by Anne Connor
Because, really, that’s the biggest thing we have in common: we were engaged to each other.
I liked her a lot. I even loved her, in my own way, felt attachment to her and fondness. And I certainly cared about her. But she happens to be right about one thing - even if she didn’t really mean it, even if she was just bluffing in some attempt to kick up drama and get me to declare my love for her, a diversion before the wedding to test me, to make sure that I really did want to get married to her - she really should be single for a while before getting married.
She’s had too many people taking care of her for too long. She needs to be on her own. Whether she really knows it or not.
And if there really is some other guy? I guess I’d rather not know.
I take my time finishing my lunch. I don’t want see her out there. And I don’t want to look at my phone to find the shit show I’m sure is waiting for me back at the office.
A sip of water. A dab of my napkin on the corners of my mouth. I pay my bill in cash and leave a generous tip for the waiter. Even though he didn’t have to deal with any of Clarissa’s shenanigans, I appreciate his concern for her.
She’ll be okay. If she wants to be alone for a while, be independent, I can’t blame her. It’s not as though we see each other enough for her to feel stifled by the relationship, but it’s fine if that’s what she wants to believe. And if there really is some other guy, if my hunch is correct, then fine - good riddance. Let him deal with her for the rest of his life.
I’ve done my part, served my time.
It’s for the best.
I leave the restaurant and make my way into the sunshine on Fifth Avenue. What started as an ugly day is becoming brighter.
This is all for the best.
I should probably be calling Clarissa and thanking her right now. One less source of drama on my plate.
I look around and weigh where the best spot to hail a cab will be, and see Clarissa on the corner, doing something on her phone and trying to hail a cab of her own.
If she wants to be independent, this is a good place to start.
“Want me to help you?” I ask as I stride over to her
“No. I am perfectly capable.”
A tenuous arm flails out into the street. She isn’t paying any attention to whether the rush of oncoming cabs have their available light on. She is just groping in the dark. For a woman who spent her entire life in New York City, she certainly seems a little bit lost.
“Let me help.”
I observe the traffic and spot a cab with its light on.
“Here, sweetheart. Get in this cab and go home. Want me to give him directions, or do you think you can manage that? Want me to write down your address for you?”
“I can do it. God, you’re really something else.”
Her phone is ringing, but she’s ignoring it.
“Are you sure? Want me to answer your phone for you, too? This is your chance to be independent, sweetheart.”
She doesn’t even seem mad at me. This is the best possible outcome, for both of us.
I glance down at her phone. There’s no picture for the person who’s calling, but I do recognize the name. Even looking at it upside down, I can see it’s her dickhead ex calling her.
“Why the hell is Rob calling you right now?”
“What?” She looks down at the phone as though someone just shoved it into her hands and ran away.
“Oh. I don’t know. Probably just for emotional support, or something.”
“He already knows that you broke off the engagement?”
“No. No. He just knows I’ve been going through some stuff, and he probably wants to check in on me.”
“Right. Sure.”
I’m not sure whether to believe her or not - maybe my suspicions are true, and there is another guy. Her shithead ex, Robert Crandall.
Robert cheated on her - a lot. He just wasn’t made for monogamy, or maybe monogamy wasn’t made for him. Either way, the last time Clarissa caught him in bed with another woman - the last time, it was his father’s legal secretary - she finally moved out of his apartment.
It’s a good thing she had that other place just waiting for her in The Village.
Robert’s name is constantly in the mud in all of the gossip rags and cheap, click-bait blogs. And it isn’t their fault his name is dirty - he does that all by himself.
The son of a partner at a big, old money law firm infamous for defending the bankers who lead our city into disarray, he has more time and money than he knows what to do with. He’s a pretty boy and a player; he came from money and would die with more than he would have been able to spend in ten lifetimes, despite his best efforts to blow through his daddy’s fortune, amassing collections of cars and homes across the world.
The profligate son returns.
My heart pumps in my chest, and then in my ears, and then in my throat. The cool, soothing calm that overcame me when I realized I would finally be free of Clarissa, the diva with a bad attitude and a penchant for drama, is being replaced with hot anger.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
She almost sounds apologetic. But I don’t have time for this bullshit anymore.
“Look. You and that asshole deserve each other. Go and be with him. And if he treats you like crap, then just know that you willingly went back into his arms. You could have been with me, baby.”
I walk away, burning with anger. She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t try to follow me. I assume she gets into her cab and calls Robert back, but I can’t say for sure.
Molly
“I’m so glad we decided to do this.”
My best friend, Jess, puts a shot glass of a milky pink liquid down on the table in front of me. The rim is dipped in a sweet rainbow of sugar crystals.
We’re out celebrating because I finally landed my dream job - assistant editor at a local daily paper.
Correction: I’m assistant to an editor at a local daily paper. And it’s not exactly my dream job.
But it could definitely lead to my dream job. And everyone has to start somewhere, right?
“What...is this?” I ask, holding the shot glass in the air and inspecting it.
