by Haley Hill
Our Hooters waitress was called Sandy. She skipped over to our booth in a teeny-tiny vest and hot pants. My immediate thought was that her implants were both large and sturdy enough for her to be able to deliver meals on them.
‘Hi, guys, and welcome to Hooters,’ she gushed, flashing large white teeth. ‘I’m Sandy, your waitress for today.’ She paused to smile again. ‘Have you been to Hooters before?’
First she looked at Matthew. He nodded. I could tell he was making the effort to focus on her face. Then she looked at me. ‘Ma’am?’
‘No, this is my first time at Hooters,’ I said.
She scrunched up her face, then smiled again. ‘Well, let’s hope we’ll make you wanna come back! Would you like me to explain the menu to you?’
I frowned. ‘Is it in Latin?’
She shook her head.
‘Well, no then, I think I’ll be OK.’
She grinned. ‘Amazing, can I get you some Hooterstizers to start?’
Matthew ordered some chicken strips and naked buffalo wings and the Double ‘D’ Burger for his main course.
I decided to play it safe and have the Cobb salad. It seemed to be the only item on the menu that hadn’t been trademarked.
‘Can I get you any drinks?’ She grinned again. ‘We have an amazing offer on the cocktails.’
Matthew picked up the drinks menu. ‘One Orange Shorts Margarita for me, please.’
I glanced down at the menu and then rolled my eyes. ‘Go on then,’ I said. ‘One for me too.’
Sandy clapped. ‘If you order a third you get the Hooters Girl glass for free.’
‘Excellent,’ I said, ‘I was wondering what Nick might like for his birthday.’
Sandy’s smile wavered but she blinked a few times, then ramped it up again. ‘Amazing,’ she said. ‘I’ll get those for you now.’
Matthew leaned back and lifted his arms above his head. ‘Victory!’ he said. ‘Let’s get Ellie smashed at lunchtime on a weekday.’
I sighed, thinking about all the distraught clients left to navigate their way through the treacherous waters of divorce while I, their only chance of salvation, was happily ordering cocktails in Hooters.
I looked across at Matthew, hoping he might offer some insight into my dilemma, but he was reading the paper placemat.
Suddenly he laughed, then showed me the photo on it. ‘Sandy, our waitress, is Miss Hooters International,’ he said, then looked back at the photo. ‘If I was ten years younger this would have been my defining moment.’
I laughed.
‘Listen to this,’ he said and went on reading from the placemat. ‘“Sandy believes that working at Hooters gives her a valuable opportunity every day…”’ He paused and smirked. ‘To do what? Any ideas?’
I laughed. ‘To meet new people?’
He shook his head. ‘“To make people smile”,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘“When Sandy isn’t volunteering to help sick children or serving up a relaxed dinner to Hooters customers, she enjoys boating and fishing.”’
I laughed. ‘Fishing?’ I said. ‘She doesn’t look the type.’
Matthew giggled. ‘Because she’s not the type. She’s a Weird Science kind of Hooters fantasy, created to appeal to the customers. I’m surprised they haven’t said: “And Sandy especially enjoys anal sex and pairing men’s socks.”’
I sucked some margarita through my straw, wondering if perhaps the company shouldn’t diversify and instead of serving cocktails, the waitresses could present each client with an oxytocin nasal spray and a firm word to go back home to their wives. If I hadn’t have seen such despair in Matthew’s eyes, I would have offered him the same advice too.
Following the combined consumption of buffalo wings, chicken strips, a Cobb salad and a Double ‘D’ Burger, a side of curly fries, two Key lime pies and four further cocktails, Matthew and I were feeling quite at home in Hooters. Sandy’s shift had ended and after I’d explained my mission to cure divorce, she, along with an even larger-breasted colleague, Debbie, had joined us in our booth.
‘So, ladies,’ I slurred. ‘What do you think is the secret to lasting love?’
Matthew drum-rolled his hands on the table.
Sandy was the first to answer. ‘Compromise,’ she said, sitting up straight as though she were at the front of the class.
Matthew did a mock yawn. ‘Bor-ing. Try again.’
