She met him in a corporate pocket of the west side, a neighborhood where she never spent any time, in a strip mall restaurant trying to be something it wasn’t. It had all the trappings of a quaint trattoria. A tiled patio, a trellis ribbed with creeping ivy. But the growl of engines threaded between the candlelit tables, and through the lattice you could see the white hulk of the shopping mall across the street.

He was already seated when she arrived, and he clambered to his feet to pull out her chair. His rumpled trousers pulled too taut across his thighs. When he bent over, they carved unkindly into the soft give of his stomach. She assumed he chose the restaurant because it was near his work – the type who wouldn’t even think to venture out. Now looking at him, she thought maybe she’d misjudged him. Maybe he couldn’t see what was wrong with it.

She wrapped her arm around his back in a quick half-hug that made it easy for him to tuck the envelope in her purse. She excused herself to the bathroom so she could count it.

The door clicked shut. For a moment she was alone. She knew she sat there for too long, cocooned between walls in a gray hush. It was all there, her social pricing. There was a time when she wouldn’t take these types of bookings. She knew his type, the type who wanted to pay for companionship but not intimacy. They were emotionally needy, prone to pushing boundaries. Unaware that two hours of conversation could be more exhausting than sex.

She was already exhausted. She fluffed her hair and lined her pillowy lips with a fresh coat of gloss, emerging with a smile. He stood when he saw her, shuffled around the table to pull out her chair again in an unnecessary gesture of chivalry. She sighed internally. Yes, she knew his type.

They opened the overlarge menus and regarded each other. He had watery, gray eyes that sagged open with a mournful quality, like a fish about to be killed. Florid skin beginning to droop into jowls. The red in his hair was graying at the edges. He thought he was twenty years older than her, but really it was fifteen. She looked down to rearrange her necklace and when she looked back up, his eyes had affixed themselves to her face.

The first thing he did was make an excuse for why he had booked her. He was in commercial construction, he said. A mixed-use retail complex would keep him in Los Angeles for a few months. But he lived in Ohio and found the city lonely. He always looked forward to the end of each project, when he threw a big celebration for his crew.

I pick the best restaurants, he smiled at her. Toasts and drinks all night, you would love it.

Wow, sounds fun, she said. A car horn penetrated the ivy and rebounded past their table.

But then, you know, it’s over. And onto the next project, the next city. 

She needed to figure out if he was the type who only wanted to talk about work, or was dying to not talk about work. But he continued before she could speak.

So tell me, he said. Friday night in Los Angeles. A stunningly beautiful woman. Where are you going after this?

Her lips parted, then closed. They were interrupted by the waiter.

Predictably, her date wanted to shower her in fine wine. She didn’t drink at work. She told him she was on a cleanse. He looked remarkably disappointed, dropping the wine list with a leaden thud. Please, she said, you go ahead. But he didn’t want to drink alone. He set his neediness between them like another glass.

She felt nothing but irritation as he leaned forward on his elbows, gray eyes widening.

So, he said.

She gave him a playful wink. Oh, she said, I have a few parties. I have to decide.

What kind of parties?

She took a sip of water. It smeared her lip gloss into a gummy film and made her mouth feel heavy, inert. One party was a gallery opening thrown by her friend, she said. She does all kinds of art events. This one was a sculpture show and would be a big crowd. She took another sip of water, thinking. And the other, a club in West Hollywood. Some of her girlfriends were going dancing.

She waited for him to ask what she would wear. Then she could show him a photo, a mirror selfie in her apartment in a silky mini-dress. She would wet his appetite, then charge him later when he wanted her to send more. Her long, pink nails torqued themselves around her plastic phone case. It vibrated once and went still.

What are your friends like? he asked. How did you meet?

Oh, she said. She frowned and had to rearrange her face. Well all kinds of places. I just have so many friends.

What about your best friends? The girls you go dancing with?

Oh, she said. College.

He leaned forward.

She had to give him more, so she did. All the things they did together, the parties and the bars and the nights in front of the mirror, getting ready. Her friends did each other’s make-up, she said. They went out dancing all night and they went to the beach on Sunday mornings. At first she felt the weight of his attention, the way he leaned closer as she spoke. But as she talked it loosened. Sunlit days glimmered into view. Splashing, waves, towels laid out next to each other. Bright bathroom lights with girls crowded under them, bare shoulders touching as they passed lipstick hand to hand. She talked until a strange tightness gathered in her chest, and she had to stop. From the table next to them, she heard the waterfall of wine pouring, the tinkling of laughter.

He looked at her with a reverential silence. Tucked his head with a strange little bow, as though in prayer, and then looked up again.

You’re so beautiful, he said.

Thank you, she said. You’re very sweet.

I’m sorry, he said. For all the questions. It’s just. I’m sorry. What is it like?

What is it like?

He tucked his head again, and when he raised his eyes to her they were huge and round. Suddenly they looked more blue than gray. Maybe the light had changed.

What is it like to be beautiful?

She wished he would stop looking at her. Because now she was looking back. His eyes were watery planets rolling in orbit, oceans and tidepools dark with hidden movements. She felt she was looking into someone very vast, and very empty. And she knew what he was really asking. He was asking what it was like to never be lonely.

Her eyes flitted to the time on her phone screen. So much more to go. Already, she could see how the date would end. With a rush of relief, she would hug him with both hands and kiss him on the cheek. It would still be early, the night would be young. So early that traffic on the ten would still be gridlocked going west to east, a single red current pushing toward the lit up center of the city. She would be one of the only ones headed in the opposite direction, toward home. She could speed. But she would drive slowly, her gaze lingering on the traffic as she took her exit. On her street, fewer cars. Then none.