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The Rebound

James was on the rebound. It was May. He had just finished at work and was heading towards the Think Coffee on Bleecker, where he would meet Claire, a junior at NYU whom he hoped he would recognize from her photos on the Internet. There wasn’t any special reason why they were meeting, other than that she had been the first person to reply to the few haphazard messages he had sent since he joined the site a few weeks ago. You seem like a cool girl. I studied sociology in college, too. Are you going to write a bachelor’s thesis? He had written this, feeling a little ludicrous. And it was a stretch to say that he’d studied sociology, but he didn’t know what else to put.

He recalled, with a tinge of sorrow and nostalgia, that it was exactly this time last year, just when he had finished college, that his relationship with Jackie had begun to deteriorate – he could pinpoint the exact moment. His parents, visiting for the commencement ceremony, had just left, and Jackie had a sober look about her. Five months later it was nearly over when he took his job as an assistant web editor and moved to New York. They tried to stay together for a while, agreeing that after she graduated at the end of the year, Jackie would move to New York too. But not long after he moved, she was accepted to teach English abroad for the year, and she ended things. She was probably getting ready to graduate this very moment, he realized, and soon she’d be in another continent. He wondered if she was thinking of him, too.

Claire wasn’t inside the café. He stepped out and lit a cigarette. He replayed in his head the last conversation with Jackie, from less than a week ago. He had made a last-ditch effort to convince her to move to New York, one that he knew was pathetic and histrionic. There was a strain in her voice as she prevented herself from crying and went over all the reasons why she couldn’t change her plans: she had her career to think about, they were becoming different people, they’d changed so much since they’d met, etc. etc. – James couldn’t argue with any of it. When he hung up he had felt oddly free.

His cigarette went out, and he lit another. Claire was definitely late. He was satisfied with the perfect indifference he felt. If she didn’t show up, he would just go out drinking with Chelsea from the office, who was at a happy hour nearby with her friends.

About ten minutes later, he recognized a girl walking up Bowery. She had light brown hair with bangs and was dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt. She was pretty, but not in the way her photos had led James to believe. She was quite a bit shorter, and not as skinny. What struck James most of all was that she looked younger.

“James?” she said.

“Yes. Claire?”

“That’s me,” she said. For a moment they both stood uncomfortably, then Claire went in to hug James.

“Shall we?”

Neither of them spoke while they stood in line waiting to get coffee. It occurred to him that he wasn’t nervous, even though the situation might seem to call for some awkwardness. When they sat down, he began, sensing that it was probably on him to guide the date. “So, do you come here often?”

“Oh, well, I usually go to the other Think on Mercer, but I didn’t want to get interrupted by NYU students that I know.”

James laughed. “Are you embarrassed to be seen on a date? I guess it can’t be good to be caught going on a date. Someone said that once in a stand-up routine, I forget who.”

She laughed, too. “I don’t know, but that sounds familiar.”

“I confess that I’m an online dating virgin,” he said.

“Well, unlike the other thing, the first time is usually better.”

“Oh really, so you’re seasoned?” The coffee was making him feel effusive.

“Oh well, I wouldn’t go so far as – ”

James laughed. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that.” He paused. He felt her waiting for him to continue. “So tell me: you’re from Ohio, you’re a junior, you’re studying sociology. What’s it like – how do you like living here in the city?”

“Oh, well – I love the city, but I want to live somewhere else – I want to live abroad, maybe next year. What about you?”

“Hm, well. That’s a difficult question. I – ” He stopped to think. “Let’s say, there was somebody who was going to move here with me – a girl – so I’ve been preoccupied, but I’m beginning to feel good about being here. I – well, maybe I’m starting to feel a certain energy. I know that sounds precious, but you know what I mean.” He was gesticulating. He was excited to be talking. He was not usually so readily forthcoming. But what did it matter what he was like?

“I think I know what you mean.”

“So good, you’re picking up what I’m putting down.”

“You could say that.”

“I have a confession.”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t study sociology. I just didn’t know what else to say in that message. I did American studies, but I like sociology, it all sort of... intersects.”

“Well, that’s fine, because I’m not really a sociology major either. I’m doing a so-called self-designed course of study, I’m sure your school had those too.”

“I’m familiar, yeah,” James said. “Would you like a cigarette?” He offered her one, and they stepped outside. The sun was just starting to set, and there was a pleasant breeze. As they smoked, Claire talked about school; James asked pertinent questions. Then, back inside, he explained his job. “I feel, sometimes, like life truly has no meaning, staring at that screen, editing stuff about hand lotion. It’s rather dreary.”

“That’s not a good way to feel,” she said.

“You’re telling me.”

They went on like that until late in the evening. James found that he was enjoying himself. There was a performative aspect to it, and he felt himself gradually gaining a sense of this person who might as well have been an anonymous face on the subway, for all he’d known about her before they met. They gradually became more familiar with each other, and the conversation escalated to more intimate topics. And though normally of a modest nature, James couldn’t deny that he enjoyed weaving a narrative about himself through their conversation; the careful revealing of select details, the withholding of others. He realized that it had been a while since he’d really sat down and talked to someone he didn’t already know; it was as if something had built up in him over the previous months, and now it was finally coming out.

After another cigarette and a second coffee, James he felt that it was time to either wrap up the date, or take it somewhere else. Without thinking, he said, “Would like you to get some food – maybe we can get noodles and take them to the International?”

“Oh – yeah, why not? What’s the international?”

“It’s a little dive bar that lets you bring in take-out to eat while you drink.”

“Oh, that sounds nice. I’ve never heard of it.”

“Well, it’s not really a student bar, it’s more a place for people who actually work.”

“Alright, that’s enough. I may be a student, but I’ve been here longer than you.”

After a few beers James was beginning to feel verbose; Claire, for her part, had also eased up a bit after two cocktails. In his enthusiasm, he was aware of dominating the conversation, but he felt propelled by her remarks and questions. She seemed entertained and intrigued by his life. He didn’t usually consider himself as someone who could tell interesting stories about his life – or for that matter, as someone who was especially charming – but that evening he was in an unusual state. The memory of Jackie occasionally flitted around in the background of his thoughts, but that seemed to give him a strange sense of conviction and confidence.