“It’s a shot!”
Jess cradles three more shot glasses in her hands and plunks them down on the table, some of their contents sloshing over the edges and making a mess of the table.
“Aw. Well, you can’t cry over spilled milk. Or liquor. Down the hatch, lady!”
I am not about to get drunk. Not tonight. I have to start my new job on Monday, and I want to do research on the paper, devour all the back copies I can find online, and read up on the editor I’m going to be assisting.
I’ve scheduled myself to do that all weekend. No, I will not be getting drunk, but I know just a shot or two won’t hurt.
And anyway, it’s early. I have plenty of time to go home and sleep it off.
I look around the bar. This is not the kind of place Jess and I usually go to. It’s in Midtown, and as two women who grew up in Brooklyn, the city always seemed farther than just five miles away.
We spent our July Fourths sitting on the rooftop of her parents’ house drinking beers and watching the fireworks over Battery Park City.
And our Christmases dreaming of the tree in Rockefeller Center, drinking it all in as though we were a world away, observing the changing colors on the Empire State Building, wishing we could be closer.
And now, we finally are. Sort of.
My office will be in the city, but I still live in Brooklyn.
Don’t get me wrong. I love Brooklyn. I have a ton of Brooklyn pride. But when the greatest place in the world is mere moments from your reach, it makes it hurt that much more that it’s just beyond your grasp.
I’ll make it there. Besides, I’m technically a resident of New York City. I just want to make it in the city part of the city.
“Alright. Here we go.”
I shoot my drink back quickly, ex
pecting the contents of the glass to taste like liquor and burn like it, too. But instead, it just tastes like a sugary sweet confection.
“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“No, actually. Not bad at all.”
“I got those for you. I’d have rather had Southern Comfort on the rocks, but I know you need something that goes down a little bit easier. So I got us the birthday cake shots.”
“Birthday cake? I guess it did kind of taste like sugar frosting. But it’s not either of our birthdays.”
“Nonsense! It’s a birthday for you, in a way. The birth of your new career. Here.”
Jess shoves another shot in front of me and takes her own between a dainty thumb and forefinger.
“Okay. But just one more. I have a lot of work to do this weekend.”
“Work? This weekend? But your job doesn’t start until Monday.”
“I know, but I want to prepare. Get a jump on everything. Look good for my first day.”
“Oh, you’ll look good. I’ll let you borrow one of my suits.”
Jess is a paralegal at a family law firm downtown. It isn’t the most glamorous job, but at least it gets her out of the boroughs five days a week and lets her meet the rich set of hotshot Downtown finance guys on weeknights.
“Oh, shit. Don’t look now, but the Anderson brothers are here.”
“Who?”
I turn around to meet the objects of Jess’s gaze, but a quick swat on my hand makes me snap my head back to Jess.
“I said don’t look. Jeez.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you read the blogs? These two are the hottest guys in real estate right now. Well, they might not be for much longer.”
“Can I look now?” I ask, turning my head slightly but keeping my eyes on Jess.
“Fine. But be cool about it. Don’t stare.”
I turn my head around slowly to gaze upon the famous Anderson brothers, whoever they are.
And I have to admit that Jess is right - they are hot.
It’s like I’m seeing double. They both have gorgeous faces and great bodies and a similar look, but I’m more drawn to one of them. He’s a little bit taller than the other, with a thick head of ashy dark blonde hair and strong eyebrows - God, I love good eyebrows - and a scruffy beard that growls man. His brother is cute, but is more clean-cut. He also seems a little distracted and nervous, typing furiously on his phone.
“So, who are these two, exactly?”
“The Anderson brothers. Their father was this real estate guy in the 70s. Tons of money. But they wanted to do their own thing. They started their own company, and they’re doing really well for themselves, but they just got sued. Big time. Something about some land. I’m not sure. You’re a serious journalist. Don’t you read the papers?”
“Yeah, but I guess I missed this. I don’t really look at the real estate and finance stuff. You know I’m more interested in education. Local civics. That kind of thing. And anyway, I’m not interested in the unfortunate luck of some rich guys who might lose, like, a tenth of their wealth.”
“Well, read up on these two. You might learn something.”
She flashes a mischievous smile and her eyes sparkle as she looks at them over the top of her shot glass.
Drew
“She’s a bitch. Forget her. And we have more important things to worry about right now. Are you listening to me at all?”
My brother looks up from his phone. He’s giving me a pep talk, trying to talk me into hating Clarissa, trying to get my head back into the game. But the only thing I can think about is sleazy Robert stealing my fiancee right out from under my nose.
The crazy thing is that I was relieved, in a way, that the wedding was off, until I realized it was Robert’s doing. If Clarissa had come to the decision on her own, I would have stayed relieved. But throwing Robert into the mix is stirring up emotions that I know I have to tamp down.
It isn’t worth getting mad over.
I sip at my gin and tonic and crush an ice cube between my teeth.
Fucking Robert Crandall.