Sandy screwed up her mouth and thought for a moment. ‘Denial,’ she said eventually. Then she covered her mouth as though she’d surprised herself.
Matthew sat back. ‘That’s more like it,’ he said.
‘Denial for whom?’ I asked.
She scratched her nose and looked around at the customers. ‘Well, the men have to be in denial to be happy. They need to believe that they are eternally desirable to young attractive women.’ She interrupted herself with a high-pitched giggle. ‘And women are in denial because they need to believe their husband is only attracted to them.’
Matthew clapped his hands and laughed.
‘But what about loyalty?’ I asked. ‘A person might be attracted to another but be loyal to their partner.’
‘Yes, but,’ Debbie piped up, ‘how do we define loyalty? Is it the same as fidelity?’
Matthew sucked the dregs of his cocktail through a straw. ‘We don’t need to define fidelity. It’s simple. Not shagging anyone else.’
Debbie nodded slowly. It turns out she was studying a PhD in philosophy. ‘How about oral sex?’ she asked.
Matthew smirked. ‘Yes please,’ he said.
I rolled my eyes and then answered for him. ‘Oral sex is clearly infidelity too. So let’s just say, no sexual contact with anyone else then.’
Matthew raised his eyebrows. ‘What’s sexual contact? Brushing up against a Hooters waitress and then getting a hard-on?’
‘What’s a hard-on?’ Debbie asked.
‘A boner,’ Sandy replied, ‘and that’s not infidelity, that’s sexual harassment.’
‘Ah,’ said Matthew. ‘But if the harasser is in a relationship then technically that’s infidelity too?’
I nodded.
Matthew raised a finger. ‘But if the waitress accidentally brushed up against him, then I’m not sure that’s infidelity, because men can’t control their physical reaction to that.’
Debbie laughed. ‘They can. Apparently ninety per cent of arousal is in the brain.’
Matthew sniggered. ‘For men, up until the age of twenty-three there is no brain involvement whatsoever. Even after that it’s debatable.’
‘OK,’ Sandy said. ‘So we’re agreed that for it to be infidelity it has to be intentional sexual contact.’
Matthew smiled. ‘This conversation is oddly arousing.’
‘What about imagined sexual encounters?’ Debbie asked.
‘Fantasies, you mean?’ Sandy asked.
Debbie glanced across at a group of men, then back at us. ‘The other day, I read about some new porn gaming goggles that are in development. Men can put them on, attach electrodes to their bodies and have any type of virtual sex with any avatar they select from the programme. Or several at once if they’d prefer. What if a husband did that every night instead of sleeping with his wife? Is that infidelity?’
We all sat in silence for a moment.
Sandy scrunched up her face.
Matthew shrugged his shoulders. ‘Sounds fun,’ he said.
I sighed.
Matthew turned to me. ‘So, if Nick was out one night, and you had a virtual Hugh Jackman to shag you senseless for an hour or two, you’d say no, would you?’
I thought for a moment. ‘It would feel a bit wrong,’ I said, then paused. ‘How would you feel if Lucy—?’ I stopped myself as soon as my brain caught up with my mouth. ‘Oh bugger. Sorry.’
Matthew’s shoulders slumped.
I leaned forward and squeezed his arm. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. Then I turned to the girls and whispered, ‘It’s a bit of a sensitive subject for hi
m.’
Sandy nodded. Debbie raised an eyebrow.
I was about to continue, but Matthew threw his arms in the air.
‘Thank you, Ellie,’ he said. ‘Acting like I have special emotional needs or something.’ He turned to Sandy and Debbie. ‘Yes, my wife shagged her boss.’ His voice increased a decibel. ‘She shagged her troll-faced wanker of a boss, in a bloody Travelodge, while I was at home with our kids—’ he sank his head in his hands ‘—making penne arrabbiata.’ He looked up between his fingers. ‘How could she do that? My life is over.’
I took his hand. ‘No, it’s not,’ I said. ‘You’re just going through a shitty time right now, that’s all.’
Sandy wiped a tear from her cheek. ‘Poor baby,’ she said, shuffling up next to him.