They were in the backyard of the bar, smoking a cigarette. James had just recounted what he felt was an amusing anecdote about his roommate. “So tell me,” Claire said, still laughing a little, “who is this person who was supposed to move in with you? I mean – you don’t have to talk about if you don’t want to, but you got me curious.”

“No, that’s alright. Perhaps let’s do a shot first?”

“It’s that bad?”

“Hm, well, no – it just seemed like an opportune moment.” He put out his cigarette and went to order two whiskeys.

“These are on me,” he said when he returned. They drank. “Simply put – as I’m sure you surmised – the person who was going to live with me was my ex-girlfriend.”

“I’m sorry,” Claire said.

“Don’t be. Only one of us needs to – and, well, it’s been a while now.” Without realizing it he had affected a somber tone. He lowered his eyes. Claire looked at him. Suddenly their exchange took on a disingenuous aspect for him, as if he were watching it from a distance. It seemed like a sham. To him his attempt to downplay his loss smacked of a veiled attempt for pity. But if not pitied, couldn’t he at least be taken seriously?

And apparently Claire was doing just that, because she had started talking about her last boyfriend and their break-up, which James only half listened to, because he was too busy thinking about this strange way in which he had inadvertently manipulated the dynamic by using his supposed grief for Jackie. Oh, the grief was real, but what did this stranger have to do with it?

Nothing, and maybe that was the point, James realized. Claire would never reach that part of him. Suddenly it seemed senseless that he was there.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun. He got up, and, feeling generous, offered to buy another round.

At around 11, James knew that the date had reached a culminating point. He suggested that it was late, and that they get going. It was on him to make some sort of move – or not. To defer doing anything, he offered to walk her to her apartment in the neighborhood.

“Well, should we do this again?” he said.

“Yes, definitely, I had a good time.”

“Okay, good.” He stood there. He made to turn and walk towards the subway, but touched Claire’s shoulder instead. He kissed her. That went on for some time. He felt himself growing more confident.

“Can I come up?” he said.

“Yes, of course.”

The following morning, after getting a quick coffee with her at Think again, James left. He had turned down breakfast, claiming he had work to do. Really, he wanted to get a late brunch with his roommate and tell him about the date. But when he got back he was too tired from not having slept most of the night, and he quickly dozed off on his bed.

When he woke up it was late afternoon. He was disoriented, and regretted wasting most of his Saturday in bed. He thought about Claire. They had agreed to see each other again soon. He wondered if he liked her, but he couldn’t muster any feelings.

When he went out that evening with his friends, he felt uncharacteristically cocky. He normally was, at best, only moderately enthusiastic about bars, but he felt a new impulse to drink beer after beer. As he got drunker, a pleasant indifference came over him, and he didn’t think about anything in particular, other than the banter with his friends. At a certain point he noticed two young girls looking in his direction, and this piqued his interest. He wondered if they were responding to the easy confidence he had been feeling all evening.

Rather than do anything now, he stayed with his friends and continued to drink. He felt himself growing more brazen with each beer. But still he remained seated, even though there was no doubt that one of the girls was making eyes at him.

Finally, on his way out, he approached their table. He smiled a little, realizing how bold he was being – how out of character, really – but also how totally disinterested he was.

“I’m James. You?” he said to the one who had looked at him more, a girl with bleached blonde hair.

“Nice to meet you, James, I’m glad you came over. I’m Margot.”

“Unfortunately, Margot, I have to go with my friends, but I noticed you.” He handed her his cell phone. “Why don’t you give me your number, and sometime we can get a drink?” She smiled, looking surprised. “Of course.”

The following week, James did not call Margot, feeling that perhaps he ought to wait and see what was in store with Claire, whom he wasn’t sure when he should contact. He recalled how after his first date with Jackie he had felt so nervous about it that he forced himself not to call her or even run into her for a whole week, out of fear of clumsily botching the whole thing by getting ahead of himself. While he didn’t feel any of this excitement, he decided it was as good a rule as any to go by.

That Thursday morning he sent a text message inviting her to a movie the following night. By his lunch break, somewhat peeved, he noticed she hadn’t got back to him. It wasn’t so much the idea of rejection that bothered him, but that he had put a lot of thought into it, all of which obviously had no bearing on the outcome. Not to mention that he had avoided making any other plans. Finally, on his way home riding the J train over the East River, he heard from her. Hey! Sorry, just woke up. Really busy this weekend. Will get back to you!

Without giving it a second thought, he took out his phone and texted Margot. How about that drink I mentioned? He wished that, somehow, Claire could also see that message. He wasn’t sincerely bothered – the memory of Jackie helped him put it into perspective – but he couldn’t help but feel that he had been played. And had he misread the whole date? He remembered her allusion to having been on other online dates, which perhaps should have signaled to him that she wasn’t to be trusted.

After dinner, James hadn’t heard anything from Margot. He was about to call Chelsea from the office to see if she wanted to get a drink with him and his roommate when he remembered that he hadn’t logged into the dating web site since what he had thought had been his successful date with Claire. He pulled it up on his browser, and though he hadn’t received any messages, he did see that quite a few people had looked at his profile. Impulsively, he fixed himself a whiskey sour and decided he didn’t want to leave the apartment after all.

At first he just browsed through the different visitors, mentally noting which ones he would write and which ones he could forget about. He found himself getting increasingly sucked in, visiting profile after profile; as each page of the site featured multiple links to girls calculated as good matches, it seemed like the options were nearly endless. He wondered if this bizarre burst of dating enthusiasm was out of character for him, but then, what did he know?

