Absolutely not.
“Never leave a ho behind” had been their motto back in college and the few years after college, when they were young enough to affectionately call one another hos. They would’ve strong-armed the poor driver until he finally gave in, or they would’ve piled, drunk and complaining, back onto the street and figured something else out.
But on that Friday night they were tired, and more than that, they were just plain over it. Consequently, all Jessica had to do was show them her phone with the Uber app open. “See?” she said. “I’ll get my own damn Uber.”
“Okay, that’s a lot of cars,” said Megan.
She was right. There was a swarm of little black car icons buzzing around their location dot.
“Just go,” said Jessica. “I’ll be fine. One of these guys’ll be here in fifteen seconds. I’ll probably be home before any of you.”
The other Wives collectively shrugged.
“All right!” said Amber. She blew Jessica a kiss from the back seat. “Roll out! But you’re only getting four stars, dude.”
For a moment, when they were gone, Jessica stood looking at the front of Bar Vasquez. Laughing people went in and out, handsome guys and pretty girls, and she wondered what she was doing out there, exactly. She looked down at her hands and was surprised to see that they were shaking.
When she opened the door, she nearly chickened out. She would’ve turned around if the waiter hadn’t been standing right there, five feet from the entrance.
“You’re back,” he said.
Jessica briefly wondered if he was talking to her. They hadn’t exchanged a word earlier, while the Wives finished their drinks and dinner and after-dinner drinks, but their eyes had found each other’s maybe a dozen times as he buzzed back and forth across the restaurant. And now he was smiling at her, and he was gorgeous. “I am,” she said.
“Where’s your crew?”
She looked back at the front door as if the Wives might be there, hands on hips. What the fuck, Jessica?
“They couldn’t hang,” she said. “Bunch of lightweights.”
His eyes moved to her breasts again, quick as hummingbirds. “That’s lame,” he said. “Well, let’s get you a drink, then. Come on. I just got switched to the bar upstairs.”
He led her up some steps to the mezzanine section that overlooked the restaurant. She sat down on a squishy stool at the end of the bar. It was quieter up here than it had been downstairs.
“So, you like this place, huh?”
“What?”
“Well, technically, you’ve been here twice tonight. And you were here the other night, too. Couple of days ago, right, with…”
She almost said “my husband,” but instead she let him trail off. Somewhere in her lap, her hand formed a loose fist around her engagement ring. The diamond dug gently into her flesh. “I do like it,” she said. “You’ve got good wine here.”
“Gimme a sec, okay?”
He made a few drinks behind the bar—two for a couple at one of the bar tables, two more for the cocktail waitress, who collected them on a tray. And then he poured Jessica a glass of shiraz.
“I’m impressed,” she said. “You remember my wine choice. You’re a good waiter.”
He tilted his head. “A little secret from the pros. We always remember what beautiful women order.”
These words had a complex effect on her—a sensation like being in a glass elevator, rocketing upward over an unfamiliar cityscape. Sure, the male gaze is one thing. It’s ever-present, laced with ambiguity and aggression. But no one who wasn’t Mitch had called her beautiful since she was a college kid, and she could feel an insistent pulse in her neck. “Um…you know that I know that you work for tips, right?”
“Guess I won’t charge you for that one, then,” he said.
A series of woven veins ran up his forearm and disappeared under the rolled-up cuff of his white sleeve. She imagined tracing their path with the tip of her finger. A couple in their twenties bellied up to the bar and tried to get his attention. He completely ignored them.
“So, ladies’ night tonight?” he asked. “Special occasion?”
“We were celebrating.”
“Oh yeah? Celebrating what?”
“Divorce.” She let the word settle, unexplained, and his attention narrowed. “My friend Amber. She just signed the papers.”
“Ahh. Well, that’s…nice? Is that the word? Nice?”
“Believe it or not, you came up in our conversation.”
“Me?”
“You caused quite a moral dilemma for us, actually.”
“Do tell.”
He was blasé at the prospect of a table full of women talking about him. He’d looked like this his entire life, Jessica assumed. No awkward stage, like everyone else. No gawky teen years or braces with rubber bands or acne or baby fat or disastrous haircuts. It was like white privilege, but exclusively for hot people—hot privilege—and it was hard not to resent him for it.
“My other friend, Megan,” she said. “Her ex had an affair with a real-estate hussy. You single-handedly caused her to forgive him.”
“Oh yeah? How’d I do that?”
The twentysomething couple cleared their throats.
“She said, even if she was still married, she’d have an affair with you in a second. So you’ve decriminalized cheating. Bravo.”
He laughed. “Okay, now I need a drink.”
“Hey. Do you, like, have a drink menu or something?” It was the twentysomething girl. He slid them a black leather booklet and then poured himself a glass of the same shiraz Jessica was drinking.
She nodded toward the couple. “I take it back. You’re not a very good waiter at all.”
He swirled his wine. “I have good nights and bad nights. I’m easily distracted.”
It wasn’t like Jessica hadn’t flirted in the last twenty years. She was a human being, after all. But not like this. She wondered if she was doing it right.
“We all dared Amber to flag you down and talk to you,” she said. “She’s convinced she’s gonna die alone. You’d be good for her.”
“Like a How Stella Got Her Groove Back situation?” he said.
“You know that book?”
“I thought it was a movie,” he said, without a trace of self-consciousness, and she tried to imagine him reading but couldn’t. Maybe that’s the burden of hot privilege. Everyone assumes you don’t read much.
“A book and a movie,” she said. “Either way. Amber was a coward. Said you were too scary to talk to.”
He smiled. “Man, women really overthink this stuff, huh?”
“Well, that’s a given. It’s our defining feature. But what do you mean specifically?”
“Table nineteen, right?” he said. “I was watching you guys earlier, over there in your dresses, all done up. Any one of you could’ve taken home any guy in here. Snap of the finger.”
“Oh? Just like that, huh?”
“Yeah. Just like that. It’s like a superpower, and you guys don’t even know you’ve got it. Total waste. With great hotness comes great responsibility.”
“This is good to know,” said Jessica.
He took a sip, swished it around a little. “Wait,” he said. “Which one was Amber again?”
“The tall one. Really tall. Like a baby giraffe.”
“Oh shit, yeah,” he said. “I totally would’ve hit that.”
She laughed, louder than she’d intended. “Well, if you’re interested, I can give you her number. She’d be thrilled.”
He finally took the twentysomethings’ drink order. A beer for the guy, something fizzy with vodka for the girl. When he came back, he told Jessica that he had a confession to make.
“Yeah?” she said.
“I’m lying,” he said.
“About what?”
“I can’t remember what any of your friends look like.”
“Really?”
“Mm-hmm,” he said. “I was too busy looking at you.”