Dec. 2, 1999

Thursday, October 7

Matt's anguished self-loathing turns out to be a consequence of his sexual popularity, not mine. I guess I should be relieved?

So he had a fling with a summer associate -- with a rich brat in the MIT MBA program who just happens to be the daughter of a $500 john! Was Larissa in love with Matt? Just having fun with an older guy? (I guess, for her, Matt qualifies as just that: older.)

Some obscure part of me imagines Matt sitting at a restaurant table, feeling like the seasoned Clintonesque rake, as he gazes into a summer intern's admiring eyes. And I find it almost touching. After all, I know something about this: With Milton, with a lot of older clients, I love to feel like an indulged young thing.

Was this Matt's first chance to sample that scenario? If he liked the feeling, it won't be his last.

Matt and I will never have that -- with each other. My first reaction to Larissa was: "That spoiled marauding bitch, having her fun at MY expense ..." But I wonder if we have something in common -- a liking for older guys? A spark of pleasure induced by paternalistic --

WHO AM I KIDDING? This is grounds for strangulation!!! All I have in common with that girl is ... Matt.

After we left the bar, I sniped at him in the cab: "Did you use condoms with her?"

He looked startled and pained: "I don't think we should talk about the details --"

"It's a good thing we use condoms," I hissed. "Did you lie to her, too?" I added, recalling the conversation I overheard at the beginning of their affair. "Did she think it was a fling?" I couldn't bring myself to say her name.

"This isn't a good idea," he mumbled. "Please ... not here!" He tried to hold my hand, and I pulled myself toward the door of the cab, causing him to grab hold of my skirt. "Let's go to my place and I'll -- I'll answer all your questions, OK?" I stared down at the hem of my skirt -- he was holding it so firmly that I couldn't really move. "You look so beautiful tonight," he whispered.

A guy must never be discouraged from saying THAT -- especially when he's looking at your thighs -- so I stopped myself from asking what sweet nothings he'd been feeding her. Still, I couldn't help asking, "Do you really expect me to share your bed with HER?" God, that was below the belt: He was so unprepared for these icky stabs. He had never planned to discuss the sex, just the feelings ... Some guys are so naive.

"Just give me another chance!" he said in desperation. "Do you have any idea what I've been going through? I hated myself for lying to you!"

"Really?" Taken aback, I couldn't exactly say, "Me too." Partly because I only hate lying when it gets to be a chore and because I would hate myself more for hurting him with the truth. Relieved by the calming effect this had on me, he released my skirt.

"Look," he explained. "I'm not saying it was OK to do it, but this whole thing ... I wasn't sure I really loved you." He was touching my hair, slowly outlining my face with his fingertips. "But I hate the way it feels when I hide something from you and I kept wanting to tell you -- that's how I knew. You can't just trash our relationship over this."

"What made you decide to tell me? Maybe it was better when I didn't know."

"That's what I thought when I started --" There was an uncomfortable pause. "But it was so much worse because you didn't know. When Allison called in the middle of the night, when you canceled dinner -- whenever you canceled anything -- I had these crazy thoughts. You wanted me to hold you the other night -- and I couldn't because of what I was hiding. My own guilt was making me suspicious of you, paranoid ... Don't you get it? How can you say it's better to lie to you when it drives us apart?"

"Maybe it's over," I said quietly, "for you and me."

"Do you want a guy who just loves you because it's easy? My feelings have actually been tested by -- by this mistake that I made. If you can just walk away from those feelings, you don't know what's real and what's --" I collapsed on his shoulder, overwhelmed by the worst kind of remorse.

Saturday, October 9

Yesterday, Matt called three times -- once while I was in the shower getting ready to see Etienne, and later while I was in bed with Milton. Matt loves his new role, penitent boyfriend.

"He's like a reformed whore," Jasmine remarked. "So, let him think he's got a scarlet past to live down. It's a status thing."

"After a day of seeing clients, I can't handle it," I sighed. "He wants to talk all the time! And you know what? I think he really liked it when I called him a sadistic bastard!"

"Cut him some slack!" Jasmine advised. "It's probably the most interesting thing a girl ever called him. Anyway, he's forgotten all about your problems with Allison -- thank God."

But I haven't forgotten -- about Allison's threats or the stupid mistake I made this summer, trying to help her make some money off her book.

Tuesday

"Look, I can't believe MY BOYFRIEND fooled around with Spooky's daughter! It's too close for comfort," I told Jasmine today. "How long can I keep up the pretense? My own johns are producing the next generation of emotional competition. Sometimes I just want to tell Matt everything."

Jasmine was incensed. "If Matt knew that Larissa's dad was getting blow jobs at his desk from you -- or watching you masturbate on the office couch -- the guy would go out of his mind! The entire population of Manhattan is connected by its private parts -- well, why do think they're called private parts?" She was waggling her index finger rather fanatically. "New York as we know it would IMPLODE if smart alecks like us abandoned our duty. We're here to protect civilization from itself. If you weren't prepared for the rigors of a double life, you shouldn't have been dating a guy like Matt."

I guess she's right -- but why AM I so drawn to these straight relationships? Respectability looms -- forbidden, alluring, like the apple of temptation ... Matt was onto something when he asked me, "Don't you have one normal girlfriend?" I have one friend left, whom I really trust, and it's, well, Jasmine.

According to Jasmine, "It takes a long weekend and a few dinners for a guy to get over the fact that he's treated you badly; it would take seven years of therapy to recover from finding out that the Girl He Loves has been turning tricks her entire adult life!" She's convinced Matt would spend an entire year wondering if I ever had a real orgasm with him, having nightmares about every woman he dates. "Could you really do that to a guy? And don't forget, his sister's a prosecutor!" she added. "If you won't PROMISE to keep your mouth shut, I might just lock you in the bathroom with duct tape over your mouth. And," she snickered, weirdly, "I'll recruit Allison to stand guard."

Wednesday

This afternoon, as I was leaving the health club, Randy tried to stop me but -- running late for my hair appointment -- I pretended not to see him.

A tall, dapper, pink-faced man with a mustache opened the door for me. I flashed him a smile.

"Excuse me," he said, following me to the sidewalk, "aren't you Nancy Chan?" In a panic, I started heading back inside -- instinctively rushing toward Randy. "Don't," said the increasingly familiar voice, "make your situation worse by lying to a federal agent." As Randy approached, an enraged scowl on his face, the man turned.

"It's not a crime to lie to a boyfriend," he said. "But it's a crime to lie to us."