Melon cholia

MARIANNE DECRIES THE MAMMARY MANIA OF MALES.

"Why does the sight of some naked tits turn men into such hypocrites?" Marianne said to me on the phone. "Can you meet me at the usual in an hour?"

So there we were on a Sunday afternoon, two brave souls perched at the Owl Tree, a verging-on-the-Tenderloin watering hole that makes the bars of David Lynch films seem pedestrian. In addition to the seedy macramé, dank smells and '70s pottery, hundreds of stuffed owls surrounded us, their beady eyes bearing down. "You just never feel alone at the Owl Tree, do you?" I mused.

I stirred my grapefruit juice and waited. Marianne was clearly having a Mark Meltdown, which meant that she'd heard some news about her ex-boyfriend. But now, sitting on the bar stool, she examined her cuticles and seemed calm. Then I noticed the pajama top she wore under her windbreaker.

"I couldn't be bothered to change," she said, seeing my glance. "I've been up all night. Tell me if I'm wrong."

"What did he do now?"

"You know I haven't seen him since the -- well, you know," she motioned with her hand.

"Breakup," I said firmly. Six months ago, Marianne had experienced something most of us had gone through in our 20s: being viciously and callously dumped by the love of her life for no apparent reason. Only Marianne was 31, and I was surprised how much it had thrown her for a loop, even now. She was obsessed -- obsessed and bitter. Every once in a while, innocuous bits and pieces of information would float back to her about Mark -- where he'd been seen, some little thing he'd said. I wondered which idiot friend was feeding her these tidbits.

I braced myself for another Bad Man Story. "Go on," I prodded. "If it makes you feel any better, I've lately noticed a great upsurge in Bad Man Stories. Maybe it's all the rain."

"Do you know anything?" Marianne demanded. "Have you seen Mark?"

"No," I sighed. "And if I did, I doubt I'd tell you."

Marianne looked relieved. "Good," she said. "I thought everyone knew except me. Last night, Ted calls me up. We're chatting away, and he casually mentions that he'd seen Mark the night before. They'd gotten together for a drink, when suddenly Mark says to him something like, let's go to this cool place I've heard about. It's South of Market."

N E X T+P A G E +| In the private room