Blake Simmons - The girlfriend_s lesson

"It comes down to compatibility… and Roy and I aren't…" A dour expression brought a far away look to Julie's eyes, as though she were focusing on something only she could see.

The vested waiter standing over her with a tray in his hand asked if she'd like a refill on her burgundy, but she didn't hear him. The buxom brown-eyed woman beside her signaled the impatient man with a shoo of her hand, then returned her pensive gaze to her distraught friend who looked as though she'd been waging an emotional war against something she was too weak to conquer.

True, Julie hadn't been her convivial self lately and, loving nothing better than a little friendly gossip, Ertha had insisted Julie enjoy the afternoon over a glass of burgundy wine at Henry's outdoor restaurant where leisure was king and more than one illicit affair had erupted hot and smoky from the tables sizzling with "who's fucking who" in round-robin gossip.

Besides, Ertha would have felt selfish hoarding the attention from the parade of eligible businessmen strutting their stuff in Gucci shoes and pin-striped suits as they dotted the tables surrounding her, shooting salacious grins in the direction of the black-haired vixen whose amulets and rings caught the shimmering sunlight in penetrating streaks that made any man sit up straight and take notice. For Ertha was more than a woman; she was a sexy witch with an aura of availability that no man, no matter how in love with his wife, could deny.

"I'm sorry, honey, now what were you saying…?" Ertha pulled her gaze from a table in the corner where last week's prey sat bored and rotting inside from his wife's dull company. Ertha took vain delight in the power she weighed over men: but now she cut it short and repeated her question, this time nudging Julie by the elbow to bring her back from her melancholic reverie that veiled her in a dark shawl of misery. "For God's sakes, Julie, it can't be all that bad… I mean now can you get hung up on one man when there's an ocean of them right here at your feet?" She tutted to her friend, then shot a warming smile at a man she'd been plotting to meet for the past week.

"I'm just tired… I didn't sleep a wink last night," Julie started, taking another sip of her wine, embarrassed to discover the glass had been drained on the last weary gulp.

Ertha rested her hand on Julie's slender arm, her bracelets twinkling as if to say, "Nothing is worth the misery, honey."

"Listen, Julie, I've known you since college and I know what your problem is… you're a martyr. God, look at all you've given up for that creep Roy. And what has he given you in return? Sure, so you went to a couple of neat parties, but you didn't have a chance to get loose or meet any of the musicians he was snorting cocaine with. Right? You told me so yourself, Julie."

Her friend shrugged. "Yes, that's what happened all right. I found out later he was in the lady's room smoking dope with one of those rock n' roll queenies." She closed her eyes and shook her head, then forced a pained smile that didn't last long. Her pixie face soured into a frozen grimace of faithless endurance as if she was waiting to be struck once more… to prove the misery she felt was real and deserved. The men around her noticed, too, and chose not to pursue interest in the petite looking woman whose China Doll sophistication contrasted so sharply with the sultry woman seated next to her.

Sipping from her water glass, she bolstered her strength and continued. "That seems to be happening a lot lately. We go places together, rarely and I end up watching his camera case while he goes off flirting with every woman around. I feel like an old hag, and I'm not even married! Whoever said living with a man was bliss, was full of shit!" she blurted out of control.

"Come on. Don't waste your energy on him, Julie. Quit being such a martyr and have another glass of wine with me. It's Friday. Time to celebrate and be happy." She waved to the waiter for a refill, then turned her attention back to Julie. "How's Roy's photography business going? Has he done any album covers lately?"

Julie shook her head, her poodley blonde curls vibrating. "No, that doesn't seem to be happening. He's been spending all his time trying to get some things in men's magazines. Porno is where the money is at, so he says." Julie drew a deep breath. "Okay, if you really want to know the dirt, Ertha, here it is. He's been hanging out every night in those sleazy clubs down on Broadway trying to find nude models who'll pose for him. Sometimes he doesn't get home till four o'clock in the morning and when he does, he's drunk and nasty." With her finger, Julie traced a carved heart on the marred table top, then half whispered. "I don't think I can stand it much longer, Ertha, but I don't know what to do. I can't afford to move out, but living with him is hell!"

"Well, I've never met a photographer I've trusted yet, Julie. They're all voyeurs for one thing, and for another they've all been afraid to admit to what they really want… and that includes what they want from women. They're fucked up, pure and simple. Just fucked up."

Julie bit into her lower lip, trying to gain control. Anger was not her mode of expression, nor was pouting. She'd tried to play it straight with Roy, promising not to date other men, even though they were only living together and not married, but enough was enough. "What bothers me most, Ertha," she started with pained confidence in her voice, "is that he spends all of his time trying to make other women look sexy and feel sexy, but he does nothing for me. God, it's really hard to admit… I mean my ego has been nowhere for so long, that I was beginning to feel really… ugly." She swallowed hard and moved her empty wine glass to the right of her stained napkin making room for the waiter to serve the next round.

"Go on…" said Ertha delving in her handbag for her wallet, flashing her rings as she did so. Julie caught a glimpse of the dime-sized turquoise ring sporting her best friend's middle finger and wondered where her unemployed friend had the money to buy it, but said nothing.

As Ertha slapped a two dollar bill on the tray and pulled her chair back in closer to the table, Julie resumed her scattered thoughts. "Oh, yes, as I was saying, he spends all his time making these other women appealing, and anytime I bring it up, he tells me I'm a nag and that I'm paranoid. Says he's just trying to make some money and then he goes on his tirade about how hard it is being a freelance photographer in this city…"

"That's all meaningless, Julie. Take it from a woman who knows. There's only one way a man can prove his true affection for a woman… and that's in bed. You used to tell me how you two spend half your lives in bed together. Now if that's still the case, then don't worry about a thing…" she pried, her deep eyes studying Julie's timid ones. "My philosophy has always been that as long as you get satisfied, it doesn't matter what else he'd doing… how many women he fucks in a day or sees naked."

Julie drew another deep breath and calmed herself with a sip of wine. "Our love life used to be unparalleled. God, even Cleopatra didn't get laid as many times as I did in one day. We lost half our friends because we spent all of our time together in bed." Her shoulders drooped wearily. "Now, now I have to beg him for it!"

"Hit yourself again, lady! Are you masochistic or what?" wailed Ertha incredulously, leaning over the table so that her richly browned breasts nearly tumbled out of the low cut rose-colored wrap-around tunic she wore. "Love is what keeps you young. Man, at the rate you're going, you'll be eighty before you're thirty! It's all so simple, honey. If he's not giving it to you, go out and get it from somebody else."