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Authors: David McManus
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middle?”
“Um, yeah, no, I don’t think it was stopped in the middle.”
“One last thing,” I said, trying to sound dispassionate. “He used a condom, right? I mean, did you hear if he used a condom?”
Craig hesitated before saying, “No.”
“No, you didn’t hear?”
“No, I heard he didn’t.”
“He didn’t?”
“I heard he did not.”
“He didn’t use a condom. He finished inside her?”
Craig looked at me, treating it like a rhetorical question, saying nothing.
“So he did?”
“I’m sorry, Dave.”
He was giving me that pitying look like the last time. I hated being looked at like that.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you,” I said as he finished his beer.
“Dave, are you OK?”
“I’m fine Craig, honestly. Ashley and I are working through this. Nothing that other couples haven’t been through, right?”
“Right.”
“Yeah, so I’m OK. We’re not fighting, we’re getting along, we just have to work through this.”
“Sure, I understand.”
“And also, I really appreciate you availing yourself at the last minute and being honest with me. I’m not saying anything to Ashley—so don’t worry there. Also, I’m not telling my friends, so if you can keep quiet about it, I would appreciate it.”
“Dude, I ain’t saying shit to no one.”
“Thanks, man,” I said and asked for the check.
It was the second time in less than a week that I felt emotionally pummeled leaving that bar. I never wanted to go back there again.
I walked to the subway, disoriented and lost.
Jim Murta went bareback in my wife that night. He blew his sperm in Ashley’s pussy. It was too much to process.
I must have had a beaten-up expression on my face as I headed downtown to the Village.
****
I was meeting Ashley there. I figured I wouldn’t have time to get out of my suit, so I just took the subway from the bar. I was meeting her in a parking lot. The whole thing sounded ridiculous, but Ashley’s friend was starring in something called Shakespeare in the Parking Lot .
It was very low-budget and a twist on Shakespeare in the Park— the professional production they do in Central Park during the summer. It was about as far Off-Broadway as you can get—a literal parking lot.
Ashley texted me that she was just heading down, and I talked with her friend Natalie for a few minutes. She was telling me how nervous she was, asking if I could tell. I said “no” and told her I was sure she’d be great. She wasn’t going to be performing in front of much of an audience—about thirty friends of people in the play sitting on asphalt, some with six-packs of beer.
Natalie had graduated from Columbia the same year as Ashley. I liked her well enough. She was a good girl. She had a high-paying, overseas-traveling job for a while, but she had given that up to pursue acting. I thought it was the height of foolishness. Ashley questioned it, too. But Natalie had said, “I’d rather fail at acting than succeed at anything else.” OK, whatever.
Ashley arrived just as the play was starting and I waved her over. I tried to block out what Craig had told me, and she gave me a kiss as she sat down.
They were performing Macbeth . There were no sets. It seemed ultra-amateur to me, everyone over-acting with fake British accents. I was utterly bored. I couldn’t follow it and had no interest in trying. But I did my best to seem like I was paying attention and laughed when others did.
It was only an hour but seemed to go on for two and a half; then we had to go out with “all them acting folks.” I had nothing in common with them and nothing to say. But I wanted to be a trooper for Ashley’s sake.
I did my best to laugh and seem engaged, but inside, I was just waiting to leave. All of them seemed to think they were one small step away from breakout fame.
When I
“Um, yeah, no, I don’t think it was stopped in the middle.”
“One last thing,” I said, trying to sound dispassionate. “He used a condom, right? I mean, did you hear if he used a condom?”
Craig hesitated before saying, “No.”
“No, you didn’t hear?”
“No, I heard he didn’t.”
“He didn’t?”
“I heard he did not.”
“He didn’t use a condom. He finished inside her?”
Craig looked at me, treating it like a rhetorical question, saying nothing.
“So he did?”
“I’m sorry, Dave.”
He was giving me that pitying look like the last time. I hated being looked at like that.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you,” I said as he finished his beer.
“Dave, are you OK?”
“I’m fine Craig, honestly. Ashley and I are working through this. Nothing that other couples haven’t been through, right?”
“Right.”
“Yeah, so I’m OK. We’re not fighting, we’re getting along, we just have to work through this.”
“Sure, I understand.”
“And also, I really appreciate you availing yourself at the last minute and being honest with me. I’m not saying anything to Ashley—so don’t worry there. Also, I’m not telling my friends, so if you can keep quiet about it, I would appreciate it.”
“Dude, I ain’t saying shit to no one.”
“Thanks, man,” I said and asked for the check.
It was the second time in less than a week that I felt emotionally pummeled leaving that bar. I never wanted to go back there again.
I walked to the subway, disoriented and lost.
Jim Murta went bareback in my wife that night. He blew his sperm in Ashley’s pussy. It was too much to process.
I must have had a beaten-up expression on my face as I headed downtown to the Village.
****
I was meeting Ashley there. I figured I wouldn’t have time to get out of my suit, so I just took the subway from the bar. I was meeting her in a parking lot. The whole thing sounded ridiculous, but Ashley’s friend was starring in something called Shakespeare in the Parking Lot .
It was very low-budget and a twist on Shakespeare in the Park— the professional production they do in Central Park during the summer. It was about as far Off-Broadway as you can get—a literal parking lot.
Ashley texted me that she was just heading down, and I talked with her friend Natalie for a few minutes. She was telling me how nervous she was, asking if I could tell. I said “no” and told her I was sure she’d be great. She wasn’t going to be performing in front of much of an audience—about thirty friends of people in the play sitting on asphalt, some with six-packs of beer.
Natalie had graduated from Columbia the same year as Ashley. I liked her well enough. She was a good girl. She had a high-paying, overseas-traveling job for a while, but she had given that up to pursue acting. I thought it was the height of foolishness. Ashley questioned it, too. But Natalie had said, “I’d rather fail at acting than succeed at anything else.” OK, whatever.
Ashley arrived just as the play was starting and I waved her over. I tried to block out what Craig had told me, and she gave me a kiss as she sat down.
They were performing Macbeth . There were no sets. It seemed ultra-amateur to me, everyone over-acting with fake British accents. I was utterly bored. I couldn’t follow it and had no interest in trying. But I did my best to seem like I was paying attention and laughed when others did.
It was only an hour but seemed to go on for two and a half; then we had to go out with “all them acting folks.” I had nothing in common with them and nothing to say. But I wanted to be a trooper for Ashley’s sake.
I did my best to laugh and seem engaged, but inside, I was just waiting to leave. All of them seemed to think they were one small step away from breakout fame.
When I
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