Jay Fox - THE WALLS

“No,” I respond.

“I know you always said you wanted to live a life without regrets.”

“I figure that's a pretty common thing to want. It's difficult to realize, but it's common.”

She smiles. The waiter appears before she has a chance to respond. “Do you know what you're going to have?” she asks. A long droning song comes from my mouth. “It's okay. I know what you like.”

She speaks to the waiter in French again — lofty, vowel-ridden, and prone to making anyone look like a pretentious jackass when speaking it, provided it is not a first language. They laugh. It's clearly at my expense. He glances back to me with Alpha male derision before leaving. I cannot hide my indignation.

“What?”

“Did you have to order for me?”

“I know what you like.” Caesura . “Look, everything on the menu is good. Don't get upset.”

“I'm not upset. I just would have liked the opportunity to order for myself.”

“Don't be like that. You're just frustrated with your little Coprolalia business.”

“No, I'm upset because you suddenly have no respect for me.”

“Jesus,” she exhales. “What the hell has gotten into you? Why are you so…why are you jumping down my throat?”

“I'm not; I just don't like being treated like a fucking child.”

“I know the best things on the menu. You're going to like what I got you. Don't be so testy about it.” She sips from her glass. “Besides, I know how indecisive you can be when it comes to food.”

“You'd get way more upset if I ordered for you.”

“That's different.”

“How the fuck is it any different?” A man from the next table eyes me. “It impugns your freedom.”

“Impugns? Really? Impugns? Why do you have to use that word?”

“It's a perfectly common word. You clearly know what it means.”

“That's not the point.”

We continue to stare to one another until the busboy removes the plate of mussel shells and the bowl filled with the admixture in which they had previously been swimming. “Let's just drop it, okay. We are two adults; we are perfectly capable of a civil conversation.”

“Agreed.”

“So how is the search going?” she asks. “I mean, do you think you have any shot of actually finding him?”

“I won't deny that it's not going as well as I had hoped, but I feel as though there's some potential. Real leads are beginning to materialize.”

“What if he doesn't want to give you an interview?”

“I haven't thought of that,” I say after a brief moment of introspection. “I guess I always thought he'd reward the person who finally discovers who he is.” She nods. The belligerence passes, though there is still blood in the water. “So what's up with you? I feel like you only talk about all of the interviews that you've been on. There has to be something else going on in your life.”

She takes a long sip from her wineglass. “Actually,” she begins calmly, slowly, “I did have a reason for asking you out here today. I have something to tell you.”

My stomach dips. Thousands of scenarios are all aiming to depart from the realm of potentiality.

“I met somebody.”

“Oh,” I begin. “Well that's…that's good. I thought you were about to tell me that someone had…” She raises an eyebrow. “Well…died.”

“No,” she laughs. “No. Something like that I could tell you over the phone.” She's quiet for a moment. “You're not upset?” gingerly.

“Of course not. I mean, you're a great girl. I'm actually amazed that you've stayed single for so long. I mean—”

“That's sweet of you to say,” she blushes. “But you're not upset?”

“Well, it will be a little difficult to see you two together, but—”

“So you are upset,” dramatically.

“No,” that gentle, elongated version of the word, “I'm just saying that a-a part of me will always love you, and that it's going to be difficult to see you with another man.”

“Why do you tell me these things?” She almost smiles.

“I just want to be honest.”

“But you're okay with it? For real?”

“Yes. Like I said, it will be difficult, but I knew this would eventually happen.”

“How about you?”

“What?”

“Is there anyone in your life?”

“I don't really know yet.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Well,” that elongated, somewhat smug rendition, “Something happened last night. I don't know if it's going to turn into anything, but—”

“Do I know her?”

“You may have met her once or twice.”

“Who is she?”

“You remember Ilkay's friend Vinati, right?”

“Her?” in sforzando .

“Yeah. Kind of funny, right?”

“That's one way to describe it.”

“…”

“It's just…I didn't think you were interested in girls like that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“She doesn't exactly seem like your type.”

“Why not?”

“You know, I just thought you looked for substance in a person. She's like a little doll. She weighs, what? like ninety-five pounds.”

“So you think I'm shallow because I like a thin girl.”

“I didn't say that.”

Caesura .

“Do you not like her?”

“She's sweet, but, honestly, I always thought…it's just…well, she's always struck me as kind of a ditz.”

“A ditz?”

“Well, she's just so…”

“What?”

“I don't know.”

“It seems like you don't like her because she's pretty.”

“I'm not that pretty — petty. I just can't picture the two of you together.”

“Well, as I said, I'm not entirely sure what her take on it is. It's not like we're dating exactly.”

“Oh. So that's what this whole Coprolalia thing is about. You're out sewing your wild oats.”

“My what?”

“How many girls have you fucked?” The man next to us turns again. She acknowledges him with an agitated scowl. He turns away very quickly, blows on the creamy substance on his spoon, and swallows.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“How many girls have you fucked? Since we broke up. How many? Let's see how honest you really are.”

“She's the first, Connie.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Why would I lie to you?”

She's quiet for a moment.

“Five.”

“Five what?”

“I've been with five guys since I broke up with you. Now tell me your number.”

“One. Just Vinati.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Why don't you believe me? What can I possibly gain by lying to you?”

“So she's the first?”

“Yes. She's the first.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because I don't know how serious the relationship is going to be. I don't even know if there's going to be one. Not to mention it just happened last night.” I stop. “Regardless, you didn't tell me about your first four.”

“And now you're going to hold that against me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I'm not holding anything against you.”

“Yes you are. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Connie, I'm just a little confused. I don't understand why you thought it necessary to make such a grand gesture in telling me about one guy when you failed to mention the four before him. Four. That's some selective honesty you have there.”

“Well I didn't know how serious the relationships were going to be.”

We both stop.

“I just wanted to be honest with you because I cherish our friendship.” The malice is now gone from her voice; it's tumultuous now, the words sailing on choppy seas. “But now you want to make me feel guilty; you want to make me feel as though I've wronged you even though you have no right to tell me what I can and cannot do.”