Figuring there had to be guys at the bar who would rather talk to a pretty girl than watch tall, gangly, sweaty men shoot hoops, I ordered a glass of water and swiveled my bar stool so I was facing the crowd. I quickly dismissed the pockets of girls and those boy/girl combinations that were probably on a date, until my eyes focused on a group of three guys laughing amongst themselves. One was significantly taller than the others and with his unruly brown hair, reminded me of Bob. I left my glass on the bar and headed in his direction. As he came closer into my view, I noticed his shirt and had second thoughts about approaching a guy who would be seen in public wearing a shirt emblazed with designs of foreign currency. By the time, I removed my focus away from his shirt, I realized I was busted.
His significantly better dressed friend poked him in the arm and, grinning at me, said, “Can you please tell my friend he's wearing the ugliest shirt in the bar?”
At that point, I no longer cared what he was wearing and was just appreciative of the attention. I pretended to examine his shirt to consider how tacky it was, even though I already had a strong opinion. Very tacky. “Well, I can't imagine male models will be strutting down the runway in that particular shirt anytime soon.”
Tacky Shirt Guy looked down at his shirt and back up at me with a twinkle in his dark blue eyes. “But it's a great conversation starter, ain't it? You wouldn't be talking to us otherwise!”
Whatever worked. I raised my eyebrows, nodded and said, “Yep.”
Chiming in, Significantly Better Dressed Guy said, “So, what brings you here tonight? You here with anyone?”
“Nope. Just me.” Not wanting them to think I had no friends, I said, “My roommate was supposed to come but didn't feel well and I was really thirsty.” I hoped that sounded sort of cool.
Tacky Shirt Guy glanced at my empty hand. “Where's your drink?”
“I guess I forgot to buy one!” Hint hint.
“Can I buy one for you?”
I held his eye contact a few seconds longer than normal. “That would be nice.”
He motioned for me to follow him to the bar and we stood behind the two guys who had ignored me earlier. They were still watching basketball. I wanted them to turn around and see that I had found cooler guys to talk to, but they remained entranced by the game.
Tacky Shirt Guy maneuvered his body to face me while keeping his eyes on the bar to catch the bartender's attention. “I'm Steve, by the way.”
“I'm Jane.”
“So, Jane, do you go to bars by yourself often? Not that I'm complaining, mind you.”
“Actually, I've never done this before.” I shrugged. “Was bored at home.”
Steve looked at me doubtfully. “Sure. I bet you use that line all of the time to get free drinks.”
I felt my face get warm and defensively said, “No way!”
Steve shook his head. “Whatever you say.” But the twinkle was back in his eyes and I knew he was teasing me.
I playfully pushed him in the arm. “Whatever you say!”
“I say, what are you drinking?”
“Do they have cider?” I couldn't see what they had from where I was standing and watched Steve survey the beers on tap before turning back to me. “Yeah, they have Magners. Is that OK?”
It's perfect.” I flipped my hair. “Thanks again.” I couldn't wait to tell Lainie I had met three guys, one of whom bought me a drink. Although she probably wouldn't care now that she had Antoine.
Steve handed me my drink and I followed him back to where his friends were standing, leaning over the Touch Tunes digital jukebox.
I took a sip of my cider, totally psyched to have the attention of three cute guys. Steve smiled brightly and I decided he was seriously adorable despite his ugly shirt. I was pleased that he was the one who seemed to take the most interest in me, although the attention of three men was three times better than the attention of just one.
Steve said, “What? Was there a sale somewhere? It's about time you guys got here!”
I said, “Huh?”, confused until I realized Steve wasn't talking to me. Three girls had just walked over and he had pulled one of them into an embrace. I observed the six individuals pair off into couples of two and suddenly, it was like I was not in the room. I took another sip of cider, not sure what else to do and hoping someone would remember I was standing there.
The fingers of his free hand now laced with the fingers of a petite and pretty blonde girl, Steve gestured towards me. “Meet Jane, girls. She looked lonely all by herself so we bought her a cider.”
