Thank God for the person who coined the term, "Generation X". Now, I can pretend that I'm working here, in a Greek bakery, at an hourly rate of four dollars per hour because I'm disenchanted with my Bachelor's degree and want to rid myself of all lust for material possessions and wealth. It also explains the hole in the knee of my last good pair of jeans.

I am sitting on a milk crate in the doorway behind the counter reading Rolling Stone. It is Monday night and very slow. Jane, who owns the bakery with her parents, is talking about her boyfriend again. She is twenty-five years old. She must get married by the time she's thirty. Greeks have high standards for getting married. She is giving herself a manicure.
"I have to find a way to get Gus to marry me," Jane said.
"Then stop sleeping with him. Men won't buy the cow if they can get the milk for free," I said.
"Oh, for God's Sake Cathy, no one saves it for marriage anymore."
"If he makes you so unhappy, then you should let him go."
"He's not making me unhappy. I just want him to marry me. If I dump Gus, where else am I going to find a good looking, successful Greek bachelor? My parents think he's perfect."
I stop talking, because every night I work with Jane, she's figuring out ways to make Gus marry her. There is nothing I can say. Jane listens to the messages on his answering machine to find out if he's cheating. She gives him ultimatums. Every Valentine's Day, Sweetest Day, Christmas, New Year's Day, her birthday, she thinks it could be the day he proposes. When it's not, she always gives him one more holiday to decide.
She does not have teased or permed hair like her friends. She keeps a neat bob with a few highlights. She doesn't wear the glitzy, bright stuff either. She sticks to stonewashed denim and leather boots. Her name isn't even Jane; it's a Greek name I can't pronounce. Gus calls her Jane. Gus is a stockbroker.
Jane is applying her second coat of polish. "You know what? I think he was cheating on me when I went to Greece for the summer."
"How could he cheat on you? You broke up with him."
"Not really...well, yes but...."
Jane lifts her head stares at me blankly. She's trying to decide on which reality will make it all better for her.
"I broke up with him, but he didn't break up with me. I left him. He waited for me," she said.
"Okay-fine," I said and turned back to Rolling Stone.
"I'm finishing this in the office." Jane rises, one hand held out, the other holding clear nail polish. "Keep an eye out for customers and don't call me unless you have like three customers or you have sandwiches or something."
I watch her go into the office thinking she's mad at me, now, and won't say anything more about it, which is good. She reminds me of the times when I was crazy for someone. I'm glad I'm not in it now. Love is hell. Occasionally, before I walk into my apartment, I fantasize for those three seconds there will be a message on the answering machine and it will be him. He'll say he misses me and wants to come over. And, I'll let him come over. We'll hold each other in bed, and I'll feel him breathing softly next to me. His arms are always around me. Only when I'm scared I won't feel anything anymore, is when I let myself have that fantasy. It's my inner child picking a scab.
I need a milkshake. I walk over to the freezer and decide on Pralines and Cream. I am sitting down again with my milkshake and Rolling Stone when Jane comes back out of the office.
"I called Gus. He's not home. He should have been home two hours ago."
"Maybe he's working late," I said.
"Maybe. You know, a slut left a message on his answering machine."
"Then dump him," I said resolutely. I wanted to shake her very hard.
Jane bends over me. "What's that you're drinking?"
"A milkshake. Pralines and Cream."
"Ooooh. Sounds yummy, maybe I'll have one." Jane walks over to the freezer and looks down at the ice cream. She walks away. "Maybe, I'll just have a Diet Coke," she said.
I put down my magazine and get up for a spoon. Jane is staring out at the street. It is Monday night and very dead.
"You know, I could tell from the way Gus' ass was shaped he had a great dick. I remember he was sitting up in bed talking on the phone and I sunk my teeth into his ass. I couldn't help it; his ass is so cute. He wondered what the hell was wrong with me, though," she said.
"Did he go to the hospital and get a shot?"
"No. It's not like I broke skin. I just left teeth marks. Haven't you ever looked at a guy's ass and thought about sucking his dick?"
"No." I lied.
"You're so weird."
I walk over to the windows. Four young men are walking down the street in a variety of bomber jackets and jeans. They are oblivious to the deserted streets in their laughter and jocularity. I watch them disappear, the glow of the street lamps reaching out after them.
The phone rings and Jane rushes to the office. I'm still staring out the window when she comes back.
"That was Gus. He went to a titty bar with some guys at work. He's drunk."
"What's he doing there?"
"He didn't want to go. He just went because his friends wanted him to. He told me he loved me, though. He's so sweet." Jane pursed her lips in contentment.
I sit at the table and finish off my milkshake, scooping the robust pralines from the bottom with a spoon. Jane sits next to me and lights a cigarette. I watch the ashes fall from her fingers.