How Long You Should Wait to Have Sex: a Novel (9 page)

“But what we’re supposed to learn from it,” he goes on, “is that none of that stuff actually has to get done. What does have to get done, though, is your work here. Do you see what I’m saying?” And that’s when I realize that he’s not being sweet at all. He’s judging me. They’re all judging me. As well they should! I mean, not only did I fail, but I did it in front of everyone!

Eventually, the week comes to an end, and John doesn’t call. Nor does he accept my friend request.

Chapter 10

It’s Saturday night and it’s pretty obvious that I’ve been crying all day from the fact that I’m still in my pajamas, and there are used tissues strewn about my apartment. My eyes are so swollen and red that I’ve had to cover every mirror in the house with a sheet, so that I don’t run the risk of accidentally perceiving my hideous, puffy face.

It’s not just that the boy I want more than anything didn’t call me. What’s really killing me is that for the first time in my life, I can’t think of any way to fix this. I can’t take any of it back. Why did I have to sleep with him?

It seems so stupid that I should have to care about that. And holding out when I want to give in feels like playing games. But I know in my heart that things would be different if I just hadn’t slept with him. I hate that it’s like that, but it is, and as much as I’d like to play by my own rules, it’s not worth it, if this is the result I’m getting. Ugh! I’m so mad at myself.

The doorbell rings. Oh, shit, it’s Saturday night! I promised Lacey I would go to her work party with her. I can’t go. I can’t do it. I don’t want to face all those people from her office. I don’t want to face anybody. Why didn’t I call her earlier to cancel? Ah, it wouldn’t have helped anything, she never would have let me flake out. Maybe this is for the best, she’ll take one look at me, realize what a mess I am, and become overwhelmed with the desire
not
to be seen in public with me.

I open the door. Lacey looks me up and down, appalled.

“What are you doing? Why aren’t you dressed?” Damn. That wasn’t the response I was hoping for.

“I can’t go, Lacey. I feel like crap. I look like crap. I’m at risk of bursting into tears at any moment. I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if I just stayed here and continued to have my meltdown in private.”

“But I need you at this event! I put a lot of rich men on the guest list, which doesn’t do me any good if I don’t have my wing-woman.” This reminds me of how I found the man I want already.

“We’re perfect for each other. Why hasn’t he called me?” I burst into tears again. Boy, am I predictable.

Lacey takes a moment away from her own angst to feel sympathy for me, “Did you ever consider that maybe it’s because he died?”

Of course I considered that! And as much as I’d like to believe that’s the reason, that’s never the reason.

“He’s not dead. He just doesn’t like me.”

I can tell that Lacey now feels guilty about having gotten on my case about going out with her.

She calms her tone, and sounds almost like an inspirational coach, “I know. But you’re not gonna find someone better by sitting in your house.” Then she storms into my room, “Come on. I’m gonna find you something to wear.”

We go into my bedroom, and as I watch Lacey sift through my closets, I continue my post game-day analysis, “Maybe if I hadn’t been so drunk I wouldn’t have slept with him. Getting drunk around desirable men is almost always a bad idea!”

“So you learned your lesson,” she says, still coaching me. “Now put this on, and pretend you feel sexy until you do.” She hands me the beautiful emerald green, form-fitting, floor length gown that was hidden in the back of my everyday wear. I believe in that “fake it till you make it” stuff. It’s worth a try.

I put on the dress and already look a hundred times better. After washing my face, I decide to let Lacey do my hair and makeup. Maybe it’s from growing up beautiful, but she’s always been better at personal styling than most non-pros I know. She manages to hide the puffiness in my eyes, tame my hair into a sophisticated chignon with danglers, and inject some liveliness back into my lovelorn skin.

By the time I uncover the mirror to check myself out, I look as if I could be a movie star about to walk the red carpet. For the first time all day, I smile. I wish John could see me like this. The thought alone sends me back in the wrong direction, and I burst into tears again.

“I just wish I hadn’t slept with him!”

And now I look like a movie star about to walk the red carpet with a flu.

Lacey looks exasperated. She grabs a handful of tissues, hands them to me, and drops my makeup kit in her purse.

