I got drunk, not something I ordinarily do…actually I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve done that…but not like THAT night. In my mind was the idea that the doctor was wrong, that if I had sex with somebody, I could prove him wrong. That translated into my wanting to have sex with you…whether you wanted to or not. It was really a ‘recency’ decision; you were the last person I saw who I thought might be worth having sex with. I remember that much…the rest of that night was a blackout…I really have no memory beyond picking up that six-pack of beer.
Again, this is an explanation…no justification…certainly no excuse. I am sorry you had to go through all of this and I am humiliated that it happened at all.”
I detected tears welling up in Brita’s eyes. I felt for her. But I hardly knew what to say. We sat there at the table for several minutes not saying anything to each other. I threw some money on the table to take care of the tab I opened, and some for a tip.
As I got up to leave, I said to Brita, “Thank you, I understand now. I wish all the best for you!”
“Wait! Wait, Drummond,” Brita said, “will we see each other again? Sometime?”
I shrugged my shoulders and said simply, “Who knows?”
I felt doubly sad seeing Brita at that table by herself, a beautiful woman like that, so alone and so sad. But I didn’t turn back. It seemed to me then that it was the right thing to do.
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So, it was BANG! Karen and Conchita–well maybe more of a “bloop” considering how it turned out. But then another BANG! The Gloria fiasco. And then BANG! Desi leaves. And Finally BANG! Brita blows up. Joining a monastery was beginning to look like a viable option for me…well…all except for that celibacy thing…are monks allowed to masturbate? Probably NOT!
Hildegard kept me amused, though. After that revelation of the “Night of the Brita” that she was actually getting it on with somebody, I had license to tease her about her sex life.
Her favorite line came to be, “Oh, Mr. Drummond! Who are you to tease me? You have more sex than anyone I’ve ever met!”
Somehow, in the back of my mind, visualizing Hildegard giving her senior boyfriend a blowjob would make me cringe. But if only she knew how little sex I was getting, she’d change her tune.
Hildegard and I didn’t talk about Brita. I didn’t mention her and Hildegard rarely did. When she did, it was something like, “Brita opened another showing last week. It was nice.” or, “Brita is back from Scandinavia now. It was cold there.” or, “Brita moved out of that apartment. I never liked it. She has a nice house now.” I never responded to these. I thought it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.
6:00PM on a Friday night. The markets are essentially closed. Besides I was tired of scouring sites for obscure information about companies who might be showing promise if they release an IPO. No Football to watch, No basket ball to watch, Baseball is stultifying to watch. No sex, no prospects. I’ll be damned if I was going to that meat market bar–I treasured my hearing too much. “The Grind” on a Friday night? How depressing is that; a bunch of losers playing games or reading Dostoyevsky on tablets.
“Well,” I thought, “I’ve always got my crosswords. I need a six letter word to describe my life, starting with F. Yes, that’s IT…’FUCKED’!”
Well, you probably guessed it, there was a knock on my door. I didn’t want to answer it. I could play “not at home” like I do on Halloween. I almost yelled out, “Go away! He’s not living here anymore!”
I got up anyway and opened the door. Yes–and you might have guessed this too–Brita was standing there, scrubbed and glowing, carrying two large paper grocery bags.
“I’ve found out something about you, Drummond,” she trilled with glee, “you, Mr. Drummond are nothing but one big softie. Yes, a softie…softie…softie…softie! The second thing I found out is that you have never had an authentic Scandinavian meal!”
I wasn’t astounded so much by Brita showing up, I suppose I had been hoping for that, but telling myself I wasn’t hoping for that, it was the way she showed up–vivacious and lively. And she was right, I had never in my memory had a Scandinavian meal. The “Softie” issue I would have to explore with her later.
Brita set up some candles on my little dinette table, set the table, served up the food, and lowered the lights. There were a couple of meat dishes–beef and pork–some potato dish, a noodle dish, green beans, some delicious bread, and a crispy cookie desert med grädde, (with cream). We had a tasty but light beer to drink along with the food. I was hungrier that I thought.
Brita cleaned up after the meal; she did all of the dishes by hand. All of the leftovers went into the fridge.
We settled in on the couch sipping on the tea that Brita brewed for us. Brita kicked off her shoes and was sitting sideways with her legs pulled up underneath her. She leaned into me and kissed my cheek while she stroked my hair. Where all this romance came from, I had no idea.
“Drummond, I’m going to tell you a secret,” she said softly, “well, not the entire secret. After our contretemps at Le Café Sucré, I convinced myself that you were a cold-hearted, uncaring, and unforgiving man. That haunted me for a long time. But I found out from a someone, not to be named, that my impressions were erroneous. They said that in their experience, that you are in fact a kind hearted,generous, loving person. I made up my mind to put that to the test.
Our dinner tonight resolved many of those doubts I had. I knew you were charming from our first meeting. I had an interest in you which, much to my chagrin, ran aground on some underlying problems that had nothing to do with you. Well, almost nothing. I can’t deny that having sex with you was on my muddled mind that awful night where I made such a hash of things.
Now, top that off with my regrettable performance at Le Café Sucré, and I can’t blame you for distancing yourself from me. Were I in your shoes, I would have done exactly that myself. I tried to think of ways to approach you but nothing seemed to be right. It seemed to me that my continuing try to explain things to you would only intensify the problem. I was at a total loss.
One day not long ago, two things happened. By chance, I met someone whom I have known for quite a while, we are fairly good friends actually, and we were comparing notes about men we have known…you know, like girls do…or maybe you don’t know that…but trust me all girls do. In any event, your name came up and I happened to relate that you and I had some difficulties and it was likely that I wouldn’t be seeing you again because of our disagreement. They said that was not like you at all and there must be something else going on to create that situation. I took that to heart and began looking for a way to approach you again without opening old wounds.
The second thing that happened was that Hildegard off handedly mentioned to me that your dietary habits were deficient and that what you needed was a good “Scandinavian Meal”. Well, I put two and two together in hopes of putting the two of us together. We did have a lovely meal, didn’t we?”