by Sarah Title
Good work, she said to Colin. But not out loud. She didn’t want him to get any ideas about her having a type.
Besides, he’d set her up with handsome guys before. She didn’t want to get her hopes up.
“Kind of a hipster,” Colin said.
“Don’t be jealous. Not everyone can pull off tattoos, you know.”
“Hey, I have tattoos.”
“You do?”
He just winked at her and shoved her out of the car.
* * *
It was crowded at the Palace of Fine Arts. Bernie thought that was because it was a nice day—any sunny, relatively warm day tended to drive San Franciscans outdoors in droves—but it turned out that was wrong. Well, it was a nice day, but it was also someone’s wedding day.
“Oh,” she said as they approached the pond that the giant, domed palace overlooked. “So much for a walk.”
She tried not to look too disappointed, especially since she knew every minute feeling she ever had showed on her face. But she and Ben were having fun together. He was funny and smart and he told her all about the absconding lead singer, but he made it sound like one of those life experiences that a guy feels grateful for in retrospect. He had a pleasantly chill outlook on life, but not so chill that Bernie thought he was one of those hipster slackers that Marcie liked to date.
He could be a good match for her, she found herself thinking.
Which was the first time she had thought that in the dozen or so dates she’d been on.
Huh, she thought. So that’s why people do this stuff.
All of this in the first ten minutes of the date.
And now it was over. Or at least they’d have to revise the plan. She wondered where Colin was. Surely he’d help them come up with a backup plan.
“Well, should we find a coffee shop or something?” she suggested. She didn’t really want to find a coffee shop. It was a sunny day, and almost even warm out. The swans that swam in the pond were reflected in the still water.
“I don’t know. It’s a nice day for a wedding.”
“Yeah, they’re lucky.”
“Seems a shame to miss it.”
“Yeah . . . wait, what?”
Ben had a devilish grin on that handsome face.
“No,” she said. “We can’t.”
“Why not? This place is always open to the public.”
There were people milling about, walking through the architecture. Most of them were clearly not dressed for a wedding. Unlike Bernie and Ben.
“I’m wearing a tie,” Ben pointed out. “And you look gorgeous.”
“But we weren’t invited. We don’t even know these people.”
“You don’t know that. We don’t even know whose wedding it is.”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t know anyone who can afford a wedding at the Palace of Fine Arts, do you?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? This city is full of secret trust fund babies. Just be cool, act like we belong.”
“But—”
“Come on, it will be a great story to tell our grandchildren.”
Grandchildren. Bernie wasn’t even sure if she wanted children, but when Ben said it, she felt warm and gooey inside. He took her hand, and she didn’t resist as he pulled her toward the empty chairs at the back of the wedding.
* * *
Colin watched Hipster Ben and Bernie walk toward the wedding. Oh, no, he thought. They’re going to make a scene. Or Bernie’s going to run away and break her legs on those heels. They were nice legs; he didn’t want them to break.
Where had that thought come from?
They were nice legs, but this was Bernie. He didn’t think about Bernie’s legs. He didn’t think about Bernie holding hands with another guy and how lucky that guy was. Sure, she was great—most of the time—but his whole point was to exercise her dating muscle and prove to the world that there is no such thing as undateable. Watching them take their seats—well, not their seats, but the nearest empty seats—at the back of the wedding, he should have been happy. He was doing his job. This would be a great story, provided they didn’t get arrested for trespassing. Actually, that would make a great story. He wondered if events here were open to the public. He pulled out his phone to look it up, while the ceremony began.
* * *
Bernie had never laughed so much in her life. At least that’s how she felt as Ben led her off the dance floor after the DJ played a particularly rousing chicken dance. She was crashing a wedding. With a handsome guy who knew how to chicken dance.
“Do you want something to drink?” Ben asked.
“Yes, but don’t leave me here alone.”
“You’re fine,” he said, and before she could protest, he disappeared into the crowd at the open bar.
Look natural, she told herself. Look like you belong at this wedding.
“Hi!”
She turned to face a woman, much younger than she, with blond straight hair and lots of eye makeup who was wobbling like she was a little drunk. A bridesmaid. Oh, God, Bernie thought. We’re caught. Be cool, she reminded herself.
“Hi,” she said, totally cool.
“Who are you?” The bridesmaid squinted at her.
“Um, I’m a cousin.”
“Ooooh, are you Diana’s cousin from Oregon?”
“Yup.”
“That’s so weird. Diana said you were a bitch.”
Well. There you go.
“No, I’m the other cousin. That one is totally a bitch.”
“Oh my God, thank God! You totally don’t look like a bitch! I love your dress.”
“Thanks. I, uh. Yours is nice, too.”
“Psh, it’s terrible. Diana is all ‘It’s totally worth the investment because you can wear it again!’ When am I ever going to wear a violet dress again?”
It did look a little . . . elderly. Bridesmaid looked like she had one of those figures that would look good in anything, but even she wasn’t quite pulling off the giant bow at the waist.
