The Stand-In
I’ve hit the gym, gone for a run, and showered, and it’s only 9 a.m. After my revelation, I came home and pulled out my trusty black book. I have the names and numbers of many women who as ashamed as I am to admit it, I don’t really remember who most of them are.
After my song and dance last night, I’ll be damned if I rock up to this dinner without a date on my arm. I know this is completely petty, not to mention childish, but if I’m to get over whatever this Mary spell is, then I need to move on.
I’m sitting in my office on the 47th floor, staring out the glass window, wondering who the f**k I can call. My black book sits in my lap as I restlessly rock backward and forward in my leather seat. The names may as well be random numbers in a phone book.
There was this one girl
