“Well, he had to go to New York on business. He’s not coming back till Thursday or Friday. But I’ll give you this piece of information: I kind of miss him.”
“Well, I think it’s all great,” Duncan said. “I mean, you hated him last week. It gives me hope.”
“About your ex?” Sara asked, slicing a red bell pepper.
Duncan sat down with a heavy sigh. “I can’t stand how much I miss her. I just wish she’d talk to me. But she won’t. I tried going to the club where she bartends, and she had the bouncer make me leave.”
I turned off the burner for the soup. “Maybe you need to let her go, Duncan. She sounds pretty sure.”
He looked miserable. “The day before she dumped me she told me she loved me. Then I come home and all her stuff is gone and she won’t talk to me. I even tried calling her best friend, and she hung up on me.”
“I wonder what went wrong for her,” Sara said.
“Me, too. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t do anything. And I’m learning to be a vegan for a woman who won’t even talk to me.”
“Maybe we can find out what’s up,” Sara said. “Clem and I could go hang out at the bar and start talking about our jerk exes. She’ll chime in. Maybe. Worth a try.”
“No way I’m missing this,” Eva said. “I mean, who slams an ex better than me? Let’s go tomorrow night. Early enoughso it won’t be crowded and we can set up the convo for her to overhear.”
Duncan raised an eyebrow and gnawed his lower lip for a second. “Don’t let her know you’re my friends. She’ll have that giant dude throw you out.”
“Clem, I think we forgot the tortillas,” Eva said, sniffing the air. Something was burning.
“Oh, shit,” I said, grabbing my oven mitts to pull out the cracker-like tortillas. “We can warm up some more.”
“We’re busy saving a man’s life here,” Sara said. “That’s worth a burned tortilla.”
The woman who wouldn’t be named was named Gwendolyn Paul, hated to be called Gwen, and worked at Ocean 88, a hot little nightclub with a tiny dance floor and a famous square-shaped bar that those semi-lucky to be chosen could shake their stuff on for a minute and get a free fourteen-dollar drink. Sara and I went there once, and the very hot male bartender nodded his chin at Sara and said, “Show your stuff, babe,” and she said, “Really?” totally game to get up there and shimmy for her free frozen margarita, and the jerk said, “No, not really.” He looked at me and said, “But you can.” I told him he was a pig and we left and never went back. My scathing email to the owner went unanswered, too.
That Gwendolyn a) didn’t like to be called Gwen and b) worked at Ocean 88 didn’t bode well. The woman had to be a total bitch. And not in a good way.
“If that jerkoff is there, I’m leaving,” Sara said. “I like Duncan, but I can only take so much.”
“If he’s there, I’ll get him back for you,” Eva said, pulling out her compact and lipstick and making her lips even redder. She fluffed her bangs, gave her lips a press, then snapped the compact shut.
“How?” we both asked in unison.
“Oh, trust me. I’m the master at making people pay.”
Sara laughed. “You scare me. Make sure I don’t get on your bad side.”
“Oh, you’ll know if you do,” she said.
Sara stood to the side of Ocean 88’s big window. “Clem, look in and see if he’s there. Do you remember what he looks like? Beefy with blond ponytail.”
I peered in. At seven o’clock on a Wednesday, the bar wasn’t crowded; Ocean 88 didn’t serve food, and the dance floor didn’t get going till at least nine. One very hot bartender with longish brown hair and a huge wooden cross necklace was filling steins at the tap. Another male bartender who looked like a grown-up Harry Potter, down to the round glasses, was pouring martinis for four middle-aged women. Across the bar, a couple had their tongues all over each other, and luckily, where
“Well, I think it’s all great,” Duncan said. “I mean, you hated him last week. It gives me hope.”
“About your ex?” Sara asked, slicing a red bell pepper.
Duncan sat down with a heavy sigh. “I can’t stand how much I miss her. I just wish she’d talk to me. But she won’t. I tried going to the club where she bartends, and she had the bouncer make me leave.”
I turned off the burner for the soup. “Maybe you need to let her go, Duncan. She sounds pretty sure.”
He looked miserable. “The day before she dumped me she told me she loved me. Then I come home and all her stuff is gone and she won’t talk to me. I even tried calling her best friend, and she hung up on me.”
“I wonder what went wrong for her,” Sara said.
“Me, too. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t do anything. And I’m learning to be a vegan for a woman who won’t even talk to me.”
“Maybe we can find out what’s up,” Sara said. “Clem and I could go hang out at the bar and start talking about our jerk exes. She’ll chime in. Maybe. Worth a try.”
“No way I’m missing this,” Eva said. “I mean, who slams an ex better than me? Let’s go tomorrow night. Early enoughso it won’t be crowded and we can set up the convo for her to overhear.”
Duncan raised an eyebrow and gnawed his lower lip for a second. “Don’t let her know you’re my friends. She’ll have that giant dude throw you out.”
“Clem, I think we forgot the tortillas,” Eva said, sniffing the air. Something was burning.
“Oh, shit,” I said, grabbing my oven mitts to pull out the cracker-like tortillas. “We can warm up some more.”
“We’re busy saving a man’s life here,” Sara said. “That’s worth a burned tortilla.”
The woman who wouldn’t be named was named Gwendolyn Paul, hated to be called Gwen, and worked at Ocean 88, a hot little nightclub with a tiny dance floor and a famous square-shaped bar that those semi-lucky to be chosen could shake their stuff on for a minute and get a free fourteen-dollar drink. Sara and I went there once, and the very hot male bartender nodded his chin at Sara and said, “Show your stuff, babe,” and she said, “Really?” totally game to get up there and shimmy for her free frozen margarita, and the jerk said, “No, not really.” He looked at me and said, “But you can.” I told him he was a pig and we left and never went back. My scathing email to the owner went unanswered, too.
That Gwendolyn a) didn’t like to be called Gwen and b) worked at Ocean 88 didn’t bode well. The woman had to be a total bitch. And not in a good way.
“If that jerkoff is there, I’m leaving,” Sara said. “I like Duncan, but I can only take so much.”
“If he’s there, I’ll get him back for you,” Eva said, pulling out her compact and lipstick and making her lips even redder. She fluffed her bangs, gave her lips a press, then snapped the compact shut.
“How?” we both asked in unison.
“Oh, trust me. I’m the master at making people pay.”
Sara laughed. “You scare me. Make sure I don’t get on your bad side.”
“Oh, you’ll know if you do,” she said.
Sara stood to the side of Ocean 88’s big window. “Clem, look in and see if he’s there. Do you remember what he looks like? Beefy with blond ponytail.”
I peered in. At seven o’clock on a Wednesday, the bar wasn’t crowded; Ocean 88 didn’t serve food, and the dance floor didn’t get going till at least nine. One very hot bartender with longish brown hair and a huge wooden cross necklace was filling steins at the tap. Another male bartender who looked like a grown-up Harry Potter, down to the round glasses, was pouring martinis for four middle-aged women. Across the bar, a couple had their tongues all over each other, and luckily, where
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