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    The Architecture Of Love

    TWO

    We sit down at a small table behind the front line, where – thank God – the music isn’t so loud to deafen you permanently.
    I cross my legs, smoothing down my miniskirt as my new friend plops down on the chair in front of me, her shoulders slumped, her face… well, her fucking pretty face a true mystery.
    She looks at me like I’m an alien and blinks her eyelids.
    The waiter approaches us immediately and I turn to him.
    “I’ll have a vodka Martini, very dry and straight up… with three olives, and my sullen friend here will have…”.
    I glance at her.
    “A Coke”, she says, quietly.
    “…Alright, the poster girl for sexually confused women will have a Coke”.
    The waiter nods and leaves.
    I sigh and arch my eyebrow, clasping my hands on the table.
    “So… The girl on the phone…”, I start.
    “Lucia”, she interrupts me flatly.
    “…Lucia, right. We were together for five months…”.
    She rests her hands on her thighs.
    “I thought it was four”.
    “You were paying attention”, I smirk, and she takes a look around, sighing.
    “Everyone in this club was paying attention”.
    I wave my hand in the air.
    “Anyway, we were together for five months. But I knew it wasn’t gonna work out… ‘cause the first time she comes over I find out that she doesn’t wash her hands after peeing…”.
    The stranger just blinks, staring at me, and I frown.
    “You don’t do that, do you?”, I ask her.
    “No”.
    “So fuckin’ gross. And in my experience…”, I say sighing, “…It extends to other aspects of an individual’s personality”.
    She doesn’t reply, so I lean forward on the table.
    “Last time I saw her, Lucia was wearing a blue sweater and an idiotic expression”.
    The waiter comes back, placing our drinks on the table.
    “The sweater was new”, I point out staring at the brooding girl.
    I raise my glass.
    “Here’s to good riddance Lucia”.
    She raises hers.
    “Good riddance Lucia”.
    I toss off my Martini and call out.
    “Hey, again please!”.
    The waiter comes back immediately and leans towards me.
    “…And drier this time…”, I yell into his ear, “…And three olives, not two!”.
    He just nods, walking away.
    I smile at the nameless girl.
    “Three. Nutritional value”.
    She tilts her head, quite amused.
    “Now, where were we? Oh, so Lucia”.
    “Right”, she says, plainly.
    “The sex part wasn’t bad…”, I shrug, “…You know, for a while. And then her consummate laziness and lack of imagination became tediously self-evident. Every time, everything was exactly the same as the time previous…”.
    I shake my head pensively.
    “…It was as if she had followed some step-by-step instructional video”.
    The girl nods, sipping her coke.
    “And about two weeks ago, guess what I found in the apartment?”.
    “A step-by-step instructional video…”.
    I slam my hand on the table.
    “Right! Here’s the topper! And then I timed her performance one night. Right? And then I checked the running time on the video. And guess what?”.
    “To the minute”, she says, staring at me.
    I nod.
    “Right down to it. Twenty-three minutes, to be exact”, I toss off my second drink, “Including credits”.
    I place the glass back on the table and throw my hands in the air.
    “Anyway, she’s history. But I still have Blanche”.
    “Who would be the cat”.
    I sigh dreamingly.
    “Oh, a great cat. Very feline”.
    The girl shrugs.
    “The best cats are”.
    I lift my chin and narrow my eyes, trying to imitate Blanche’s look.
    “Blanche can look at you with a gaze of unflappable superiority that seems to spring from near total detachment and disinterest… Not unlike how you’re looking at me now”.
    She bows her head a little.
    “Thank you”.
    I chuckle, pausing a little.
    “You don’t say very much, do you?”.
    She arches her eyebrows.
    “Does anyone, when they’re with you?”.
    I frown.
    “Don’t get mean. We don’t know each other well enough yet. When we do, then you can get mean”, I say, and she doesn’t reply.
    “ So we should do this again sometime”, I add after a few seconds.
    She shakes her head, seriously.
    “We’re not doing anything”.
    “Okay. Then let’s not do this”, I laugh, “Let’s do something else. I’ll even let you decide where we go on our date”.
    She clenches her jaw.
    “I don’t date”.
    I find myself surprised.
    “Well. Gee. I don’t have a witty comeback for that one…”, I chuckle in discomfort, “…I mean, I’m used to any number of brush-off but… that’s…uh, that’s a new one…”.
    I look up at her and we exchange a gaze.
    “She doesn’t date…”, I whisper under my breath, looking down at the table.
    “I’ll admit I’ve seen you around, you know?”, I say then, smiling, “You’re always… You’re always dancing alone”.
    She lights a cigarette and takes a drag.
    “That’s the way I like it”.
    “Why is that?”.
    She moves on her chair and clears her voice.
    “Look…”, she says then, “…I don’t want to be rude or unkind or… mean. But I just don’t come out with my entire like story over Martinis and a Coke”.
    I shut my mouth and she gives me an apologizing look.
    “I am sorry, really”, she says, “Your cat’s lucky to have you”.
    She stands up and walks away.

    Page 2 of 212

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