Friday, Jul 25, 2008
Tuesday night, later and sleepless
Our date at Verbena began badly enough, with Matt inhaling a martini while I, to steady my nerves, sipped on the house cocktail -- Verbena syrup in champagne. "I wish you wouldn't interrogate me," I told him. "It's upsetting me."
"Upsetting?" he demanded. "How do you think I felt when I called your cousin and she told me you don't have an aunt in San Francisco?"
"And how do you think I like being spied on by my own boyfriend?" I snapped. "How dare you snoop on me? Why did you call Miranda, anyway? You knew how to reach me."
He narrowed his eyes slightly and said, "If that's how you see it, fine." He didn't know Miranda had called me. I looked away, realizing that Matt didn't want to tell me about the flowers he had tried to send. I had to find a way to break up but just then, catching the hurt pride in his eyes, I flinched from my task.
I bit my lip and said, "I didn't know how to tell you the truth. I went to S.F. because there was something I had to do. I didn't think you would understand. I still don't." He ordered another round of drinks, though I was still on my first. "You asked me once if I've ever slept with a married guy and I didn't want to answer. Well," I said contritely, "that's what this was about."
Matt leaned forward in his chair. "You mean that all this time --"
"I wasn't really over him," I said, pretending not to know what he was thinking. "You can't just stop caring about someone when --"
"Who is it? Where does he live?" Matt asked.
"He used to live here," I explained.
"How long have you been seeing this guy?"
"What do you mean?" I retorted. "We broke up long before I met you, when he moved to the West Coast. I flew out to see him because --"
"Oh, I get the picture," he interrupted in a testy voice. "Whenever he's in town you sneak around with this dirtbag for old time's sake. Great!" Staring back numbly, I let him continue in this vein, trying to figure out whether he would feel better about breaking up with me or vice versa. Some guys need to hold onto their pride; others, holding onto their chivalry, push the girl to end it.
"So what happened?" Matt was saying in a needling tone. "He called and said he was leaving his wife one more time? I guess you couldn't resist a free trip to the west coast ... When does he fuck you, anyway? While his wife's out shopping?"
A waiter, walking toward us with menus, turned around tactfully, biding his time. That did it. I was so genuinely infuriated, I almost knocked Matt's martini glass onto its side.
"I cannot believe you would use that kind of insulting language with me!" I hissed back. "Just because I had feelings for a man does not mean I continue sleeping with him right under your nose! I am not just a fuck, you sadistic uncivilized bastard! Unlike you, I have self-control!" My allusion to his fling with Larissa made him sit up. "I have not seen ... Adam," I decided to call this phantom, "in over three years, okay? Until he called and told me -- he -- he begged me to fly out there -- he just wanted to see me before ... he's very ill," I riffed sadly. "How could I just turn my back on a guy I once loved who's dying? Who sends me a ticket and tells me I was the love of his life? And you," I added bitterly. "You talk about this like I'm some kind of vapid slut. Do you really think I flew out there to have sex with him? Is that how your mind works?"
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