At 8:30, John walked into Republic, a popular restaurant that was a short walk from his SoHo apartment. He found Mac at the bar, talking to two attractive girls. One was blonde (probably dyed, but a quality job) with a cute button nose and unkempt hair. It didn’t look like she was wearing any make-up. The other one had dark-brown features, captivating eyes, and high cheekbones. Southern European descent John guessed, much more his type. The brunette looked like she was in her late 20s; the blonde perhaps a little younger.

“Hey, dude,” Mac greeted him.

“How’s things?” John asked, casually.

“Good.”

John bent his head away from the girls so they would be out of earshot as he whispered to Mac, “Who are they?”

“No idea,” Mac said with a smirk. “Just met ‘em.”

John nodded his approval.

John had known Mac for almost 10 years. They had met on the bank’s corporate finance graduate training program. While John had gone on to make a career at the bank, Mac had lasted only six months in Mergers and Acquisitions, where the regular workday lasted a minimum of 12 hours. “It was cramping my style,” he explained to John after he resigned and moved on to stock broking, finding the hours and lifestyle much more to his liking. He bought and sold shares for hedge funds and boutique professional money managers, which meant his currency was in rumors and access to the best clubs and beautiful women. John thought it absurd that someone got paid so well to show his clients a good time.

A waitress seated them in Republic’s best booth, leaving the girls behind at the bar. While they enjoyed their prime cuts of aged Angus beef, they chatted briefly about the bad run the Giants were having before Mac pointedly changed the subject.

“I read about Wellco in the Journal,” he began. “Any chance of them selling high enough to make something for their struggling shareholders?” Wellco was the healthcare company John’s team was trying to buy, whose stock price had been trading at a penny. Effectively bankrupt, Wellco hadn’t yet filed for Chapter 11. Instead, it was up for sale and trying to sell off its assets to raise capital to pay off its debts.

John frowned. Mac’s question had put him on the spot. He couldn’t talk about work; it would breach his confidentiality obligations to the bank, as well as being technically illegal.

“I can’t talk about it,” John said, in a low voice.

“Sure,” said Mac, sounding earnest. “But I’ve heard rumors that the sale process will easily bring in more than the debt, so I’m going to pick up some shares. Keep an ear out for me if it looks like going bad.”

John fought with his loyalties. He knew there was no way the sale process was going to raise more money than the debt. The shareholders would get zip, and the shares were worthless.

“I’d invest your money in real companies with a future and leave the distressed businesses to me,” he offered up, cautiously.

Mac searched John’s face for clues.

John swiftly changed the subject, filling Mac in on that morning’s episode. While John had never introduced Mac to Crystal, he had given him a running commentary throughout the fling. Mac supported the hard line John had taken and went on to give his opinion on needy women. John had learned shortly after meeting Mac that he had no morals. He also had a habit of talking on any subject as if he had a PhD in it, whether the subject was rocket science, the secret to dating women or the direction of the stock market.

After they’d finished their meal and a bottle of Merlot, Mac’s attention moved back to the girls, who were still standing by the bar.

“Which one do you want?” Mac asked.

John feigned a lack of preference despite a natural desire for the brunette.

“I’ll take the blonde,” said Mac, eagerly, flashing a determined smile. John followed a few paces behind as Mac led the way back to the women.

“Hey ladies,” greeted Mac.

“How was your dinner?” the blonde asked as Mac claimed his spot beside her.

“Good. But we’ve left room for dessert,” Mac directed at her, with a raised eyebrow. He was anything but shy.

“So where are you ladies from,” John asked the brunette, who was even more attractive on a full stomach. She wore a bright blue jacket with shoulder pads over a blouse and tight black pants.

“Philly,” she informed him. There was a touch of giddiness in her voice.

“And how long have you been in New York?”

The small talk went on until John and Mac had been filled in on the pertinent details. Linda, the brunette, had lived in New York for five years after graduating from Penn State. She worked in fashion and had just started a new job at Macy’s as a buyer. Heather, the blonde, was Linda’s freshman roommate and had moved up to New York six months ago after splitting with her long-term boyfriend. She worked in P.R. and had found a low rung position at a high flying firm—almost as high as her miniskirt.

“And where are you from?” the brunette quizzed Mac before sucking dry her Long Island Iced Tea through the clear plastic straw.