Matthew quietened down for a second. Then he opened one eye and closed it again and made a whimpering sound.
‘I loved her so much,’ he sobbed.
Debbie shuffled up on the other side and squeezed his hand.
Matthew managed to force out a tear. ‘I feel so betrayed,’ he said and his chest began to heave.
Sandy pulled him towards her and soon he was nuzzling her cleavage, while Debbie was stroking his hair.
I stared for a moment in disbelief, momentarily reconsidering Freud’s observations about a man’s urge to suckle.
I cleared my throat. The advice that had been grumbling was now ready to erupt. ‘Yes, it is a tricky time for him. However, abandoning his kids and running off to Hooters is probably not the best way to deal with it.’
Matthew raised his head. ‘Thanks for your one minute of empathy, Ellie,’ he said.
I shrugged my shoulders. ‘I just think, when there are children involved, you should put your own feelings aside.’
Matthew sat up straight and scowled. ‘So you’re saying I should have stayed with her?’
I shook my head. ‘Of course not,’ I said. Then I prodded the table. ‘What I’m saying is you shouldn’t be here.’
He looked around as if to remind himself of the location. ‘Oh, come on, she had sex with her boss and you’re telling me I can’t admire a few girls in hot pants.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘No, not Hooters. I’m saying you shouldn’t have come here. To America.’
He sighed.
‘You should be in London, with your kids. They won’t understand why you’ve just vanished without explanation.’
‘I told them why I was going.’
I frowned.
‘I told them Mummy had been mean to me so I was going to see Mickey Mouse to cheer me up.’
‘Great. Yes, that sounds like a perfectly measured and considered explanation. That won’t make them insecure at all. Besides, does any child even know who Mickey Mouse is any more? Surely Olaf from Frozen would have been a better choice?’
Matthew slammed his hands down on the table. ‘You’re right, oh pious Ellie. I shouldn’t have abandoned my kids. And I should’ve selected a more current Disney figurehead to justify my paternal failings. I just had the crazy notion that instead of admitting myself to a psychiatric unit for suicidal and homicidal urges following a deep depression, that I would be better placed visiting my best friend for a few weeks to see if she could offer me some support in my time of need. But no, I get lambasted by the one person I was hoping would be on my side. It’s no surprise I ended up in Hooters.’
He looked to either side of him but Sandy and Debbie had shuffled away not long after the mention of a psychiatric unit.
I stared at Matthew. His hands were trembling and his eyes were teary. I’d grown so used to him deflecting every negative emotion with humour that I’d forgotten he had them. I stared at him some more, quickly realising he didn’t need Ellie the Matchmaker wagging her finger and telling him how to fix his mistakes. What he needed right now was a friend.
‘Another drink?’ I asked.
He smiled, albeit briefly. ‘I think I want to go home,’ he said.
Chapter 17
By the time we reached Brooklyn, the March evening sun had set and the roads were darkening. A street lamp lit up the moment I stepped out of the taxi. Matthew stumbled out, with his shoulders hunched and his head stooped. He looked as though he’d undergone some sort of accelerated ageing programme.
I took him inside and put him straight to bed in the spare room. For a fleeting moment, I considered tucking him in like an older sister might her younger brother, but then I realised that if I did, once he rallied, he’d never let me forget it. I listened outside for a few minutes until I heard him snoring, then I went downstairs to open a bottle of wine and wait for Nick.
Wine glass in hand, I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto the sofa, wondering how I would explain to the car hire company that the new pickup address was a Hooters parking lot.
I felt something digging in my pocket and remembered the nasal spray. I pulled it out and studied it again, instantly recalling the intensity in Professor Sheldon’s eyes.
‘Try it,’ he’d said. ‘Two sprays per day. At a time when you see your partner.’
I took a sip of wine and wondered about oxytocin. If it occurred naturally in our bodies, then what harm could really come from boosting the levels a little? I glanced back down at the nasal spray. It looked like anything you could buy off the shelf at Boots.
