Love Is... (19 page)

‘Try it,' he said. ‘Two sprays per day, at a time when you see your partner.'

‘Or your dog,' Matthew added.

Professor Sheldon ignored him. ‘It changed my and my
wife's life. She couldn't bear me near her but now she gives me a back rub every night.'

Matthew giggled. ‘Have you considered upping the dose?'

Professor Sheldon smirked. ‘It isn't a sex tool, my boy. It's a bonding hormone and it should be used sparingly.' He glanced back out at the grounds again. ‘A natural release of oxytocin is preferable, of course, but this is for more resistant cases.' Then he stood up and summoned the wolfhounds. ‘The phase-three trial results are excellent. We imagine it will be FDA-approved by March next year,' he said, reaching for a full-length waxed coat, hanging on a hook by the door.

‘Time for a stroll now,' he said, tipping an imaginary hat. ‘Good day to you, Miss Rigby, and also to you, Master Willoby-Warbuton.' Then he shouted to Rosa, ‘Get the boy an espresso before he leaves, can't handle his Valium.' And with that he was gone.

On the way home, Matthew was still quite heavily tranquillised, so while driving I took the time to contemplate the ethics of a neurochemical intervention in love. Logically it made sense. Scientific and technological advancements had enabled us to modify our bodies, our homes, our food and even our moods, so why not modify love? Why shouldn't we save millions of couples and their families the pain of divorce? I hadn't thought twice about injecting myself with hormones to increase my chances of conceiving, so why wouldn't I do the same to increase the longevity of my marriage?

I drove on, looking out at the tree-lined streets and the American-dream houses, with their basketball hoops fixed to the walls in the front yards. I'd always imagined such
homes to be bursting with joyous chaos, pancake breakfasts and freshly squeezed orange juice. However, Mr Montgomery's statistics didn't correlate with that image. Perhaps we shouldn't be so quick to employ Professor Sheldon's nasal spray? I fixed my eyes on the road ahead, readjusting my jean pocket every once in a while to stop the spray from digging in my leg.

Once we were back on the main highway, Matthew sprung to life, as though the Valium had been booted off its receptors leaving caffeine to head up the party.

‘Waffles!' he said, like the drunkard from
Father Ted.

I checked my watch.

‘It's brunch o'clock,' he said. ‘There's a diner up here I'm sure.' He began pointing. ‘Look. There!'

I glanced up at the sign and frowned. ‘It's a Hooters.'

He ruffled his quiff. ‘Yeah, so what? They sell food and I'm hungry.'

I tutted. ‘I'm not eating my lunch surrounded by a bunch of oversexed rednecks. Besides, there's no way I could explain that one on my expense submission.'

Matthew leaned towards me and winked. ‘Not even for Key lime pie?'

My tummy began to rumble. ‘Oh all right,' I said. ‘But as soon as we've eaten we're out of there.'

Chapter 16

O
ur Hooters waitress was called Sandy. She skipped over to our booth in a teeny-tiny vest and hot pants. My immediate thought was that her implants were both large and sturdy enough for her to be able to deliver meals on them.

‘Hi, guys, and welcome to Hooters,' she gushed, flashing large white teeth. ‘I'm Sandy, your waitress for today.' She paused to smile again. ‘Have you been to Hooters before?'

First she looked at Matthew. He nodded. I could tell he was making the effort to focus on her face. Then she looked at me. ‘Ma'am?'

‘No, this is my first time at Hooters,' I said.

She scrunched up her face, then smiled again. ‘Well, let's hope we'll make you wanna come back! Would you like me to explain the menu to you?'

I frowned. ‘Is it in Latin?'

She shook her head.

‘Well, no then, I think I'll be OK.'

She grinned. ‘Amazing, can I get you some Hooterstizers to start?'

Matthew ordered some chicken strips and naked buffalo wings and the Double ‘D' Burger for his main course.

I decided to play it safe and have the Cobb salad. It seemed to be the only item on the menu that hadn't been trademarked.

‘Can I get you any drinks?' She grinned again. ‘We have an amazing offer on the cocktails.'

Matthew picked up the drinks menu. ‘One Orange Shorts Margarita for me, please.'

I glanced down at the menu and then rolled my eyes. ‘Go on then,' I said. ‘One for me too.'

Sandy clapped. ‘If you order a third you get the
Hooters Girl
glass for free.'