“New York. Why?” Mac sounded taken aback.

“You sound a little West Coast.”

“You’re close, but a little too far south,” John offered up, enjoying Mac’s discomfort. “He’s a Portland boy originally.” Mac audibly winced. He’d only lived there until he was 14, when his father’s job relocated them to the East coast. He therefore considered himself as much a New Yorker as if he’d been born in The Bronx, Brooklyn, Manhattan, or Queens.

“So what do you guys do?” Heather asked Mac, allowing him to bounce back with gusto.

“I’m a stockbroker and John’s an investment banker.”

John didn’t react; he even tried to feign the irrelevance of his job to himself. He both enjoyed and hated the term “investment banker” and the cachet that came with it.

Mac proceeded to talk about his work, the more glamorous aspects of it, which seemed to enthrall both girls. This allowed John a few moments to distance himself from the conversation and reflect. He found the brunette attractive—she was obviously good looking and her profession was acceptable enough, but the business of fashion didn’t hold much interest for him.

He allowed his mind to drift back to that morning’s episode.

How do you tell someone not to get too attached?

The only way to have casual sex without someone getting hurt was for everyone to be clear about their expectations. Maybe it wasn’t even his problem. If she’d assumed they were exclusive, then that’s a conclusion she’d jumped to. He hadn’t led her on, he was sure about that. And anyway, the chemistry had died.

Why do women always want fireworks and romance, but when a guy wants chemistry he’s an asshole? And how else do you know if there’s chemistry or fireworks unless you have sex?

John fleetingly considered sharing the Crystal story with the girls to get their opinion, but thought better of it.

“Let’s go to Nell’s,” Mac was suggesting as John came back to the present.

“What’s Nell’s?” Linda asked.

“The hottest club in town,” Mac said nonchalantly. “It’s over in the meatpacking district.”

Heather looked alarmed.

“Is it safe?” she asked, lowering her voice a little. The area had a solid reputation for drug dealing and prostitution. It had changed somewhat in the last year. Several gay clubs had opened up and like bees to honey, the advertising and media crowd, along with wanna-be trendy’s, were starting to party there too.

“If you stick with us,” Mac grinned.

The four of them took a cab along Houston, then up West Street towards 14th. Following a short conversation between Mac and the doorman, they were waved through a long line of envious clubbers. Mac then went straight to the bar to take care of the drinks, leaving John with the girls.

John had never been great with women in nightclubs, preferring to have conversations over dinner or in a quiet bar or lounge. He didn’t care for small talk and he hated shouting above the thumping music. Thankfully, the girls seemed engrossed in their own conversation, leaving John to survey their surroundings. It was a while since he’d been to a club; everyone looked younger than he remembered.

Mac returned with the drinks: four tequila shots, three vodkas with various mixers, and a scotch and Coke for John.

John frowned at the thought of another tequila night with Mac; wary of the wasted Sunday he’d spend tomorrow.

After throwing down his shot, Mac took a swig of his vodka and suggested they dance.

They moved onto the laser-lit floor and found themselves squeezed amongst the other groovers. John went through the motions of dancing, trying not to feel self-conscious; swinging his hips, shuffling his feet, and trying to coordinate his arms to the rhythm of En Vogue’s latest Billboard chart topper. He wasn’t embarrassing himself, but he wasn’t shining either. But it wasn’t his thing; the dance floor was much more Mac's playground.

When “I’m too sexy for my shirt …” boomed over the speakers, Linda and Heather started squealing and bouncing up and down to the beat of Right Said Fred’s number-one hit. John took it as his cue to head back to the bar. Mac joined him a few songs later, alone.

“Where are the girls?” John said.

“Powdering their noses,” Mac said with a wink. He grabbed the barman’s attention and ordered, “Four tequila shots, three vodkas and a scotch and Coke—thanks, dude.”

“Hold the scotch and Coke,” John instructed the barman before turning to Mac and indicating his still three-quarter-full glass. “I’ve gotta work tomorrow.”

“Work-schmerk, big guy. You gotta live in the moment before you burn out.”

