I tell her about the night of my fourth fantasy, and without going into too much detail, I let her know that it was amazing. Before Nick showed up. I tell her about going to dinner with my ex, and how I realized once and for all that it was truly over between us.
“Thank fuck. I can’t believe you gave him another second of your time. What a useless waste of space, even more than a typical man.”
“Keep your voice down, Brittany. My god, you really hate men, don’t you?”
She continues at her normal volume. “I hate some men. Most men. I especially hate men who’ve done you wrong.”
“Don’t all men eventually?” I say, because I assume this is Brittany’s outlook on the entire gender.
“Maybe,” she says. “But even though I truly believe that some days, sometimes I like to think there are some good ones out there. There seem to be, anyway.”
“Wow, I’m surprised,” I admit.
“The Stanton brothers who own the club are decent, and they seem to treat their woman right. There were a couple of young dancers who left to become firemen, they were all right, and then there’s Duke, who guards the club.”
“That’s a bigger list than I expected you to have.”
“Maybe I’m getting mellow in my old age,” she says. “But, yes, I believe there are good ones out there. You just have to suffer through dozens of miserable toads before you find them.”
I laugh out loud as I picture my sister dressed as a princess, kissing toads. “You think Leo, Troy, Dante, and Darian are good ones?” I ask her.
“They definitely seem to care about you. They have women throwing themselves at them, sometimes literally, every night, and they’re moping around because you don’t want to be with them.”
The waiter appears with our food, and I’m pleasantly surprised at the pang of hunger I feel when I see my French toast.
“Did they treat you right?” Brittany asks after we’ve both started into our meals.
“They did,” I say, thinking of the many ways they made me feel good about myself when I was with them.
“I’m not going to push you, but they seem like genuinely good guys, and I can tell you from years and years of experience how hard good guys are to find.”
I nod, but don’t respond. The quality of their characters was never the issue.
“I need to try this,” Brittany says, cutting off a piece of my French toast.
“Take a whole slice. This is a lot.”
As she takes me up on my offer, I take the opportunity to change the subject. “What’s new with you?”
“Oh, I do have news.” She sounds excited, like it’s something good.
“What’s that?”
“I’m getting a promotion of sorts. Different responsibilities and a pay increase. And travel.”
“Travel?” I frown at her, confused about how travel comes into play at Club Red.
“The Stantons are going to be sending some of the dancers to other venues around the state, and even out of state. I’ll be traveling with a troupe, managing them while they’re on the road.”
“That’s great! That sounds exciting.”
“Most of it. I’m happy about the pay, of course, and some travel will be nice. It won’t be constant.”
I take a drink of my fizzy juice. “So what’s the downside?”
My sister sneers. “The men I’ll be traveling with. Your four are all right, but they won’t be traveling. Most of the other dancers are real assholes.”
I laugh again, happy for my sister’s new opportunity. “I knew you’d soon be back in man-hating mode.”
“It’s my default setting, apparently.”
43
Lorraine
Much later in the day, just when I’m finally starting to think about food again after that huge plate of French toast, someone rings the doorbell. I check the security app and see a man holding what appears to be a pizza box. I look more closely to make sure it’s not Leo. It’s not.
“I think you have the wrong house,” I say after opening the door.
The man verifies my address and checks the sticker on the box. It’s from De Luca’s, and my name is on it.
“It’s paid for,” he says with a careless shrug. “May as well take it.”
After placing the box on my kitchen counter and opening the lid, I find a divided pizza, just like the one I ordered when Leo was over, pepperoni on one half, mushrooms and peppers on the other, except that this pizza’s in the shape of a heart. There’s no other information on the box except for my name and address.
While I’m puzzling over what to say to Leo about this, the door rings again. I fully expect to find Leo himself on the porch, but this time it’s a woman holding a large vase of flowers. I tip her, bring them in, and find a card that simply says, “Thinking of you.” It’s signed by Dante.