The girls smiled at me and said, “Hi, Jane” in unison.
One of the girls, who I thought I recognized from the gym, except her shiny black hair now cascaded down her shoulders instead of in a long, smooth ponytail, looked at me with pity, “That's so sad. You can totally hang out with us if you want!”
“Yeah, definitely,” Steve's girlfriend agreed.
I looked at the dirty bar floor, focusing on a cocktail napkin that looked like it had been stepped on repeatedly but still had not attached itself to anyone's shoe. I took another sip of cider, felt it starting to go to my head, and willed myself to look up and fake a confident smile. I nodded my head in Steve's direction. “That's OK. I'm going to call one of my friends. We planned to maybe meet later. Thanks for the drink. Nice meeting you guys.” I calmly walked back to my old spot at the bar where I planned to pretend to text a friend in case Steve and his posse were still watching me, but the space was now occupied by a couple. The girl was sitting on the bar stool, her body angled toward her date who was standing between her legs. His back was to the two guys who were still riveted to the basketball game.
Uncertain as to my next move but not ready to end the night on a sour note, I headed toward the bathroom line to pass the time and hopefully flirt with a guy on his way out. There was one girl already waiting. I smiled and asked, “Someone in there?” just as her phone rang. She nodded to me before raising the phone to her ear and saying, “Where are you?” Then she rolled her eyes at me and mouthed, “Boyfriends!”
I gave her a sympathetic smile, although it was obvious she was not looking for pity and more likely bragging about her attached romantic status.
She was still on the phone when the bathroom became available and while she and her boyfriend probably engaged in phone sex in the women's room, at least six guys went in and out of the men's room. I smiled at each of them. When one came out and saw me still standing there, he grinned, showing a mouthful of yellow teeth and said, “You're still waiting? So glad I'm not a chick!”
He was ugly, but at least he was speaking to me. “If she doesn't come out soon, I might have to pretend to be a guy for a few minutes!” I flipped my hair and said, “Think anyone would notice?”
Scratching his bald spot, he laughed and said, “We'd notice. But we probably wouldn't mind.”
“I'd mind though. He's taken,” said the girl who suddenly appeared by his side. Her mouse-like black eyes darted up and up down the length of my body, she kissed him on the cheek, and said, “C'mon, honey” before dragging him away with her chubby hands.
I left the bar without peeing. I didn't have to go that bad anyway.
CHAPTER 29
I wished I hadn't gone out. I'd been hoping for some harmless male attention to boost my ego and instead had been reminded that virtually every other female in my age range was part of a couple while I stood alone in a bar packed with people, feeling invisible and unlovable. I had two voicemails, so apparently two people cared I was alive. Unless both calls were from the same person. Or wrong numbers.
Alone in the apartment, I sat on my bed and dialed into voicemail, feeling tears building behind my eyes and hoping for some good news. The first message was from Bob asking me to call him back as soon as I got the message. I listened to the second message. It was my mom asking if I'd heard the news about Bob and Trish. What news about Bob and Trish?
I felt the color drain from my face, the hairs stand up o
n the back of my neck, and knew exactly to what “news” my mom was referring. I was glad I only had one drink at the bar because otherwise I might have thrown up. I felt like someone had punched me hard right in the belly even though Bob's good news technically had nothing to do with me. Instead of being happy for Bob, all I could think about was whether I'd ever get married. I'd die if they had a short engagement and I wasn't with someone by the wedding. I couldn't go to my ex-boyfriend's wedding stag!
With a pit in my stomach, I contemplated who to call first, Bob or my mom, since I knew both calls would leave me equally miserable.
It was past eleven, but I knew under the circumstances they'd both be awake. I made my choice.
“Hi Mom,” I said, faking cheeriness.
“Did you hear the news?”
“About Bob and Trish? Yes,” I said. “Well, kind of,” I mumbled.
“What do you think?”