Mac had arrived at his “live life to the fullest” phase of the evening, which John had noticed usually began after Mac had done a line or two. John wasn’t interested in coke, especially after witnessing its effects on his colleagues and friends. It turned them into arrogant neurotic assholes for the most part. He’d tried it once, but it seemed like a lot of money to pay for confidence he already possessed. And he didn’t like to lose control. Besides, half of his male friends said they took it because it made sex so much better and John needed no help in that department.

When Heather and Linda came back, Mac handed round the tequila shots and then raised his glass, making a toast to new friends. Each of them grimaced in their own way as they threw down the liquor and felt the burn in the backs of their throats. To ease the momentary scorching, John sucked on the slice of lemon Mac handed him.

“Remind me why we like tequila,” John asked.

“Because we’re young and single,” Mac said, before glancing at his watch. “Speaking of which,” he looked apologetically at Heather, “I gotta run. I have to meet some clients at a new place downtown.”

John was surprised. He assumed Mac would be taking Heather home.

“You wanna come?” Mac then said to John, which seemed even more dismissive of the girls.

“I’ll pass,” John announced, after a slight pause.

“Suit yourself, Champ.” Mac, said, giving him a quick back slap. He turned to Heather, “Give me your number and we’ll catch up some time,” he said without the least bit of embarrassment. Then he was gone.

John was torn between wanting sleep and wanting Linda. She was pretty and looked sexy in her body-hugging black pants. He procrastinated while the girls talked amongst themselves, slurring their words a little. John didn’t find inebriated women attractive ... unless he was drunk, too.

Finally Linda turned to John. “Let’s dance,” she suggested, looking him squarely in the eyes. He took her outstretched hand and let her lead him to the dance floor. “Rhythm is a dancer …” went the song (more of a dancer than John, that was for sure).

Linda threw her arms around his neck, pulling him tight. He smelled the alcohol on her breath. She smiled drunkenly. He looked into her sultry eyes and she glanced back. She was his to take. John smiled, still unsure of what he wanted to do.

Linda closed her eyes and moved towards him. He let it happen. The kiss was brief, sloppy, and didn’t ignite anything in him. John wiped the saliva from his mouth. It occurred to him that Mac had timed his departure impeccably.

When they returned to the bar, Heather was talking to another guy. Linda’s arm dangled around John’s neck, her hand playing with his hair as she struggled to put together coherent sentences. John’s attraction was fading fast.

Just leave, a voice inside him decreed.

“I’ve got to go,” he announced.

“I’ll come too,” Linda slurred, with a playful smile.

Heather’s new guy had just bought her a blue and pink cocktail, so she didn’t seem too bothered by her friend’s desertion. John supported Linda from the bar out onto the sidewalk. He helped her into a waiting cab. Her smile turned to confusion as soon as he slammed the door shut behind her.

John got into the cab behind and wondered why he still bothered to go out. But he knew the answer—there was no other way he was going to meet the perfect woman.

* * *

John took the Six line uptown. It was three p.m. on Sunday and he’d organized to take his niece and nephew to the park. It was a local train, stopping all stations.

While they weren’t always friends growing up, since finishing school, John and his sister Annie had become tight. His only sibling was now his closest confidant; one of the few people whose advice he listened to. She was a doctor, married to a surgeon, Hank, who John considered a decent guy, if a tad boring at times. But all in all, John was immensely proud of his sister, doing well at her job, raising two kids and from what John could see, successfully holding down a marriage. Such structure and responsibility were things he couldn’t yet imagine, though appreciated being part of when he visited.

“Hey, Sis.” They exchanged a double-cheek-European-kiss.

“Hey John. How are you?” Annie asked. She wore a bright red blouse over a pair of jeans and her shoulder length brown hair looked freshly cut.

“Good. A little tired, but fine.”

“Work or play?”

John shrugged. “A little of both.”

“Uncle John!” shouted five-year-old Joshua as he ran to him.

“Uncle John,” copied Christina, running just behind him, pig-tails flapping. She was a year and a half younger than Josh.

John gave them both a hug and a kiss. Joshua had started school this year and was already addicted to baseball. When Joshua asked if he was taking them to the park, Christina repeated what her older brother said.

John nodded. “Should we take a ball?”

Joshua ran off to get one.

“Can we play house too?” asked Christina.

“Sure.”

“Back by five for a bath and dinner,” Annie said.

“Done.”

