“Keep your voice down,” she hissed. “People are starting to stare.”
The man smirked. “Since when don’t you like an audience?”
That did it. She threw her drink in his face. He didn’t seem surprised, like any of this was new. I tried to avert my eyes and give them a little privacy, even though nobody else seemed inclined to do the same. It wasn’t really their argument I found so interesting, but the way their eyes were telling a different story. Their words were daggers, each line cutting deeper then the first, but there was no anger in their eyes. There was nothing.
“Is this caffeine free?” the man asked, licking his lips. “You know I’m not supposed to have caffeine. It keeps me up.”
“That would be an improvement.” The cashier stifled a laugh.
“Explain it to me, John, because I’m not understanding,” she continued. I glanced up and searched her eyes for a sign that she actually cared. There was none.
“It’s gone. All of it.”
“How can it be gone? Where did it go?”
“Does it really matter?”
Now we were getting somewhere.
“Of course it matters.” But still, nothing. He must have believed her, though because he sat up a little straighter in his chair and attempted to explain why whatever it was was gone.
They had been coming here for awhile now. I had told them about the place when they moved into the building. Today they didn’t wave when they came in.
“I don’t really know where it went. One day I woke up and realized it was missing.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Don’t be coy with me, John. What did you do about it?”
“What could I do?”
“There was a lot you could have done. There is a lot you can still do.”
“Not really.”
I believed him. Whatever it was, it was gone, and it wasn’t coming back.
“Isn’t there someone who could help us find it?” she asked.
“Why don’t you call your mother? She’s good at nosing around.”
She reached for her glass, and then remembered it was empty.
Unlike the other bystanders, I knew how this argument would end because I heard it everyday through the wall that separated our apartments. She would continue to blame him for their loss, and he would continue to make careless remarks. It was a well rehearsed script to a mediocre show, one to which the curtain fell with no resolution.
When it was over, she usually showed up at my place. Sometimes she brought a bottle of wine. Always, I’d go down on her. Once I tried to fuck her, but she said she’d lost interest in dick a long time ago.
But John hadn’t. He liked dick a lot, and showed up within a few hours of Claire leaving. He let me fuck him, sometimes more then once.
“John, I’m having an affair.”
My head snapped up from the paper I’d been pretending to read. The cashier dropped a mug.
“With Richard.”
Neither one of them looked back at me, but continued to hold each others' gaze. Then John started shaking, with what I thought could only be rage. What escaped his mouth next took everyone by surprise.
John broke into laughter. He held his gut from the pain of it absorbing his breath. Tears streamed down his face.
“What’s so funny, John?” Claire asked. “You think Richard couldn’t possibly find me attractive? You think Richard couldn’t possibly want to fuck me? Well, ask him. Go ahead, he’s sitting right there!”
I sunk lower in my chair as John fell out of his.
“John!”
It took awhile, but he finally pulled himself together. “Well, I guess we’re not so different after all!”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve got news for you Claire,” John heaved. “I’m fucking Richard too!”
I felt the weight of the curtain press down on me.
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