By his third whiskey sour – he was drinking them liberally at this point – he felt ready to compose some messages. At first they were relatively earnest, and attempted to relate to various things mentioned in the profiles (I love Twin Peaks too, but don’t you think it went downhill after they figured out who killed Laura Palmer? or What kind of poetry do you write? ). But as he fixed more drinks, they gradually became more and more playful. Some were mildly insulting (how can you actually like Fight Club? ), others irreverent (So you like tall guys? Well I’m not tall yet, but I’m working on it ), others intentionally inflated and comically romantic (I’d say we’re pretty much a match made in heaven based on our shared interest in sex and sleeping in on Saturdays ). One of the girls, theory_head12 , a senior cultural studies major at the New School, even started instant messaging him; they arranged a date for the coming Sunday afternoon.

By midnight, he had sent more than 15 messages. He opened his window, climbed out on the fire escape, and lit a cigarette. He couldn’t say what had come over him. He had to be up for work tomorrow, but he wanted to go out and keep drinking. He looked in the medicine cabinet to see if there was Adderol to help him wake up in the morning, and, seeing a full bottle, he set out to meet his roommates.

“You seem rather chipper for being so hungover,” Chelsea said the next day at the office.

“Well, you know what I always say, laughter’s the cure.”

“I’ve never once heard you say that since you started working here,” Chelsea said.

“You’re right. But now it’s my new motto.”

“What’s with all this new enthusiasm?”

James looked at Chelsea. She was a tall, slender redhead from Pennsylvania who had been working at the company for six months when he was hired. He reminded himself that they had to get drinks together soon. “Well, I don’t know – I’m just feeling a vibe.”

“You don’t really strike me as the kind of guy who feels vibes, or has mottos.”

“Well, there’s a first time for anything.” He paused, wondering how open he wanted to be with her. “And I suppose I’m not feeling as mopey as usual about my ex-girlfriend.”

“Well, good for you.”

He took a lot of cigarette breaks that day, so much that he wondered if he was pushing it a little bit. When he got back from his lunch he saw in his email inbox that he had received a slew of responses to his messages from last night. He had to resist the urge to reply them immediately. It was probably a faux pas to log into a dating site at the office.

While James was proofing some copy a little later in the day, he received a text message from Margot. Yes, how about tonight at the Pine Box? He took another cigarette break and while smoking looked up the bar on his phone. He composed a careful messaging with a remark about how he thought she had forgotten about him, but deleted that and just sent Why not? Say when.

Though he was agitated from all the cigarettes and coffee, and had the feeling he was running on nothing at all, when he walked back into the office, he felt in rare form. And he was even more satisfied with himself when, as if some higher power were timing everything perfectly, he received a message from Claire: so, what movie are we seeing tonight? A grin spread over James’s face as he typed, sorry, I wasn’t sure if it was a plan, so I decided to go out with my coworkers tonight instead . He didn’t want to close things off, though, so a moment later he texted, let’s shoot for tomorrow? She promptly replied: yeah, sorry that was my fault. Sure thing for tomorrow.

At the end of the day, he spontaneously asked Chelsea if she wanted to get a quick happy hour drink with him.

“I’m feeling like a spaz today. I need something to take the edge off,” he said, half-ironically, half-seriously.

“Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. It’s nice to see you a little more animated,” she said.

When James arrived at the Pine Box, he was still tipsy from his beers with Chelsea. Far from being nervous, he felt a certain aplomb. He had the successful model of his date with Claire to guide him, only this time they would have to cover some extra ground since they hadn’t exchanged any messages. All the better, he thought: the date was like a blank canvas. He had almost stopped at his apartment to take another Adderol, fearing he was starting to crash, but he was afraid of overdoing it.

The course of their date did end up following the pattern already established. Only this time he was even more effusive. He realized that in his drunken, hyper-stimulated speech, he was exhibiting a potentially distasteful bombast, but he promptly undermined that by relating a humiliating or humbling anecdote about himself.

Margot was, like him, relatively new to the city, and while she lived off of a generous allowance from her parents – she didn’t actually say this, but James inferred as much – she was looking for work in an art gallery. She had that air about her of someone who was still excited about living in New York, something James realized he had too, but that Claire had lacked. He liked that about Margot.

Since he was already drunk, and because both of them were drinking a lot, the date seemed to have a faster pace, and the conversation went in interesting directions more quickly. When Margot asked him how he liked living in the city, again he found himself alluding to Jackie, only this time he was far more vague. “Well, I’m starting to really like it, recently. Due to a – hmm – let’s say unfortunate break-up, I wasn’t in the best of spirits for a while.”

“Yeah, that happens,” she said.

“Yes, but I like the new freedom of it.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “It’s a liberating feeling to not be in a relationship, and to have no desire to be in one.” He felt that was a little too strong, so he added, jokingly now, “But you never know when cupid can strike!”

Margot laughed. James was satisfied. He liked hearing himself imply that he was unavailable. It felt like a canned thing to say about his psychology, but he realized that it was probably true. And nothing changed in Margot’s aspect. She seemed, if anything, more interested.

Unlike his last date, this time they slept at James’s apartment. In the morning after having sex again, he made them eggs and toast. Afterwards they took their coffees out to the fire escape and smoked a cigarette. He remembered that that was something he had looked forward to doing with Jackie, when she was still going to move in.

He felt a pang of emotion that he liked. He felt more alive than he had for a long time.

Margot asked him what was on his mind.

“Nothing,” he said.

Afterwards he walked her to her subway stop. “I had a feeling about you,” she said. “You only said a few words at the bar, but I had a feeling. I knew we would see each other again.”

“Well, you caught my eye.” He suspected that something more meaningful was called for, but that was all he felt like saying.

When he returned to his apartment he felt exhausted. He went into his closet and found a bottle of light anti-anxiety pills that he’d been prescribed after having some panic attacks during the final stretch of writing his bachelor’s thesis. After that, he hadn’t used them, but now, without giving it any thought, he swallowed a few. As they slowly took effect, he lay on his bed replying to more dating messages.

He woke up at around 5 and remembered that he was supposed to see a movie with Claire. He called her, apologized for waiting so long to get in touch, and they arranged to meet in front of the Landmark at 7:30. Of course it occurred to him that it wouldn’t sit well with her if she knew he had only just concluded another date that morning, but he reasoned that it wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t been flaky; and besides, he could see on his computer that she was still logging into the web site, so for all he knew she was dating around, too. That seemed only natural. Why wouldn’t she?

