What Playing Pool With a Retired Stripper Taught Me About Men
I’m bad at pool, but I’m good at listening.
When I was in college, I used to take the train to visit my boyfriend in Hoboken, New Jersey. He’d pick me up in his rusted white Toyota Tercel and we’d listen to Wynton Marsalis CDs while he drove me to his two-bedroom apartment that smelled like bleach and weed.
The bleach and the weed both belonged to my boyfriend’s roommate Rick. Rick looked like a model in a J.Crew catalog. He showered multiple times a day and was always working to correct the gelled spikes in his hair. He was nice to my boyfriend, but they weren’t friends.
When I was around Rick — which was a lot since the apartment was small — I always felt a little bit excited and a little bit uneasy. When he told jokes, I didn’t laugh because they were funny, but I laughed because I was afraid of how he would react if I didn’t. Rick was the kind of guy who oozed power, sex, and sports trivia. I loved my boyfriend, but I was fascinated by Rick.
Rick also had two girlfriends who did not know about each other.
His primary girlfriend, Melissa, was in her twenties and had a grown-up job in advertising. She was the one his family knew about, but when she wasn’t around, he complained about her ‘small tits’ and her…
