sleep with me either? Does that change your answer? Do I have a right to demand more sex? On what basis? Because she loves me, or because I pay for everything? Or should I be the one who accommodates her? Should I accept her lack of desire and live without sex just because I love her? And if I did accept that, shouldn’t I still insist she get a proper job?
I swipe my MetroCard and head down into the swarm of irritable, Manhattan-bound workers on my Brooklyn subway platform.
My plan is to eat breakfast at my desk and get focused on the Livingston Kidd proposal that’s at the top of my WIP list. I stop in at the second-floor cafeteria. Coffee. Juice. Scrambled egg wrap. The spicy kind. All loaded onto a disposal cardboard tray.
It’s eight fifteen. Most of the early crowd does what I’m doing. They get breakfast to go. But after paying there’s only one way out: you have to walk through the nearly deserted cafeteria. I scan the large room. There are only a few tables occupied by solo Chronicle readers or small groups from the lifestyle group talking about the return of taupe. Over at a table by the window, Ben Shapiro and Erika Fallon are hard to miss. And even harder to ignore.
“Yoo-hoo,” calls Ben, waving a little more than he needs to to get my attention. He’s wearing a turquoise shirt, open at the neck. I wander over, trying to be discreet in the glances I throw in Erika’s direction. I stop a little short of their table.
“Hi, guys,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
“You know me,” says Ben. “I’m up when the cock crows.”
Erika shakes her head. Her hair, I notice, is especially lustrous in the morning light. “We’re just catching up on a few projects. Why don’t you join us, Russell Wiley?”
“Project number one,” says Ben. “We need to decide about Mr. Judd Walker. Is he a suitable candidate for the irresistible but impossibly hard-to-please Erika?”
I chuckle and give Erika my most rueful, wide-eyed look. “I don’t think I can go there. Plus, I came in early because I have an urgent—”
“Shush, shush, shush,” says Ben. “This is urgent. Sit. We need the straight man’s perspective.”
“OK, I’ll sit. But don’t expect me to get drawn into any inappropriate conversation. Anyway,” I say absentmindedly, “isn’t Judd gay?”
“Negatory, my friend. He scores a zero on my homometer. And in case you didn’t know, little Miss Erika’s milkshake has already brought him out to the yard.”
“Ben!”
“Really?” I say, biting into my sandwich, trying to appear only moderately interested.
“We had one conversation,” says Erika. “He seems cute.”
“Hmmm. I thought the cute ones were usually gay.”
“Gay or married,” says Erika.
“Or both,” says Ben. “But let’s not go there. Anyway, a little birdie apparently told Mr. Judd about our DC event next week. Suddenly he’s planning his own trip down there, telling Erika he’d love to join us if the dates line up.”
“Really?” I say again. “He’s a fast worker.”
“He sure is,” says Ben. “But is he worth breaking the rules for?”
“Rules?”
I sip some juice through my straw and watch Erika’s expression as Ben explains. “Apparently young Erika has imposed some highly restrictive rules on her love life. No wonder she’s going through such a dry spell.”
“Maybe Erika Fallon just intimidates people,” I say.
“Thank you, Russell Wiley.”
I tip my coffee cup to her in reply.
“Maybe so,” says Ben. “But when you rule out two-thirds of the male population, you make getting laid way too difficult.”
“Ben!” says Erika again.
“I’ll be your witness,” I tell her, “when you report him to HR.”
“That won’t be necessary,” says Ben, who proceeds to articulate and offer commentary on Erika’s three rules for dating:
1. No married men.
2. No coworkers.
3. Never, ever with your boss.
“Imagine if I tried to live like that,” says
I swipe my MetroCard and head down into the swarm of irritable, Manhattan-bound workers on my Brooklyn subway platform.
My plan is to eat breakfast at my desk and get focused on the Livingston Kidd proposal that’s at the top of my WIP list. I stop in at the second-floor cafeteria. Coffee. Juice. Scrambled egg wrap. The spicy kind. All loaded onto a disposal cardboard tray.
It’s eight fifteen. Most of the early crowd does what I’m doing. They get breakfast to go. But after paying there’s only one way out: you have to walk through the nearly deserted cafeteria. I scan the large room. There are only a few tables occupied by solo Chronicle readers or small groups from the lifestyle group talking about the return of taupe. Over at a table by the window, Ben Shapiro and Erika Fallon are hard to miss. And even harder to ignore.
“Yoo-hoo,” calls Ben, waving a little more than he needs to to get my attention. He’s wearing a turquoise shirt, open at the neck. I wander over, trying to be discreet in the glances I throw in Erika’s direction. I stop a little short of their table.
“Hi, guys,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
“You know me,” says Ben. “I’m up when the cock crows.”
Erika shakes her head. Her hair, I notice, is especially lustrous in the morning light. “We’re just catching up on a few projects. Why don’t you join us, Russell Wiley?”
“Project number one,” says Ben. “We need to decide about Mr. Judd Walker. Is he a suitable candidate for the irresistible but impossibly hard-to-please Erika?”
I chuckle and give Erika my most rueful, wide-eyed look. “I don’t think I can go there. Plus, I came in early because I have an urgent—”
“Shush, shush, shush,” says Ben. “This is urgent. Sit. We need the straight man’s perspective.”
“OK, I’ll sit. But don’t expect me to get drawn into any inappropriate conversation. Anyway,” I say absentmindedly, “isn’t Judd gay?”
“Negatory, my friend. He scores a zero on my homometer. And in case you didn’t know, little Miss Erika’s milkshake has already brought him out to the yard.”
“Ben!”
“Really?” I say, biting into my sandwich, trying to appear only moderately interested.
“We had one conversation,” says Erika. “He seems cute.”
“Hmmm. I thought the cute ones were usually gay.”
“Gay or married,” says Erika.
“Or both,” says Ben. “But let’s not go there. Anyway, a little birdie apparently told Mr. Judd about our DC event next week. Suddenly he’s planning his own trip down there, telling Erika he’d love to join us if the dates line up.”
“Really?” I say again. “He’s a fast worker.”
“He sure is,” says Ben. “But is he worth breaking the rules for?”
“Rules?”
I sip some juice through my straw and watch Erika’s expression as Ben explains. “Apparently young Erika has imposed some highly restrictive rules on her love life. No wonder she’s going through such a dry spell.”
“Maybe Erika Fallon just intimidates people,” I say.
“Thank you, Russell Wiley.”
I tip my coffee cup to her in reply.
“Maybe so,” says Ben. “But when you rule out two-thirds of the male population, you make getting laid way too difficult.”
“Ben!” says Erika again.
“I’ll be your witness,” I tell her, “when you report him to HR.”
“That won’t be necessary,” says Ben, who proceeds to articulate and offer commentary on Erika’s three rules for dating:
1. No married men.
2. No coworkers.
3. Never, ever with your boss.
“Imagine if I tried to live like that,” says
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