The Girlfriend Curse

by Valerie Frankel

  That being Monday, today, which began when Tracy and Gloria dragged her out of bed to catch the final minutes of breakfast before Linus’s seminar on what men want.

  Tracy raised her hand first. Linus called on her. She said, “What men have wanted from me, in descending order of importance: an ego boost, a sounding board—and I do mean bored—a last-minute escort, a drinking buddy. And cab fare.”

  Gloria said, “I have ego boost on my list.”

  Peg said, “I have drinking buddy.”

  “What else, Gloria?” asked Linus.

  Gloria said, “Arm candy, clout, bragging rights, an empty vessel, masturbatory tool.”

  “Jesus, Gloria,” said Tracy. “It hasn’t been that bad.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Gloria. “You have no idea how hard it is to be me.”

  Peg might have been turned off by Gloria’s self-pity. But, then again, she didn’t know what it must be like to have a famous father, to be heiress to a fortune and trotted around society like an exotic animal. Gloria the giraffe.

  Linus called on Peg. She recited, “Men want me to be their sexual co-adventurer, drinking buddy, cook, maid, cheerleader.”

  He said, “Very good. Now take that piece of paper, all of you, crumple it into a ball and throw it away. That’s right. Over your shoulder.”

  “Now you’re going to tell us why our lists are fucked up, and how to change,” said Peg. “We’re symbolically throwing away the mistakes of our past, and you’re going to point the way toward future happiness.”

  “How should I know what will make you happy?” he asked.

  “You’re not going to give us the answers?” asked Tracy.

  “I can’t do that,” said Linus. “That would be cheating.”

  Gloria asked, “So what are we doing here?”

  Linus held up his finger, imploring the impatient heathens to wait. “My job is not to give you answers,” he said. “It’s to ask the right questions.”

  Tracy, Peg and Gloria heaved couch pillows at him.

  Holding up his arms to ward off the throws, Linus said, “I guess I deserved that.”

  “Since we’re to draw on personal experience, why don’t you tell us about what you want in your relationship,” said Peg.

  “I’ll speak as a typical man,” Linus said. “Sweeping gender generalizations can be useful sometimes. First and foremost, men want reliability. Women get into a relationship hoping a man will change, and he never does; men get into a relationship hoping the woman won’t change, but she always does. Men want their partners to be consistent. That they won’t make impromptu impossible demands nor baffle him with classically female sudden-onset hysterical behavior.”

  “You just made yourself very unsympathetic, mister,” said Tracy frostily.

  “I’m not speaking for myself,” he defended. “I like suddenonset hysterical behavior. It can be educational, from an empirical anecdotal research standpoint.”

  Peg said, “So what do you recommend? That women should be completely accepting, ask for nothing, expect nothing from the men we give everything to?”

  Linus sat down on the coffee table, right in front of Peg. He leaned in close, his knees touching hers. “Your language,” he said. “It’s plaintive.”

  “I’ve been wronged,” said Peg.

  “You think relationships are about give and take.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” she asked, appealing to Tracy and Gloria, who dutifully nodded.

  Linus said, “The typical man suspects that his girlfriend gives to get. He appreciates all the giving at first. Eventually, he starts to wonder when all this giving will turn into demands and ultimatums. Every time she volunteers to get him a beer, he worries she’ll expect something in return. A gift. A dinner with her parents. A commitment to love and honor each other until death. His anxiety builds, and the typical man can take only so much before he cracks.”

  The women on the couch listened, horrified.

  Linus continued. “I’m not suggesting that women consciously scheme. A woman in love wants to demonstrate. She’s not necessarily giving to get. But the typical man will think otherwise.”

  Gloria said, “I’ve never put pressure on men. I barely ask for anything.”

  Linus said, “Have you ever pursued a man?”

  Gloria looked surprised. “Men are supposed to pursue the woman.”

  “Your answer is no,” he said. “Do you flirt?”

  “I flirt,” said Gloria.

  “What’s your style?” asked Linus.

  “I’m rude and snotty,” said Gloria. “The ruder I am, the harder they come after me.”

