Olivia sat down at the bar and ordered a cappuccino. “No. Changed my mind.” She was so vulnerable, she was sure if George asked her on a date she would say yes. She may even go to bed with him. To her relief, he didn't ask. Beaten into submission after years of refusal, he'd managed to move on. He was now dating Anna, a pretty German who gave him more than she took.
“You don't look well. Are you okay?” he asked. She didn't want to cry, but the urge to do so was so overwhelming. She couldn't stop the sudden torrent of tears that rolled over her face. “Don't cry. Talk to me,” George said.
“I've fallen hopelessly in love with a man I hardly know, a man who doesn't care about me,” she sobbed. George, all too aware that women didn’t need to be given solutions, just an understanding ear, waited until she spoke again. “I've been so dumb. I hate feeling like this; I wish I could press a button and turn my feelings off.”
“Is he a nice guy?”
“No, he isn't. He's handsome, assertive, and very rich, but I wouldn't say he's nice.”
George got up and began to make her some coffee. “If he isn't nice, why do you love him?”
“That's the point: I don't know. It's irrational, one of those things I can't explain.”
He poured the hot milk into a mug, added the coffee, and stirred. “Here. You'll feel better after one of my world-famous cappuccinos.”
“Thanks. You're a good man, George. I'm sorry I have been such a bitch to you over the years.”
He chuckled. “You haven't. You're like a sister to me. I've realized that now. If you really want this guy, as far as I can see, you have two options. Either you do cold turkey and forget him, or you make him fall in love with you,” he said, unable to resist the urge to solve her situation.
“I guess. I don't think I'm strong enough to forget him. He's so...” She couldn't find the right word.
“Fucking hot?” George said in an attempt to assist her.
“Yes, but more than that. Shit, I can't put my finger on it, but there's something about him that drives me wild.”
“Then make him fall for you. Go for it.”
“And how do you expect me to do that?”
That part of the solution was more difficult, and he didn't have an answer. “I'm sure you'll think of something.”
*****
“So, Olivia, thank you for coming to see us today. I must say we are very impressed with your college grades and the trial piece you wrote for us. What makes you think you are the best person for the job?” Gretta Starr asked.
Olivia had wondered if the name Gretta Starr was a real name or a name she used professionally as an editor for New York Street Scene. When she'd seen the job ad for a junior journalist, Olivia had sent an application immediately. It was just the kind of job she wanted. What could be better than writing about up-and-coming New York musicians?
Gretta was somewhere toward the end of her thirties, and she looked the part. Olivia would have guessed she was in publishing just by looking at her. It was her short dark hair and the designer glasses that gave it away. She was thin, and Olivia would have wagered all she had on her being a feminist.
“That's a difficult question to answer,” Olivia started. “I am confident that my application is the best because my grades at college were the best the Boston School of Journalism has ever had. I am a curious person by nature. All I ever want to do is get to the bottom of a story. I like in-depth reporting, which seems to be the kind of journalism your magazine covets.”
“Thank you, Olivia. Mark, do you have any questions?” Gretta asked. Mark Goldsmith looked up from his notepad and nodded.
“Olivia, I would like to ask you what you would do if one of the musicians we reported on asked you on a date.”
Why he'd asked that question, she had no idea. What should she answer? “I'd say no, because I have a high standard of professionalism,” she replied.
“Great. That's just what I wanted to hear. If we give you the job, you'll get hit on all the time. I can see you're a very attractive woman. Bear in mind that most of our interviewees are young and horny. You'll get hit on by both sexes, just so you're aware of that.”
“Wow. I had no idea. Thanks for telling me,” Olivia said. Her mind conjured up an image of the lead singer in a lesbian punk band trying to seduce her.
“Olivia, I will be he honest with you. We want you on board. You are by far the best candidate. What do you say?” Gretta asked.
“I'd love to work with you. Thank you. When do I start?”
“How about Monday?”
On the flight back to Boston, Olivia wondered how she was going to find a place in New York and move her stuff into it in six days. When she got off the plane, she rang an agent and put her house up for rent. She asked the same agent to find her a place in New York.
Olivia spent a few days sorting through her things. When the postman knocked on her door, he handed her a package from Amazon. It was what she'd been waiting for. She opened it and eagerly sat down to read How to Make a Man Love You by Ralph Penworthy. She finished the book in an afternoon and threw it in the garbage, regretting the five dollars it had cost her.