about traditions tucked into different places in the world. I tap the pen on my lips and tuck the thoughts away.

Liesel’s flagging me down to go to some yurt where I’m supposed to get a weird massage. She’s leaning back in her folding chair and looks at me with the expression she has when she’s questioning every life choice that led her to this job and being my partner in crazy schemes. I’m grateful her husband loves all this too.

The parentals won’t crack that piggy bank again until they meet her, and I don’t have a her. We’re down to the wire but at least Liesel and Bill are paid and can go to the doctor. I know they’re trying to have a baby, and I’ll do anything for these people who traipse across the world with me. “This is my least favorite place in the world. Bedsheets and humming. I can’t take much more,” Liesel states.

I nudge her shoulder with my hip as we review B-roll. “We’re on location, we’re well funded, if we nail this softer angle, we can go explore somewhere a little less yoga orientated. You can check Utah off your bucket list, right? Come on, you love checking things off. “ I toss my arms up like I’m excited about this place.

She glares at me while I whistle. Liesel’s been my producer and editor since I did a local little show in Boston for fun just after my divorce. We met interning at a local radio station, when I had dreams of being Howard Stern meets Anthony Bourdain. And the station wanted online content.

She’s happily married, hysterically funny, no kids yet, no house, but a great apartment in Boston, which means according to my father’s logic she wouldn’t get her inheritance either.

We walk around the series of huts with all the healing going on. “We need six segments with teeth to create a two-part episode; one on the spiritual healing angle, one on the spa and hiking.”

“You’re saying I have to hike. I already drank my vile inner chi tea based on the spit test I did three weeks ago.”

“Good footage.”

“Tasted like hot yellow gatorade.” I chased it with a dozen gummi worms, in rapid succession then Serge the Purge requested my sugar stash. I gave him half.

We’re scouting the cooling pools and the sweat lodge. Apparently, they go hand in hand.

Liesel skims her fingers over the first outdoor tub. “You’re going in here.” I laugh.

“Like hell I am.” I have a thing about tubs that might have other people’s DNA in them. Did it once in the Berkshires, never again. Got the ick bad.

She walks up to me and says, “Get the hell over your weird phobia, we need rating and traction. Your cut and sexy chest, although it does nothing for me, is clickable. You’re getting in the freaking tub. Like right after you sweat so that all this steam rises off your body.” She opens her hands like she’s seeing the shot. She’s damn good.

I laugh very hard as we walk. Liesel does a little dance and starts doing that ancient Eddie Murphy bit when he’s being James Brown singing about hot tubs. I bend over laughing at her, and she knows I’ll surrender and get in the fucking tub.

“Let’s go see what other torture we can get you to do.” I groan. “We have the welcome fire ritual in an hour or so. There’s incense and wailing!” Bill laughs. First time I’ve heard him all day.

Bill says, “There’s a gong.” I suddenly jump and turn around and spread my arms out wide.

“Give us a hug.” Bill finally cracks a smile. “Better, but I’m getting that hug. Hey, Bill, can I borrow your wife to be my fiancée for a weekend?”