  Linus nodded sagaciously. He said, “Did you bring your other list? What you hope to achieve from your interpersonal exercises this week?”

  Gloria had her list folded into a small square, tucked into the bib pocket of her pinafore dress. Tracy took hers out, too. Peg hadn’t completed hers at this time. She’d have to improvise when her turn came.

  Linus said to Gloria, “What’s the first thing on the list?”

  She said, “I want to feel excited. To have fun. Like those girls at camp.”

  “Has being rude to men made you feel excited?”

  “No.”

  “Was it fun?” he asked.

  “Kind of.”

  “What would be exciting and fun?”

  “Something else?” Gloria ventured hesitantly.

  “Tracy,” Linus said, turning to the brunette. “What’s on your list?”

  Gloria said quickly, “You’re not going to tell me what to do? You expect me to figure it out for myself? And how am I supposed to do that?”

  Linus said, “Trial and error. Your date tonight is with Ray. Use him, experiment on him. You can start by smiling and talking to him instead of being rude and snotty.”

  Gloria seemed mollified by that.

  Linus said, “Tracy?”

  Tracy said, “The first thing on the list?” He nodded. She read, “I want to learn how to turn a first date into a second date.”

  Peg said, “Sleep with him and have breakfast the next morning.”

  Tracy said, “That may work for you, Ms. Perfect Runner’s Body. But I can barely get a decent good night kiss. I can wave them in with semaphore flags, and they don’t get the message.”

  Linus said, “How does that feel?”

  “It’s humiliating! Every time.”

  “So why do you do it?”

  “If I didn’t, I’d never get laid.”

  “And you’re getting laid how often?” he asked.

  “Never.”

  “Ah.”

  Tracy said, “So you’re saying that I shouldn’t humiliate myself, since it’s not working anyway?”

  “I didn’t say a word,” corrected Linus. “But you might be on to something there. You’re with Luke tonight.” Tracy liked the sound of that. She smiled brightly and settled back into the couch.

  “Gloria should do more, and Tracy should do less,” said Peg. “What about me? How should I handle gentle Ben?”

  Linus asked, “What is the number one thing on your list?”

  “I, uh, I’m not fully prepared to make a statement,” she said. He stared at her, not letting her off the hook. Peg said, “The dog ate my list.”

  “The dog named Ray?” asked Tracy, and then she and Gloria giggled at the memory of Peg’s late-night swim.

  “I don’t know what I want to learn,” whined Peg. “I’m sure I need to learn something, and that, once I’ve learned it, I’ll be eternally grateful to have the information.”

  Linus gave her a cryptic smile, nodding weirdly at her confusion.

  Peg said, “Are you going to help me, or what?”

  He said, “I’m going to help you.”

  “I’m waiting,” she said, her annoyance growing. She didn’t want to sound vexed. She knew she was impatient. She would dearly love to be Zen-like, as in, “All things will eventually become evident.” She would like to be recal
ibrated to Vermont Time. She would also love a beach house in Bermuda.

  Linus said, “You wouldn’t feel so lost if you took the time to familiarize yourself with the surroundings.”

  “Meaning?” she asked.

  “Stop running,” he said.

  Jesus Christ. “From this day forward,” Peg said, her sardonic tone gooey, “I will chew my food thirty-two times before I swallow. I’ll crawl from room to room. I’ll count pennies, daisies and blessings. I’ll wait until my wedding night to have sex.”

  “That sarcasm,” said Linus. “Where the hell is my stick?”

  “Can we stop talking about Peg?” asked Gloria. “And get back to me?”

  Linus said, “You want to know what you should wear tonight.”

  “How did you know?” asked Gloria.

  “Linus knows everything,” said Peg. “It’s his special gift.”

  He said to Gloria, “You and Ray are going to a potluck dinner at a church in Chelsea. Wilma will take you. Tracy, you and Luke are going to a cornhusking bee at Billings Farm in Woodstock. With me. Peg, you and Ben are going to dinner at Poule au Dent on Main Street in Manshire. It’s walking distance.”

  “Who’s our chaperone?” she asked.

  Linus said, “The chef is a friend of mine. He’s going to observe.”

