Read Online The Last Place She'd Look by Arlene Schindler - Free Book Online

raced, and I squirmed in my chair. I painfully remembered my night with Ack and felt nauseous.
    “Recently, I find men's surprises to be disappointments,” I said, wiping salsa from the corner of my mouth.
    “You used to date up a storm, always someone new.”
    “Beau du jour,” I responded, smiling weakly.
    “That's the Sara I know. Who have you been up to lately?”
    “I went out to a bar with Beth,” I said.
    “A dyke bar? I don't know how she does it. Or why you'd want to do it. I've known you since you were 25. You're not a lesbian,” said Diana, sipping her drink. “You're just going through a dry spell with men. Don't stress. It'll change. I know there's a husband in your future—and mine, too. No friend of mine could be a lesbian. Just stick with dick and you'll be fine.”
    Driving home, I thought about men's bodies, the physical presence of men in my life—and in my bed. I thought about men caressing my body. That kind of sexual experience seemed worlds away. The mere thought of it was as if I were watching a foreign film of my sex life, but on the screen, I saw me sitting on a couch, looking pretty, waiting…just waiting. I heard sounds of people talking and laughing in the next room, as if a party was taking place. No one walked past me or even entered my room. I wasn't sure where I should look.
    Cut to another film—Corinne kissing me. I don't feel drunk or nervous, just good. Then the film breaks, the projector has overheated. The film is melting—screen goes to black. Even my imagination doesn't give me a break—or a thrill.
    Back in the real world, I had an article due. I was too busy helping women 18 to 35 solve their problems to think about my own dilemmas. I went home to begin the piece: Are You Ready for a New Relationship? I couldn't find my notes anywhere. Instead, I located bank statements from 1986, photos from a friend's wedding (we lost touch after their first child was born, no surprise) and some letters I'd received from my dad's friends shortly after he died. I sat and read them and cried. One thing I knew for sure: If I wasn't ready to write an article about having a new relationship, I surely wasn't ready to have one. So instead I outlined the other piece I was on deadline for: 19 Mistakes Women Make When They're Dating A New Man. This was as easy as chewing gum.
    What Women Do Wrong That Causes Promising Relationships to Die Out
    They jump into relationships too fast.
    They want commitment too fast.
    They overdress.
    They wear too much make-up.
    They talk too much.
    They talk too little.
    When writing went badly, I felt restless. When it went well I felt anxious. Either way, the results were the same. I developed a burning desire to focus on anything but writing. I did a load of laundry. I went to my mailbox and found two bills and some takeout menus. There was another envelope. On one side it had a color photo of a beautiful woman reclining at a beach. The line of copy asked, “How comfortable should 50 be?” I was mortified. Did the entire world know my age and insist on taunting me, assaulting my vanity? I opened the envelope and read:
    50. Feels good, doesn't it? But what do you want for the future? 50 more healthy years? Financial security? An AARP membership can help.
    Shortly after AARP found me, solicited, and sucker-punched my psyche asking for membership, I was still reeling from being qualified to join a support group for the senior population. They moved pretty quickly and aggressively for a bunch of oldsters.
    I went back upstairs, checked my email, and learned that three of my new story ideas had been rejected. And I'd be receiving a kill fee (only a third of my usual rate) for a relationship story where the publisher decided they wanted a man's point of view—and a man to write it. Ah, the bleak world of rejection and the freelance writer. To take my mind off of my disappointments, I called Diana, hoping more of her Diana-isms could distract me from my inertia