Free The Men I Didn't Marry by Janice Kaplan Page B

lamb,” I tell him.
    “The lamb is prepared for two people,” he says, pointing to the small print.
    That explains the ridiculous price, but I want it anyway, so I just nod and close the menu. The waiter looks uncertainly at the second place setting, but decides to leave it. As he rushes away from the table, I realize that I have nothing to read and nothing to do but look at the animated couples all around me. I call the waiter back and order a glass of Shiraz.
    “Nice choice,” he says, and I smile, basking in his approval.
    I eat a breadstick and curiously watch the scene unfolding in the restaurant. A mob of well-dressed singles trolls the bar, searching for the perfect mate. The thirtysomething couple on my left are clearly on a first date. He’s flirting hard and trying to impress her, but she’s looking bored and toying with the stem of her martini glass. Eventually he’ll figure out that she’s just not that into him. I shake my head, thinking how I’d hate to be going out with strangers again. I played that game once, and when I married Bill, I thought I’d won. Little did I know.
    If somebody had told me that twenty years later I’d end up alone at the Brasserie on a Saturday night, would I still have picked Bill—the double-dealing, self-absorbed Knicks-ticket-demanding idiot who left me for Ashlee with two Es? And if not, who would I have married?
    I take a sip of my Shiraz. Not to be too cocky about it, but I certainly had other choices—and not just Eric. I reel through the memories of my major romances and feel a little glow. I wonder where those guys are now. Could one of them be sitting somewhere alone tonight in a restaurant, too?
    The waiter comes back, straining under the weight of his tray, and puts down the largest rack of lamb I’ve ever seen. He glances at the still empty seat across from me.
    “You can serve us both,” I say airily.
    The waiter can’t decide if I’m crazy or have a boyfriend outside puffing his third cigarette and cursing Mayor Bloomberg’s no-smoking-indoors rules. But the waiter neatly fills both plates and scurries away.
    I tuck into the tasty lamb and when I polish it off, I’m still hungry. I cheerfully switch my plate for the full one opposite me and keep eating. Sometimes waiting for Godot has its advantages.
    Having a plan has its advantages, too—and under the influence of a good dinner and a bad bar scene, I think I’ve hatched one. I feel a shiver of excitement. If Eric found me, why can’t I find all my other old boyfriends? It wouldn’t be dating, exactly, just looking up people who once mattered to me—and could matter again. I fumble through my pocketbook and find a pen but no paper, so I pull the slightly soggy cocktail napkin out from under the wineglass. I write down Eric’s name, add two others, and doodle hearts around them. Then, biting the edge of the pen, I reluctantly write down one more name.
    Whatever did happen to those old boyfriends? All the men I didn’t marry? It just may be time to find out.

Chapter FIVE
    IF ANYTHING CONVINCES ME of the sanity of my plan, it’s my Wednesday night at the opera.
    The minute we get out of the cab in front of Lincoln Center, Bellini begins pulling at the front of her dress and hiking up the sides of her strapless bra.
    “For goodness’ sakes, you’re acting like a thirteen-year-old girl at her first bar mitzvah,” I tell her.
    Bellini, who grew up in Cincinnati, has no idea what I’m talking about. She’s probably never seen a chopped-liver sculpture, either.
    “You’re here to be supportive,” she reminds me.
    “So’s the bra,” I tell her. “I guess both of us are letting you down.” Bellini rolls her eyes. When she first asked me to tag along to this event a while ago, she explained that I’d be the married friend at her side who made it easier for her to meet men. Someone to talk to at intermissions so she wouldn’t feel awkward at the Metropolitan Opera’s “Meet at the