  “I still don’t know what to wear,” said Gloria. “I’ve never been to a potluck. I’ve never been to a church.”

  “And I’ve been to a cornhusking bee?” asked Tracy. “Which does not sound very romantic, whatever it is. How am I supposed to be seductive on a farm?”

  Linus said, “You’re not supposed to be seductive at all, Tracy. Just be. If there aren’t any more questions, you can have the afternoon off. You’ll leave for your dates at five o’clock.”

  Then he left the women in the living room to their collective and individual bafflement.

  Gloria said, “Potluck? I’m supposed to bring a pot to get lucky?”

  “Don’t worry,” Peg said, “Ray will bring the pot.”

  Tracy said, “What the hell is sexy about corn?”

  “Pretend it comes with batteries,” suggested Gloria.

  Chapter 18

  “How’s the soup?” asked Ben.

  Peg sampled the strawberry bisque. “Fruity yet wet,” she said.

  “You don’t like it,” said Ben.

  Ben seemed to take her slow spooning of summer soup as a rebuke of him personally, even though he hadn’t picked the restaurant, composed the menu, prepared the dish or ordered it.

  “It’s delicious,” she reassured him.

  “Do you like the décor?” he asked.

  “Very nice,” she said.

  “Beautiful night, don’t you think?”

  “Hot yet dry.”

  “We’ve had meals together every day for a week, but we haven’t had a single conversation until now,” said Ben. “Tell me about yourself.”

  She cringed. Peg hated talking about herself. Maybe that was why, on most of her first dates, she skipped the talking part, and moved immediately to the not-talking part. Her goal tonight, however, was to practice patience.

  “I grew up in Manhattan,” she started.

  “New York! Great town. Lots of energy. Lots of buzz. So you’ve traveled from Manhattan to Manshire,” he said. “You’re really moving north in the world! Tell me more.” He leaned forward, eyes big, forehead shiny, in the grip of anticipation for her next utterance. Or faking it as hard as he could.

  Peg paused. “Linus gave me an agenda for tonight,” she said, choosing her words. “I’m supposed to take things slow, be relaxed. Not to disrupt the natural unfolding of events with my ego.” Or libido. Not a problem there, though. Ben didn’t do it for her. He could for someone else, though. In a cerulean shirt, lavender tie, linen jacket that concealed his belly, he looked dapper. His hair was well-trimmed (where there was hair) and his face was open. For a chubby guy, his chin and cheeks were well defined. He had nicely shaped lips, puffy but not too feminine, and streamline brows over large, almond-shaped hazel eyes. When he smiled, dimples appeared in his cheeks.

  Ben said, “Wilma talked to us about date strategy, too.”

  “She told you to ask me a lot of questions?” guessed Peg. “To show an interest in me.”

  Ben said, “I have a tendency to override my nerves by talking about myself, and before I realize it, I’ve alienated my dates.” He took a sip of Bordeaux. “Are you alienated?”

  He asked with such seriousness that Peg had to laugh. Ben said, “You’re laughing. That’s better than crying. Or falling asleep in your soup. That’s happened to me. I was with this girl from work. She was a secretary. Too young for me, but she was impressed by my title. I’m executive vice president for SafePath Insurance. We’re the third-largest supplier of homeowner’s policies in the Northeast. My specialty had been earthquake and tidal wave. But lately, I’m selling insurance against terrorist attacks. Believe it or not, one out of seven New Englanders believe there are terrorist sleeper cells living somewhere in their community, despite the fact that this part of the country has a negligible Islamic population. In Vermont, it’s about one-quarter of one percent. This state is ninety-nine percent Caucasian, with a sizable Cambodian population. But they’re not Islamic.”

  Ben’s speech was hypnotic. Trance-inducing. Peg’d eyelids were growing heavy. She felt drowsy.

  He said, “Are you Islamic? Have you ever met a Cambodian? Do you have homeowner’s insurance? Why did you come to Inward Bound? Are you recently out of a relationship? Was he a bald man? Have you ever dated a bald man?”

  She stammered, not knowing which question to address first, or why she should answer any of them. She said, “Can you repeat the questions, one at a time?”

