The telephone can be an instrument of torture in the hands of a member of the opposite sex.

John forced himself to wait 24 hours before calling, but it was a struggle. That day at work, he hemmed and hawed as to whether to call her so soon.

I should call now so she knows it was more than a one-night stand.

Don’t do it. She’ll think you’re desperate and you’ll scare her off.

Half an hour later, he had the same conversation with himself again.

I wonder if she’s been out with Ray? Why wouldn’t she—we aren’t exclusive. If I don’t call, it might push her toward him.

Penny put another message from Rasha on his desk.

Just play it cool. She slept with you, for God’s sake. Of course she’s interested.

John finally caved and left her a message. As the hours ticked by, he struggled to concentrate on work. His heart skipped a beat each time his phone rang, only to result in disappointment when it turned out to be a work call. When he left the office that night, he hoped he had a message waiting for him at home. After racing up the stairs to his apartment, he was dejected to find no messages on his answering machine.

I could call Michael and get her home number from Sarah …

Pursuing someone was a fine balancing act. Pursuing someone you really liked, though, was like balancing on a rocking horse with extra pounds in one hand.

When Barbara didn’t call the next day, John was glum. He called Mac and organized drinks for Friday night. He’d been hoping to take Barbara out, but at this point he was starting to doubt if he’d hear from her again.

Maybe she was seeing Ray. Or playing hard to get?

John decided he better call Rasha back. He felt guilty but also pressured; everyone appeared to want a piece of him right now and there wasn’t enough to go around. He went into an empty meeting room where he could speak in private.

“Hey, how are,” he said after she answered the phone.

“Oh, so-so …”

“Yeah?”

“Work,” she said. “It was a full house last night.”

“I can relate,” said John.

“You took a long time to call me.”

John’s heart sank. He knew he needed to end this but hated these conversations. He always felt like the bad guy.

“I need to know if you are serious about me.”

John cringed. “Well …” How to explain.

“I do not want to come over just for sex.”

“Look kid, I think you’re great. But work’s amazingly demanding right now and it’s killing me. I’m just trying to keep my head above water.”

Rasha was silent and John sensed her frustration.

“Look, I like you, but the last few nights you’ve slept over have been a little weird. We’re going to have to see how things work out.”

“So you are saying that you want more than just sex?”

John swallowed his guilt and tried to do the same with his temptation. “Rasha, all of my energy is going into fixing a problem I’ve got at work at the moment. So to be honest, I really haven’t been thinking seriously about us.” But he wasn’t being honest and felt bad.

“Why is it that you are so upset about your work?” she asked.

“We’re just busy with deals.”

“Is that all?”

Can she read minds? “Well …” John wasn’t sure he wanted to share Rob with her. “… my boss resigned the other day.” Whilst he would have preferred to be sharing this with Barbara, it just came out of him.

“Oh? But you will still have a job, yes?” She sounded concerned.

“Sure. Of course.”

“Then why you are upset?”

“Well, we’ve worked together for over 10 years.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He’s more than a boss,” John explained.

Rasha stayed quiet.

“We’re really close.”

“So you’ll have a new boss?”

“Maybe.” Probably, John thought.

“He might be better than you think.”

She was obviously listening and trying to make him feel better. And while John was regretting bringing it up, there was a small part of him that wanted to talk about what had happened. “I interviewed for his job this morning.”

“But that is wonderful!”

“The Big Boss said I don’t have enough gray hair.”

She frowned, confused. “Why does he want gray hair?”

John smiled. “He wants the experience, which I have, but he also wants the clients to have confidence, which I also give them.”

“So what is the problem?” she asked, sounding confused.

“He thinks old men with money are more confident with other old men with gray hair.”

“How do you show him?”

“Show him what?” Frustration was starting to build in John.

“How do you show him you have the experience?”

“I’ve been doing the job for 10 years. I have the experience!” There was tension in his voice.

“See him tomorrow and remind him that you have been working on this for 10 years.”

John snorted. “He’s the Big Boss; I can’t just walk in and see him.”

“But he met you today,” Rasha protested. “Finding the right person should be important to him. Just ask him if you can have 10 minutes of his time.”

He sighed. “I had an hour with him today, so what would 10 minutes do?”

“You need to show him you can do whatever it is that he wants gray hairs for.”

John re-adjusted himself in his. “I don’t think that’s possible,” he said, unconsciously shaking his head.

“You need a plan. Show him that you know about what to do with the money.”

John couldn’t believe Rasha was giving him career advice. “That’s not the issue. He’s worried about whether I can deal with 60-year-old CEOs.” The frustration in John’s voice was showing.

“Oh.” She thought for a second, not knowing what a CEO was.

John was finding her accent really annoying today. He had the impulse to correct her every time she spoke.

“So you need to show him you have the wisdom, the experience, and the relationship with the old men who are tight with the money,” she said and laughed.

John’s jaw twitched. He hated being told what to do. Even well intentioned suggestions frustrated him.

* * *

John’s phone rang at eight a.m. on Saturday morning. He opened his eyes briefly, but the light stung. He reached over and felt for the phone. “Hello,” he said gruffly.