“I’m listening. Would you get off your phone? Let the attorneys handle it. You aren’t doing yourself any good reading the articles a million times. You’re just working yourself up. We had a successful meeting today. You’re the numbers guy. You’re the one who’s good at spotting trends. All those spreadsheets prove it. Leave the legal stuff to the legal guys.”
The entire afternoon, after I was dumped during lunch, consisted of strategy meetings with the attorneys. We had come up with a good plan: fight the other firm tooth and nail for the rights to the land. Prove we had our stake in it first.
I don’t want to lose this one. We’ve poured almost all of our capital into this deal, and even though we could just come to a compromise with the other firm, we decided to fight. There’s just too much risk involved in settling.
I’m confident we will win.
We have to win.
“Okay. You’re right. Let’s just focus on why we came here.
I scan the room. I know why my brother brought me here tonight. It’s to get my mind off Clarissa. It’s to move on from her, fast, and get my head clear.
What he meant was that I need to have some pretty little thing with her stilettos digging into my back by the end of the night.
That shouldn't be a problem. Before Clarissa, my love life consisted of a different woman every weekend. I was fine with it. I didn’t have time for a girlfriend, and Eric and I had to focus on getting our firm running.
It’s the usual Friday night crowd. We’re no stranger to bars like this. Young women come here with the intention of going home with a guy in hopes that it’ll either lead to to something more and she’ll be set for life, or that it won’t lead to something more. In the case of the latter, I am sure some of these women have a pair of ballet flats tucked into their purse for the cab ride home tomorrow morning.
Sometimes it really does lead to something more. One of my best friends from college met his wife here. What started as a one night stand - excuse me, it actually started as a quickie in the bathroom - ended up as a glorious relationship, complete with a honeymoon in St. Lucia.
But those results are not typical. Most of the time, even the women who come here are only looking to have a few martinis and a roll in the bed of some numbers guy who doesn’t give a shit about anything except the dick in his pants and the money in his pocket.
Who said true love is dead?
It seems that the typical clientele is in full attendance tonight, decked out in the standard costumes - women in bandage dresses and sky-high heels, men in their sport coats and some in ties. Shiny, new shoes. Not a scuff mark in sight.
My gaze lands on a pair of women in the corner, at a low booth by themselves. There aren’t any men with them, so I assume that their boyfriends are at the bar. I can't quite figure out another reason why there are no men hitting on them.
They are both hot, but I’m instantly attracted to one of them. She’s slim but not skinny, with just a little bit of curve in all the right places. She has a fresh, smooth, natural face, and her hair is pulled back into a loose bun, with loose tendrils tucked behind her ears.
I can see that she is here for a few drinks with her girlfriend, or maybe with her boyfriend who is just away from the table for a moment. She isn’t here for a drunken hookup. She’s here to have fun, but not that kind of fun.
That shouldn’t be an obstacle for me.
I’ll be tender with her, kiss her, and tell her how sweet and beautiful she is. Maybe she’ll be shy and coy and tell me the truth when I ask her if she goes home with strangers often. I can already tell that she doesn’t, by the way she’s carrying herself. She doesn’t have some ass-hugging dress on, and she isn’t curling her hips to the music and looking over her shoulder at me.
I’ll treat her like the real lady she is, and tell her that she shouldn’t go home with strangers, because now I’m the only man for her.<
br />
If that’s what she wants. Otherwise, if she has me and this whole bar fooled, I’ll fuck her fast and hard. I’d even let her suck me off in the cab on the way home. Or if she wants, I’d pull her into the men’s room, prop her ass up on the sink, lift her skirt up around her ass and lick her until she comes right there.
If that’s what she wants.
“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare? Were you raised by wolves? No, you were not. I happen to know who your parents are,” Eric interrupts my thoughts as he slips his phone into his pocket.
“I’m not staring. What’s wrong with your phone? Finally broke your thumbs from all the emails and texts you’ve sent today?”
“You are staring. See anything you like?”
“Her.” I gesture with my drink to the woman in the corner booth.
“Which one? The one who looks like she just came from a job interview or the hot one?”
“What? They’re both hot. You’re unbelievable.”
“No, you’re right. They are both hot. But one of them is dressed so...plain.”
He’s right. That’s what I like about her.
“I’m going to go talk to them.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll be over here, laughing at you when their boyfriends come back.”
“You know I have never had trouble picking up women.”
“I don’t know. You’ve been out of the game for a while. You've probably lost some of your touch.”
“No. Fuck that.”
I pick up my drink from the bar and make my way over to the two ladies. Purposeful, driven. I want her, if only for the night. She is beautiful and cute. She is the opposite of Clarissa. She is the opposite of every woman I've ever been with.
And I can’t wait to see what her pretty little mouth can do.
Molly
“Are you freaking kidding me? He’s coming over here. He must have caught you looking at him,” Jess says, checking her reflection in one of the distressed mirrors on the wall beside us.
“What? Shoot! Oh, my God. This is so embarrassing.”
