Sonja showed up at my apartment the following night and I wasn’t surprised. They really do keep on coming.
She swore there’d be no repeat of the other night when she had run out after me naked and screaming. The reason for this visit was orgasm, which she had never experienced, most likely, therefore, the root of all her problems. Like her split bi-polar personality. Her restiveness. Her jealousies. Her frustrations. An orgasm. That was all she wanted from me. Then she’d leave me alone.
Why me? I wasn’t in the orgasm business.
She said, “Girls talk, you know. You’re something of a legend.”
“Talk is talk. I’m really not that good.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Before I could stop her she was naked and under the covers and here I had thought we had played this scene before.
“Join me?” she cooed.
I lit a cigarette.
“Most guys light up after,” she said.
Her first joke.
“Thinking about it?” she said. “Go ahead. I’ve got all the time in the world.”
I was sure she did.
I figured if I got up and left she’d only follow me, naked and screaming, and I was in no mood for that again – or, I could comply, get it over with, which I’d never do for a thousand reasons, mainly that that’s not what sex was for, that’s not what women were for, and it certainly wasn’t my destiny, either, to provide orgasms unto the Miss Lonelyhearts of the world.
“Can we put some music on? I notice you like classical music. That goes on for HOURS.”
Not quite what Beethoven had in mind.
I turned on the TV, sat down, watched and listened to the laugh-track howling at every sitcom word, and it occurred to me that this canned laughter may have been recorded 30, 40 years ago and that what we were listening to was the laughter of people who were DEAD. After a couple of these sitcoms she said, “Is that all?”
I handed her the remote control.
“Don’t you want to find out more about me?”
I knew all about her, plenty.
“I’ve completed the course.”
“You’re no actor. You’re nothing but a boiler room operator.”
“I could have told you that all along.”
“I’ll bet you’re lousy in bed.”
“I’ve been telling you that all along.”
She started to get up and get dressed. “You call this hole your APARTMENT?”
“Actually I call it a hole.”
“I can’t imagine why anybody would want to live in Mount Adams. It’s all yuppies. I’ll bet all your friends are yuppies.”
“I have no friends.”
“Why I ever wanted you, I’ll never know.”
“Same here.”
“You and that rich bitch deserve each other.”
Now she was drilling near the nerve.
“That hot shit bitch. You probably think she’s a virgin.”
Now she was on the nerve.
“I wish you could see her as I see her. Maybe some day you will.”
With that she slammed the door.