Page 68 of The Love Hack

Dear Kit

I’m sorry to hear your girlfriend won’t put out – that must come as quite the blow to your male ego. I suppose you think that now you’re dating someone, you get the whole package – someone to listen to your problems, someone to show off to your mates, someone to meet your physical needs.

And now she’s not playing ball. Isn’t that a shame?

You know, Kit, this is something I’ve said before in this column. Women are people, too. I know it’s hard to understand, but they’ve also got needs, desires and – wait for it – boundaries. And there you are, chip chip chipping away at hers, and she’s pushing back.

And you don’t like it one bit, do you?

There’s something I’d like you to think about for just a moment, Kit. When a man wants sex and a woman says no, and the man pushes for it anyway, and insists, because after all he’s a nice guy, or he bought her dinner, or they’re married, or whatever – there’s a word for that. It’s not a word you want to use in the context of your relationship, is it?

So give that some good thinking, Kit, back off from this poor woman and stop being a sex pest.

Oh, and don’t be a dick.

Yours, Adam

I’d been typing at warp speed, and the tips of my fingers felt almost bruised from bashing the keyboard so hard – but it had barely relieved my feelings. I saved the document, deciding to wait before filing the copy to the subs desk just in case there were any more pearls of wisdom I needed Kit to hear.

I was done with him, for now. Maybe later, I’d have another look in Adam’s inbox and see if there were any other men who deserved a piece of my mind. Fuming, I thought of all the measured, kind responses I’d sent, both with and without the bot’s help. All those men I’d tried to understand and sympathise with – and for what?

They were all just the same. All of them – and Zack, who my sister had fallen in love with. And Ross, who I’d allowed myself to think might like me despite the fact that he was not only miles out of my league, but also dating someone else.

I couldn’t deal with Ross now; I felt too bruised and humiliated. But Zack?

Brother-in-law, I’m coming for you, I promised.

I closed my laptop and stripped off my clothes and showered, then carefully made up my face, blow-dried my hair and put on the black dress I’d backed just in case I ended up going anywhere smart. My trusty Docs would have to do – I had no other shoes with me except my battered Converse.

But, with my hair done and my legs out and dark glasses hiding most of my face, I was confident Zack wouldn’t recognise me. To him, I was just Amelie’s plain, frumpy older sister. He had no reason to expect to see me – no reason to expect that I was coming to get him and give him his just deserts.

My bag slung over my shoulder again, I left the apartment and headed back into Manhattan, towards Grand Central Station and the Campbell Apartment, feeling like Uma Thurman in Kill Bill only without the hair, the yellow jumpsuit or the legs to go with it.

TWENTY-SIX

My feeling of righteous fury lasted all the way to Grand Central Station, but as soon as I stepped through the doors of the Campbell Apartment, it vanished abruptly. It’s not easy to feel righteously furious and like a total fish out of water at the same time, and I definitely didn’t nail it.

The place was as intimidating as anywhere I’d ever been. It was full of Manhattan’s most beautiful people, and they’re up there with the most beautiful in the world. Back at the AirBnB, I’d been reasonably happy with my make-up and New Look dress, but here I felt drab and dowdy. It was just like all the times when Amelie persuaded me to meet her for somewhere fabulous for cocktails, and I was inevitably early and she was inevitably late, and I had to sit there waiting, panicking that my cocktail order would have involved some massive faux pas and it would turn out to be bright blue with a paper umbrella in it. Except then, I’d known that eventually my sister would turn up and make everything all right, and now I didn’t.

I waited my the door, resisting the urge to abandon my plan and flee back to Brooklyn, gazing around me at the room, no doubt looking like a rabbit caught in headlights. The place was gorgeous. Tall, steel-framed windows filled one wall, still bluey-bright with the last of the daylight, casting long shadows on the floor. Away from the windows, the room was dimly lit, with ranks of leather bar stools along a long counter and tables for four and eight in the rest of the space.

I panicked. I’d be sat at the counter with my back to the room, which would mean having to turn around constantly to see if Zack had arrived.

So, when the beautiful girl on the door came over to seat me, I found myself blurting out, ’Table for four, please.’

She wasn’t to know I wasn’t being joined by three glamorous friends. Once my bum was on the seat, they weren’t exactly going to throw me out – or were they?

At least the fact that the sun hadn’t yet set gave me an excuse to leave my sunglasses on. Kind of. More likely, people would think I had some kind of disfiguring eye infection.

By the time I was seated at the table, perusing the encyclopaedic cocktail menu with its eye-watering prices, I was in a right state. And the perusing turned out to be hard work, because I could barely read the menu through my dark glasses.

So, when a waiter came to take my order, I said, ‘A dry martini, please.’

Great – now I wasn’t just stalking Zack, but channelling him by ordering his favourite drink too. Oh well, I thought – hopefully my martini order would summon him from the ether (or rather, from that glass-walled edifice in the financial district), as if I was some kind of psychic medium or something.

My drink arrived, and I apologised guiltily for the lateness of my fictitious friends, then took a large gulp. The alcohol simultaneously stripped what felt an entire layer of cells off my throat and emboldened me. Now I wasn’t just an awkward tourist sitting alone in a flash bar wearing a cheap dress, but a cocktail-sipping femme fatale.

I took another gulp, then another, then finished the complimentary bowl of olives the waiter had brought, and ordered another of each. If I kept the orders coming, I figured, they’d mind less about me hogging an entire table to myself.

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