Is There Still Sex in the City?

inking about it at the time. Indeed, I didn’t think about it again until Sassy had a barbeque and James was there. Again. He’d brought the meat. But still.

James was starting to annoy me slightly. Was he always going to be there? And why? He was at least twenty, twenty-five years younger than we were. What the hell could be so interesting about a bunch of middle-aged women doing their own thing that would make him want to hang around?

The next day, Tilda Tia and I went for a bike ride. I immediately asked her about James. What did she know about him?

Tilda Tia shrugged. “He’s a real estate agent.”

“He’s old enough to have a job?”

“He’s almost thirty. He broke up with his girlfriend four months ago, so I guess he’s bored.”

I didn’t ask how old the girlfriend was. Instead, I asked her how Sassy had met him. I could have asked Sassy myself, but something about the situation prevented me.

Tilda Tia was vague. She mentioned something about an evening at a club, back in the days when she was still cubbing. Tilda Tia was no longer cubbing herself and had instead moved on to Tinder.

Another month passed. Every time I saw Sassy at a party, I was surprised and annoyed that James was still hanging around. He would get her drinks and seemed to be on friendly terms with all of our friends. I was suspicious. But when I asked around, everyone said they “loved” James. He was handy and he was happy to be the designated driver.

And then it was casually mentioned that he was staying at Sassy’s. For the moment, anyway. He’d had a share in another house, but it was only for one month. So now he and his VW bug were temporarily parked in Sassy’s driveway.

This is another typical cub ploy: suddenly moving in when they’ve lost a place to live.

Like James, the cub always claims to have a place to live when you first meet. Then the “place to live” becomes someplace less defined—a place to “crash” perhaps. And then the place mysteriously disappears altogether and the cub is homeless.

And where better to stay than with you?

Naturally the cub reassures—and cautions—that the arrangement is only temporary. Cubs know that the women who house them are not looking for forever. Forever is too soon. It’s too raw, it’s too scary. Especially when you don’t know where you’ll be three months from now.

Which is why, perhaps, Sassy chose to keep it a secret.

Although I suspected that Sassy and James might be having conjugal relations, I couldn’t really confirm it. There were no tipoffs, no tells. No sidelong glances. No handholding. No whispers in the hallway.

While Sassy and I were out talking on the deck, James would usually be in the house on internet central. I’d pass him on my way out and we’d wave hello. When Sassy and James did interact, a lot of it seemed to be about scheduling.

Was he some kind of assistant?

The day came when I skipped a bike ride with Tilda Tia and in the middle of the morning, having driven to town to post letters, I decided to pop over to Sassy’s.

The cars were there, so I went inside. The place was empty. I wandered into Sassy’s room just to be sure.

The bed was a mess, and the pillows on both sides had been used. On the floor was a torn packet of foil.

Was I the only one who didn’t know?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked Tilda Tia later that day.

“Tell you what?” she said. As usual, she was distracted with Tinder and her next date.

“Sassy and James are not just friends. They’re sleeping together.” I said this thunderously, as if I were Charlton Heston in one of those religious movies.

“So?”

“She never told me they were.”

“She didn’t tell me either,” Tilda Tia said. “Which means if she didn’t tell us she doesn’t want us to know.”

“Fine. We know nothing,” I said. Nevertheless, I was determined to ask Sassy myself.

“Are you and James . . .” I could barely bring myself to say the words.