“We’d better bring this along for touch ups,” she proclaims, not backing down from dragging me along with her. Then she grabs my purse, my keys, and my hand, and pulls me out the door.

~

I spend most of the cab ride trying to get into a better space in my head. Who knows, maybe this will be the party where I meet my next big client? Maybe I’ll meet someone with some good leads? What is this party for anyway? Oh, who cares. As long as the booze is free, I should be fine. What if it’s a party for doctors? What if John is there? That would be great! Or maybe it would be awkward. Stop thinking about John! He’s not going to be there.

I’m so up in my head for the whole cab ride that I haven’t noticed anything about my surroundings. Where we’re going, where we are, what neighborhood, how far, nothing. So when we get out of the cab, and I glance up at the venue, I am shocked to find that we are back at K-Bar.

“This is where your event is?” I ask incredulously. She should have warned me. This is the last place I wanna be. It’s too soon. There’s no way I can pretend I’m having fun in the same location where I had the best night of my life only to find out it was the most miserable night of my life.

And now I’m thinking there actually is a chance that John is here. What if this is his regular bar? Then I’ll look like I’m stalking him just like Marty was stalking Lacey. But wait, if it’s a private party, he won’t be here. Okay, at least I won’t get caught accidentally stalking him.

In my reverie, I hardly hear Lacey say, “What are you talking about? My event is next week.”

What? Her event is next week? Then why did she tell me it was today? Why did she drag me out of the house when I was perfectly happy to never feel the air of night on my face again? Not only did she betray me, but if John is here, he’s definitely gonna think that I’m stalking him! Now I’m mad.

“That’s the only reason I came out. I’m not going in there again!”

“Sam, you told everyone to meet you here for your whole meet-a-man-for-your-birthday plan, so we’re going in,” Lacey commands, as she grabs my arm and yanks me inside.

“My birthday was last week. The plan failed miserably,” I remind her, wondering how she could be so self-involved to have already forgotten the reason behind my lack of desire to leave the house.

Speaking of last week, everything inside K-Bar is eerily similar. The song coming from the loudspeakers is some non-descript electronic lounge music, so why do I recognize it? I don’t know one electronic lounge song from the next. I don’t know one electronic lounge song, period.

And just like last week, the place is not particularly crowded, but loaded with hot, age-appropriate men. All the exact same ones.

“Nice choice,” Lacey says, in exactly the same tone and cadence, and standing in the exact same spot as where she said it last week. Does she always do that when she enters a room? No, of course not.

Then, that same group of girls from last week screams loudly for no identifiable reason, and a flash photo goes off, taking that same exact picture. Don’t they already have that one? And much more importantly: what the hell is going on?!

Right on cue, Lacey says, “I hope I never come off that desperate for attention!” And she whips off her coat, revealing the exact same outfit she wore last week for my pre-birthday party, throwing back her hair like she did last week, and jutting out her size Cs that used to be Ds.

Lacey would never do that. She would never wear the same outfit two times in a row—and especially not to the same bar. What is wrong with this picture? Oh my God, I know what it is. I’ve lost my mind. That would explain everything. Even the fact that I’m suddenly not wearing my green floor length gown anymore. I’m wearing the pink flirty dress that was supposed to pass for purple! How did that happen? When did that happen? This isn’t possible! Yes, I’ve definitely gone crazy.

All that’s left for us to do now is meet Marty, have him spill his drink on me, go to the bathroom, come out, and meet John. Great! If all goes well, I can live the most humiliating birthday of my life all over again! Can’t wait!

I take a deep breath and remind myself that there’s nothing to worry about because stuff like that never happens in real life.

That’s when Lacey picks up that old conversation about the sexologist she met here.

“The thing about him, too, was that he wasn’t the one night stand type, and I just can’t afford to get involved with another guy who’s got no money.”

“Are you talking about Marty?” I ask.

“How do you know his name?” she seems shocked.

“Because you had sex with him. Last week. After we saw him
here
.”

“Eiw! I would never have sex with him.” She couldn’t possibly seem more grossed out.

“Of course you did! You even taped it.” Please prove to me that I’m not crazy.

