Rhapsody in Blue
We met Emma over at the Grill last night. We talked small for awhile, avoiding the obvious topic at the fore of each of our minds. A crazy woman kept coming up to the jukebox, mumbling to herself and playing patriotic songs like “Stars and Stripes Forever” ad nauseum while dancing or, at least, oddly gesticulating. It was like the Boston Pops in there. She hovered perilously close. One of the regulars, a short, balding man in glasses, was, I think, trying to bed the crazy woman.
Emma’s ass nicely filled her tight jeans and her sweater couldn’t fight back the swell of her breasts. She’s a stealth babe, the kind of girl whose sex-appeal grabs you from behind in an off-moment and doesn’t let go. Soft-spoken and gentle, the woman can nonetheless hold her liquor. I wanted to kiss her, and cursed myself at having brought her out to this circus instead of some cozy little lounge with dark corners and intimate spaces. “She has a nice caboose,” I said to Les when Emma went off to the bathroom.
When Emma returned Leslie decided she could ignore the elephant in the room no longer. “So, what are you looking for?” she asked Emma.
“Well, someday I want to get married and have kids and all that, but he’d have to enjoy going out and partying as much as I do. That’s a long ways off, though.”
“Yeah, Les and I are gonna have to look into this whole creating life business,” I said.
Les opened her mouth and words tumbled out. “We like you, but we’re fine with taking it slow. We’re not going to force you to do anything.”
“Unless you’re into that,” I added.
“I knew you’d say that,” Emma said, looking at me and smiling coyly.
We went out for a smoke, shivering in the cold. Emma told us the sad and truly shocking tale of the last couple she had been with.
“After what I went through I don’t want to jump into anything,” Emma said.
“I don’t blame you. It sounds like they were incredibly immature—and incredibly fucked up,” said I.
I continued. “We’ve been together eleven years—”
“And a half,” Les corrected me.
“Yeah, I know that. Anyway, we have history together and we don’t play games. We’ve met a lot of people in this town who just want to fuck people over. They just want mindless sex, like if they fuck enough they can make up for some huge gaping void in their lives. I want to fuck people I can stand to see the next day, people I actually might want to be friends with if I weren’t fucking them.”
At that moment two of Emma’s friends showed up; Derek, a friendly guy with short, natty dreads, and Chloe, a cute girl with short black hair and a tongue ring. We all walked into the bar to order drinks. Les took Emma aside and the two girls spoke in hushed tones. Emma told Leslie she wouldn’t have come out unless she were intrigued by the possibility of being with us. Chloe informed me what they say about tongue rings and fellatio is true.
Derek and I stood by the jukebox. He turned to me. “I know you’re not gay, but—”
I already knew where this was going. I braced myself for the inevitable.
”—you’re a very good-looking guy.”
“Hey, I live in Chelsea. I’m used to this.”
“I saw you at Babs’ party and I was, like, woah.”
I smiled. What else was there to say? An hour or so later we were all on the street, saying our goodbyes. Emma kissed my lips and held me close. I went for a handshake with Derek but he held me close too.
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