The film was fine. James knew that afterwards he would be at a loss for conversation, so he came up with points he wanted to make about the acting and directing when it was over. And, of course, the solution was to just get some drinks. After that, their conversation went along smoothly.

He slept over again. This time in the morning he accepted her invitation to brunch, but not without reluctance. That seemed to him something reserved for real couples, and he wondered if he was inadvertently sending signals he didn’t want to send. After a bloody mary, he just stopped thinking about it.

Later that day he had his date with theory_head12, or Emma. They met at Prospect Park and she brought out a joint that they smoked. After walking for about an hour, talking and going over the usual details, James – feeling bold – asked her if she wanted to watch a movie on his lap top. She readily accepted. They had sex that afternoon in his bed, and after taking some of his pills and napping together for a couple of hours, she left in the late evening. A couple of weeks ago, the speed with which this all took place and the forwardness they both showed would have surprised James and offended his normally delicate sensibilities. But now, nothing seemed strange about it. This time when the date ended James didn’t bother with the formality of making plans for the next time. If he wanted to see her again, he knew what to do.

For the following week, he lined up three more dates with new people. One night he saw Claire and another Margot. Of the three dates, one was completely unremarkable, another not much better, but at least they had had sex, and the third, with Ariel (bkgrl318 ) actually left him wanting more, because they hadn’t gone home together and he’d liked their conversation.

Next week he saw Margot once, and though Claire texted him several times, he came up with excuses to avoid seeing her. He felt a little remorse about it, but he was busy – busy with the other dates, and busy with work.

The following weeks were much the same. He lined up more new dates and followed up with others. Not everyone he saw wanted to see him again – Ariel, for example, never got back to him – but he could hardly be bothered to lament it, since there was always someone else. At first he felt he had no control of whether there was sex on the first date, and he went in with an open mind. Gradually, though, he found himself planning the dates at bars close to his apartment and adopting other strategies to make sex more likely. An afternoon coffee date could theoretically lead to sex, but it was much more likely if it was an evening drinks date.

Only one time did he have a legitimate dinner date. A girl named Rose suggested they eat at a natural foods place by the Williamsburg Bridge, a few blocks away from the Marcy Ave stop. He reluctantly accepted, thinking perhaps he could deviate from his routine for once. He arrived expecting a hip but casual restaurant typical of the neighborhood, but when he walked in he saw that it was nothing of the sort. The lighting was dim, and there was a candle on each table. There were a handful of couples sitting down, many of them eating oysters and drinking wine.

Before leaving James had debated having a drink at home, maybe mixed with a pill or two, but he had decided to take it easy that night. He regretted that now. He quickly found Rose towards the back of the restaurant. After the standard formalities, he said, “Nice place you chose here.”

“Oh, I love this place. Ever since Peter Wells wrote it up I’ve been going,” she said.

“Peter Wells?”

“He’s the New York Times food critic.”

“Oh.”

Looking at the menu, he did the calculations and determined that he would have to spend at least $30 just to get tipsy off the cheapest microbrew. Uncharacteristically, he decided not to order anything to drink. Rose ordered a glass of white wine.

Conversation turned towards differences between Brooklyn and Manhattan.

“Sometimes I get a little tired of Manhattan because everything’s so decadent, you know? All my friends are just trying to get married to the high rolling traders with endless supplies of coke who stay up clubbing, entertaining clients, every night until 5am. I’ve been there and it’s not really my thing,” she said.

“Yeah, that’s not really my thing either,” James said. Whoever these traders were, they were wilder than James, apparently. He impulsively called the waiter over and ordered a beer. He wished desperately he had taken some pills with him.

“On other the hand,” Rose was saying, “nobody does anything in Brooklyn, everybody’s just hanging out.”

“Well, you can always find something wrong with any situation,” James said.

“Oh but you’re a real artist and writer aren’t you? I think that’s legitimate,” she said.

“Well – I write copy, but I wouldn’t say – well sure, I guess there’s an art to it,” he said, rather taken off guard. He would have liked to feel flattered by this, but he knew he could hardly say he was a writer, nor did he have any pretense of being one. He tried to remember what he’d said in his messages to her before they met.

By the time they ordered their food, James was extremely uncomfortable. The meal – which, it was obvious now, he was expected to pay for – was going to cost him a fortune. He looked around at the other people, couples as far as he could tell who seemed like they were in their late twenties or early thirties. He increasingly resented the restaurant, and the whole situation. Perhaps if an older close friend had invited him, or if he were there with his parents, he might have enjoyed the atmosphere and the food, but it seemed ludicrous to be there with someone whose name he would likely forget by the next week. It was somewhere he would have gone with Jackie for a special occasion, if they had been together, he thought.

When the dinner was over, James walked her home. “Okay, I’ve got to get to bed early tonight. Big day tomorrow,” she said.

“Yes, me too,” he said. He sensed this was an implicit rejection, but he went in to kiss her anyway. She didn’t resist, but after only a few seconds she pulled away.

“I’m sorry, I can’t get physical on the first date,” she said.

“Oh – uh, yes, of course, that’s fine, I understand.” Naturally, he didn’t understand.

In this way, he was soured to dinner dates, and made it a rule never again to accept or propose them.

His activities were not limited to online dates. Feeling uncharacteristically confident in his romantic prowess and charm, he boldly approached girls on the subway, at coffee shops, and at bars when he was out with his friends. Often enough, these attempts were successful.

He gradually became aware that he was experiencing a hedonistic mental state he had never known before. He had limitless energy and enthusiasm; somehow everything seemed to him slightly, if not absurdly comic; life seemed to be there for no other reason than to enjoy it. What was most unusual was that he didn’t think about all this very much – that would spoil it – and he just rode the wave of enthusiasm. He drank more and more, and took pills or snorted coke when he got a hold of it. He didn’t see this as some kind of escape; the drugs, he felt, only intensified what he was already feeling.