It is then that John realized how much his head was throbbing.

“Hi, it’s Barbara. Sorry, did I wake you?” she said.

John opened his eyes. He felt awful, but the sound of her voice instantly cheered him. “Hey, how are you?” he said, trying to play it cool. “No, I was awake, just lying in bed.” He hoped he sounded conscious and nonchalant.

“Really?”

John answered “No,” and they both laughed.

“I’m so sorry, I’ll let you go”

“No, it’s fine,” said John, rubbing his eyes. “How are you?” he asked.

“Fine, how about you?”

“Full on. I’m glad the weekend’s here.”

“What have you been up to,” Barbara asked.

“Work’s been busy. What about with you?”

“Same here.”

There was a brief, awkward pause.

“So what do you have on for the weekend?” Barbara asked reservedly.

“I’ve got my sister and her husband’s farewell dinner tonight. I think I mentioned they’re moving to Chicago?” John was confused as to what to do. He wanted to see Barbara, but was surprised she’d taken so long to return his call. He was tempted to invite her to the dinner, but he also felt it was a bit soon for meeting the family. “What about you?”

There was a pause. “I was hoping to see you this weekend.”

You should have called me back earlier, he thought. “Okay, how about lunch Sunday?”

“That would work. You wouldn’t be interested in coming to yoga with me first, would you? We can go for lunch afterward.”

John laughed, imagining himself twisted into a pretzel. “I’ll pass.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. It’s easy.”

“I really don’t want to show you how uncoordinated and inflexible I can be just yet.”

“You’ll be fine.”

The thought of her in gym gear flashed across John’s mind, making the idea a little more tempting.

“Dinner tonight will likely go late. What time tomorrow does it start?” he couldn’t believe he was even asking.

“11. It’s near my place,” she said hopefully.

John’s mind was failing to get started this morning. All he knew was that he wanted to see Barbara. “Okay, but let’s speak in the morning and confirm plans then.”

“Great,” She said with surprise in her voice.

“By the way, what’s your home number? It will save me leaving a message at the office.”

“You left a message at my office?”

“Yeah,” said John.

“When?” There was determination in her voice now.

“I called Tuesday. Did you not get the message?” Things were starting to clear up.

“No,” she said sharply.

“I figured you were busy.”

“I was, but not too busy to return phone calls. Did you really call?”

“Yeah,” John said with a chuckle. “I did.”

Well that explains why she’d waited so long to call back. Lucky she called, John thought and smiled. It was a good sign after all. While some women didn’t have a problem calling a guy, even though it was New York City, many women still couldn’t cross that bridge.

She let out a testy sigh. “The assistants at work are hopeless.”

“It’s an island-wide problem, with few exceptions.”

After a few more words, John hung up and closed his eyes again. His head was beating like a fast-paced bongo. Now that he had an audience, the drummer’s beat was just getting louder and louder. Yoga? Oh fuck. John panicked until it occurred to him that he still hadn’t gotten Barbara’s home number. He wondered how she had gotten his. Sarah.

I should have left an hour or two earlier last night. Mac and his famous “one last round.” Five beers and two tequila shots later … argh.

The percussionists went into overdrive.

Annie and Hank’s farewell party went late, as expected. John was stung by emotion at the imminent loss as soon as he walked into the restaurant. He put it down to his hangover from the night before, which he still hadn’t shaken. He remained quiet through dinner, failing to be his normal social, affable self. The beat of the bongos had slowed, but were, never the less, still playing. He gave a quick toast after main course to Hank’s future success in Chicago and frequent visits and mentioned how much he would miss them and the kids.

Frank Sinatra, in a sultry voice, broke into John’s sleep.

When I was 21, it was a very good year,

It was a very good year for city girls,

Who lived up the stairs,

With perfumed hair,

That came undone,

When I was 21.

Consciousness hit him hard. He opened his eyes just long enough to glimpse 6:50 a.m. flashing on his alarm clock. He reached over with his left hand to turn it off, fiddling for the correct button. The music continued.

When I was 35, it was a very good year,

It was a very good year for blue-blooded girls,

Of independent means,

We'd ride in limousines,

Their chauffeurs would drive,

When I was 35.

He leaned out and over, his bare torso leaving the covers, and found the button. It was cool out and he ducked back into bed, pulling the duvet back over his head.

Yoga with Barbara! His promise hit him. No way. Feel like death. Probably vomit … or fart … or both.

John pulled the covers over his head, as if to hide. He breathed in and out slowly, trying to return to sleep. Smelling how awful his breath was, he winced and poked an air hole in the sheets.

It would have been good to see her in yoga gear, he thought.

John closed his eyes, for a second. His phone rang. It would be Barbara. He simultaneously had the impulse to both ignore and answer it.

“Hello,” he tried to muster his most friendly voice. What was the matter with his head?

“Hi, it’s Barbara. How are you?” she said chirpily.

“Not so well,” he admitted. “I had a big night. What about you?”

“Good. So are you up for yoga?”

He yawned, closing his eyes tight again as the pain hit him. “Sorry, no.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed.

“You wouldn’t want me there this morning. It would be better if I passed. Trust me.”