“It’s Fritz Bernaise, as if that matters. It’s ugly, and it was really expensive. My parents were pissed.”
“That you had to wear such an ugly dress?”
“That they had to pay for it. I’m not a trust fund baby like Diana.”
Uh-huh. Secret trust fund babies.
“And”—bridesmaid leaned in uncomfortably close to Bernie—“the bow is supposed to go in the back, but Diana made us wear them in the front. Even though we look pregnant.”
“Bitch.”
“Yeah, she’s the one who’s pregnant!” Bridesmaid gasped and slopped her drink. “Don’t tell her I told you.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m so glad I met you, Diana’s cousin. You are so not a bitch.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m going to tell Diana that.”
“No, no. Let’s not tell Diana I’m here. We’ll just keep my niceness a secret.”
Bridesmaid threw her head back in laughter. “You are so funny!”
Bernie looked around nervously to see if anyone had caught the fact that this drunken bridesmaid was talking to someone nobody recognized. But before she could make even a small scan of the room, she was enveloped in a bow-crushing hug.
“I love you, Diana’s cousin. I wish you were my cousin.”
Bernie patted her back. “Okay.”
“Will you come to my wedding?”
“Uh, sure.”
“I love you.”
“Okay. I love you, too.”
“You’re so pretty.”
“Thanks.”
“You smell so good.”
This was getting weird.
“Can I cut in?” It was Ben, back to save her from the clingy bridesmaid.
“Oh my God, you’re hot. Diana’s cousin, is this your boyfriend?”
Ben put his arm around her and said, “Yup.”
“Oh my God, I want to rip your pants off!”
Bernie looked up at Ben with a mixture of alar
m and amusement. He looked back at her with mostly alarm.
“Hey, maybe later,” Bernie said. “We’re gonna dance.”
“Oh! Yes! I want to dance!”
“Um, this is a two-person dance,” she said gently.
Bridesmaid stood there, staring at them, for what felt like two whole minutes.
“You know what, Diana’s cousin? You are a bitch. You are uninvited from my wedding.” And she stormed off in her dyed-to-match shoes.
“What was that all about?” Ben asked, not taking his arm from her shoulder. She didn’t make any move to get out of it.
“Just making friends.”
“With the bridal party? Damn, girl, you’re more adventurous than I thought.”
He put their drinks on a nearby table and turned into her so they were front to front, ready for the DJ to stop playing nineties nostalgia music so they could slow dance.
The DJ did not comply.
Bernie looked over Ben’s shoulder, where her bridesmaid was crying to the bride and a woman who looked over at her with a pinch-faced grimace. Uh-oh, she thought. That must be the bitchy cousin.
“Hey, do you want to get out of here?” Ben whispered in her ear.
“Yes, definitely,” Bernie said. This was enough adventure for one night.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dear Maria,
I went out with this really great guy last weekend, and it was the best first date of my life. There was instant chemistry. We like the same bands and the restaurant was really romantic and we went out dancing afterward and he is not a total idiot on the dance floor. So when he asked me if I wanted to come over for a drink, I said yes. And then I slept with him.
Now he hasn’t called me. My friends say it’s because I slept with him too fast. But he was so cute, and we had such a great time! Is it okay to sleep with someone on the first date?
Horny in the Lower Haight
Dear Horny,
I get this question way more often than seems reasonable to me. The reason I think people should stop asking me this question is that it is the 21st century, and, no matter what Congress says, women have control of their own bodies. So, if a woman wants to sleep with a consenting adult, even if she hasn’t known said adult for very long, then yes, it is okay. The reason it is okay is because adults can make decisions and can express their attraction to each other by getting naked, and it hasn’t ended the world so far, so we’re probably fine.
So, to answer the first question that I think you are really asking me, no, it is not slutty to sleep with a guy on the first date. The reason it is not slutty is because there is no such thing as slutty. There is sexually active, and there is the label that society unfairly pins on young women who express their natural sexual activeness by having sex. I could go into the whole thing about how women are sluts but men are studs, but we’ve all been there, done that, got the T-shirt, as the kids used to say. (I don’t remember when kids used to say this, but surely there was a time?)
The second thing you are really saying is that what you’ve done—naturally and consentingly—must have been wrong because your slutty date has not called you for a second round of mutual sluttitude. That, my dear, is not a matter of your doing something wrong. That is a matter of managing expectations. Having sex with someone does not induce instant monogamy. I’m sure your vagina is magical and that this is what you expected, but the fact of the matter is, you had a lovely time with your young man, but there was no deeper conversation about relationship expectations. If you slept with him because you thought it was the only way to get him to call you again, well, my dear, you are stupid.
Now, does this mean that this man is not rude? No, it does not. It’s not very nice to put one’s body parts into a virtual stranger’s body parts without so much as a how do you do afterward. Does this mean that he should be tarred and feathered and shamed on social media? No. Please see above, vis-à-vis two consenting adults. Does this mean that, should you run into said young man again, you should go home with him again, expecting him to call the next day? No. But did you meet a nice guy and get your world nicely rocked? Yes. You should leave it at that.
