me and owns the kind of cars I do is not a stalker. Heâs a guy on a romantic mission, like in a movie when the heroâs waiting for the girl when she gets home from work, exhausted and a little down in the dumps. Did I mention I was holding a single red long-stemmed American Beauty rose?â
âNo, you didnât.â
âI was pissed, but I figured, what the hell? What do I have to lose? She stands me up, so Iâll give it one last try. So what do you think happens next?â
I asked if this narrative really required audience participation. I didnât say that his Socratic method reminded me of rounds, of interns being called upon to recite, to provide answers and differential diagnoses, and of constant failure on my feet.
Instead of answering, I poised the ketchup bottle over my own fries, inducing a few drips. He asked if I was sure I didnât want anything else. I said yes. I didnât want him to call the waitress back, delaying his consumption of his hamburger, prolonging the night.
âOkay! I love this part: Mary sees me on the sidewalk. Well, sees
someone.
Itâs dark, so how could she recognize me when sheâs only laid eyes on me once, and plus itâs too dark to see the rose. But this is one tough broad. She doesnât flinch, doesnât make eye contact. I say, âMary, itâs Ray Russo. We had a date to meet in Central Square.â She said, âOh, shit. Didnât the bartender tell you that I had to work and couldnât make it?â I say, âGee, Mary. No. And you must think Iâm a fucking moron to believe that one.â You know what she said? Iâll never forget it. I even told this at our wedding reception in a little speech I gave: She goes, âWell, you donât have a choice, asshole, because if you donât get the fuck off my property, my next phone call is to nine-one-one.â â
I blinked. I tried to remember how this man and I had ever intersected and what possible turn of events had led me to this table and this conversation.
Ray said, âExcuse my language. I wanted to quote her accurately so youâd get the full flavor. So anyway, I laughed, which was exactly the right thing to do. It cut the tension and showed her I had a sense of humor. Before you know it, weâre sitting on her front porch having a pretty good conversation. About forty-five minutes later, maybe an hour, we were . . . how should I say this? Getting to know each other even better.â
I waited for some exposition. When none was offered, I asked if he meant they had sexual intercourse.
Ray blotted his bulging mouth with his napkin, nodding emphatically. âLike you wouldnât believe.â
âSafe sex?â I asked.
âSure,â he said. âIâm always prepared. And so was Mary, as it turned out. She bought condoms at Costco, like a dozen gross at a time.â
I answered as best as I was equipped to on this topic. âThere must have been some extremely strong chemistry if you had sex after a forty-five-minute conversation.â
âYou could say that. You could also say that Mary was a highly physical individual.â He picked up the salt and pepper shakers and made them face each other. âLike you and I have a conversation? To communicate and maybe pass the time? Not Maryââand here the salt and pepper shakers went horizontalââshe might have been a sex addict if I hadnât come along.â
âWasnât anyone home?â I asked.
âShe didnât care! She had a couple of roommates, but everybody minded their own business when it came to entertaining guests.â He picked up his mug, nodded firmly, and swallowed a few gulps.
I said, âIâm fairly speechless.â
âOver what aspect?â
âMary. I have to reconfigure my mental picture of her.â
âFrom what to what?â
âFrom . . . I donât know. I used to
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