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started talking about other things, moved to comfortable topics.
    His chubby-cheeked smile was infinite. “Hard to believe that I met you on the Internet.”
    â€œThanks, but you don’t have to say that so loud.”
    He was trying to get his flirt on, but I had moved him from the list of romantic wishes over to the buddy-plan-friend list. Those are the brothers a sister calls when she needs help moving furniture. The men that women need to keep in contact with. Especially if the guy owns a truck.
    Like I said, the list was short, but not that short.
    He said, “Let me make a quick run to the bathroom.”
    As he wobbled away, I saw the tofu- and wheat-grass-eating people stare at him, glance at me, then shake their heads. So many snickers and whispers.
    And why was it when you were out with one guy, you saw all kinds of guys you’d want to share a drink with? If I had come down here by myself, it would’ve been a damn Urkel convention.
    This sucked like a hooker on Sunset.
    I wondered if it was like that when I was married, if that was what people did to my husband whenever I walked away from the table. I lowered my eyes, opened my flip phone, and a made a call.
    Tommie answered, “You’re calling. This is not good.”
    â€œRemember the Fat Bastard in that Austin Powers movie?”
    â€œIs he that fugly?”
    â€œFucking ugly like a mofo.”
    â€œNo! Frankie, run for the hills.”
    I looked at the yellow roses, an arrangement that probably cost at least half a C-note. I told her that he was a nice guy, very intelligent, but he’s just not the reflection of what I’m looking for in a man, as shallow as it might sound, not physically, not at this moment in my life. Watching him sort of reminded me of my own issues. It cut down to the bone. And I remember how people used to treat me, the jokes, the looks from the skinny people. I’m not that small, not as fit and firm and my sisters, never will be, so that’s why I’m being real cool, very sensitive about how I handle this little fiasco.
    â€œOh, it gets worse,” I told her. “Guess who is in the restaurant.”
    â€œWho?”
    I ran down the whole thing, what Nick did, what I said, how I lost it. Well, my version.
    She said, “The casual relationship between you and Nick has always caused you psychological stress. What you did was in response to your own grieving. You expected a particular response and—”
    I pulled the phone from my ear and stared at it like Tommie had lost her mind, took a deep breath, toyed with the shells around my neck, and changed the subject. I asked, “Heard from Livvy?”
    â€œDamn. Traffic is so bad.”
    â€œWhere are you?”
    â€œOn Rosecrans trying to get on the stupid 405.”
    â€œThought you had to work with the rest of the candle pushers.”
    â€œThings slowed down. Just got off. Should’ve gone down Sepulveda.”
    Tommie told me that she had talked to Livvy not too long ago. Told me that she was snowed in. Hard to believe it was that damn cold anywhere, being out on a cool night in Beverly Hills. She said Livvy broke down crying, but cheered up, cracked jokes, seemed to be holding it together.
    I looked at my watch. It was almost nine. I asked, “You going in for the night?”
    â€œJava Lounge at Club ’Bucks.”
    â€œGround is shaking. He must be on the way back.”
    â€œHolla.”
    We hung up.
    My date came back, smiling like I was the best thing since unleaded gasoline. I swear to God, he was floating like he was in the Thanksgiving Day parade. So happy to be with me. Just to be with me. I wish more men—well, the ones that I was happy to be with—felt that way about me.
    But that’s the way it always was. The men who were interested in you, you had no desire for. The ones you wanted didn’twant you. And if you did hook up with them, they dumped you for a