In mid-July, he came across Ann, or ayletsgo , and one hour after he had messaged her from his phone while riding the subway home from work, they had arranged to get drinks for that night.

“Before we get started, let’s take a shot; we might as well make this messy,” she said after he found her at her table. James had started to consider himself a fairly erratic person, exuberant and impulsive – decadent even – but he quickly saw that Ann was almost too much for him – almost. He felt himself abandoning his standard routine of conversation and letting her take the reigns. He was content to listen and take it in.

Prost ,” she said when they were on their third shot.

“Huh?” he said.

“It’s German for cheers. Prost!

“Prost!” he said. “It sounds like ‘Proust.’”

“Yeah, but there’s a big difference.”

Walking next to her underneath the M-train tracks, James wondered if he had actually met his match – someone who could keep him interested beyond one or two dates. They were talking about what they’d been reading – well, admittedly James didn’t have much time to read lately – and he had to admit to himself that he was intimidated by her.

When they were in his bedroom making out she stopped him and said, “I’m sorry, I’m not sure about this – there was a boyfriend not so long ago, and you know how it is, I’m a little out of sorts.”

“Me too,” James said. He supposed, in a sense, he meant that.

They lay there and remained silent. Suddenly she started kissing him passionately and taking of his clothes. “Apparently I have no self-control,” she said.

“Me neither,” James said. She was getting kinky, biting his ear and chest. He started fingering her and went down on her.

“Ah, you’re good at that, aren’t you?” she said when he came up.

“It’s a point of pride.”

As James was taking his underwear off, she said, “God, this has happened too many times in the last month.”

“You’re in good company. Nobody’s perfect,” James said.

“Guess not,” she said. These allusions to her promiscuity, rather than turning him off, made James consider seriously again that this was a girl he needed to hold on to.

In the morning before she left – she worked at a restaurant on Saturday mornings – she said, “I like you. This was fun.”

When he was alone again, James realized that he wanted to see her again, as soon possible. If it had been acceptable, he would have asked her out that night. If it weren’t for her job, he would have gladly spent all day in bed with her, like he used to with Jackie. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He started to worry about when would be the appropriate moment to contact her again – something he hadn’t worried about since Claire, which seemed like so long ago now. He tried to muster up the casual indifference he usually had for these matters, but he couldn’t.

His worries were assuaged, however, when she sent him a flirty sounding text about how she was feeling awful at work. For the next few days, he received messages like these, which always gave him a little rush of excitement. They made plans for the following Thursday.

But she flaked. Her excuse seemed legitimate, but after being evasive when he attempted to reschedule, he realized that he’d been burned. In a sense, it seemed fitting to him, if cruel; of course as soon as he manifested the slightest bit of sincere sentiment, he would be disappointed. You couldn’t really hope for much.

Though James had no shortage of other dates – a girl had struck up a conversation with him in the subway just a few days ago, and they had arranged something, and he had two promising conversations going with girls online – he felt that his perfectly confident and disinterested attitude had suffered a blow.

A week later, still smarting and not particularly enthusiastic about his current prospects, James’s plan was to go to his friend Maggie’s house warming party. A group of new people from her graduate program at Columbia would be there, which intrigued James. Maggie assured him that there would be some pretty girls, and she had even put in a word about him.

He had started drinking right after work. For the first the time in a long while he was stressed about his job. He was beginning to realize that they knew he was hung-over nearly every other day, and not only that, but his boss had invited him to his office and told him today that he was getting a little too creative with his copy. He had almost quit right then and there out of sheer indignation, but he couldn’t, knowing how lucky he was to have that kind of job at his age.

When he got to Maggie’s he was already thoroughly drunk. He took an Adderol he had brought with him to straighten himself out a little, grabbed a beer, and climbed up to the roof to smoke a cigarette.

Before he knew it, he was in full conversation with Ellie, one of the new friends from Columbia. She had just moved to the city from LA, and related numerous anecdotes about her life there, and how she found New York to be strange.

They were both too drunk for their conversation to make much sense. He knew that later on he wouldn’t remember any of it. The essential was that she was the most attractive girl at the party, and she didn’t get sick of listening to him. By the end of the night, they were making out. He wanted to go home with her, but she insisted that she wasn’t that kind of girl. “There’s nothing wrong with being that kind of girl,” he said.

“You’re just saying that. We’ll see each other again,” she said. James didn’t insist. He got her number and left.

A few nights later he met her at his usual bar. By now he was starting to wonder if the staff was curious about all the dates he brought. The idea amused him. There was even a section of the place where he normally sat with the girls because it was often empty and the lighting was dimmer. Though he was usually discrete, if it happened that a kiss in public was called for, at least in that room he could do it in relative privacy.

James quickly saw that this was going to be one of his most difficult dates. When Ellie spoke, it was in such a way that left little room for remarks or questions. It was as if she spoke not really for his benefit, but for just for the sake of talking. Most of what she said related to her decadent life in LA before she had moved to New York, and James heard numerous anecdotes about all the money she had blown on coke, her DUIs, and her evidently even more extravagant friends. What annoyed him wasn’t the idea that she was trying to impress him – if that were the case, he might have actually been endeared to her, at least a little – but that she was impressed with her own stories, and obviously didn’t care what James thought.

At points, he didn’t even feel like he was there, because she was so attached to her cell phone and distracted by sending text messages. Eventually he said, “You know, I’ve been thinking lately how with all this technology, it’s really hard to just be in the present sometimes.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m addicted to my cell phone, it’s not that I’m bored,” she said, in her distracted way.

“Well what’s going on in there?” James said, pointing to the cell phone.

This actually seemed to excite her interest for once. She explained that she was texting with several people back in “the OC,” among them, even, a former boyfriend. She seemed to like showing him photos of her various friends.

“This was a party with all my MBA student friends” – she had dropped out of that program – “we were celebrating Kacy’s new implants.” She pulled up a photo of a buxom blond with a martini in her hand.

