don’t want to have lunch with me, please don’t think that you have to. I only thought that it might be nice. I could invite your classmates too if you’d like me to.”
She tries to keep her face from falling. “Whatever you’d like,” she says. “It’s really up to you.”
“Okay,” he says, his smile as boyish as any she has seen before. “Then it’ll just be you and me. We’ll have fun, I promise.”
She wishes that the memory of her mother’s unhappiness during her prolonged and bitter divorce were enough to keep her from seeing Dr. Glass again, but it isn’t. After a mostly restless night when she resorts to taking two of the Ambien in her medicine cabinet and still can’t sleep for stretches of more than an hour and a half, she calls Jill and tells her what she thinks she is about to do. “Why can’t I stop myself, knowing what my mother went through?” she asks.
“You’re a human being, Anna, not a saint,” says Jill. “It was only a matter of time anyway. How could you not be boning one of the doctors you work with? You’re gorgeous, and they’re all old goats who must be drooling every time you walk by.”
“Dr. Glass isn’t an old goat,” says Anna, wishing she had called Celestine instead.
“No, but he has a dick, doesn’t he?”
“You’re so crass. He’s not like that.”
“How do you know? If you gave them even the slightest encouragement, you’d have so many guys chasing after you that you’d need a bodyguard. I’m sure Dr. Glass is thinking about you when he yanks it in the shower every morning.”
“Stop it,” cries Anna, but the image of Dr. Glass masturbating is now in her head and she can’t send it back. “Tell me that I shouldn’t go out with him because he’s married and has two kids.”
“He has to answer to them. You don’t. Do whatever you want. Let him worry about his family.”
“That’s a convenient way to look at it.”
“You knew I’d tell you to go out with him. Why else did you call me? Did you already call Celestine and ask her what she thinks?”
“No.”
“She’d say the same thing. We’re both whores.” Her sudden burst of laughter is loud and self-mocking.
“No, you’re not,” says Anna.
“Yes, we are. You know it too. You don’t have to lie. I’m over it.”
“Do you think I’m a whore?”
“No,” Jill says quietly. “I think you’re just being honest with yourself. You’re attracted to him. He’s attracted to you. You’re single, and clearly he’s not getting everything he needs at home. You can’t always be good, especially growing up with a father like yours. If he were my dad, I’d have a big crush on him and be totally fine with it. How could I not? He’s still so hot.”
“No, you wouldn’t. That’s disgusting, Jill. I don’t have a crush on my father. I never have.”
“Don’t get your undies in a bunch. I’m just kidding,” says Jill, but Anna knows she isn’t. Both Celestine and Jill have had crushes on her father since junior high. Anna also wonders if one or both of them have had sex with him. She hopes it is only her jealous sixth sense, adding weight and meaning to the glances her two friends have exchanged with her father over the fifteen years she has known them; even so, she has almost no doubt that they would leap into bed with him if he so much as hinted that he’d be willing.
The fact that Jill has joked more than once that Anna must be attracted to him too is something she finds more irritating than perverse because in her private heart, she is unsure if, while watching his films and occasionally seeing him work on the set, her feelings have always been innocent. How not, from time to time, to see him as the man countless others desire? This is, after all, how he has managed to make a life as an actor. He has long been a sex symbol—several magazines over the years having baldly declared this fact on their covers, Anna rolling her eyes over this news even as she
She tries to keep her face from falling. “Whatever you’d like,” she says. “It’s really up to you.”
“Okay,” he says, his smile as boyish as any she has seen before. “Then it’ll just be you and me. We’ll have fun, I promise.”
She wishes that the memory of her mother’s unhappiness during her prolonged and bitter divorce were enough to keep her from seeing Dr. Glass again, but it isn’t. After a mostly restless night when she resorts to taking two of the Ambien in her medicine cabinet and still can’t sleep for stretches of more than an hour and a half, she calls Jill and tells her what she thinks she is about to do. “Why can’t I stop myself, knowing what my mother went through?” she asks.
“You’re a human being, Anna, not a saint,” says Jill. “It was only a matter of time anyway. How could you not be boning one of the doctors you work with? You’re gorgeous, and they’re all old goats who must be drooling every time you walk by.”
“Dr. Glass isn’t an old goat,” says Anna, wishing she had called Celestine instead.
“No, but he has a dick, doesn’t he?”
“You’re so crass. He’s not like that.”
“How do you know? If you gave them even the slightest encouragement, you’d have so many guys chasing after you that you’d need a bodyguard. I’m sure Dr. Glass is thinking about you when he yanks it in the shower every morning.”
“Stop it,” cries Anna, but the image of Dr. Glass masturbating is now in her head and she can’t send it back. “Tell me that I shouldn’t go out with him because he’s married and has two kids.”
“He has to answer to them. You don’t. Do whatever you want. Let him worry about his family.”
“That’s a convenient way to look at it.”
“You knew I’d tell you to go out with him. Why else did you call me? Did you already call Celestine and ask her what she thinks?”
“No.”
“She’d say the same thing. We’re both whores.” Her sudden burst of laughter is loud and self-mocking.
“No, you’re not,” says Anna.
“Yes, we are. You know it too. You don’t have to lie. I’m over it.”
“Do you think I’m a whore?”
“No,” Jill says quietly. “I think you’re just being honest with yourself. You’re attracted to him. He’s attracted to you. You’re single, and clearly he’s not getting everything he needs at home. You can’t always be good, especially growing up with a father like yours. If he were my dad, I’d have a big crush on him and be totally fine with it. How could I not? He’s still so hot.”
“No, you wouldn’t. That’s disgusting, Jill. I don’t have a crush on my father. I never have.”
“Don’t get your undies in a bunch. I’m just kidding,” says Jill, but Anna knows she isn’t. Both Celestine and Jill have had crushes on her father since junior high. Anna also wonders if one or both of them have had sex with him. She hopes it is only her jealous sixth sense, adding weight and meaning to the glances her two friends have exchanged with her father over the fifteen years she has known them; even so, she has almost no doubt that they would leap into bed with him if he so much as hinted that he’d be willing.
The fact that Jill has joked more than once that Anna must be attracted to him too is something she finds more irritating than perverse because in her private heart, she is unsure if, while watching his films and occasionally seeing him work on the set, her feelings have always been innocent. How not, from time to time, to see him as the man countless others desire? This is, after all, how he has managed to make a life as an actor. He has long been a sex symbol—several magazines over the years having baldly declared this fact on their covers, Anna rolling her eyes over this news even as she
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