“Exactly! That’s proof that I didn’t! I’d have a tape—how did you know that I’d have a tape?” Maybe she’s the one who’s gone crazy?

“Do you not remember any of this, from last week? It was the night before my birthday.”

“That’s today. Your birthday is tonight.” She puts her hand on my forehead to check my temperature, “Are you okay?”

I look at my cell phone to see the date, and discover that she’s right. It is last week. It’s 3 hours before my birthday. Which makes me 29 again, which is awesome! But it also makes me crazy. Which is not awesome.

“Let me see your cell phone,” I demand. I’ve gotta make sure that mine isn’t malfunctioning like my brain. I need to see if her phone’s date matches. It does.

How can this be? Is this a dream? Was last week a dream? Am I psychic, and I played it all out in advance, then woke up to do it all for real? That I could buy. It wouldn’t be the first time I dreamed of something before it happened. But never anything this elaborate, or in this much detail. I mean, when I was in seventh grade, I remember there was this really fashionable eighth grade girl, and sometimes I would dream about what she’d be wearing, and the next day, she’d show up to school in the outfit I had dreamt of. But honestly, it was never some outfit I didn’t know. It was always something I’d seen her wear before, like a month ago, that was due to be repeated soon, depending on the depth of her closet. That’s why I never thought anything of it.

And even if it is a dream, how do I know which is the dream and which is the reality. Maybe it’s a dream within a dream. Because the only other possibility is that somehow, I’ve just time traveled.

Could it be that? Could I have traveled back in time? That would explain why I’m the only one who seems to know that this has all happened before. But then again, if this is my dream, that explains it, too.

“Anyway, I wanted to want him. I just couldn’t get myself to want him because he’s just not that hot, okay?” Lacey repeats from last week.

Which of course cues Marty to start talking to us, “Who’s not hot? Because if by any chance you are thinking about me long enough to talk shit behind my back, I seriously could not be more flattered by that!”

Lacey turns to face him, as she once again says, “That is the worst pick up line I—“ screams, flails her arms, and spills Marty’s drink all over me.

Then, just like last time, Marty blots at my dress, “Sorry. But really it was her fault.” While Lacey stands behind him mouthing, “That’s him!”

Oh. My. God. This can’t be happening. This never happens. To anybody. I’ve gotta get away from these people before I really start to freak out!

I run into the bathroom. I need some alone time. I need to figure this out. I need to splash some water on my face. I do it. How could this happen?

Lacey enters the bathroom on my tail, “Why are you acting so weird? You know, just because I don’t like that guy, doesn’t mean I want him to stop liking me.”

But… if this is happening, it means I’m about to meet the love of my life again. I could get a chance to fix everything! Why did I just splash water on my face?! Now my makeup is ruined and I look like crap.

“What is wrong with you tonight? Did you even hear what I just said?” Lacey goes on.

“Don’t worry, Marty likes you. And I’m starting to think that tonight is when you have sex with him.”

“Eiw!” She replies, once again totally dead set against the idea.

“We’ll know for sure if when we leave this bathroom, I meet a guy named John, and he spills his drink on me.” I explain, without explaining anything.

“You’re freaking me out a little bit,” she rightfully replies.

I’m freaked out, too! But I’m also kind of excited, because this time I’m not gonna fuck things up with John by sleeping with him too soon! John is going to be here tonight. And I need to do something about my face.

“Lacey,” I quickly asks, “do you still have my makeup kit in your bag?”

“Why would I have your makeup kit in my bag?”

“Because you dropped it in there, before we left my house.”

“No, I didn’t,” she says adamantly.

She’s right. That was a week after tonight. Shit. I’ve gotta clean myself up! I blot my face dry with some paper towels.

“Do you have any makeup in your purse?” I ask, knowing there’s a decent chance she’s holding more than just a lipstick.

She hands me a powder press, “It’s not your color though.” I’ll take it anyway. “And why would you put water over your carefully painted face, if you don’t have anything to redo it with? That’s a rookie mistake.”

Not only that, but time is a-ticking. If I’m going to bump into John, I need to get out of here stat! I quickly reapply only as much as I need, and rush out of the bathroom.