“Well I just did, loser,” she snapped back at me. “And you want to know something else? You suck in bed, and not in a good way!”
“Oooh, good one!” I heard someone in the crowd exclaim.
I was stunned and my pride was wounded. “Well, fuck you!” I said vehemently.
She just laughed. “‘Fuck you?’ You work for a publishing company and ‘fuck you’ is the best you can do? That’s just pitiful!”
“Ow! That had to hurt!” came another voice from behind her, and the whole group burst into laughter.
Humiliated, I glowered at her, then turned and stalked out as the laughter continued. When I went through the door into the reception area, the receptionist looked up in surprise. “Aren’t you going to lunch with Glenda?” she asked.
“No,” I said curtly.
“Oh,” she said, and gave me a big smile. “Well, have a nice day.”
Mercifully, the elevator door opened at that moment and I rushed inside to make my escape.
There was no hope of my getting any work done, not after all that, so I called the office and told them something I’d eaten had disagreed with me. Then I caught the subway out to Queen’s and went home. Changing into some jeans and a t-hirt, I went back downstairs and made the hike over to Flushing Meadows and the old World’s Fair site. I found a place to sit near the Unisphere, and as I stared at the huge metal sculpture of the globe, I wondered what in the world had just happened to me.
I’d never heard Glenda complain about any of the things she’d accused me of in her office today. Of course I was ambitious, but I was also intelligent enough to know opportunities didn’t come along that frequently in the publishing business. What was so bad about being patient?
And that crack about my sexual performance: that was a low blow — literally. She’d never complained even once. Besides, I felt certain that she’d had frequent orgasms when we’d had sex. But if she hadn’t been satisfied, I would have been happy to do more or try something different if only she’d said something. Nevertheless, I had to admit that her insult shook me at a fundamental level.
I looked down at myself and noticed the incipient roll of fat developing around my waistline. Shit! I had let myself get sloppy. I used to keep myself in pretty good shape when I was in college, but the thickness around my middle was something I couldn’t deny. Beer and bar food, I thought guiltily.
I made a vow to myself on the spot: join a gym, skip the booze. After Glenda’s scathing evaluation of me today, I had no illusions about getting her back – or wanting to, for that matter – but I could damned sure show her that I could have changed if she had only given me the chance. I pulled out my smartphone and found a gym not too far from my office. It wasn’t cheap, but I figured that what I could save on beer would help make it manageable.
I was back at work the next morning carrying my gym bag, and for the next two weeks I went for a workout every day after work. My muscles ached, but not nearly as much as my ego and, I admit it, my heart. Even though Glenda had turned into some kind of harpy, I couldn’t just instantly fall out of love with the woman who’d been my wife only a short while ago.