The Virgin Society Collection

29. The Man Blues

29

THE MAN BLUES

Veronica

Fine, I do wallow.

But this time it’s not over a job. It’s over a man, and hey, that’s allowed.

That night, Ellie drags my ass to Gin Joint to meet Hazel and indulge in the amazing new summer-themed mojitos the bar is offering.

“They’re the perfect cure for the man blues,” Ellie says as we turn on the corner, heading toward the popular speakeasy in Chelsea. “Trust me. Sebastian and I were talking about this on set.”

“Dude. Did you just name drop an Oscar winner?”

Ellie winces. “Shit. I did. I’m an asshole.”

I laugh. “No, you’re not. I suppose if I worked with him, I’d do the same.”

“He’s such a sweetheart, and besides, the mojitos worked for both of us, and they are going to work for you,” she says, chin up and best friend-y.

I need something to lift my spirits after that I volunteer as tribute stunt I pulled at the store this afternoon.

Ugh. “What was I thinking?” I ask as we reach the bar.

“You did the noble thing,” Ellie says, and I trudge into the establishment with her.

“I’m still waiting for my knighting,” I say, listless and sad.

As soon as we’re through the door, Hazel pops up from a sapphire chaise longue, marches over to me, and wraps me in her big-sister arms. I sniffle a little as she hugs me, but then I let go, determined to put today behind me.

“Are you okay?” Hazel asks, hands curled around my shoulders, green eyes pinning me.

I haul in a deep breath as the chatter of the bar fills my head—glasses clinking, conversations unspooling, laughter bursting. “I’ll be fine,” I say, fastening on a stiff upper lip. Really, what did I have to mourn anyway? The end of a sex countdown? I’ll get over it. I have to. “It was no big deal.”

Hazel taps my nose. “Did that just grow, Pinocchio?”

“But it has to be no big deal. He’s my boss for a while longer, but even if I didn’t work for him, he’s just not emotionally available and there’s nothing I can do about?—”

A dapper lounge singer at the baby grand dives into the opening notes of an unfamiliar love song. It’s old-fashioned and beautiful as he croons in a rich, plaintive voice, Let me call you sweetheart. I’m in love with you. Let me hear you whisper. That you love me too.

My heart swells like a balloon, then pops. All the air leaks out, and my chest aches. My throat hurts. I turn to Hazel and whisper past the stranglehold this song has on me. “I need to go.”

Thirty minutes later, I’ve claimed a booth with Ellie and Hazel at a classic New York diner with cracked upholstery, orange Formica, and milkshakes and fries all around.

It’s the official menu of the sad. I sigh again, stirring the thick chocolatey goodness. “I just thought that we were about to become something. Milo seemed so . . .” I stop, search for the words as I meet their twin gazes.

“Real,” I say, nearly choking on the word. “I had all these fantasies about him, and then I met him, and he seemed so real.”

Hazel stretches out a hand and squeezes mine. “He sounds great.”

I appreciate that they’re not demonizing him, but . . .

“I feel pretty foolish even though he never fooled me. He was honest from the start. I just wanted more, but when I saw him struggling this afternoon, I wanted to give him an out.”

“Maybe someday he’ll see what’s in front of him. But for now, you’re going to keep on moving, right?” Ellie asks, lifting her silver shaker. “We can’t let men get the better of us.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I say, raising a glass too.

Hazel lifts her shake. “Hear, hear.”

As we toast, I feel strong for the first time since this afternoon. I feel confident again. “I think I know exactly how I’ll keep on moving,” I whisper, excited once again for tomorrow as I share my plan.

The next morning, I head into Big Cup early for my meeting with Amelia.

I scan the shop, picking a table in advance since she’s not here yet, then head to the counter. Instantly, I grin when I see the blue-eyed, fresh-faced barista. “Anna! It’s been a while. How are you?”

The pretty blonde flashes a grin. “I can’t complain. How are you? I’ve been following your recent columns,” she says, then leans in close. “And getting some ideas myself.”

Anna’s a friend and one of my first readers. I even showed her one of my early columns for feedback. She fell in love with The Virgin Club from the start and has kept tabs on it since then.

“Then the column is doing its job,” I say. And fingers crossed that it might keep doing so in a very big way in, oh, say, five minutes .

“Your recommendations definitely keep me busy. From one woman with a dirty mind to another,” Anna adds.

There’s only one little issue. “Well, I’m going to have to turn in my card,” I admit, but today I don’t feel as sad about the Milo situation as I did last night.

Anna’s eyes widen. “Will we get the details?”

That’s a good question. I’ll figure out the answer soon enough.

“Maybe,” I say with a coy shrug. “But woman to woman, I’ll tell you this—it was worth the wait.”

Anna sighs happily.

Milo was worth the wait. I chose wisely. I have no regrets.

I place my coffee order, then ask what she’s been up to as she makes the drink.

“I was in Paris, visiting the shop there. I might need to go there full-time. Family obligations and all. But if you ever need a guest columnist, I have lots of ideas I’ve been wanting to explore,” she says.

“Thanks. I’ll let The Dating Pool know,” I say, then I take my coffee and head to a table.

A minute later, a gorgeous Amelia bursts in, all mad energy and little red dress. As she surveys the shop, I pop up.

She rushes over to me. “You! You, goddess, you! You are just the person I need for my show,” she continues. “But I need a cuppa first.” The British singer sails off to the counter and orders an Earl Grey.

When she returns, she sits down in a cloud of shampoo-model curls, cheekbones, and sex appeal. “Here’s the deal. I have a concert here in a month. And a new song called “Battery-Operated Friend” to debut. I want to include gift bags with every ticket—a hand-curated package of sex toys. And you’re just the one to pick them.”

I sit up straighter, enjoying stepping into the next big thing. “I am indeed just the one.”