My Juliet by John Ed Bradley

of suffocating embarrassment.
    â€œThis is hard,” she tells him.
    â€œYou’re right.”
    â€œHarder than I ever dreamed it would be.”
    â€œYeah? For me too.”
    Unable to bear looking at her any longer, Sonny seeks comfort in the familiarity of their surroundings: the old neon sign at Tujague’s Restaurant, a fire-eater on the sidewalk, sightseeing mules wearing straw hats crowned with plastic flowers. Lifting a hand, he attracts the attention of a busboy. “Ice water, please.”
    â€œYou gonna be all right?” asks Juliet.
    â€œI guess I’m hot.”
    He wishes he were still at the fence, alone in the dark, watching the trees blow in the sky. It’s too hard loving anyone. Too hard having to look at them again.
    â€œYou know what just came to me?” Juliet says. “Give us each a puka shell necklace and put us in platform shoes and polyester and it’d be like old times.”
    â€œWas that 1971? I thought those things came later.”
    She inhales cigarette smoke, then noisily blows it out. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
    Their order arrives and Juliet folds one of the beignets and dunks it in the coffee and eats with her head tilted close to the marble-top table, her hair dragging the surface and picking up traces of confectioners’ sugar. “I’d nearly forgotten,” she says with a satisfied groan.
    â€œNot bad, huh?”
    She holds up the beignet, what remains of it. “This little piece of fried dough is the most incredible thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”
    Against his will a smile comes to Sonny’s face. He knows exactly what she’s getting at. “I can place another order,” he says.
    Juliet shakes her head, her mouth still white with sugar, cheeks fat and lumpy. “No. I’d better save room for the oysters.”
    â€œOh? Are you having oysters too?”
    â€œWe both are,” she says. “Oysters at Acme then a Lucky Dog on Bourbon Street then hurricanes in the courtyard at Pat O’Brien’s. After that we’ll stop by the little Takee Outee stand for egg rolls and beef-on-a-stick.”
    â€œI’m not sure the Takee Outee is even there anymore, Julie. You might want to consider something else.”
    â€œFine. Then I’ll just have you.”
    A surge of heat inflames Sonny’s face. He resists an urge to jump to his feet and topple the table over and storm away. “You’re being a little presumptuous, aren’t you? Forgive me for bringing up anything unpleasant, Julie, but you must take me for a fool. I saw one of your movies. Is that what you call them, by the way? Are they movies?”
    Juliet puts the half-eaten beignet back down on her plate. “You’re going to hurt my feelings, aren’t you? Yes, I think you are.”
    â€œYou’ve got some explaining to do, Julie. You can’t just waltz back home and pick me up for beignets and not expect to answer questions about where you’ve been for the last fifteen years.”
    â€œThere’s a picture in my head, Sonny. A picture of Mama sticking a cassette in the VCR, returning to her chair and punching the Play button on her remote control. Does that explain it?”
    Sonny stares into her eyes but he can’t tell whether she means it. “That’s pretty damned sick. I hope to God you’re not serious.”
    She wets the tip of her finger and dunks it in the drifts of sugar on her plate. When she brings the finger up to her mouth it leaves a mark on her upper lip. “There weren’t but a handful of movies,” she says, “all of them for the same production company. It was such a bush-league outfit I never really thought anyone would see them. Before agreeing to appear on camera, I signed a contract saying that I work with one actor only, and that was my boyfriend—now my ex-boyfriend, of course.” Juliet nods to emphasize how