NAT
My Friday started out so promising. I got to wake up to a beautiful man, who’s still happy to only make out with me for hours on end. I have a man leaving his wife for me (which I assume he did last night, based on his texts. All he told me was that things at home had blown up and he’d see me Monday), and I was at a job that I liked, working with people who I love.
And then at five oh five, just as our first happy hour is officially under way, Chris strolls in.
My shoulders sink. “Oh, good Christ, what are you doing here?”
“I have decided to become the Norm to your Diane,” he chirps happily as he plops down on a center barstool. “Did you get beer yet?”
“Get out,” I mutter menacingly.
“We still don’t have anything on draft,” Holly answers. “However, we do have bottles of the local craft brewer’s IPA and stout.”
“Whose side are you on?” I ask her.
“The side of the customers,” she answers. “Always. Particularly the ones willing to pay ten dollars for a bottle of IPA.”
“And I am willing to do that,” Chris tells her, smirking at me.
I swear, that’s not an exaggeration. He’s smirking.
Holly points to him and flirts, “I like the way you think. So I’m assuming you like your beer the way you like your women.”
“How did you manage to buy dumb beer?” I ask her.
“I was thinking bitter,” Holly tells me as she pops open the cap of a bottle of IPA and pours it into a pint glass.
“I like the way you think,” Chris tells her playfully.
“Where did you find pint glasses?” I ask Holly accusingly.
“BevMo!” she answers. When I glare at her, she doubles down. “And the best was on sale for ten ninety-nine a six-pack.”
“So you are really making a killing off of us beer drinkers,” Chris says.
He holds up a credit card, which Holly cheerfully plucks out of his hand. “Thank you, baby. Start a tab?”
“Yes. I plan to be here late.”
As Holly walks to the end of the bar to start Chris’s tab, I follow her and whisper, “Why are you acting all friendly with him?”
“Um … I’m a bartender. It’s what I do.”
“But…” I turn to look at Chris, who surveys the room, checking out the women here for happy hour. “He’s an asshole. We don’t need a guy like that hitting on our customers all night.”
“Actually, we do. Do you know why women go to bars?”
“Yes. To hang out with their friends and decompress.”
“Sometimes. But frequently it’s to dress up and flirt and feel pretty amid hot guys. And I hate to break it to you, but your friend over there is a hot guy.”
I make a face. “Ick.”
Holly shakes her head at me. “He’s so not an Ick. What’s your problem? Did you sleep with him?”
“What?! No! Ick.”
“So he didn’t fuck you over in any way?” Holly clarifies.
I look up at the ceiling, trying to find a way to tell her what happened in college without actually telling her what happened. Holly continues, “Trust me, I know Ick. Sven’s an Ick. And if he ever shows up here again, I apologize in advance for all of the glassware that gets broken and the tables that splinter apart when I tackle him and haul him out by his ear. But your guy? He’s fine.”
Holly grabs a huge bag of peanuts from beneath the counter, pours some into a pink wooden bowl, and walks them over to Chris, who asks me, “So which station are you working tonight? I want to be at your table.”
“She’s working the bar,” Holly tells him as she puts down the peanuts, then walks away to serve other happy hour guests.
Chris’s face lights up. He turns to me. “Excellent.”
“Chris! Yay!” I hear Jessie exclaim from her table near the window.
She quickly walks up to us and hands Chris her phone. “What do you think this means?” she asks.
He studies the text for a moment, then winces. “Oh. Stage one of the negotiation. He’s trying to be nice but still make it seem like it’s all your fault. I would steer clear for at least another three days. Give him time for it to sink in that he really fucked up.”
She looks at her phone. “Okay, but I can’t keep not talking to him. And I don’t even know for sure what I want yet. So what should I…”
Chris types into her phone, then hands it back to her to scrutinize. “What do you think of that?”
Jessie’s eyes widen. “Oh, my God—you’re brilliant.” She hits Send, then heads behind the bar to pour two flights of Central Coast reds.
I follow Jessie over to the reds, lean in, and try to whisper, “Okay, what the hell was that about? Since when are you and Chris friends?”