“About what?” What thoughts was I supposed to have about my ex-boyfriend of nine years proposing to his “rebound” girl?
My mom said, “They're thinking next spring. How do you feel?”
“I'm happy for them.” I really was. Sort of. I just would have preferred they be happy for me first.
The remainder of the conversation consisted of me responding, “uh-huh” or “yup” whenever there was a pause in the conversation and I assumed my mom was waiting for me to say something. She might have suggested I jump in a cab and head over to Bob's place to fight Trish to the death for all I heard. I stopped listening at the phrase, “next spring” and felt pangs of nausea like I guessed some of my single friends felt senior year in high school when talk turned to the prom and they didn't know who, if anyone, would ask them. I never had those concerns. I always had a boyfriend. I always had Bob. Soon I'd receive an invitation to his wedding and worry about who to bring as my date. Maybe I'd find an excuse to decline the invitation. Or maybe I'd be practicing law pro-bono in some under-privileged country. I could defend innocent people who were wrongly accused of crimes! Or I could prosecute the men in Guyana who brutally raped women without repercussion. The assistant DA on Law and Order: SVU took a leave of absence to do that.
“Jane!”
Back in my room, I said, “I'm here” into the phone.
“So, your father and I will buy them something off of the registry on behalf of the family, but under the circumstances, it would be nice for you to give them a gift from just you.”
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
I wanted her to tell me I'd done the right thing. Bob was my first love, but not my great love. I wanted her to tell me it would be OK. “Is Dad there?”
“Yes, it's late though. He's in bed.”
I heard my father say, “I'll take it” in the background and then, “Hiya Pumpkin” into the phone.
My voice quivering, I said, “Hi Daddy.”
“Crazy news about Bob, huh?”
Not as crazy as going to a bar by yourself and accepting a pity drink from a guy in an ugly shirt. “Yup.”
“Between you and me, munchkin, he's making a mistake.” Whispering, he said, “No one should get married before thirty. We'll get you on partnership track and then you can focus on getting married. Don't tell your mother.”
A small smile escaping, I said, “Sounds like a plan.”
“Bob wasn't the one for you anyway. I'd prefer you choose a guy who is shorter than your old man for one.”
“I'll do my best, Dad. I love you.”
“Love you too, sweetheart. Now go to bed and have some sweet dreams.”
“Will do. Night.”
After we hung up, I searched for Bob's number on my phone. I had my finger on the “send” button, but hesitated. I glanced at my clock radio. It was almost midnight. Too late to call an ex. Even if it was to congratulate him for his engagement. I put the phone down, removed my jeans and sweater and got into bed. I stared at the ceiling, thinking I should probably get up and brush my teeth. I turned onto my stomach, my head pressed into the pillow. I could hear my mom's voice urging me to at least wash off my make-up. I replayed in my mind the moment I knew Bob and I were no longer in love -- when he told the story of how we got together for the umpteenth time and instead of laughing and looking up at him longingly, I made a quick getaway to the lady's room and splashed cold water on my face. It was my decision to break up, but he didn't fight me on it. Would he have fought for Trish? And if so, was it because she was the right girl? Or was Trish simply the type of girl men fought for while I was the type of girl men left without looking back?
I went into the kitchen and removed a large stock pot from the cabinet above the sink. Then I removed bacon, onions, garlic, celery, and scallions from the refrigerator and made potato leek soup from scratch. I knew trying to fall asleep was pointless, and this way at least Lainie and I would have dinner for the next few nights.
CHAPTER 30
I stared at my computer screen where I had typed “Hi Bob” in the text of a new email. I pressed the delete button until the screen was blank. I couldn't congratulate him in an email. Especially since he had called me personally to break the news.
I took a deep breath, placed a hand over my rapidly beating heart, and picked up my work phone. As it rang, I silently prayed for voicemail.
“You've reached Bob.”
I mouthed “thank you” to my office ceiling and waited for the beep.
“Hello?”
“Ba, Bob?”
“Nope. Just Bob,” he said laughing.