His sister’s life was so orderly – the complete opposite of his.

After they returned from Central Park and the kids were finally in bed, John, Annie and Hank sat down to dinner. It was only 7:30, but his sister and Hank already looked exhausted. As was John. He was happy to have an early night before another big week ahead.

“Hank’s been offered a big job at the University of Illinois,” Annie said as they started on a bowl of pumpkin ravioli.

It took John a second to digest the words. “Wow.”

“It’s head of cardiothoracic at the medical center,” said Hank.

“I guess congratulations are in order.”

“Thanks,” said Hank.

“So what does this mean?”

“Well, it means Hank would run the department and also teach at the college.”

“Sounds like a big job.”

“It is. It’s a great opportunity,” Annie said.

“… and a lot of work,” John added. Annie stole a furtive glance while John digested it, a lump forming in his throat. “So you’re moving to Chicago?”

“Well, I haven’t accepted it yet,” said Hank.

“We wanted to talk to you, mom, and Hank’s family first.” Annie raised her eyebrows, as if asking for his reaction.

John didn’t see his sister every week, but he made time to visit whenever he could. He loved Joshua and Christina calling him “Uncle John” and showing so much enthusiasm when he arrived to see them. He loved taking them to the park. He loved being able to catch up with Annie now and again for lunch or dinner one-on-one. She and John were close, much closer than he was with his mother. John didn’t want Annie to be a two-hour flight away—not to mention the hour to and from JFK.

John crossed his arms. “Yeah, well I would really miss you guys and the kids.”

Annie smiled. “Well you can visit, and it’s not like we won’t come back to Manhattan. Besides, we’ll be able to get a house with a backyard for the kids.”

John shrugged. “If you want a house with a yard, move to Jersey or Long Island.”

They stared at John, expressionless.

“What about you?” he asked Annie. “Will you be able to get a job there?”

“Sure. Although I’ll take some time off and make sure the kids get settled before I look for something.” Her tone had a touch of defensiveness in it. Maybe I can sway them after all.

John knew New York wasn’t the best place for kids, although living as close to Central Park as they did, Joshua and Christina had a good life. The city had great schools and plenty of places for amusements. He’d taken the kids to the Bronx Zoo, the Children’s Museum of the Arts for painting and crafts, and Color Me Mine in Tribeca to make ceramics. Joshua had made a goblin for Halloween, and Christina had made a horse. A backyard couldn’t compensate for that, or for the proximity to their grandparents.

“Good idea,” he said. “But who will look after the kids when you’re both working?”

Annie pursed her lips.

“We’ll probably get a nanny to help out with things,” Hank said.

John tried to smile for them. “It sounds like a really good opportunity, but I imagine the long hours will take the shine off it with time.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say that,” Annie said sharply.

“I don’t have two beautiful children and a wife waiting at home for me.”

There was an awkward silence, something unusual for the three of them.

“You’re right,” said Hank. “I’ll be working longer hours, so we’ll have to make sure the kids don’t feel the change.”

After a pause, Annie asked John if he’d spoken to their mother lately.

“Not since we were last here for dinner together.”

“Still the same between you two?” Her tone had relaxed now that the subject had changed.

He shrugged. “You know how she is. I can’t stand having her play career coach all the time.” John and Annie’s mother was a hardworking, God-fearing Presbyterian who spent much of their childhood working 18-hour days, six days a week. She’d never taken a sick day, no matter how ill she’d been. After finishing school, she’d worked in an office until she’d married John’s father. Part of her ambition was ingrained and part was the result of circumstance. She’d married young and was a stay-at-home mom until John’s father had died of a heart attack. He was 14 years older than their mom and drank and smoked heavily. John was nine and Annie was 11 at the time.

“She does it to me too,” Annie said. “But she’s still our mother.”

“Yep. Have you told her about Chicago?”

“No, but it’s not like she comes around to see the kids much anyway. Hank’s parents see more of them and they’re three hours away.”

The truth was, their mother had her own life, and that’s what was most important to her. John was curious to see how she would react to Annie moving. Maybe he could bring her in as an ally to try and persuade them from going. Annie was, after all, the glue that kept them all together.

No one had gone anywhere yet, but as he watched his sister pick up the empty dinner bowls, he already felt a tinge of loneliness falling over him.