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Show 151 press against the exposed skin of someone you had never seen before meant you were indiscriminate. He helped Paul break up a fight and eject a fat man with no teeth, and cleaned out a nest of spiders someone had complained about in the ledge over one of the windows, wondering if the girl with the bangs was going to come in or if last night had been a once-only experiment that had appalled her. He wouldn't have minded seeing her again, if only to find out if she had really liked his painting. He served a couple of mulled ciders, loaded and unloaded the dishwasher, mopped up a puddle of mayonnaise someone had stepped in, and tried to guess how she happened to know Simon. It was useful to do that, because it kept him from thinking about Yvonne. By the time she actually appeared, he had already induced a half-dozen entrances for her, each with its follow-through. In one she came in with Simon and the two or three friends Lorin most disliked, whom she promptly abandoned at their table to go look for him, finding him at the stove behind the counter. There she undressed, told him he was a fine painter but a poor cook, and busily set to work whipping his parfaits, building his sandwiches, frying his hamburgers, from time to time stopping to ask for a kiss where hot droplets of grease had burned her. She was brisk and efficient and told him to stop moaning. When it was time to leave she quickly put her clothes on, dried her hands on the towel he had optimistically fetched from under the dishwasher, and ran to catch up with Simon and the others who were just going out the door. In another version she came in with the same friends but lingered behind after everyone had gone, and stripped to the skin and sat curled in the large black leather armchair next to the fireplace and watched, glowing in the candlelight, as he swept between tables and gathered up stray espresso cups and watered the plants. |