The Club (2 page)

We sit there
for a moment, waiting for the storm of bad feelings to leave the SUV.

“You don't
really have to work?”

I wipe my face
and straighten up. “I do. I have a huge file to finish before I can get as
trashed as I am planning on getting.”

“I would have
called in sick, Hannah.” She starts the vehicle, heading for my office building
a few streets over.

It makes me
smile through the bitter taste in my mouth. “Probably the reason I’m divorced.”

She shakes her
head as she makes a turn, not turning her head to look at me. “No, that would
be because you married a giant douche nozzle.”

“Thanks for
coming.”

She shrugs. “I
couldn't let you do this alone.” She parks and gives me a look. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I
haven’t cried for a year, literally a year and now the stupid tears won’t
stop.”

She hugs me
again. “I’ll wait here ten minutes, just come back out if you have to.”

I kiss her
cheek, lingering there and savoring the smell of her. It’s always the same,
some French perfume I can’t pronounce properly. “Thanks.” But I don't stop
myself. I grab the handle and jump out, hurrying inside to pretend the whole
world didn't just land on me with a giant thud.

When I hit the
main floor button I force my tears back as I pull out my mirror to see my
mascara and tear-stained face.

“Damn.” I drag
my fingers under my eyes but it needs more of a plastic surgery fix than
anything else. So when the doors open, I duck my head and hurry to my office. I
pull my bag out, grabbing my mirror and face wipes. It takes ten full minutes
before I even come close to human and under sixty, but when I’m done the
red-rimmed eyes look a little better.

Brandon ducks
his head in, narrowing his gaze. “You all right?”

I nod. He’s
the only person in my office who knows.

“So it’s done
then?”

“Yup.”

He cocks an
eyebrow. “Wanna get a drink or smash shit?”

I shake my
head. “I’m meeting Bec.”

He offers me a
wry grin. “What is it straight people say to each other in this moment? Don't
hesitate getting back in there, Hannah. You aren’t getting any younger. I think
those are the right words.” He offers a wink before leaving me, mouth agape, at
my desk.

I resist the
urge to Google what my odds are at finding happiness after a divorce in my
mid-thirties with no children as I finish the file. If I am anything, it’s
professional.

Finishing my
work just in time, I run from the office before I have to talk to anyone. I
have never wanted a Friday to come so badly.

I flag a
cabbie and head for the bar. Realizing I’m at The Grind bar early, I end up
with twenty free minutes to sit alone and rehash all the details of my day as I
wait for Rebecca. Normally we come here because it is the best bar to eat at
after work, but today I have a horrid feeling she wants me to start taking my
dating more seriously, and is using this as a starting-off point.

Like most
nights, the bar is filled with the elite, all wearing suits and laughing while
they get drunker than they intended. It’s not the sort of place I want to pick
up or be picked up at. I don't need someone to compete over career success
with.

It’s actually
a bit depressing to see all the single businessmen hang out after work. It’s a
complete sausage fest with the odd woman sitting alone. She only ever lasts a
few seconds before being attacked by the rabid hounds. I can see that tonight
that is me. I have to assume the bags under my eyes and blank stare on my face
is what is keeping them from coming over tonight.

Tapping my
finger against the table, munching on the nachos we always order, my brain is
wracked wondering where the heck Bec is.

Just as I think
it, she finally strolls in, throwing her briefcase down. As always, she looks
like a scattered hot mess. The sweat on her brow suggests she might have
actually run here. Her clothes are disheveled and she is panting. “Sorry I’m
late! There was no parking so I ran two blocks. I need to start working out.”
She holds her chest as she downs the martini I ordered for her.

“You need to
stop driving so much. Your parking bills are a family’s grocery bill, be
honest. Who in New York drives?”

She flips her
dark shiny hair. “I’m from Brooklyn, we drive. How was the rest of your day?”
she asks through her drink glass as she tips it back, finishing it, and holding
her hand in the air for another.

“Evan and
Daisy are having a baby.” I blurt out, looking down.

“Holy crap!
Seriously?” She grips my arm, clenching her jaw tight and looking at me wide
eyed.

“Yes.” I
whimper, guzzling my drink back and pointing at her. “I don’t want to talk
about it anymore—I signed the papers today. I just wanted to say it out
loud once, just to hear how it sounded.”

“You need to
get laid.”