“Uh – I can’t say I know anyone who’s ever had implants.”

“They’re crazy over there,” she said. Her iPhone lit up with another text message. “Oh that’s her. I told her I was out with a boy from Brooklyn. She said I better watch out because Brooklyn boys don’t make a lot of money.”

James wanted to point out that this big-breasted businesswoman was flagrantly objectionable, not to mention misinformed, but he realized, listening to Ellie, that she was totally oblivious to how her remarks might be received. She said what was on her mind, and that was it.

When he got up to get a much needed beer, she stopped him. “I got this round.”

“What?” he said, sincerely taken aback. They had been buying their own drinks, and he had no intention of spending any money on her – after his awful dinner date where had spent far more than he’d intended, he’d reached the conclusion that attempts at chivalry not only served no purpose, but were empty and disingenuous.

“Sometimes I like to treat,” she said. James didn’t argue. Up until then a sort of disdain towards her had been mounting, but he wondered if he was being too harsh. She came from a different milieu than him, that was sure. But James sensed that in any milieu, she was strange. At the very least, now he was a little curious.

After more drinks, he started to open up. She wasn’t exactly good at seeming interested, but he didn’t really care. Alcohol could always turn a bum date around. And by virtue of simply impressing himself on her, she began to appear, at least, a little less distracted.

When they left, he pulled his normal move, which is to say he just started walking in the direction of his apartment, hoping that it was already understood what they were doing.

But after a few blocks, Ellie stopped and said, “Hey, uh, where are we going?”

“Oh – well – I thought we could hang out at my place?”

“It’s late, but if it’s on the way to the train, sure.”

James, who had been holding his breath, sighed. “Great.”

But after another block, she stopped and said, as if a novel and strange idea had just occurred to her, “Hey, wait, you’re not trying to...” she trailed off, then, “I’m not sure I want to sleep over.”

“You have a real knack for making things uncomfortable,” he said.

“Hey!” she said, half wining, half laughing.

“Do you want to come over or not?”

“Sure but I’m not staying long,” she said.

As soon as they were in his room, he made a move. First she returned his kiss, but quickly stopped and said, “I don’t know, I have to be up early.”

“Well, you can always sleep here,” he said.

“I never do that.”

“Well, the offer stands.” He didn’t know what else to stay.

She left to use the bathroom and he sat on the bed, wondering why he’d gotten himself into this. He knew there was a good chance that if they went on a second date, they probably would have sex, but it was always difficult to arrange that, and even if it wasn’t, he didn’t want to go through with another awkward evening. On principle, in fact, he’d given up on second dates a while ago, unless of course he’d had sex on the first. Even then, a second date would be an exception, not the rule. This was not out of lechery, he told himself, but out of pragmatism – there was no need to prolong the amount of time it took to realize you didn’t care about someone.

When she got back the fly on her pants was unzipped. “Okay,” she said, and in a matter of moments she was naked.

She stuck to her word, and didn’t sleep over. At around 5 in the morning, after their third round, she got up and started putting her clothes on. “Are you going?” he said.

“Yeah. Hit it and quit it, you know.”

James looked at her, confused. This was certainly a first. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”

In this manner, their affair proceeded. Of all the people James had slept with that summer, Ellie turned him on the most. Though he knew, unequivocally, that their relationship was entirely physical, he couldn’t say that he particularly liked her. And for her part, he had know idea what she thought of him. When they weren’t having sex, she had that distracted air about her, as if she were only half paying attention to him. Each time they were together, in fact, he didn’t even know if they were going to have sex until the very last minute, when suddenly Ellie would get interested. Sometimes James even wondered, considering that she never seemed to particularly enjoy herself when they were together, why she bothered with him at all. When they were alone together, drinking was absolutely necessary to get through the evening. Otherwise he couldn’t handle hearing stories about her exploits in LA or complaints about how her apartment in the Village was too small. Often, he felt a sort of mild contempt towards her.

And then, sometimes she would surprise him. She always replied to his text messages and was usually willing to see him. Every once and awhile she would send him a message that could possibly be construed as flirtatious. She even occasionally chatted with him on Facebook when they were both online. Her total lack of self-awareness and her idiosyncrasies could, on occasion, result in a weird charm.

James liked their arrangement. He didn’t care about her, neither did he feel that she cared about him. They drank together, and he didn’t mind that. Even though he didn’t sleep with anyone else while he saw her, he couldn’t imagine that she would care if he did – nor did he mind what she did.

He couldn’t help but note, with that cynical and ironic perspective he had recently adopted, that there was something laughable in the fact that whatever was happening with Ellie was actually ideal. What has become of me, he wondered?

It would end soon, he knew. After two weeks, he noticed that, even though Ellie still wanted to see him, she seemed less interested in having sex – which naturally didn’t make any sense at all to James, since he couldn’t imagine that she thought of him as a friend. Then it came to his attention that she was interested in someone else; apparently she thought Maggie’s roommate Riley was a lot nicer than him. Maggie relayed this information to him in confidence. He couldn’t argue with it.

There was no break, James just stopped calling. He felt that somewhere along the line he had lost some of his momentum. Though he didn’t miss Ellie’s company, he was disappointed that his expectations for a perfect arrangement of mutual indifference had been let down. Now when he went out for drinks or to parties he tended to leave early, drunk and soured that he wasn’t meeting girls as easily as he had only weeks ago. He felt his energy slowly draining away, and his days at the office went slower and slower. He went on a few dead-end dates with girls who didn’t get back to him, and began to resent the time that these outings were wasting, even though he wasn’t sure what he’d be doing otherwise.

He felt as if something had to give, something that would stop him from his descent to a place that he knew would be worse than where he started, before he’d ever met Claire. And then something did happen; a friend of his roommate visited for the weekend, and James ending up sleeping with her.

Nothing came of it, not that he wanted anything to, but it gave his ego just the little boost it needed and reminded him that he was still in the game. It was the start of a new surge of enthusiasm and a new rotation of girls.

