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I want to curl up into my sofa and die. Except it smells like something already has, so I decide now would be a really good time to not stare at my phone and actually clean up. My apartment is slightly bigger than a studio. And I wish I could say that I kept it in tip-top shape, but I can be messy. Not dirty, but there are things. Everywhere.
The problem with working nights and feeling like a vampire during the day is that you kind of lose your motivation to pick shit up when you could just turn off a light, and taa-daa, the mess is gone. But everything does have a place and it’s just laziness that stops me from doing it, so I push myself to turn my phone over and work through the mess that has spread.
A quick dash turns into a two-hour upend, moving things around and making a list of new things I want to buy that I probably don’t need. I finally collapse on my freshly vacuumed sofa and slowly turn my phone over, feeling the butterflies as I look down to see that little notification box glowing.
Lola . . . I don’t know what I expected, but it suits you. Feeling much better now. Would you like to get a drink sometime? Willow.
I feel my cheeks turn pink, Lola does suit me—it’s why I chose it, but I like that she thinks so as well. I reply.
A drink sounds good. Let me know when and where.
Tonight, 8pm, Suitopia. I notice she doesn’t hesitate to respond.
I will see you there.
6
Willow
She made me wait all day. I mean, she might have been sleeping--I don’t know the exact schedule of sleep when it comes to her profession. But I still checked my phone every few minutes. Made myself get up and make a coffee while I left the phone behind on the desk, trying to pretend it wasn’t the first thing that I wanted to check the moment I sat down.
When her first message came, it was her name that made me smile the most. Lola. I have never met anyone called Lola before, and of all the names in the world I could have imagined, Lola wasn’t one I would have thought of. And yet, the moment I saw it in the text, I could see that was who she was. Inside and out. Lola.
I’m not down for playing games. In the just few minutes we shared together, I saw more of her body than I have ever seen of my own. I felt her flesh on mine, smelled her sex, tasted her skin. I don’t need to play phone tennis for a week in order to make plans. I want to know more than her body.
Suitopia is a good option for our meeting. Middle of the city, neutral ground, not so fancy that I would run into anyone who has my mother on speed dial, but also not divey. Just a nice cocktail bar where the drinks taste good and the music fills the silence, but you can still lean in, talk, and get to know someone.
I made a lot of effort, then spent the rest of the time in front of the mirror making it look like I hadn’t. Ruffled up ponytail, slightly smudged makeup after a perfect application. My shirt had been tucked and untucked so many times that I surrendered and tucked it in the end to hide the creases I had made.
Lola is already there when I arrive, not at the bar but at a table. I smile because it is exactly the one I would have chosen. I wonder if my desire for her will be as strong as it was on that night, now that her clothes are on. She still doesn’t see me, so I take a moment to check her out.
Her hair is down in long messy dark curls, which makes her look like she has just stepped out of a shampoo ad. And she’s facing me, perched on a high stool. Although she is slightly hidden from my view, I can see she’s wearing jeans and a tight tee shirt. Nothing fancy. She is effortlessly gorgeous. So many women would spend hours in front of a mirror and still never look as good as that. Lola is natural, beautiful. My smile turns into a grin as I approach.
“Hey,” she says, her voice trailing off. She smiles back. I realize this is the first time hearing her voice. It’s sweet like honey, and soft. If Lola had called me on the phone, I would have thought she was much younger, yet that sweetness suits her. She has an innocence you would never see on stage.
“Hey to you too,” I reply, as I step up and sit on a chair, slowly unwrapping my scarf as I reach for a cocktail menu. “What did you order?” I ask, with a nod to her glass.
“A Showgirl,” Lola says with a grin. I laugh.
“The perfect choice. Will you choose mine?” I slide the menu across and her eyes widen.
“What? So much pressure! I don’t know what you like. I could make a horrible choice and then you would most definitely judge me.”
I laugh at her genuine concern. “I won’t judge you. Surprise me. I like surprises.”
Lola’s eyebrows lift questioningly. “Well, that surprises me. You don’t seem like the type to enjoy surprises at all. In fact, I already had you figured for a ‘life plan at eighteen’ kind of woman.”
“Try fifteen,” I say, with a wry smile. “But that’s just one side of my life. The other . . . I like to feel the surprise in other areas.” My voice trails off as a server arrives. Lola points to the menu, ordering me something. I don’t care what it is. I know I will like it just because she chose it.
Small talk has never been my best skill. I find it awkward and a complete waste of time. But Lola is a chatterbox. Words tumble from her lips in a neverending flow of warmth and genuine curiosity, which makes me find everything she has to say interesting.
As her green eyes glitter with excitement, and I find myself swept away by her childlike joy.
The waiter brings over my drink. I can see right away that I would never have chosen it. An exuberant display of excess—cream and chocolatey swirls with who knows what blend of alcohol.
But I smile at Lola over the top of my glass, leaning in as my lips part and my tongue extends to find the straw. I take it in and give a slow suck, feeling the cold blend of ice cream, alcohol and other flavors I can’t put my finger on.
The drink is delicious. Like a dessert made for adults, creamy with a kick of naughtiness. I take a longer sip than I planned because it just tastes that good. I watch Lola settle back in her seat with an almost smug smile on her face.
