It’s a friday night in July. Two women are sitting across from each other on a train bound for the Hamptons. About 30 minutes out of Penn Station, the women who has been doing most of the talking says to her less attractive friend; “I was talking about Sharon’s boyfriend and he said, ‘can I tell her you said that?’”
“Oh my god,” says her friend, who seems genuinely shocked.
The woman flips her long hair back over her shoulder and continues the narration. “Then he asked me to tell SHARON what I just told HIM, because he says HE can’t get through to her AT ALL.”
“He should be disBARred or something,” says the friend, who is obviously disgusted with ‘him’.
The woman leans forward and wipes nervously at the lipstick which has collected in the outside creases of her mouth. She rubs her thumb and index finger together to disperse the lipstick and holds up her hands in the stop position. “Then—-are you ready for this-—he asked me what I was doing that night.”
“No way,” says the friend who is hanging on the next detail.
The woman pauses to rummage through her handbag and comes up with a plastic water bottle. It’s black and has the logo of a sports drink printed on the side in florescent green. The woman looks like she exercises frequently. She’s wearing lycra leggings with a reflective racing stripe down the side and a white T-shirt with the acronym DKNY printed across the breasts. “I said I was going out with Brian. And he made me say where we were going. And I said the movies. And he wanted to know which one and what time.”»
“Don’t tell me he showed up there,” says the friend. And then she sighs a little, as though she has heard the woman tell stories like this many times.
The woman pops the nipple on her water bottle and nurses at it. Then she leans forward a little. “He showed up there—-with his wife. And I was hanging on Brian’s arm.”
“Don’t TELL me he kissed you hello.”
“He kissed me hello,” the woman says, leaning back against the seat and cocking her head to the side for emphasis.
“Jesus,” says the friend, shaking her head, “WHEN are you going to get rid of that therapist?”
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