Yet he knew this time was different. Whereas months ago, with his first few dates, he hadn’t really known what he was doing, and had more or less improvised, now he had learned all of the tricks. The excitement of meeting new people was no longer there. Girls blended together in his mind. Once he had had so much to say, now he had very little. He avoided talking about anything personal. They didn’t deserve to know any of that.

He had little tolerance for long dates, and planned them carefully so that they started late in the evening somewhere near his apartment. The idea of a second date was unthinkable. Nobody seemed worth it. So that he could still go to parties on the weekends, where he also had some luck with women, he avoided scheduling dates on Fridays or Saturdays. Even more than before he came to work hung-over and poorly rested. Sometimes he found himself sleeping with girls whom he didn’t even find particularly attractive and regretting it in the morning. He knew that he wasn’t being very discriminating. He no longer took any pleasure in a girl spending the night, and though he tried his best to avoid it, it happened often. He couldn’t sleep with someone else in his bed, unless he took a sedative, which he soon was doing on a regular basis. This way he also avoided inane pillow talk, because he took the pills as soon as the sex was over and before he knew it they knocked him out. His energy was declining. To keep this up, he had to take more and more Adderol.

One night – one of the rare evenings James wasn’t either on a date or at a party – he was writing an email when Ann, whom he barely thought of any more, signed on to Facebook. This gave him pause. He decided that there was nothing stopping him from chatting with her. There was nothing stopping him from being bold. He thought very carefully for 15 minutes before he sent a message. Hey , he wrote, I don’t know why we never saw each other again, I had a really good time when I met you. What do you say we hang out again?

She didn’t reply and he signed off a few minutes later. He took a sleeping pill and went to bed. In the morning, though, there was a message from her. Sorry, I just saw this. And sorry about being flaky. Things have been strange. I’ll call you . To his surprise, she did call that evening, and they planned to get together the following night for drinks. He had another date, but he canceled it.

They met at a small bar in Brooklyn by the East River that James had never been to. When he got there, she was waiting for him. He was ill at ease. When he saw her he realized the image he had had in his mind wasn’t accurate.

“I’m going to get a beer. You want anything?” he said.

“No thanks,” she said. He found that odd.

When he sat back down he said, “You’re not drinking anything?”

“No, I stopped drinking.”

“What? Well why did you suggest meeting at a bar?”

“I haven’t been to a bar in almost two months, but I still like them. I thought I’d test it out with you, see if I can resist drinking. I might have to leave, is that okay?”

“Uh, sure, I don’t mind,” James said. There was something different about her. He didn’t feel the same force. “So, what’s up?” he said.

“I’m sorry, James. Things got weird. I haven’t been out for a while. I haven’t been on any dates, that’s for sure. There was some shit dragged up with my ex – well, you can imagine. I just sort of crashed. Why am I saying this? I don’t know. I felt bad about not getting back to you. Eventually I just forgot until I heard from you. That sounds harsh, sorry.”

James was a little taken aback by all this. But he did remember from their first date that she had a certain candor. “Well I’m flattered that you came out for me,” he said.

She grinned at him. “Don’t be. I needed to get out. You sent me a message. The timing was right.”

“I’m still flattered.”

“Suit yourself,” she said. “And you, what about you? I don’t even know you. We’re acting like we know each other. Ah, whatever. So. How are you?”

James sighed, considering the question. “I’m okay,” he said. “Better than you, it would seem, so I’m not going to complain.”

“Oh, I’m fine, I’ll be fine. Why don’t you finish that beer. Let’s take a walk.”

Ann lead. They found a bench that looked out onto the river and sat. After a stretch of really hot days, the weather was warm and mild. James could hear the sound of the traffic on the Williamsburg Bridge. Otherwise, it was quiet. “Sometimes you have to take in a view like this to remind yourself that we live in an amazing city,” Ann said, gesturing towards Manhattan.

They sat silently for a while. James didn’t know what to say. He was calm. He was aware that this was all very romantic – that people would probably take them for a real couple – but for once he didn’t care. He liked the change he saw in Ann. She still had that edge he’d experienced the first time, but now there was something sobered about her. There was a seriousness coming from her that nearly made him feel childish.

Finally he said, “You know, I usually don’t like doing this kind of stuff – going on walks, sitting on benches – with dates because it seems totally phony, like it’s an insult to the real thing. I can’t take it seriously. But this isn’t so bad.” He meant that, but he felt ridiculous saying it.

“Oh yeah? I know what you mean. I hate that shit too. But sometimes, the time is just right for that kind of thing.”

“Again, I’m flattered that I moved you to do something romantic.”

“Again, don’t be, I was just sick of the bar,” she said with a sly tone.

“You really know how to make a guy feel like he matters,” James said. He leaned in and kissed her.

They spent the night at her apartment this time. In the morning they rode the subway into Manhattan together.

At work he felt the kind of excitement he recognized from when he had first met his girlfriend. Could it be? He did his best to talk himself down. He didn’t want to get in over his head. Ann had disappointed him once. He wouldn’t let her do it again.

He decided that evening to just take it easy and meet a few friends for drinks. Unaccountably, Ellie texted him in the middle of the day, asking him what he was up to. He had just assumed their thing was over. He decided to invite her to drinks. He had told his friends about how peculiar she was, so it would be interesting for them to finally meet her.

He met his friends Alex and Sarah that evening at a bar coincidentally not that far from Ann’s apartment. He thought about inviting her, but decided not to. Ellie texted saying she would be late. He spent a good portion of the evening updating his friends on his latest dates; by now, his love life, if it deserved to be called that, had become a source of amusement to them.

Ellie finally arrived. She characteristically showed no emotion at seeing him, and this time, among strangers, she didn’t get into any of her anecdotes about her LA days. She spoke very little. Later in the evening, his roommate texted him, hey, come to this party at Julie’s, lots of girls here and I’m bored. Keep me company .

James looked at Ellie and tried to judge his chances. It had been a while now since they last slept together. Could he just pick up where they’d left off, and assume that they were headed to his bed tonight? He could never tell with her. His roommate’s invitation was enticing, but it would mean a long trip on the train. Finally he texted back; no, Ellie’s here, some action with her might be in store. Too tired to party anyway.

