hadn’t been stalking my ex, I wouldn’t have come here and learned that Oswald was looking for an associate. If I hadn’t attacked you, I wouldn’t have been forced to do this pro bono work. It’s been the most rewarding thing in my life.”
“A happy chain of incidents,” I said, half sarcastic and half serious.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “So many things happen around you.”
“I didn’t ask you to be a crazed stalker. You made those decisions all on your own.”
“True, but I think you’re a catalyst for things happening. I think that there is individual choice in our lives, but we operate in a larger framework. Within that framework, there are certain pivotal people, and you’re one of them.”
“Vidalia, if it makes you feel better about your behavior, go ahead and think that,” I said. “But I’m not going to accept that it was okay for you to do what you did because of bigger forces. You were one of the reasons my relationship with Oswald ended.”
The waitress brought over Vidalia’s protein shake. The doctor popped a straw in the top and took a sip. She stood up and said, “Milagro, it tears Oz apart every time he sees you. Sometimes you have to let someone go.”
“Our feelings for each other were real,” I said. “I’m not like you, Vidalia.”
“Then why are you stalking Oswald?” she said. “’Bye.”
She’d been wrong about me before. She was wrong about me now.
The next day, my amiga Nancy Carrington and I went to an Yves Saint Laurent exhibit at the museum and then for a lunch of salads and rosé. Nancy looked like a privileged, chic girl about town, which she was, but all you had to do was peer into her twinkly blue eyes to see her essential wackiness.
She tossed back her golden blond hair and said, “I went to a blow job class. Isn’t my hair fabulous?”
“A blow what class?”
“I learned all the tricks of professional stylists. You must take one. As Sun Tzu says in The Art of War , know thyself, know thy hair type, and you will have naught to fear in a thousand fab ’dos.”
“I love that you can draw fashion tips from ancient military strategy.”
“It’s one of my talents. I spent my entire senior seminar on Adam Smith thinking of ways to apply his economic theories to skirt trends. If you start seeing wool dirndls, invest in new technology,” she said. “Do you ever think about your old beau, Oscar, the plasma sturgeon?”
“Oswald, and, of course, I still think of him, and I prefer to experiment with my hairstyle.” I tossed my head to swing back my hair. “Our relationship feels unfinished. It didn’t die a natural death, beaten lifeless by a million arguments, or mutual animosity, or boredom. It was that damn wedding.”
“How tragic, because that flip is trés Farrah, may she rest in peace, without the crucial new millennium update. You know, you’ve never quite explained how you met him.”
“Didn’t I?” I said. “My hair is post-new-millennium, and I met Oswald at that party for Sebastian Beckett-Witherspoon.”
“Your first love,” she said. “Go on.”
“Sebastian was awful when he saw me, and Oswald was so fabulous, but he was engaged.” Oswald had neglected to tell me about his fiancée or his vampirism when we’d lip-locked and I’d accidentally been infected.
“You home-wrecking bitch,” she said as she waved to the waiter for refills of our water.
“Oswald’s first engagement was not a love match. They were marrying to please their families, like you and Todd.”
“Honey-bunny, I loved Todd, as implausible as you think that is,” she said. “Orville is kind of a wiener for getting engaged if he wasn’t in love.”
“That’s why Oswald ended it. But while he was engaged I met Ian and had a brief, torrid tryst.” I’d walked out on Ian when he tried to give me a willing thrall as an after-dinner mint.
“Lord Lustalicious,” she said. “When he looked at me, I swear I could feel my panties
“A happy chain of incidents,” I said, half sarcastic and half serious.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “So many things happen around you.”
“I didn’t ask you to be a crazed stalker. You made those decisions all on your own.”
“True, but I think you’re a catalyst for things happening. I think that there is individual choice in our lives, but we operate in a larger framework. Within that framework, there are certain pivotal people, and you’re one of them.”
“Vidalia, if it makes you feel better about your behavior, go ahead and think that,” I said. “But I’m not going to accept that it was okay for you to do what you did because of bigger forces. You were one of the reasons my relationship with Oswald ended.”
The waitress brought over Vidalia’s protein shake. The doctor popped a straw in the top and took a sip. She stood up and said, “Milagro, it tears Oz apart every time he sees you. Sometimes you have to let someone go.”
“Our feelings for each other were real,” I said. “I’m not like you, Vidalia.”
“Then why are you stalking Oswald?” she said. “’Bye.”
She’d been wrong about me before. She was wrong about me now.
The next day, my amiga Nancy Carrington and I went to an Yves Saint Laurent exhibit at the museum and then for a lunch of salads and rosé. Nancy looked like a privileged, chic girl about town, which she was, but all you had to do was peer into her twinkly blue eyes to see her essential wackiness.
She tossed back her golden blond hair and said, “I went to a blow job class. Isn’t my hair fabulous?”
“A blow what class?”
“I learned all the tricks of professional stylists. You must take one. As Sun Tzu says in The Art of War , know thyself, know thy hair type, and you will have naught to fear in a thousand fab ’dos.”
“I love that you can draw fashion tips from ancient military strategy.”
“It’s one of my talents. I spent my entire senior seminar on Adam Smith thinking of ways to apply his economic theories to skirt trends. If you start seeing wool dirndls, invest in new technology,” she said. “Do you ever think about your old beau, Oscar, the plasma sturgeon?”
“Oswald, and, of course, I still think of him, and I prefer to experiment with my hairstyle.” I tossed my head to swing back my hair. “Our relationship feels unfinished. It didn’t die a natural death, beaten lifeless by a million arguments, or mutual animosity, or boredom. It was that damn wedding.”
“How tragic, because that flip is trés Farrah, may she rest in peace, without the crucial new millennium update. You know, you’ve never quite explained how you met him.”
“Didn’t I?” I said. “My hair is post-new-millennium, and I met Oswald at that party for Sebastian Beckett-Witherspoon.”
“Your first love,” she said. “Go on.”
“Sebastian was awful when he saw me, and Oswald was so fabulous, but he was engaged.” Oswald had neglected to tell me about his fiancée or his vampirism when we’d lip-locked and I’d accidentally been infected.
“You home-wrecking bitch,” she said as she waved to the waiter for refills of our water.
“Oswald’s first engagement was not a love match. They were marrying to please their families, like you and Todd.”
“Honey-bunny, I loved Todd, as implausible as you think that is,” she said. “Orville is kind of a wiener for getting engaged if he wasn’t in love.”
“That’s why Oswald ended it. But while he was engaged I met Ian and had a brief, torrid tryst.” I’d walked out on Ian when he tried to give me a willing thrall as an after-dinner mint.
“Lord Lustalicious,” she said. “When he looked at me, I swear I could feel my panties
Similar Books