The comment
makes me laugh. “Yeah, and then maybe I can tell them my sob story.” I glance
around the bar. “I think I'd be in good company in here, maybe we can swap sad
stories.”

“No, you need
to get nasty fucked, like really dirty sex with a complete stranger. None of
the suits in here.”

I almost reach
for her face to shut her up before the skeezy singles hear her comment. “No!”

She cocks a
perfect eyebrow at me. “You are only thirty-five and your tits look twenty. You
do yoga and run every friggin’ day like a psycho. You are way hotter than
dipshit Daisy. You have the softest, silky blond hair and those natural curls
are like winning the hair lottery. You have green eyes—who even has those
for real? Honestly. You are a total package. You can’t let that go to waste.
You’re beautiful and successful and funny and you deserve to moan and groan a
little.”

I roll my
eyes. “Oh my God, what does that even have to do with them being pregnant?”

“You need to
get back out there while you’re still sexy and young.”

Her comment is
similar to Lance’s. “Thirty-five isn’t ancient.”

“How long has
it been, Han?” She tilts her head, ready for a horrid answer.

There is a
small moment I contemplate lying—it’s fleeting and instantly shot down by
the fact she will know I’m lying, which has the potential to look more pathetic
than just telling the truth. “A year and a half.” I cover my face and wait for
her to freak out at me.

“What? A year
and half, Hannah?” she shouts, looking flabbergasted and somehow making me feel
even worse. It’s as if her shouting it out makes the time somehow longer. Like
she shouted decades and my vagina has become a dusty old cave.

I am about to
freak out as she fails to recover from the shock. I grab her arm, gritting my
teeth together. “Keep your voice down.”

“Girl, a year
and half!” She attempts to lower her voice, scanning the area to see if anyone
heard her. Thankfully, it’s too noisy in here. “You gotta fix that. Just pick
the cutest guy in here and go home with him. Let him fuck your brains out and
then move on. You might be a virgin again for all you know.”

I sigh. “Stop.
I’m not doing that. I was serious about sex when I said I do to Evan. I never
took it lightly before I got married and I wont now.”

“Hannah, you
can’t let this go. You’ll forget how to do it. This isn’t the fucking nineties
anymore. Bitches are doing some real circus shit out there trying to get a man.
These girls are whores. They take it in the ass and stick their fingers in his
ass, and it’s a whole lot of ass play anyway.”

The nachos
sort of land in my stomach with a thud. Ass play?

When she sees
my expression she starts to rant and her Brooklyn ’tude takes over. “You know
what you need? I know what you need. I know someone who went to this thing for
singles and got that looked after, if you know what I mean. It was Jenny from
work. She got separated three years ago. It rocked her world. She was a mess.
After the first year her lawyer gave her this card—a black card that had
a code on it. All she had to do was text this code with her name and someone
would pick her up and take her somewhere. It’s crazy hush-hush. She never told
me the details of it, but the next time I saw her she was rocking stilettos, a
tight-ass pencil skirt, red lipstick, and a sheer blouse. She was confident
again. And if you knew Jenny before, you were blown away. I mean, Jenny, she
was a nerd, a crazy dorky nerd and she wore long skirts to work and no make-up.
She had these big, old thick coke-bottle glasses. Her hubby left her for some
younger woman and Jenny went a bit crazy. She cried every day in the bathroom
for the year they were separated. When she got the divorce her lawyer was a
lady who had been through the same shit. Said this singles thingy saved her life.
She was ready to commit herself before she went. Jenny too. Hell, we were going
to commit her. She was a wreck. After, total hottie and she married a surgeon a
year later. He is fine, younger, and totally successful.” She leans in, being
so serious. “She said she has never forgotten the experience and that it was
badass and totally what she needed to feel like a woman again.”

The waiter
places our new drinks down, taking the old ones. I sip mine, thinking about the
singles thingy. “I don’t know. That sounds weird. And I don't cry in the
bathroom every day. That’s not what I want. I just can’t see going to some
singles swinger party to get laid.”

“Just think
about it, okay? Maybe the swinger party will bring you back to life. Shit, if
you decide you wanna go, I wanna come too,” she says giving me that look again.
It’s the one where she thinks she’s hiding the pity look with humor. But I can
still see all that pity.

The pity is
the same face Evan had when he told me about the baby. I gulp back my drink, shaking
my head. “I just need to focus on work and get ahead. It’ll be easier to get
the next promotion if I’m working all the time.”

