She went out on New Year’s Eve, mostly out of boredom, and ran into Marc. The problem with sharing the same portion of a city with someone for so long is that no places belong exclusively to you anymore. You share them, and then forget to divvy them up after all is said and done. You know the things he knows, he knows what you know, so of course he’s at the same bar, why did she even try.
He sees her and makes a fucking coke line straight towards her.
“I see you’re here alone.”
“Yeah, but not really.”
“You’re really fucking that math guy?”
“I’m not fucking him, Marc, I’m with him.”
“Then where is he?”
“In L.A., with his dad.”
“He left you alone on New Year’s?”
“Some things are more important than sex on the first day of the year.”
“I disagree.”
“Well, fuck you.”
“Would you like to?”
“Jesus.”
“Admit it, Regan, he can’t give you the things I can.”
“You think your dick is special, Marcus? Because it isn’t, it’s just a dick.”
If Aldo were here, Regan thought, he’d say something about how sex was a simple formula. It wasn’t even complex math, that crazy shit with functions. It was just penetration plus clitoral stimulation, easy. Nothing was easier. Marc babysat rich pricks for a living, Aldo solved the mysteries of the universe. Where the fuck was the comparison?
“I thought you wanted things to end amicably. Didn’t you say you wanted to be friends?”
“That’s just what people say, Marc. I’ve never been amicable in my entire life.”
“Look how mad you are, it’s adorable. Insecure about your relationship already, Regan?”
Great. Now he was psychoanalyzing her.
She said nothing.
“I told you, Regan, he only seems like a good idea. You just like the idea of him. But eventually you’ll remember that we’re not an idea, we’re real. Eventually you’ll get tired of working so hard at being whatever the professor wants you to be.”
“He doesn’t want me to be anything.”
“Oh, sure,” Marc laughed, “he loves you the way you are, of course. Because he doesn’t fucking know what you are.”
“And what am I?”
“I don’t know, nobody knows, but he certainly doesn’t fucking know.”
She felt a rage she didn’t understand; an anger she didn’t know how to direct.
“Just wait, Regan, until he figures you out. You’re complicated at first, unpredictable, exciting, but eventually you’re just a pattern. You feel something, you lash out. You get soft again, you don’t want to be alone, then you’re Dream Girl all over again. You think you want sex? You don’t want it, Regan, you need it. You need it to remind you that somebody loves you, and you won’t believe that unless there’s sex involved. That’s it, that’s everything there is to you, isn’t there? You need to be loved, you need someone to believe you’re perfect, you hate being reminded you have flaws. I already figured it out, so you needed someone else. Someone new. And when he figures you out, you’ll just find someone else. You fucking love the con, Regan. You love the con, but the con doesn’t love you, you’re not good enough at it. Your game is a lot less fun when it’s the same shit over and over.”
Marc said all that, or she thought he said it. The words went in and out of her head and when he was gone, she still hadn’t said anything. She went outside, fumbling for her phone, and she called Aldo.
“I’m not a game,” she told him.
“I know you’re not a game,” he said, confused, and then, “Where are you?”
She’d created an emergency, she realized, abruptly shameful. She’d done it, she’d staged it, just like she said she would. Fuck, she really was predictable.
“I’m going home,” she said. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
She’d diffused the situation. Good job, Regan. Another day for him to believe you’re something close to sane.
“I love you,” Aldo said.
Marc used to say that, she thought.
“I love you. Come home soon.”
“I’ll come home tomorrow if you want. My dad’s fine, and anyway he’s busy with the restaurant.”
“No, I’m … I’m fine, Aldo, it’s okay.”