“I run a flea circus from hell,” he said, downing the last bit of apple juice as if it were something rather more potent. She didn’t think he needed anything of the kind.
Maybe it was the air that intoxicated him, ripe with cigarette smoke, sweat and the scent of alcohol, a hint of overused deodorant occasionally finding its way to her nose when the waitress passed them by. The waitress he had suspected to be a man, though his suspicions seemed completely unfounded. Though square of jaw, there was definitely a female shape, carefully hidden under her shapeless black dress. Still, that wasn’t the issue at hand. She’d never met a man like him and his curiosities only served to heighten her excitement.
He continued, “Tough, it is.”
“I’m sure.” She leaned further in, supporting her chin with her elbows, heavily outlined eyes shining up at his pale face. For once, she found herself speaking to a man whose eyes were entrained, not on her chest, but a point about twenty metres beyond the wall behind her. It wasn’t eye contact, but that kind of high-class treatment made her nervous, anyway. This, she thought, was perfection. “More juice?” Her knees pushed against his now, lips pouted and fingers resting gently over his hand, all very torrid gestures that he ignored beautifully. Was he teasing or just painfully innocent? Whichever one it was, she knew she liked it.
He shook his head while reaching over to the other table, gracefully purloining a jug of orange juice. Instead of bothering himself with the glass again, he poured it down his throat, spilling a bit on the table when an overenthusiastic dancer jostled his elbow. Once he was satisfied, he set it down where it belonged and stared, in silence, at the star-shaped gem she had stuck just above her eyebrow. There was nothing interesting about it: just a simple pentagram with rounded edges, a bit of plastic stuck on a white backing. It was precisely the type of thing he’d get caught up in, the inconspicuous little detail that opened up whole new worlds to explore. She was a gullible girl. His job had nothing to do with fleas. The bar was stifling; drops of sweat made their way down her face, smudging her heavy make-up.
“What do you do?”
She pulled up her jacket’s zipper, trying to hide the low-cut shirt underneath. If there wasn’t so much concealer smothered on her face, he supposed he could have seen her blush. “Oh, just a little this or that. I haven’t got time. College, you know.”
It wasn’t one of her favourite topics, he could tell. For the past half hour or so, it had been about everything but her. That old lady over there who smelled like cats, the waitress, the bartender with the lazy eye… She’d talk about anybody as long as it wasn't herself. A moment ago, it had been about him, but now he’d changed that. Not, of course, that he really needed to ask her to know what she was. He reached out and held her face so she was looking straight into his eyes, making sure to be firm so she couldn’t pull away.
“Well, you already—you know. And I guess that changes everything.” Now tears, blackened with eyeliner, made their way down her cheek to his hand.
“No, it doesn’t.”
He was standing up now, pulling his thin jacket on. She followed suit, expecting him to start sprinting away from her the moment he got out into the street. The thought of paying for the drinks didn’t even cross her mind. If it didn’t change anything, where was he going? Suddenly, there was a weight on her shoulder: a warm, slightly sweaty hand. It was rough, and one of the fingers seemed slightly bent at a joint. No ring on this one, or the other, she noted. Was that still something you could go by? His eyes met hers once again. An image flashed through her mind, lasting less than a second, yet she found herself capable of bringing it back, rewinding it and going through it more slowly.
“I see.” She embraced him for a moment, committing that odd scent to memory. In a dreamlike state, she went from there, through the city to her apartment, where she stood at the balcony staring out at the empty street. The wind caressed her face, cold against the wetness on her forehead and the tears she had forgotten to wipe away. It didn’t matter, she thought as she climbed over the railing and let go. They wouldn’t be able to tell when they found her body, anyway.
There was a particularly amusing piece in the back of the news the next morning. He smiled. It was so easy. Those girls were always so always so gullible.