“That’s not true,” she protested. “I was looking forward to it.”

“Sorry,” was all his raspy voice could say.

“Okay.” Barbara went quiet.

John felt bad, and the thought darted in his mind to give in and go. Just as quickly, he dismissed it. He needed at least a couple more hours of sleep.

“How about a greasy brunch afterward?” Barbara asked.

“Perfect. Is midday too late?”

“Great.”

John was immediately aware of his morning glory. Having been out drinking the last two nights, he needed more sleep. But if Barbara had been there, he would have eagerly rolled on top of her.

They met at Moroc, so John could introduce his favorite local eatery to her.

“So how was last night?” she asked.

To John’s disappointment, Barbara wasn’t in her yoga gear. She wore jeans, red flats, and a matching red blouse, which was tight enough to highlight her curves without looking cheap.

 “It was good. I didn’t really need another night of drinking, but it was my sister’s going away party, so I had to.” John gave Barbara puppy-dog eyes, hoping for some sympathy. “How was yoga?”

“Good. I feel so relaxed and in balance. Shame you didn’t come.”

“Trust me—I would have only embarrassed you.”

“There’s no better way to get over a hangover. Seriously, you need some balance in your life. You work too hard.”

John leaned across and kissed her. He hoped that after vigorously brushing his teeth, his breath had improved.

Yes, he needed some balance, but he was thinking more in terms of a vacation than yoga. John toyed with the idea of taking Barbara away somewhere for a break. Skiing in Vail came to mind, but the season had just finished.

After finishing their breakfast, neither of them wanted to leave. Instead, they pulled apart a copy of the New York Times. It worked well. John read the front section while Barbara read the arts. When he was finished, John gave the news section to her and moved on to business and then sports. Next, she went through the fashion pages. Neither of them said a word, both completely content.

When they’d finished, Barbara asked if he wanted to come along with her to get a new pair of shoes she’d been eyeing. It was so far from what he wanted to do with her, but he agreed anyway.

Once at the store, the new shoes on her feet, she stood in front of a mirror, frowning, and asked him what he thought.

They were purple leather stilettos.

How would I know? John thought. “They’re great. Are they for something special?”

“Umm, no.”

“Work or social then?”

She shrugged. “Either … both.”

John saw they were two hundred bucks. No wonder women need to marry investment bankers when they wasted this much money on shoes. It occurred to John that his Italian leather work shoes cost the same—but I wear them five days a week, not once or twice a year, he rationalized.

John had been dying to see Barbara all week and while brunch had been great, he was fast losing interest in their impromptu shopping trip. He wondered how he could get her back to his place and into bed.

John sat in a chair looking glum while Barbara toyed with the shoes. She decided to try on another pair. Why was every woman in New York captivated by shoes? It was just so foreign to John. Shoes were shoes. They weren’t complicated unless you made them that way.

“What do you think of these?” These were fire red heals with a maroon pattern.

Adding a little fake enthusiasm to his voice, he said, “They look good too.”

“Really?” She looked at her feet again, twisting them to see them from different angles.

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“Which do you like better? These or the first pair?”

John was stuck. He tried to remember the first pair. All that occurred to him was that he was hung over. He sat in silence, stumped.

“I’ll decode your silence as meaning you don’t really like either of them.” Barbara gave a wry smile.

“No, I think they’re both nice.”

“Just nice?”

John willed his patience to hold.

While Barbara looked in the mirror, John wanted to roll his eyes but didn’t. He wanted to put his head in his hands, close his eyes, and teleport himself out of the store and back to bed. Just as he thought his forbearance would break, Barbara went to the counter and bought both pairs. John was shocked at the expense, but glad the experience was over.

Once outside, he asked, “Do you want to come back to my place and veg out on the sofa, maybe rent a video?”

“That would be great,” she said, “but I’ve got to pick up an outfit. It’s just a few blocks over.”

He pouted.

“It won’t take long.”

He pouted more, unable to hide his disappointment.

She patted his arm. “We’ll get you a magazine to read.”

He looked at his watch. “I should leave you to it.”

She pulled at his arm, smiling charmingly. “Come on, it’ll only take half an hour.”

Half an hour seemed like forever. “Really?”

“Okay, okay, it could take up to an hour.”

He unconsciously snorted his disapproval. “I’ll be at my place waiting for you, okay?”

Barbara looked disappointed. “What’s wrong?”

He fidgeted. “This isn’t really my thing. I am an in-and-out type of guy when it comes to shopping. Especially with a hangover.”

“It won’t take long,” she wheedled. “Why don’t you go and get another coffee?”

Even though he knew he was disappointing her, John’s instincts told him to leave. He didn’t understand the impulse, but it was overwhelming. At brunch, all he’d wanted was to spend the entire day with her—but a naked day, not a shopping day. Now, an hour later, he needed space.

“Sorry, but I need some downtime on the couch in front of the TV.”

He kissed her but Barbara continued to frown.

“Come around later and we can watch a movie or something. Take your time, enjoy yourself.”

John went home and did exactly as planned, watching a little ESPN and then a terrible movie about tunneling to the center of the planet so the world wouldn’t end.

Barbara never showed.