A little while later, his phone buzzed. There was a message from Ann. What? It said. And suddenly he saw what he’d done. Somehow, he’d sent the message intended for his roommate to her. He’d done that before, with less incriminating messages.

James laughed out loud. The first thought that came to his mind was that he deserved it. Then he felt terrible. He felt a little sick, like he might throw up. He knew then that he desperately wanted it to work out with Ann, that their time together last night had been sincere in a way he hadn’t experienced for so long. He looked at Ellie. If only she hadn’t texted him earlier and she wasn’t there.

Then he laughed.

“What is it?” said Sarah.

“Oh, I just sent an incriminating text message to the completely wrong person.”

“Oh no!”

He racked his brain thinking of possible excuses for the message, but there was no way to spin it without looking like an asshole. The only option was just to forget about her. He continued to laugh. He ordered the table a round of shots. He chugged his beer, ordered another.

“Was the message really that bad? You seem in cheery spirits if anything,” Alex said.

“Oh yeah, it’s that bad. I’m just trying to have a sense of humor about things.” He looked at Ellie, who was just sitting there, expressionless, like a stick in the mud. In his verbosity, he even said, “hey there stick-in-the-mud, what’s up?” To which she just wined, “hey!” He knew she must feel out of place among his friends. Good, he thought. What had he seen in her, anyway? She was attractive, but not remarkably attractive, he saw now. And he certainly didn’t care for her personality. And yet, other than Ann – who was perhaps in another category – he had desired her the most. What had gotten into him?

But he still was going to go for it – why not make a last ditch effort? When Alex and Sarah said they were getting tired, he suggested that he and Ellie meet some of his friends at bar in his neighborhood – his usual bar.

“Do you want me to tell you what the text message was about? I can’t believe what I did,” James said while they were waiting for the train. He couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. “I need you to share in my laughter.”

“Sure, what is it?”

James told her what had happened, except he was vague when it came to whom the text message was about.

“You’re crazy,” she said.

“But what am I going to do?” James said dramatically.

“I’m not sure you can do anything, seems like you asked for it,” she said.

“But she was the one, Ellie, the one ! I can’t let her get away. Why is it so hard to know what to do?”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious.”

“Neither can I!” he said.

“Oh come on, now I know you’re not serious.”

“Maybe not – but Ellie, what am I going to do?” He pointed to his chest. “Look here. There’s a lot of turmoil going on.”

“I don’t know, James.”

The train came. He was drunk, but he felt clear-headed. Clear-headed and delirious.

“Ah, Ellie, when am I going to find true love?” he said. “And whatever happened between you and me. We really had something going.”

“Oh, come on,” she said.

“You slept with Riley didn’t you?”

“Well... yeah, but what’s that got to do with you?”

James sighed deeply. “Nothing, you’re right. Hit it and quit it, as you say.” Their stop was coming up, but when the door opened, he didn’t say anything, and Ellie didn’t notice. They would get off by his apartment, where he would pull his old move and just head towards his room. He knew it was bound to fail, but he wanted to give it a try.

When they got out onto the street, James took her hand.

“What are you doing?” she said.

“Just hold my hand, I need some tenderness.”

“What’s gotten into your head?”

Good question, James thought. He stopped and faced her. When he went in to kiss her, she didn’t resist, and he realized that he might have a chance after all.

“Oh come on James,” she said finally.

“Just hold me,” he said, and he hugged her.

“You’re crazy.”

“Don’t speak.” He went in to kiss her again and she kissed him back.

“Where are we going?” she said.

“I thought we could stop at my apartment and take some drugs,” he said.

“Alright, I’ll keep you company.”

All he had was sleeping pills. He crushed two up on the kitchen counter while Ellie watched.

“You want to do half? It’s not blow but it’ll have to do.”

“Uh... I’m not in the mood today.”

“Suit yourself,” he said. He felt like all this wasn’t really happening, but he was rapt with the idea of the spectacle he was making of himself. Whether he was ecstatic or miserable, he wasn’t sure, but it was all so entertaining.

“Do we really want to go to the bar after all? I mean we pretty much know what to expect don’t we? My room seems like a better idea,” he said. He took her hand and led her there. They started making out on the bed. He broke away and looked into her eyes. “Maybe you’re the one who got away after all.”

“Oh come on,” she said, turned off. This time when he went into kiss her she turned her head away.

“Okay, okay, you don’t have to kiss me – just hold me!” he said, and he lunged toward her and hugged her.

“James, you’re crazy, what we had was just a short lived thing.” She didn’t resist him, but she lay there, limp.

“I just want you to hug me,” he said.

“Alright, if you insist,” she said. She half-heatedly returned his embrace. James started laughing.

“What is it?”

“Are you sure you’re not the one!”

“James you’re – ”

"Oh forget it, just embrace me. Embrace me!”

Instead, she wiggled out of his arms and sat up.

“You’re young James, you just don’t get it, what happened with us wasn’t serious.”

He started laughing even harder. “You’re only one year older than me.” He reached across to grab his cigarettes and lit one. “How many people have you slept with?” he said.

“Seven,” she said. “How about you?”

He just laughed. “Let’s not talk about it.” He stood up and opened the window. “Well, perhaps it’s time we call it a night huh?”

“I think so.”

“Call me tomorrow?” he said.

“Oh, quit kidding around, you’re acting nuts.”

“Alright, sorry. I’ll probably see you at Maggie’s soon.”

“Alright, good night.”

When she’d left, James went on his computer and deleted his online dating account. Then he went through his phone and deleted Ann’s number, as well as the numbers of all his other dates. When that was done, he lit another cigarette and climbed onto the fire escape. He felt himself starting to laugh again. He just went along with the urge. The sleeping pills were making him feel all the more strange, like this was taking place in another dimension. He knew soon he would be in for a good cry, when he got the laughs out of his system. He felt it coming on. But for now he would just keep on laughing.