  He said, “Oh, God. I’m doing it again. I’m alienating you. We’re not connecting. We’re at the same table, but we exist on parallel planes that will never intersect.”

  The new geometry of dating? Peg had always been bad at math. She said, “I would love to talk about homeowner’s insurance,” she said, smiling her super-watt, hoping for a discount.

  Ben said, “You don’t care about insurance. You’re pretending to be interested.”

  “I do care!” said Peg.

  “Don’t insult me,” he said, offended now.

  “Okay, you want the truth?” she asked. “The truth is, I hate the soup.”

  “What the hell is wrong with me?” he blurted suddenly, his list of questions ceaselessly growing. He stared meaningfully at his plate for a few seconds, and then, as if it just occurred to him that food lay upon it, he scarfed his crab cake in three aggressive bites.

  Peg, abandoning her bisque entirely, reached for the wine. Ben got there first, and gave her a refill. She gulped the wine, then drained the bottle into her glass. She said, “We need another bottle.”

  “I’m incapable of shutting up,” said Ben. “It’s like my mouth has a mouth of its own. And I know I’m not saying anything charming or endearing or even intelligent. But the words just keep on coming, even though I realize nothing I say will get you to remove a single article of clothing. Words won’t undress a woman.”

  Peg must have looked startled. He said, “Not you, necessarily. I mean any woman. The world is full of women. They’re everywhere! Literally billions of them the world over. And each one—every single one—has a vagina.”

  “I guess your penis has a mouth of its own, too,” said Peg.

  “I’m not greedy. I only need one,” pleaded Ben.

  “One vagina?”

  “Yes!” he admitted. “With the rest of the woman wrapped around it.”

  The waiter brought out their next course, braised venison with sherry and mushroom sauce, wild rice and apricot chutney. It looked and smelled delicious. She thanked the waiter and apologized for not finishing her soup. He cleared the appetizer dishes and left them alone.

  She said, “Isn’t the chef supposed to be watching us?”

>   Peg and Ben looked back toward the kitchen. No sign of the chef anywhere. “I prefer it this way,” said Ben. “I feel self-conscious enough already.”

  It was awkward. Two people who wouldn’t have picked each other for a romantic dinner in a million years. And yet, they sat at a table laden with tapered candles, fresh lilies, wine and nouveau country French food. If Ray were here instead of Ben, he’d be groping her under the table. She’d swat at his hand. Ray would persist, she’d give in, and they’d screw in the bathroom between courses.

  The thought of it sent a flash flood to Peg’s panties. She looked at Ben (he was about as appetizing as the soup), afraid he’d notice her sudden blush. She needn’t have worried. Ben’s insecurity made him blind to anything else.

  Peg decided to take advantage of the MIA chaperone. Her helper instincts kicked in.

  Peg asked, “Of the three women in the group, who are you most attracted to?” Ben squinted at her, unsure or unwilling to confess. She said, “Our secret.”

  He relented. “Gloria is stunning,” he said.

  “Tracy is very cute, don’t you think?”

  “I’d put you second,” he said, searching her face for the right reaction. Not getting it, he said, “Wilma is hot. We’ve all talked about her.” He leaned forward. “She likes to touch us. On the shoulders, the back. She’s touched my knees five or six times. She grabbed Luke’s ass.”

  Peg kept herself from demanding details about where and how Wilma had touched Ray. “Maybe Wilma flirts to boost your confidence,” she said.

  It could be true. Wilma wasn’t affectionate with the women. She seemed to shrink from the prospect of closeness, physical or otherwise. Then again, women often acted differently in the exclusive presence of men. Nina, for one, dropped twenty IQ points as soon as a good-looking man walked in the room. Their biggest fight was about Nina’s stupid-girl routine while on a double date with Peg. Peg said to her: “You shouldn’t change for a man, regardless. But for God’s sake, don’t make yourself worse.”

  Ben said, “I guess it’s possible Wilma is touching us with an ulterior motive. Can’t say I mind.”

  Peg steered him back in the right direction. “Tracy is a very genuine person. Funny. Smart.”