“I thought it was your voicemail,” I said in dread.
“Nope, I'm here. Hey Jane.”
“Uh, hi.” Remembering the point of my call, I said, “Congratulations! My mom told me!”
“Thanks! I figured you were out last night with one of your new boyfriends.”
Nope, just Tacky Shirt Guy, Yellow Teeth Dude, and their girlfriends. “Ha ha. Yes, I was out. Sorry I got home too late to call you back.”
“No problem. Thanks for calling.”
“Of course.” I scooped a handful of paper clips from the holder on my desk and began separating the large ones into a separate compartment. “So, uh, you guys must be super stoked. Send my congrats to Trish.”
“I will. We're gonna have an engagement party.”
Great. “Great!”
“Did your mom tell you how I proposed?”
“No. Tell me!” Or better yet, don't.
Speaking quickly and enthusiastically, Bob said, “I told Trish I needed new cuff-links and asked her to help me pick them out. I had already asked the jeweler to place the engagement ring in the center of the container with the cuff-links. When the jeweler asked if I wanted to take a closer look at any of them, I gestured to the ring, and when he gave it to me, I got down on one knee and proposed.”
I bit my lip to stop it from trembling and said, “Wow.” I tried to form other words but gave up and said, “Wow” again.
“Yeah, it was legendary,” Bob said proudly.
“Epic,” I agreed.
“Anyway, thanks for calling Jane. Wish I had more time to talk but I'm slammed and we have dinner with both sets of parents tonight.”
“OK, I'll let you go. Congratulations again.”
After we hung up, I stared at the phone and ignored the tears making their way from my eyes down to my chin.
“Jane? Are you OK?”
I absently looked over at Andrew, who was wide-eyed with concern. “No,” I said. I had completely forgotten he was in the room.
“What's wrong?”
Wiping my eyes, I swallowed back my tears and said, “Nothing.” But the tears were stronger than my resolve not to shed them and I had to get out of there fast. I calmly stood up, straightened out my skirt, and walked out of the office. I looked both ways and certain no one was in the hallway, ran to the bathroom.
Alone in the stall, I stood up and banged my head repeatedly against the door in frustration. In between gasps for air, I soft
ly cried, “What's wrong with me? Why doesn't anyone want me? Why? Why? Why?” until someone joined me in the bathroom and I willed myself to keep quiet. I waited patiently, biting my lip again to keep silent while my bathroom buddy did her thing. I stood still while she washed her hands and it wasn't until I heard the door of the bathroom close that I finally opened the door of my stall and walked to the sink. My face was blotchy like I got a bad sunburn and my eyes and lips were swollen. Since I didn't have any makeup to apply, I lightly tapped on my cheeks, hoping the swelling would go away and I removed the excess makeup from the corners of my eyes. I hoped Andrew had taken his lunch hour so I'd be alone in the office to compose myself.
He hadn't. He had pulled his chair closer to my desk and was reading Christopher Moore's book, Island of the Sequined Love Nun. I stood next to him and coughed until he looked up.
“Can I help you, Andrew?”
Andrew dropped the book in his lap and pursed his lips. His head was cocked to the side and he was looking at me strangely. Finally, he said, “Nope. But if you tell me why you've crying, I might be able to help you.”
I walked around his chair and sat down in mine. I was locked out of my computer so while I re-inserted my password, I told him, “Thanks, but no thanks. Besides, I thought you hated me.”
“I don't hate you, Jane. You've just been, well…” Andrew sighed, “…acting strange lately.”
Still unable to look at him, I continued to focus on my computer screen. “Strange how?”
“Not yourself.”
Finally, I faced him. “Being myself has gotten me nowhere! At least Frances was having fun!”
“Frances?” Andrew shook his head. “Strange. See what I mean?”
“If you must know, I was trying to do what you said. Nail ‘em and leave ‘em. And it was working.”
Andrew started laughing and a film of red blanketed his face. “Really?”
A State of Jane Page 13