‘Excellent,' I said, ‘I was wondering what Nick might like for his birthday.'

Sandy's smile wavered but she blinked a few times, then ramped it up again. ‘Amazing,' she said. ‘I'll get those for you now.'

Matthew leaned back and lifted his arms above his head. ‘Victory!' he said. ‘Let's get Ellie smashed at lunchtime on a weekday.'

I sighed, thinking about all the distraught clients left to navigate their way through the treacherous waters of divorce while I, their only chance of salvation, was happily ordering cocktails in Hooters.

I looked across at Matthew, hoping he might offer some insight into my dilemma, but he was reading the paper placemat.

Suddenly he laughed, then showed me the photo on it. ‘Sandy, our waitress, is Miss Hooters International,' he said,
then looked back at the photo. ‘If I was ten years younger this would have been my defining moment.'

I laughed.

‘Listen to this,' he said and went on reading from the placemat. ‘“Sandy believes that working at Hooters gives her a valuable opportunity every day…”' He paused and smirked. ‘To do what? Any ideas?'

I laughed. ‘To meet new people?'

He shook his head. ‘“To make people
smile
”,' he said, clearing his throat. ‘“When Sandy isn't volunteering to help sick children or serving up a relaxed dinner to Hooters customers, she enjoys boating and fishing.”'

I laughed. ‘Fishing?' I said. ‘She doesn't look the type.'

Matthew giggled. ‘Because she's not the type. She's a
Weird Science
kind of Hooters fantasy, created to appeal to the customers. I'm surprised they haven't said: “And Sandy especially enjoys anal sex and pairing men's socks.”'

I sucked some margarita through my straw, wondering if perhaps the company shouldn't diversify and instead of serving cocktails, the waitresses could present each client with an oxytocin nasal spray and a firm word to go back home to their wives. If I hadn't have seen such despair in Matthew's eyes, I would have offered him the same advice too.

Following the combined consumption of buffalo wings, chicken strips, a Cobb salad and a Double ‘D' Burger, a side of curly fries, two Key lime pies and four further cocktails, Matthew and I were feeling quite at home in Hooters. Sandy's shift had ended and after I'd explained my mission to cure divorce, she, along with an even larger-breasted colleague, Debbie, had joined us in our booth.

‘So, ladies,' I slurred. ‘What do you think is the secret to lasting love?'

Matthew drum-rolled his hands on the table.

Sandy was the first to answer. ‘Compromise,' she said, sitting up straight as though she were at the front of the class.

Matthew did a mock yawn. ‘Bor-ing. Try again.'

Sandy screwed up her mouth and thought for a moment. ‘Denial,' she said eventually. Then she covered her mouth as though she'd surprised herself.

Matthew sat back. ‘That's more like it,' he said.

‘Denial for whom?' I asked.

She scratched her nose and looked around at the customers. ‘Well, the men have to be in denial to be happy. They need to believe that they are eternally desirable to young attractive women.' She interrupted herself with a high-pitched giggle. ‘And women are in denial because they need to believe their husband is only attracted to them.'

Matthew clapped his hands and laughed.

‘But what about loyalty?' I asked. ‘A person might be attracted to another but be loyal to their partner.'

‘Yes, but,' Debbie piped up, ‘how do we define loyalty? Is it the same as fidelity?'

Matthew sucked the dregs of his cocktail through a straw. ‘We don't need to define fidelity. It's simple. Not shagging anyone else.'

Debbie nodded slowly. It turns out she was studying a PhD in philosophy. ‘How about oral sex?' she asked.

Matthew smirked. ‘Yes please,' he said.

I rolled my eyes and then answered for him. ‘Oral sex is clearly infidelity too. So let's just say, no sexual contact with anyone else then.'

Matthew raised his eyebrows. ‘What's sexual contact?
Brushing up against a Hooters waitress and then getting a hard-on?'

‘What's a hard-on?' Debbie asked.

‘A boner,' Sandy replied, ‘and that's not infidelity, that's sexual harassment.'

‘Ah,' said Matthew. ‘But if the harasser is in a relationship then technically that's infidelity too?'

I nodded.

Matthew raised a finger. ‘But if the waitress accidentally brushed up against him, then I'm not sure that's infidelity, because men can't control their physical reaction to that.'

Debbie laughed. ‘They can. Apparently ninety per cent of arousal is in the brain.'

Matthew sniggered. ‘For men, up until the age of twenty-three there is no brain involvement whatsoever. Even after that it's debatable.'