She rolls her
dark eyes at me. “You already do that, and how happy are you?”

“Very happy.”
I eat my olive, hearing her words over and over. I swallow hard. “How would I
get ahold of the swinger party? I’m new to the whole dating and sex with
strangers thing, and I don't believe in paying for sex. Water and sex, two
things that should be free in this world.”

She bites her
lower lip, contemplating something or looking incredibly guilty. I can’t even
be sure which until she speaks. “Well, I may have done something bad. I was
talking with Jenny and told her about you and the whole divorcée thing
and one thing lead to another . . . anyway she gave me her
card. She said she didn’t need it anymore, and to text that number on the back
with your name and wait for a sign or something like
that . . . I think anyway.” She furrows her brow with a
look of confusion as she pulls the card from her purse.

“You did
what?”

She nods,
sliding it across the wooden table, until it’s under my hand like the dirty
little secret it is. “Just take it in case.”

“No.”

“Evan is
fucking some young piece of ass he’s gotten pregnant. He’s happy and having a
blast and you are broken, Han. You are devastated and you are slowly going to
withdraw now that the divorce is over. You were already bad, and him having a
kid and remarrying isn’t going to make you feel better. Do something drastic,
trust me. Break out of this rut.”

I swallow hard
again as I take the small card, putting it in my purse. “This is a bad idea. I
am an analytical consultant for a Fortune 500 company and my reputation is key
to my success. If anyone ever found out I went to some weird swinger party, I
would be fucked. In more than one way.”

“You’ve gone
through a shit year and any type of change is good. I would try it once just to
say you did it and move on, like Jenny. She never went back. She went once and
met her husband shortly afterward. She’s so happy it’s ridiculous.”

“Why did she
still have the card?”

“She held onto
it just in case.”

“I’ll think
about it.” I lie, biting at my lip while fighting the nerves eating away at my
stomach. “But if I were to do it and it’s some fucked-up pervert fest, I may
kill you for it, ok?”

“Deal, but you
have to tell me how it was if it’s not a perv fest. Actually, fuck it. If it’s
crazy I doubly want to know.” She gushes and claps getting a little too
excited.

“Fine! Just no
more talking about it. I don't even want to think about any of this shit. Tell
me how your week was. I’m over myself.”

She sighs,
rolling her gorgeous dark eyes at me while pushing a stray piece of her dark
hair out of her face. Rebecca is gorgeous. She’s close to my age and not
married but she’s seeing a lawyer from work. She is happy being in the dating
stage with him. Whenever he tries to push the relationship she backs off. It’s
a vicious cycle, but after being married I can’t say I blame her. I can’t see
myself doing it again.

We drink several
drinks as she regales me with tales of sexcapades with Andy, her man. She
laughs and shakes her head, telling me about her Santa-costume sex. It’s
disturbing but funny. Andy is her match in life—perverted and doesn't
want kids, no matter what.

I am blinking
through the haze of my vision and trying to focus my eyes when she leans in,
grinning from ear to ear. “Just try it out. Text it now and see what happens,”
she says animatedly.

I am about to
say no when the song from my wedding comes on. Rebecca sits back, pointing at
the ceiling. “It’s a sign. No respectable bar plays Spend My Life With You. Who
even chooses Eric Benét for their wedding song? It’s cheesy.”

I gulp back
nachos and heartbreak as I pull the card out.

The song
brings with it memories, painful ones. Evan’s hands are on my back, pressing me
into him. If I close my eyes I can see his face, smiling down on me. He looked
so excited and happy. It’s the same face he gave Daisy earlier. The thought of
that makes me gag. I nod. “Okay.” I pull my cell out, and nervously enter the
number to text with my name in the dialogue box. I press send and watch as it
delivers to another iPhone. My insides instantly light up with regret and
anxiety.

“Did you do
it?” She grabs my cell, checking to see.

“Yes, I did!”
I snatch my cell phone back and put both the card and it back into my purse.

“Hannah, this
is going to be good for you.” She smiles but I don't think she’s right. I
actually feel all my drinks and my nachos coming back up with the regret.

Of course when
I get home, alone, I curl up in my bed after my hot shower and promise myself I
won’t do the stupid swinger party thing. I don't need it. I just need to move
on. This day just has to end for me. It was a rough day but it’s over now and
Bec is right, I need to move on.