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the wrong restaurant. We walked in and heads
turned toward us, straining to see who had just arrived. It didn’t suit her.
She wasn’t going to be impressed with seeing some powerful hedge fund guy or some
Hollywood actor. I’d gotten this totally wrong. Fuck.
    We were showed to our table toward the back of the restaurant. I was
jumpy. I was very close to fucking this whole evening up.
    “You ok?” she asked as we sat.
    “Yeah, I guess.”
    “Sorry for going all Sylvia Plath in the car.”
    I laughed. “You don’t have to apologize. I just want you to be yourself.
I’m just a bit concerned this restaurant isn’t the right place for you.”
    “Really?” she looked around. “It seems nice. You don’t like it?”
    “It’s fine. I just don’t think it’s the type of place that I should have
brought you. I should have picked a better restaurant.”
    “It looks plenty fancy enough.”
    “That’s the point. It’s too much I think. You suit something …”
    “You don’t think I’m worth taking somewhere fancy?” She was smiling but
it concealed an edge to her question.
    “I think you’re worth taking to the fanciest place in New York City. But
I’m not sure you’d like it as much as you’d like something a bit more relaxed.
Less pretentious.”
    She raised her eyebrows at me. “I can do fancy,” she said simply.
    A very nervous waiter came over and went through the menu with us. I
watched her as she smiled and nodded at him, trying to put him at ease. It was a
kind thing to do, and when he left he looked like he was a little bit in love
with her.
    “What are you going to order?” I asked.
    She was looking over my shoulder, not at the menu. She shrugged. “I’ll
have whatever you have.”
    “You will?”
    She nodded. “I hate menus. I hate the deciding, so I prefer not to look.”
    “So now I have to order something I think you’ll like. Like a test.”
    “God no, that’s awful—what kind of women do you normally date? Just order
what you want. It’ll be fine.”
    “But if you don’t like it?”
    “Then I won’t eat it, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s not a test,
honestly.”
    I ordered. Sea bass. I wouldn’t normally order fish, but women liked fish,
didn’t they?
    “I don’t date,” I said when the smitten waiter had taken our order. Or my
order for both of us.
    “What?”
    “You asked me a question about the kind of women I normally date.”
    “Oh, yes. You don’t date?”
    I shook my head.
    “Oh, right. I can see there’s something of a monk about you.”
    I laughed. “I didn’t say I was a monk. I said I didn’t date.”
    “I’m not following you. You don’t like to call it dating?”
    “Call what dating?”
    “Dinner, drinks, back to your hotel. Do you live there?”
    “No, I don’t live there. I just … book that suite sometimes.”
    “Somewhere to stay with your non-dates?”
    “I don’t stay there.” Why was I telling her this stuff?
    “You’re talking in riddles.”
    I took a deep breath. “I don’t do the dinner, drinks, dating thing
usually … or ever. I book the suite, I fuck in the suite, but I don’t stay
over.”
    She looked at me but didn’t say anything.
    I waited and she still didn’t say anything. Fucking hell. I knew I was
going to fuck this up. This restaurant. Telling her about my relationships, or
lack of them. What was I thinking? I should never have run into her at lunch.
This was a disaster.
    “You haven’t said anything,” I reminded her.
    “I don’t know what to say.” She gulped down half her glass of wine. “You
don’t need to woo me. I fucked you last night. I’ll fuck you again tonight. You
didn’t need to bring me to dinner. You don’t need to tell me that I’m different—that
you don’t normally sleep over, but you made an exception for me; that you don’t
normally take women to dinner, but you made an exception for me. I told you
last night. I don’t want the bullshit. I can take it if it’s