I nod casually. Libras are always flabbergasted by the most innocent information. Very naive sign. So I decide to lean in. “Yeah,” I say. “I mean, I’m really good in bed.”

Beau exits the bathroom, but obviously he has no idea who I am or that I am talking about him, so I don’t stop. I am addicted to Jessica’s attention. I feel like I am auditioning for an auteur director who’s letting me improvise with the script.

“Men are always comparing their dick sizes, but no one talks about how they are also constantly comparing our pussies.” I blow on my coffee again, watching Jessica watch me. “And mine, I’ve been told on numerous occasions, is exceptionally delicate and smells like a rose.”

I notice that I am having fun making things up. My therapist, whom I can no longer afford, taught me to notice when I was enjoying myself. This might make it easier to enjoy myself more often, she said. I didn’t believe her. I didn’t really believe anything she said. I went to therapy for an audience, to workshop my one-woman show. I just wanted attention. I went to therapy for the same reason I go to a strip club in the daytime.

Jessica looks down, and I know she is thinking about her own vagina and whether it is adequate. I get a twisted thrill watching her spiral. After she is silent for a few seconds, I put on my headphones. I look back at my computer and start searching the tags #clueless and #airhead.

After a while, I feel the tapping of Jessica’s cold finger again.

“I still can’t get over five times a day,” she says, and giggles. I wonder if she and her boyfriend have ever had sex. They probably just masturbate at the same time in separate rooms. Whatever they do to get off, I can tell it is very dark.

“Don’t get me wrong.” I lift my coffee mug to my lips and pretend to sip. Acting. “I have a strong libido. But five times a day is too much for me.” I put the mug down, then whisper, “I’m fragile.”

“I mean,” Jessica says, leaning in. “Your delicate vagina.” She looks at her lap.

“Exactly,” I say.

I feel a sudden wave of pleasure and look up to see Beau walking past my table. He has a cigarette behind his ear. We make brief eye contact and my spine shivers.

DAWN.

Two hundred and fifty dollars is a lot of money for an astrology reading, but it seems worth it. I need some direction. My last two romantic prospects ran screaming because they knew my exes. All lesbians know each other. I’ll have to either meet someone with no ties to the lesbian community or go back to men. Maybe the reading will help me decide which, or where to look.