come,’ I gasp indignantly.
The queue of people in front of me turn to stare. I feel my cheeks sting beetroot. ‘It’s just been a while since I had great sex,’ I hiss defensively, shuffling forwards.
‘You and me both, honey,’ mutters a fifty-something waitress, barging past with a tray of matzo-ball soup.
‘How²€in Light" [How long’s a while?’ persists Robyn, looking concerned.
‘Oh, you know . . .’
Ten years, pipes up a little voice in my head. Ten years since Italy. Since Nathaniel. Since you had great, mind-blowing, knock-your-socks-off sex.
‘A few months,’ I say firmly. Well, that’s ridiculous. I must have had great orgasmic sex since then. What about Sean . . .? Or before that there was Anthony . . . Or even the fling with the Scottish guy on my holiday to Spain when I was twenty-five. I can’t remember his name, but I remember he made this really funny noise when we did it, sort of like a squeaking . . .
Oh God. It’s true. It’s been ten years. Ten years without an orgasm.
Well, not strictly.
‘Masturbation doesn’t count, by the way,’ says Robyn, interrupting my thoughts.
‘It doesn’t?’
The hope in my voice is audible.
‘Nuh-uh.’ She shakes her head, her eyes flashing with amusement. Then suddenly a thought seems to hit her and her face fills with comprehension. ‘Oh my God, it’s him, isn’t it?’ she says in a hushed voice. ‘He was the last time.’
‘Who?’ I try to play dumb. I’m terrible. Annie was my only good role.
‘The guy from Italy. Your everlasting love. The One.’
Put like that, it sounds more than ridiculous. It sounds pathetic.
‘Don’t be silly. He’s not my everlasting love.’ I give a scornful little laugh.
‘But you said—’
‘Hey, lady!’
Our conversation is interrupted by a loud holler and I glance up to see a sullen man behind the counter scowling at me. It’s the same sullen man who serves me every day. I’ve never yet seen him smile or heard him grunt more than a couple of words. He jerks his bald head. This, I’ve learned, is my cue to order.
‘One matzo-ball soup and a pastrami on rye,’ I reply. I feel a beat of pleasure. Gosh, listen to me – I sound like a true New Yorker. Pastrami on rye. To think that not long ago I was in M&S buying a sandwich from the Count on Us range.
The sullen man grunts and starts carving up big chunks of pastrami.
‘Oh, and a tuna melt,’ I add.
As you can see, my Count on Us days are long behind me. Tuna melts, I’ve discovered, are the most delicious things. Who would have thought melted cheese on tuna could be such a winning combo?
He scowls, scribbles something on a piece of paper, which he stuffs through a hatch, and turns back to the heap of pastrami he’s carved.
‘Thanks.’ I smile brightly and turn back to Robyn, who’s having trouble deciding what to order. ‘Look, I said a lot of things the other night,’ I say dismissively. ‘Like he married another woman, remember?’
She looks at me for a moment as if she’s weighing me up. ‘You know, if you’re unable to reach orgasm, it might be because you’re still in love with someone else,’ she says pointedly.
‘What part of “he’s married” didn’t you understand?’ I say equally as pointedly.
She opens her mouth to protest, then thinks again and gives a reluctant sigh of defeat. ‘Jeez, that sucks. It was such a romantic story,’ she says sadly.
‘So is Romeo and Juliet,’ I reply, as we move towards the cash register, ‘and that didn’t turn out so well either.’ I hand my receipt to the teller.
‘That’ll be twenty-two dollars and forty-five cents,’ he says, ringing it up.
‘Haven’t we met before?’
In the middle of digging out my purse, I look up to see Robyn throwing a toothpaste-ad smile at the man behind the cash register. Well, I say man, but he can’t be older than about twenty. Gawkily tall with dark hair and a bum-fluff moustache, he smiles nervously.
‘We have?’ he asks uncertainly. He looks slightly afraid. As if he’s going to get busted for doing something.
‘It’s Harold, right?’
‘Um . . . no, it’s Anthony. You must have got me mixed up with som¨€d up with [om¨eone else.’
‘Oh. sorry, my mistake.’ She smiles apologetically and turns back to me. The smile immediately falls from her face. ‘Damn, he was kinda cute.’
‘So you haven’t given up yet?’
‘Of course not!’ She looks astonished that I could even ask such a question. ‘If he’s my destiny, I’m not