He’s a pretty boy. One of those boys who’s always combing his hair and looking at his own reflection in shop window glass and adjusting the line of his jacket and the knot of his tie. Before he enters a room he rubs the toes of each shoe on the back of each leg, bringing up a glassy shine – I’ve seen him do that. He does it almost without thinking. He’s not really the sort of guy I’d give much time to ordinarily.
I suppose I was flattered or drunk, the first time. It was at an office party for some occasion or other. There was plenty of drink and the bosses were dancing with the secretaries and everybody was laughing and feeling good. Then this guy came right up to me and he said I was the only girl in the room. I thought he was full of shit and I told him so. He protested and he said on his mother’s life I was the best looking girl in the office and all he wanted was to know my name.
I told him and he pretended like it was a gift and he picked it out of the air and wrapped it in his clean white handkerchief and tucked it in his pocket. I couldn’t decide if he was being cute or smarmy. He smiled and quietly walked away. I followed him with my eyes and he didn’t look back once, and I think maybe I wanted him to.
A week after, I was leaving the office and he caught up with me and he asked if I wanted to go for a drink. I said that I didn’t really date guys from the office. He said he’d quit his job right there and then if that made it easier for me. Just a coffee, he said, if a drink was out of the question. I shrugged and said a coffee was ok.
It’s Georgina, right? he said.
I nodded.
He took the handkerchief out of his lapel pocket, unfolded it carefully in the flat of his hand, and there in the middle, written in blue biro on the cloth, was my name. I laughed and he laughed and that was the start of something.
Like most pretty boys he was after just one thing. We did it in a motel room up on the east side. The room smelled of liquor and sweat and cigarette smoke. He was in such a hurry he didn’t even remove my dress. Afterwards, he said he loved me and he said I was really something. We met at the same motel maybe five or six times after that. All the rooms smelled the same.
Then nothing, and he was unfolding his handkerchief for another girl in the office and saying how she was the prettiest girl in the state and I was ok with that. He wasn’t anything special.
When I found out I was late and then that I was expecting, well I panicked. I told him. He asked if it was his and I called him a jerk. He said he was sorry and he said fuck and he ran his fingers through his hair and blew air out of his cheeks and said fuck again.
The next day he got down on one knee and he asked me to marry him. He didn’t have a ring or anything, and he said he thought we ought to rather than asking if I would – but I guess it was a proposal of sorts. I said I’d have to think about it and I walked away, feeling his eyes following me – and I didn’t look back once.
Patricia Ann McNair 
He’s a pretty boy. One of those boys who’s always combing his hair and looking at his own reflection in shop window glass and adjusting the line of his jacket and the knot of his tie. Before he enters a room he rubs the toes of each shoe on the back of each leg, bringing up a glassy shine – I’ve seen him do that. He does it almost without thinking. He’s not really the sort of guy I’d give much time to ordinarily.
I suppose I was flattered or drunk, the first time. It was at an office party for some occasion or other. There was plenty of drink and the bosses were dancing with the secretaries and everybody was laughing and feeling good. Then this guy came right up to me and he said I was the only girl in the room. I thought he was full of shit and I told him so. He protested and he said on his mother’s life I was the best looking girl in the office and all he wanted was to know my name.
I told him and he pretended like it was a gift and he picked it out of the air and wrapped it in his clean white handkerchief and tucked it in his pocket. I couldn’t decide if he was being cute or smarmy. He smiled and quietly walked away. I followed him with my eyes and he didn’t look back once, and I think maybe I wanted him to.
A week after, I was leaving the office and he caught up with me and he asked if I wanted to go for a drink. I said that I didn’t really date guys from the office. He said he’d quit his job right there and then if that made it easier for me. Just a coffee, he said, if a drink was out of the question. I shrugged and said a coffee was ok.
It’s Georgina, right? he said.
I nodded.
He took the handkerchief out of his lapel pocket, unfolded it carefully in the flat of his hand, and there in the middle, written in blue biro on the cloth, was my name. I laughed and he laughed and that was the start of something.
Like most pretty boys he was after just one thing. We did it in a motel room up on the east side. The room smelled of liquor and sweat and cigarette smoke. He was in such a hurry he didn’t even remove my dress. Afterwards, he said he loved me and he said I was really something. We met at the same motel maybe five or six times after that. All the rooms smelled the same.
Then nothing, and he was unfolding his handkerchief for another girl in the office and saying how she was the prettiest girl in the state and I was ok with that. He wasn’t anything special.
When I found out I was late and then that I was expecting, well I panicked. I told him. He asked if it was his and I called him a jerk. He said he was sorry and he said fuck and he ran his fingers through his hair and blew air out of his cheeks and said fuck again.
The next day he got down on one knee and he asked me to marry him. He didn’t have a ring or anything, and he said he thought we ought to rather than asking if I would – but I guess it was a proposal of sorts. I said I’d have to think about it and I walked away, feeling his eyes following me – and I didn’t look back once.