I’d meant to consider it further. In fact, I think I’d actually meant to have another sip of wine. However, for some reason, before I could stop myself, I’d shoved the nozzle up my nose and administered two sprays in quick succession. I took a strong sniff and then sank back into the sofa, half anticipating some kind of Trainspotting-like oblivion. I waited a few more minutes and nothing came.
I grabbed the spray again and reread the label, supposing it might indicate it was actually a placebo saline solution. Before I could reconsider, I’d pumped another two sprays up my other nostril. Then I looked around the room fearful that paramedics might whisk me away for emergency clearance of the nasal passages followed by enforced enrolment in an ‘oxytocin abusers support group’. I sank back into the sofa and closed my eyes, waiting for Nick to return.
Soon after, I heard footsteps coming up the front path. I sat up, poised and ready to greet Nick. At first, I found myself adopting a centrefold like pose on the sofa, but quickly realised that such behaviour would most likely spark concern, so I swung my legs back down and rested my hands on my lap.
However, instead of opening the door, he rang the bell. I huffed as I pulled myself up from the sofa, envisaging a drunken Nick patting down his suit, searching for his keys, while they were being swept along a gutter somewhere, or thrashing around the footwell of a taxi. I took another deep sniff, to maximise any residual nasal spray and offset any lost-key-related annoyance, then opened the door.
At first I assumed I was hallucinating, and that somehow, in addition to being a pivotal bonding hormone, oxytocin, when delivered via the nasal passages also had visual-perceptual-altering properties, transforming the love of my life into someone I despised.
I blinked twice and then stared at him for a moment. It was clear to me it was Dominic but he looked different.
‘Hello, Ellie,’ he said, before walking past me and into the lounge.
His walk seemed to have mellowed and was now more of a saunter than a gluteal-constricting strut. I turned and followed him in.
‘Take a seat,’ I said, wondering at what point he planned to explain his presence.
He eyed the wine, then leaned across to pour us both a glass. ‘Going to need some of this,’ he said.
I sat down opposite him and scowled.
‘Why are you here?’ I asked, once it became apparent he had no plans to volunteer an explanation.
He leaned back and took a sip of wine. ‘The investors asked me to come.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘You were sent here to check on me?’
He laughed. ‘No one sends me anywhere, Ellie. I’m the CEO.’
I narrowed my ey
es. ‘Oh, come on, Dominic, we both know the investors call the shots. They sent you here to check on me, didn’t they?’
He leaned back and smirked. Instead of its usual I-win-you-lose tightness, his smirk had more of a cheeky edge to it. ‘You have nothing to worry about,’ he said. ‘The investors know you’ll do anything it takes to find the answers.’ He took another sip of wine. ‘As do I.’
I stared at him. Maybe it was the way the light from the table lamp caught his face but his features seemed softer, less pinched and his hair looked less slick than usual and shorter than before.
‘You’ve changed your hair,’ I blurted out.
He smiled and then patted it with his hand. ‘Er, yes,’ he said, almost bashfully.
I found myself smiling too. ‘It suits you,’ I said.
I looked down at his shoes. I’d never been much of a fan of buckled brogues but his looked smart.
‘New shoes?’ I asked.
Dominic looked up and frowned. It was more a concerned frown than his usual patronising one. ‘You’re being quite odd, Ellie.’
I laughed. ‘I’m being odd? You’re the one who just appeared on my doorstep with no explanation.’
He took a gulp of wine. ‘I told you. I’ve come to see how your research is going.’
‘You just thought you’d travel over three thousand miles across the globe to check up on the research that you tried to block funding for.’
He put his glass down and stared at me. ‘I arranged your trip. Why would I do that if I was trying to block it?’
‘Because you wanted to get rid of me, so you could install your CEO profit-maximising customer-fleecing strategy without my interference.’
He laughed. ‘Install? You make it sound like a regime.’
I stared at him again. I’d never noticed how perfectly aligned his teeth were. He stopped laughing and then looked back at me. I stared at him some more, at his intense hazel eyes and his slightly furrowed brow. I found myself imagining how he must have looked as a child.
‘So,’ Dominic said, leaning forward and lacing his fingers together, ‘how is it going?’
‘What?’ His question jolted me from my trance. ‘Me and Nick?’
