Ice trickles down my spine even as my face turns uncomfortably hot. “No, definitely not.”
“Really?” Marsha says, sounding fascinated. “Then why are you blushing? And clutching that fork like you want to stab someone?”
I glance down at my hand and see that she’s right. I’m gripping the utensil so hard my knuckles have turned white. Forcing my fingers to relax, I give an awkward laugh and say, “Sorry. I was drunk that night, and I’m a little embarrassed about that. I think I must’ve danced with some random guy, and that’s what your bartender friend saw, Tonya.”
Andy frowns. “Is that random guy the reason you ran out of there like that? You looked almost… frightened.”
“What? No, I was just drunk.” I force another embarrassed laugh. “You know how it is when you think you’re going to puke at any moment? Well, that was me that night.”
“Okay,” Tonya says. “I’ll tell Rick—that’s the bartender—that you’re available. In case you ever join us at the club again, that is.”
“Oh, I…” My face heats up again. “No, that’s okay. I’m not really ready to date and—”
“No worries.” Tonya pats my hand, her slim fingers cool on my skin. “I won’t give him your number or anything. You can maintain your ‘princess in a tower’ mystique. Only makes them hotter, if you ask me.”
“What?” I gape at her. “What do you mean by that?”
“She means that you have the whole untouchable thing going on,” Andy says through a mouthful of eggs. “It’s hard to describe, but it’s like you give off this ice princess vibe, only not cold, you know? Kind of like if Jackie-O and Princess Diana decided to slum it by working among us regular folks, if that makes sense.”
“No, not really.” I frown at the red-headed girl. “You’re saying I come across as stuck-up?”
“No, not stuck-up, just different,” Marsha says. “Andy didn’t explain it well. You’re just… classy. Maybe it’s all that ballet you did when you were younger, but you look like someone taught you to curtsy and walk with a book balanced on your head. Like you know which fork to use at a formal dinner and how to make small talk with the ambassador of whatever.”
“What?” I burst out laughing. “That’s ridiculous. I mean, George and I had been to a few formal fundraisers, but that was his thing, not mine. If I had a choice, I’d live in yoga pants and sneakers; you know that, Marsha. For God’s sake, I listen to Britney Spears and dance to hip-hop and R&B.”
“I know, hon, but that’s just the way you look, not the way you are,” Marsha says, taking out a small mirror to reapply her red lipstick. Swiping on a coat with a practiced hand, she puts away the mirror and the lipstick and says, “It’s a good thing, trust me. Take me, for instance. I could try to class it up all I want, but guys take one look at me and decide I’m easy. Doesn’t matter what I wear or how I act; they just see my hair, tits, and ass, and figure I put out.”
“That’s because you do put out,” Tonya points out with a grin.
Marsha huffs and flicks back her blond waves. “Yeah, but that’s neither here nor there. My point is, she”—she jerks her thumb at me—“couldn’t look easy if she tried. Any guy looking at her knows—he just knows—he’s going to have to work for it. Like dinners with parents and ring on the finger kind of work.”
“That’s not true,” I object. “I slept with George long before we got married.”
Andy rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but how long were you dating before you slept with him?”
“A few months,” I say, frowning. “But I was just eighteen, and—”
“See? A few months,” Tonya says, elbowing Marsha. “And how long do you make them wait?”
Marsha chuckles. “At least a few hours.”
“Well, there you go,” Andy says. “And you wonder why those jerks never call you again. My mom always said, ‘The fastest way to lose a guy is to sleep with him.’ Sara’s got it right: act cool and distant, so when you so much as smile at a guy, he falls all over himself.”
“Oh, please.” I busy myself with the remnants of my breakfast. “It’s the twenty-first century. I think men know better than to—”
“Nope,” Marsha says cheerfully. “They don’t. If something comes easy, they don’t value it as much. I know that, and I’m okay with being a good-time girl. Most of the time, I don’t want those jerks to call me, and the couple of times that I do…” She sighs. “Well, it’s just not meant to be, I guess. In any case, life’s too short to waste it being something other than what you are. By the time you get to be my age, you figure that out.”
“Uh-huh, sure.” Tonya stuffs the last of her bagel into her mouth. “Tell us more, Oh Wise Old One.”
“Shut up,” Marsha grumbles, throwing a balled-up napkin at her. It hits Andy, who immediately retaliates with a napkin projectile of her own, and I duck, laughing, as the breakfast devolves into a full-on napkin fight.
It’s not until I’m walking out of the cafeteria, still chuckling over what happened, that I realize the nurses didn’t just lighten my mood and distract me from thoughts of Peter.
They also gave me an idea.
My on-call shift doesn’t end until late evening, but I still go to the clinic afterward. It’s open twenty-four hours, and they always need me. On my end, I want to delay going home for as long as I can. The idea brewing in my mind makes my stomach cramp, and the last thing I want is to face my stalker.
As usual, they’re glad to see me at
