Quintessentially Paul was the only way to describe his little episode. He looked great, generously offered my friends free drinks, and stopped in just to say hello. We met at Peet’s Coffee about three months ago when we were both standing in line for lattes. It was two days after curry and was my first day of leisure in the city. I was unpacked, stocked on kitchen supplies, and ready to see my neighborhood. His blue eyes seemed kind, especially after a drunk homeless man had just instructed me to “take everything off but the boots” as I walked by. His blue eyes were what made me accept his dinner offer that day, but it was all the little Paul things that made me accept his offer for a second, third, and twentieth date. He did all those little things that every other girl at the bar right now was complaining her boyfriend didn’t do; it was all those little things that were starting to drive me crazy.
“Bye Paul,” Kimberly yelled after him with martini breath. He turned around and waved. “It still amazes me that he is a bartender. He’s such a boyfriend.”
“He’s going to open his own bar,” I said, giving a feeble wave back.
“He has direction too? That boy is going to make me throw up before Kim does tonight.” Kim elbowed Eve, then stole her martini.
“I can’t believe how fast you guys moved. You met him a week after you got here, you’ve been dating for ten seconds, and you two act like you’re wearing rings.” Kim fished for her olive.
“Am I allowed to break up with a guy who’s not a jerk?” I was surprised how easily the words rolled off my lips.
“You want to break up with Paul?” Eve asked. She seemed just as surprised as I was by the thought. Kim even stopped fishing for her olive.
“Well who knew that our little wine country princess didn’t want a prince after all?’ Kim teased me. The girls took every chance they could to hassle me about my well-off background. When I first invited them over to my house, they thought I was secretly a high priced call girl that simply fronted a naive good girl exterior to get clients—how else could I afford such a great place? But my family immigrated to San Francisco about a billion and a half years ago. My Uncle Leo stayed in the city after everyone else left to start our winery in Napa, and he built a house in the Marina after the earthquake. I tried to explain to my friends that I was actually paying rent (although it was a tiny monthly sum, subsidized by Dad and Uncle Leo), and that me living there wasn’t a princess thing, but a family thing. They might have believed me, but they were having too much fun teasing me to care.
“I thought you were happy with him,” Eve said. “What happened?”
“He’s just… He’s so…” I couldn’t manage to spit the words out. “It just doesn’t make sense! He’s perfect. He’s what every girl wants.”
“But he’s not what you want,” Kim said, matter-of-factly.
“Ok, Ben just walked in.” Eve stirred her martini, and tried to create a little cleavage with her B cups. Ben was the lead vocalist in Baggage, a Rosie’s regular, and he appeared to be girl-less that night, at least so far. He and his buddies crowded around the bar. Kim downed the rest of Eve’s martini.
“Eve, I think you’re ready for a new drink,” Kim said, handing her the glass.
“Kimberly, I think you’re right.” Eve stood up tall and headed towards Ben’s section of the bar.
“You know, I’ve decided that the bar really is the best part of this place to meet a guy. The ones at the pool table are too focused on their balls,” we took a second to giggle. “And the ones on the dance floor are too horny—” Kim stopped mid-sentence, narrowed her eyes at something over by the entrance, jumped up, and flipped her hair over her shoulder as she stalked away. I looked, and sure enough there was Manish, trying to work his way through the crowd and over to our table. He towered, Vince Vaughn-like, over everyone in the bar. My little size two Kim may have the small person’s crowded bar weaving advantage, but Manish was able to spot her weave all the way over to the ladies room with no problem.
So, Kim left me alone at our table, my favorite way to be at a crowded bar. I played with my cell phone, hoping one of my friends would come back before any creepy guys had a chance to notice my solo status.
No such luck.