Kisses,
Maria
MARIA WAS STARTING TO GET STRANGE.
She’d always been a fiery, independent-minded old broad, but this . . . Maria was starting to talk like Bernie.
He should rewrite the column. But he didn’t have time because he had an Undateable deadline and he had barely written a word of the story that was his actual work that he actually got paid for. It was Bernie’s fault. She was supposed to have met him twenty minutes ago to debrief and to get ready for tonight’s date, but she hadn’t shown up yet. She’d replied to his text this morning, so he knew she wasn’t dead. She was probably just busy bonking that hipster band loser.
No, wait, the hipster hairdresser ex-band loser.
Not that Colin knew for sure that Bernie had gone home with him. He’d just lost track of them, that was all. He didn’t know how she and what’s-his-name had snuck into the reception, but Colin hadn’t gotten past the front door. It didn’t help that his beat-up jeans and T-shirt sort of pegged him as not a wedding guest. That still didn’t take the sting out of it.
He was cool, dammit. He could get in anywhere.
So he waited outside like a creep, but then the sun went down and he got cold, so he went into a bar down the street for warmth and beer. He texted the name of the bar to Bernie, telling her to meet him there when the date was over. He drank two beers before she wrote back, and all she said was that she could get home on her own. Which was fine, because she lived out of the way. He could just walk home from here. But then he saw her and Ben walking down the sidewalk, Ben’s arm all cozy around her shoulders, and it was all he could do not to chase her down the sidewalk and ask her what this was all about.
He knew what it was all about. He’d been on dates before. The way they were smiling at each other, they had that good date vibe that meant they weren’t quite ready for the night to end. Maybe they were going into a different bar for a drink. But then they hopped into a cab. So either they were taking a cab to a different bar, or she was going home with this guy.
If he’d been on a date with a girl who put a smile like that on his face, he’d want to take her home, too.
But he wasn’t even mad about that. He didn’t care what she did with her body parts. She could sleep with the whole city of San Francisco. He didn’t care.
He didn’t care.
He totally didn’t care.
No, what he cared about was that she was late. Didn’t his time mean anything to her? Did she think he would just wait around all day for her? That he had nothing better to do? Just because he didn’t, that didn’t mean she should think so.
Just when his righteous indignation was reaching its boiling point, the bell above the café door dinged and she walked in. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun and she was wearing jeans and an oversized sweater and a bright grin on her face.
He did not care.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “Is it okay if I get a coffee? I’m dying for one.”
“It’s two in the afternoon. You haven’t had coffee yet?”
“I’m just pooped,” she said, and popped over to the counter where he heard her cheerfully order a latte with an extra shot.
“That’s fine. I don’t want anything,” he said.
“Sorry, did you want something?” she said and there was definitely a gleam in her eye. Great, now she was laughing at him. She was late, and she was laughing at him.
He so did not care.
“No.” He picked up his empty coffee cup and put it down again. Well, he didn’t need more coffee. It was two in the afternoon. What did she think he was, some kind of writer?
Maybe he could start drinking whiskey.
Maybe that was what it was about Bernie. She made him want to drink. Maybe if he drank more around her, she wouldn’t be so annoying. Then he could be like a
real writer. Like Hemingway.
Yeah, Hemingway.
“Mmm. Yes. Caffeine.” Bernie sat across from him at the table. She was probably going to burn her mouth on that latte.
Good.
He didn’t care.
“Are you okay?” she asked him. What kind of question was that? he thought.
“Yes.”
“Okay. You look like maybe you ate something bad.”
“How come you’re in such a good mood?”
She stretched her arms out over her head and smiled. “I had fun last night. When I saw the wedding, I thought for sure the date was over, or at least it was going to turn into a boring coffee date.”
“What’s wrong with a coffee date?”
“I never in a million years would have thought that I would crash a wedding! So crazy.”
“Yeah, so fun to ruin someone’s perfect day.”
“Psh, they barely noticed. You’re just mad because you couldn’t get in.”
“I am not!” Ha, what did she know? He didn’t care at all. “Anyway, I’m glad you had fun with Ben. I thought for sure he’d be too much of a loser for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, with all those tattoos and the hair and he’s in an art rock band! He’s trying a little hard, don’t you think?”
“That’s not very nice, not when you don’t even know him. Whoa, do you think we switched bodies last night?”
“I hope not.”
“Well, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to catch up with you after the wedding. But I had fun. And now I’m ready for my next date.”
“What about Ben? Don’t you want to see him again?”
She shrugged. “I thought this was a one-date-only situation.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Anyway, he’s moving to Berlin.”
“Germany?”
“Yeah. At the end of the month. So there’s no sense getting involved.”
“Should’ve thought of that before last night.”
She picked up her mug, then put it down before taking a sip. “I know you’re not trying to slut-shame me right now,” she said.