Bob thought about it. “If what people say is true, that fucking other people is a good remedy for a broken heart, then Christ, yeah, I do.”
Bob couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw the ghost of a smile on that hard, closed face.
She pulled a wineglass from a rack dangling above the bar and began polishing it. “Helps about as much as pissing in your underwear when it’s cold, I would think. Does your having a broken heart mean I’m into you? No. For all I know she dumped you because you’re no good in bed.”
Bob slumped forward with one hand held to his stomach. “Ouch, you got me there, Liza. Pour me another drink.”
Liza filled his glass. “Okay. So do youreallyhave a broken heart?”
“Willyou fuck me if I do?”
Bob was sure of himself now: she was smiling.
“Come on, Liza, being here bores you as much as it bores me, so let’s just entertain each other a bit. The question is hypothetical and your answer will not be used against you in a court of law.”
“I’d like it better if you entertain me with the story of your broken heart.”
“Her name’s Alice.”
“You have kids?”
“No.”
“Hard up?”
“No.”
“Someone else?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
“She stopped loving me.”
“But she did love you once, you think?”
“Yes,” said Bob. “She did.”
“Then why d’you think she stopped?”
“It’s…complicated.”
She returned the wineglass to the rack and started polishing another, looking at him while she did so.
“I thought you wanted to talk about it.”
“Your turn now,” said Bob, and forced a smile. “Could I have had a date with you?”
“No.”
“Hypothetically,” he said. “If you didn’t work here.”
She shook her head slightly, and then added, with an exasperated look, like someone humoring a difficult child: “It depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“What you have to offer a single mom.”
