“Yes, I had one girlfriend,” he said, his attention consumed by pieces of beef sizzling atop a hot rock. “For a year. It ended in June.”
“She wanted to get married. I’ve seen guys go through with it. Even with a pre-nup, though, you’re at risk.”
“Right,” I said. I allowed Hank to feed me a piece of meat and chewed thoroughly. I was beginning to understand his relationship philosophy: renting a girlfriend is a safer alternative to investing in a wife. I decided to steer the conversation toward the mutually beneficial terms of our would-be coupledom.
“How do you see this working?,” I asked.
He responded without hesitation: “If I want to go with my girlfriend to St. Barth’s for two weeks, she’s not going to be left behind because she needs to write copy all day to make 500 bucks to pay her cable bill. A girl, if she’s going out a lot with me, cannot be wearing the same thing all the time, so of course I’ll buy her her Louboutins and Gucci handbags.”
“That makes sense.”
“I don’t want to feel like I’m paying for company, though. The less she asks for, the more she gets.” If his expression could speak, it would have said, “Don’t expect cash, bitch.”