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: : : —IT'S A WEIRD FEELING, Lydia says to Anita. —To have that kind of power. I mean to be kind of crushing out on a guy and then to realize—hey, I could have him. To sort of realize that you're the one calling the shots. You know?
—The hard part's not getting a guy, Anita says. —The hard part's keeping him.
Lydia frowns, stabs her stirrer down into the depths of her drink, trying to pin an ice cube to the bottom of her glass. —I don't know, she says. —There have definitely been times when it feels tough enough just to get one.
—No, Anita says, —you're right. Especially one who's not a total fuck-up.
—Well, exactly, Lydia says. —And this guy—I don't know, I mean, he was a little geeky, but he definitely had some charm. He was funny—he was a pretty good dancer—
—Don't underestimate that, Anita says, raising her pointer finger. —There are times when I would have given it all just to find a man with a little rhythm.
Lydia makes a look that's equal parts weariness and sympathy. Anita tilts back her drink.
—So then? Anita says, after draining the last of it. —Come on, don't keep me in suspense here.
—So then—so then I figured why not? Lydia says. —I said do you want to get out of here? and he said sure.
—And so one thing led to another and—
Lydia smiles sweetly. The bartender brings them a new round of drinks.
—It was good, Lydia says. —I mean, it was a little awkward at first—you know the way it can be with someone who you don't really know that well—but, ah, in the end—in the end—well, let's say it did the job.
—Nice, Anita says.
Lydia raises her glass and gives a little toast-motion.
—So now? Anita says.
—I don't know, Lydia says. —I mean—OK, the morning after, we went out for breakfast, and we exchanged numbers and e-mail and all that—
—Have you called him? Anita says.
—No, Lydia says.
—Has he called you? Anita says.
—He did, Lydia says. —It was—not the day after, but the day after that. I didn't get to talk to him but he left a message.
—What did he say?
—You know—it was basically hi, I wanted to let you know I had a good time on Saturday; just wanted to make sure you made it back to Chicago safely—
—It's sweet, Anita says, a little dryly.
—I thought it was sweet, Lydia says.
—It also kind of makes it clear that he wants another go-round.
—Yeah, Lydia admits. —It does.
—So—do you?
—I don't know, Lydia says. —I mean, it was fun and all that, but—I don't know, he lives in Ann Arbor; I live here in Chicago—that's a damper on the thing.
—It's only, what, three hours away—
—Sure, Lydia says, —It's not like he lives in Australia or anything—but, I don't know, it's still a long-distance relationship—and a long-distance relationship just kind of makes me go yeesh.
—I hear that, Anita says.
—On the other hand, Lydia says, —it's not like I've got that much going on around here—
Anita snaps her fingers. —Oh, right, what about, uh, what's-his-name?
—Nate? Lydia says.
—Yeah, Anita says. —Did you tell him?
—Yeah, Lydia says. —I called him up on Sunday and basically laid out the whole situation for him.
—How did that go?
—Uh—frankly not too well. Not that I really expected it to. But—you know—(Lydia winces a little)—he cried.
—Oh, shit, says Anita.
—Yeah, says Lydia. She winces again and takes a big mouthful of her martini to smash up the memory of the conversation. She swallows, gives a little gasp. Upon recovery she continues: —He cried; he said all this stuff about, you know, how I was a bitch—I really thought you were willing to work with me, that you were someone I could feel safe with, all that kind of stuff—
—Jesus, Anita says. —That guy is a piece of work
—Yeah, I mean—I don't know, I get it that the guy is hurting, and I don't really like being a person who has added to that—
—Forget it, Anita says. —It's like—scratch any guy who wears his sensitivity so much on his sleeve and you're going to find a misogynist. You know? It's like—he just strikes me as the kind of guy who is so fucked up that he just drives women away and then—instead of like looking at himself and saying maybe I need to—to fucking grow up a little he just puts it all on the women; they leave him because they're heartless bitches and he's just—a victim. Poor sensitive me. It's bullshit.
—I don't know, Lydia says. —I still feel like at heart maybe Nate is a good guy (Anita makes a scoffing noise); he just needs a woman who's willing to work with him for a long time. And I just don't—I just don't think I have the patience for that.
—Nor should you, Anita says.
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