Dunkin and Donuts by Daralyse Lyons

tickle.”
    “Excuse me,” the tall, rugged gentleman behind us cuts in. “I couldn’t help but overhear…”
    “Oh?” I’m surprised that he’s admitting to have been snooping on our conversation.
    “Yes. This is my wife Eve and my name is Frank.”
    “Pleased to meet you.” Dunkin shakes hands with the couple although, from the expression on Eve’s face, that’s not all she wants to shake.
    “I’m Dunkin and this is Shayla.”
    “It’s very nice to meet you.” Frank undresses me with his eyes. “If you’re interested in swinging, my wife and I are into that.”
    Just my luck. I’m speechless. Dunkin seems at a loss too.
    “Oh,” he says. “Well, we are, but…”
    “Dunkin!” Frank exclaims excitedly, putting two and two together. I see the wheels turning in his head as he’s connecting dots I am not even aware of. “Not Dunkin Wilks?”
    “Yes. That’s me.”
    “I’m Frank Peony.”
    “Ah. Righto, my good man,” Dunkin slaps him heartily on the back.
    “Pardon?” I interrupt. “Do you fellows know each other?”
    “In a manner… Frank is the benefactor who so graciously gave us the tickets. He funds a great deal of our research and donates medical supplies and the like to my practice. He’s a sort of silent partner…”
    Dunkin shakes Frank’s hand again, this time far more heartily. “It is good to meet you.”
    “The pleasure’s all mine.” He’s looking at me when he says it, the creep.
    Then again, Dunkin and I did set ourselves up by announcing ourselves as swingers. How the hell are we going to get out of this predicament?
    “So what do you say my good man? Shall we combine business and pleasure?” Frank suggests.
    Dunkin freezes.
    I’m amazed when I say, “Well, as much as we’d love that and as lovely as the two of you are, we have a different type.”
    “Oh?” Eve looks offended.
    “We’re bisexual,” I say, thinking on my feet.
    If I can give them a reason for our refusal that doesn’t feel personal, maybe, we can all share a laugh and there’ll be no hard feelings. No way do I want to offend a major investor in Dunkin’s practice.
    “I’m into women and Dunkin likes men. But, you must’ve known that. You’re taking the piss aren’t you?” I decide that the best defense is a good offense.
    “How would we have known that?”
    “At work. Everybody knows. Dunkin even has a boy-toy.”
    “I don’t believe it,” Frank says. “If you’re not interested, just say so.” He looks offended.
    “Really. I’ll ring him now,” I say, calling Frank’s bluff. Thank God Brice and I are avid improvisers and perpetual tricksters. As I dial my best friend’s number, I hope he’ll have the good sense to roll with it.
    “Hey! I’m surprised you’re calling me tonight. I thought you were going to that party,” Brice says.
    “Brice, darling, it’s Shayla. Of Dunkin and Shayla. We’re at this fundraiser, dear and no one seems to believe me that dear Dunkin is a bit of a faggot.”
    “Bisexual,” Dunkin clarifies to no one in particular, as if any of this matters.
    “We’ve met some very lovely swingers, but we seem to have hurt their feelings what with me wanting a lady and Dunkin a man. They don’t believe us,” I explain into the receiver, hoping fervently that Brice will have the good sense to improvise.
    “Am I on speakerphone?”
    “No, darling, but can I put you on the Telly?” I realize that I’ve used the English word for television rather than what I intended, which was to use the word for phone. I hope no one else noticed.
    “Sure. Just one thing. Am I English too?”
    “No, dear.”
    I hand the phone to Frank. And, although I can’t hear both sides of the conversation, I can extrapolate from what I hear Frank say and from what Brice relates later, that this is what is said:
    Brice: So how do you know my boyfriend?
    Frank: I don’t. We just met tonight.
    Brice: Well, he and Shayla and I have a good thing going, so don’t you