“Since last night, when I told him about what happened with Kevin when I was waiting on him and his date. And he was so helpful. I mean, as nice as you and Holly and Giovanni were, Chris just immediately turned it into a chess match, which was much more productive. He has such fascinating theories on dating.”
“Jessie, the guy’s a tool. We need to get him out of here so he doesn’t hit on our clients.”
Jessie fans out her eight glasses perfectly and begins pouring the first red. “Why is he a tool? What did he do?”
I loudly sigh. “Nothing outright, he just…”
“Did you sleep with him?”
“Why does everyone keep asking that?”
“Who’s everyone?”
“Holly.”
Jessie shrugs. Switches to bottle two and pours. “So you didn’t sleep with him. Do you plan to sleep with him?”
“No. Ick. Besides, I have Giovanni.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Am I allowed to bring a pizza in here?” Chris raises his voice to ask from his side of the bar.
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” Jessie tells him. “The place next door delivers; we should get some sort of promotion going with them.”
And she switches to bottle three.
I give up.
I make a point of ignoring him when a group of women walk in and sit a few seats away from him. We do the usual polite banter: How long have you guys been open? The place is beautiful. What would you recommend? Etc.
I hook each of them up with different glasses we have on special, start tabs, then try to keep myself busy and away from him.
“Can I get some water over here?” Chris asks, pulling out his iPad and the latest issue of Sports Illustrated.
Sigh. Trying not to grimace (well, not trying too hard), I scoop some ice, shoot some water into a glass from the soda gun, stick in a red straw, and bring it to him. “You brought a sports magazine into a women’s bar?”
“Some women like sports.”
I suppress a laugh. “Schyeah, that’s why sports bars are crawling with women on a random Tuesday.”
Chris turns off his iPad. “Do you want to know the difference between a man dating two women and a woman dating two men?”
“Oh, good, dating thoughts from a man who’s still single…”
“If a man is dating two women at once, it is either because (a) he is an asshole, (b) he’s trying to be an asshole, though he’ll soon realize he sucks at it: think swipe left, or (c) he is trying to break up with the old girlfriend, but he wants a place to land after everything explodes, so he sets up the new girlfriend before he’s completely done with the old girlfriend.”
“So, in other words, (a) because he’s an asshole,” I drone.
“Great, we’re on the same page,” Chris tells me with mock cheer. “Do you know why a woman dates two men?”
“Because one of them is you?” I ask drily.
“Awww… I love that you acknowledge women want to date me.”
“I didn’t say that…”
“The reason why a woman dates two men at the same time is that neither of them is ‘the guy.’”
Shit. How does he know about Marc? But I cover, “That’s ridiculous. Women are just as capable of setting up a landing pad.”
“Yeah, they are,” he acknowledges, “but they usually don’t. See, most women don’t see dating as a game. If they find the guy—that’s it. Chase is over! Let’s start obsessing over dresses and cakes. So the only reason why a woman is dating two men at once is because one of the guys is a jerk who she knows she should break up with, but who for God knows what reason still holds some sway over her. And the other guy, the nice one, is just the chump she’s using to try and get over the first guy.”
I clench my jaw.
A happy Jessie walks up to Chris. “You’re brilliant. Look what he wrote back.” She hands him the screen, then looks at me. “Oh, my God, this guy is amazing. He knows everything about dating!”
“Rook to e5,” Chris says, scrutinizing her screen. “So has he sent you flowers yet?”
“No,” Jessie says, intrigued. “Am I getting flowers? I love flowers.”
“In this case, you might not,” Chris tells her. “When men give flowers at the beginning of the relationship, it’s to be suave and romantic.” Then he looks directly at me as he says, “But if he’s already sleeping with you, it can be manipulative. Be very clear on what you want, both with yourself and him. No one’s on solid ground right now.”
Wow. He thinks Marc is sending me flowers to establish territory? Fuck you, Chris.
Jessie looks at me. “He’s brilliant. He knows everything about men. How have you been keeping him from us this long?”
God, it’s going to be a long night.
I quickly pull out my phone and send a text of my own. To Marc.
Can’t wait to see you Monday. What can I bring?