Page 107 of Easy
Flo laughs. ‘Such movements. You should totes put them on your résumé.’
Her pronunciation sounds terribly French as I groan and plant my head in my hands. ‘I don’t know what came over me,’ I mumble.
‘I think I do.’
‘Please make it stop,’ I say, throwing both my eyes and hands heavenward.
‘You’re such a drama queen,’ she says, still laughing and thoroughly enjoying my pain.
‘Me? You’re the queen of drama. If you hadn’t made me dance, I wouldn’t be sitting here in yesterday’s clothes!’
Without dancing, there would’ve been no need for tequila. Without tequila, there would be no indiscretion to report. No stranger.
I’m not sure I welcome that thought.
‘You should be buyingmybreakfast as thanks.’
‘Where did you go, anyway?’ I ask, hoping to shift the conversation to her favourite topic.Namely Flo. ‘I can’t remember you being around much after I fell on him.’
‘Fell on his cock, you mean?’
So much for that plan. And why does the word sound so much naughtier in her accent? ‘Shush. Not so loud.’
‘Hungover, sweets?’
‘I can’t believe I went home with him.’ I also don’t realise I’m chewing my thumbnail until Flo pulls it away.
‘Don’t worry,’ she says, cutting me off. ‘I was there, keeping an eye on things.’
‘How did you know where I’d be?’ I ask, the thought occurring belatedly. The phone call is one thing, but meeting me here, nearby?
‘I insisted on seeing his driver’s license.’ Flo keeps her eyes on her tea as she stirs. ‘I knew exactly where you’d be.’
‘And you stayed—in the club?’
‘Of course. I was rather taken by the barman. Don’t you remember? He was a bit of a sort.’ London English was sometimes like another language. Why couldn’t she just say the barman was hot?
Folding her arms across her chest, Flo begins the dissection of our evening—the bits I’d missed. The problem started with an open tab at dinner; things had gone downhill very quickly, apparently. As she imparts last night’s hot gossip—who did what and with whom—I try to stay focused on the details, though my mind is overwhelmed by other things...
In the stranger’s house, after leading me down a hallway, he’d opened a bottle of wine and poured us both a glass. Soft music played in the background; the lights were low. His manner solicitous, throwing me off balance at the change of pace. What happened to the man who’d pushed me up against the door? I wanted him back. Hard. Fast. More.
He’s an academic, I thought he’d said. Something about teaching, maybe? That didn’t make sense today. There was a certain reserve about him; a power underneath. Something kept on a tight leash. I’ve known teachers in my life. People in the profession usually have an obvious authority about them, not one restrained. A need to be heard. The love of a captive audience.
Captive. My mind slides back to the question of the handcuffs again.
‘Tsk, tsk. A one-night stand,’ she admonishes, chuckling as she pilfers a piece of my breakfast and pops it into her mouth. How she can manage to chew and smile, I don’t know. Oh, for a toothbrush this morning. And a couple of Tylenol.
‘I’m not a virgin,’ I retort half-heartedly.
‘Oh, I know. Maybe just... revirginized.’
‘God, you’re so... ’Perceptive?
‘Crass? Yes, so my mother says. But you haven’t had sex since you moved in with me, other than with yourself.’ Jesus, are the walls that thin? ‘What? Am I not supposed to notice?’ I open my mouth to protest—my vibrator cost me a fortune; its motor is as silent as the dead! ‘You work. You run. You knit furiously. Don’t tell me that’s not repressed sexual energy.’
‘That’s not true,’ I manage finally. ‘I’ve been out with you. Besides, knitting is a fashionable pastime.’
‘The pertinent word was “furiously”. And yes, we’ve been out, but you turn down drinks offered. And you ignore the studs at work.’