‘OK,' Sandy said. ‘So we're agreed that for it to be infidelity it has to be intentional sexual contact.'

Matthew smiled. ‘This conversation is oddly arousing.'

‘What about imagined sexual encounters?' Debbie asked.

‘Fantasies, you mean?' Sandy asked.

Debbie glanced across at a group of men, then back at us. ‘The other day, I read about some new porn gaming goggles that are in development. Men can put them on, attach electrodes to their bodies and have any type of virtual sex with any avatar they select from the programme. Or several at once if they'd prefer. What if a husband did that every night instead of sleeping with his wife? Is that infidelity?'

We all sat in silence for a moment.

Sandy scrunched up her face.

Matthew shrugged his shoulders. ‘Sounds fun,' he said.

I sighed.

Matthew turned to me. ‘So, if Nick was out one night, and you had a virtual Hugh Jackman to shag you senseless for an hour or two, you'd say no, would you?'

I thought for a moment. ‘It would feel a bit wrong,' I said, then paused. ‘How would you feel if Lucy—?' I stopped myself as soon as my brain caught up with my mouth. ‘Oh bugger. Sorry.'

Matthew's shoulders slumped.

I leaned forward and squeezed his arm. ‘I'm sorry,' I said. Then I turned to the girls and whispered, ‘It's a bit of a sensitive subject for him.'

Sandy nodded. Debbie raised an eyebrow.

I was about to continue, but Matthew threw his arms in the air.

‘Thank you, Ellie,' he said. ‘Acting like I have special emotional needs or something.' He turned to Sandy and Debbie. ‘Yes, my wife shagged her boss.' His voice increased a decibel. ‘She shagged her troll-faced wanker of a boss, in a bloody Travelodge, while I was at home with our kids—' he sank his head in his hands ‘—making penne arrabbiata.' He looked up between his fingers. ‘How could she do that? My life is over.'

I took his hand. ‘No, it's not,' I said. ‘You're just going through a shitty time right now, that's all.'

Sandy wiped a tear from her cheek. ‘Poor baby,' she said, shuffling up next to him.

Matthew quietened down for a second. Then he opened one eye and closed it again and made a whimpering sound.

‘I loved her so much,' he sobbed.

Debbie shuffled up on the other side and squeezed his hand.

Matthew managed to force out a tear. ‘I feel so betrayed,' he said and his chest began to heave.

Sandy pulled him towards her and soon he was nuzzling her cleavage, while Debbie was stroking his hair.

I stared for a moment in disbelief, momentarily reconsidering Freud's observations about a man's urge to suckle.

I cleared my throat. The advice that had been grumbling was now ready to erupt. ‘Yes, it is a tricky time for him. However, abandoning his kids and running off to Hooters is probably not the best way to deal with it.'

Matthew raised his head. ‘Thanks for your one minute of empathy, Ellie,' he said.

I shrugged my shoulders. ‘I just think, when there are children involved, you should put your own feelings aside.'

Matthew sat up straight and scowled. ‘So you're saying I should have stayed with her?'

I shook my head. ‘Of course not,' I said. Then I prodded the table. ‘What I'm saying is you shouldn't be here.'

He looked around as if to remind himself of the location. ‘Oh, come on, she had sex with her boss and you're telling me I can't admire a few girls in hot pants.'

I rolled my eyes. ‘No, not Hooters. I'm saying you shouldn't have come here. To America.'

He sighed.

‘You should be in London, with your kids. They won't understand why you've just vanished without explanation.'

‘I told them why I was going.'

I frowned.

‘I told them Mummy had been mean to me so I was going to see Mickey Mouse to cheer me up.'

‘Great. Yes, that sounds like a perfectly measured and considered explanation. That won't make them insecure at all. Besides, does any child even know who Mickey Mouse
is any more? Surely Olaf from
Frozen
would have been a better choice?'

Matthew slammed his hands down on the table. ‘You're right, oh pious Ellie. I shouldn't have abandoned my kids. And I should've selected a more current Disney figurehead to justify my paternal failings. I just had the crazy notion that instead of admitting myself to a psychiatric unit for suicidal and homicidal urges following a deep depression, that I would be better placed visiting my best friend for a few weeks to see if she could offer me some support in my time of need. But no, I get lambasted by the one person I was hoping would be on my side. It's no surprise I ended up in Hooters.'