How to Flirt
Amos’s wife is at the bar. Her short blonde hair with its brown roots, her long tanned limbs and athletic waist are trained on the man in front of her. It’s summer and Lia is dressed in her favourite way – exposed skin showing off her hard work at the gym. Everything about Lia’s body looks familiar to Amos; it is almost like watching himself.
Lia flirts with the man at the bar. She throws her head back and laughs in her deep, raw way that layers joy with sex. She rests a long-fingered hand on the man’s shoulder and lets it linger there while she listens to him speak. She raises her champagne to her lips as he raises his beer to his, and lets her hand slip lower onto his bicep, gripping it a little more tightly now, no longer resting. Lia has perfected an almost clinical flirtation process, but it is her intuition that really makes her good at it.
Amos turns his attention to the man now. His body language is just as important as Lia’s. In fact, everything rests on his reaction. The man is leaning against the bar and his hips are pointing in Lia’s direction. This is one of the signs Lia has told Amos to look out for; ‘If he’s pointing his groin towards me, he’s interested – don’t bother looking at his face. It’s different for men and women – for women, look at their face, for men, look at where their dick is pointing.’ So this is good, the man is responding to Lia’s flirtation. He smiles when she smiles, laughs when she laughs, drinks when she drinks. This is another sign that Lia has taught him to look for; ‘If he’s copying my actions, he’s interested, if he’s looking over my shoulder he’s wondering if he can get someone better.’
The man is now touching Lia’s back. His hand rests gently on the small of her spine, a finger casually inching through the belt loop at the top of her short denim skirt. This is good; ‘If his touch goes a little bit further than mine, it’s a good sign. If I touch his arm, he touches my back. If I touch his chest, he touches my arse.’ Lia’s mantras are a checklist in Amos’s mind.
Tonight is going to plan, but the next step is crucial. Amos waits.
They finish their drinks and place the empty glasses on the bar. Amos watches the man closely and knows he is asking Lia if she’d like another drink. This is the moment. Amos knows what his wife is about to say, and it has to be just right. Some men bolt at this point, although Lia is usually pretty good at picking.
And there it is – Lia leans in to whisper in his ear so that her words can’t be overheard. She puts her hand on his arm to steady him and keep him close. Her perfume is drifting up from between her breasts as she speaks. She is speaking slowly, with confidence and just a touch of vulnerability, although she possesses none of this particular quality herself, just the ability to portray it when required. She is measuring her words, weighing each one. Certain syllables require gentleness, others require force. Others require sexiness – sexiness is Lia’s trump card.
There are a couple of ways this could play out. Sometimes, but not often, the man pulls away as though he’s been slapped in the face, looks wild enough to punch Lia and then storms away breathing words like ‘disgusting’, ‘pervert’ and ‘slag’. More often than that, though, and because Lia has a knack for picking them, the man looks over to where Lia is pointing, towards Amos, and checks him out. At this point, Amos’s role is simple: raise his glass in their direction, give a small smile and hold the man’s gaze. The message is clear, ‘I’m in. Are you?’ Then it is all up to the man.
As predicted, the man follows Lia’s gaze and looks at Amos. He looks for a long time. Amos holds his gaze, just as Lia has taught him to. He is starting to feel anxious.
Amos sees a faint smile appear on the man’s face and he feels his excitement build. This one looks just right, for them both. He signals for Amos to come to the bar and join them.
Amos watches as his wife pulls the thin cotton sheet away from the small sweating child asleep in bed. After a night like they’ve had, he is always astonished that she can switch back to motherhood so easily. Lia turns and leaves the room where their two sons sleep peacefully, and goes to pay the babysitter. It is 3am: an expensive night out, even considering the drinks that the man bought for them.
Amos follows Lia to the kitchen and watches as she makes a cup of tea for each of them.
‘It was a good night, don’t you think?’ she says over the boiling kettle.
‘You chose well, you always do.’
Lia smiles, ‘I’ve had some practice now. I know the ones who will get it, and the ones who won’t. I can tell just by watching them for a while.’
‘But still, it’s brave.’
Lia shrugs.
Lia pours the drinks and puts the cups on the table in front of Amos, then sits on his lap, ignoring the way the arms of his chair gouge her legs. Beneath her, Amos knows she can feel his spindly and wasted legs, but he cannot feel her weight at all.
‘We can stop this anytime you want, you know,’ Lia says.
‘You say that every time. But you know I like to imagine it’s me you’re with,’ says Amos.
‘Yes, but...’
‘I know, I’ll tell you if it ever changes for me. And you will tell me too.’
Lia leans over and kisses her husband. ‘Of course. Shall we go to bed?’
‘Sure,’ Amos says.
Lia leaves their drinks on the table and wheels her husband into their bedroom. She helps him into his pyjamas and into bed. Because she knows he’s tired, she arranges his legs so that they can spoon and puts her arm around him, resting it in the valley where his ribs give way to his waist. There she can feel his chest rising and falling more and more slowly as he falls asleep in her arms.