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I can’t remember his name
- a local guy about my age, maybe a little older, charming in that Italian
way. He was due to pick Heather up at 7 that evening. I tried to stay
far away from the dorm around then, going for a long bike ride to work
off some of the hormonal rage, but somehow, maybe subconsciously, I ended
up walking around the corner just in time to catch them headed out together.
(Didn't Freud say there was no such thing as an accident?)
You might be saying “Why on earth would she do out on a date with
another man?” or “Why on earth would you put up with that?”
but I can’t hear you any better now than I could have then. Heather
wanted to sample some of the local color on every level and I didn’t
want to deny her that pleasure.
Mostly.
There was a large, alpha-male Neanderthal part of me that wanted to scream
and bash his head in with a blunt instrument.
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Heather felt the same way on
her side of the fence - she didn’t want to deny me any entertainment
either but would admit, when pressed, that she had a problem with the
idea of me seeing other people.
But we hadn't really discussed it. I wouldn't bring it up because it
would likely end up with us in the off again state. And even if I’d been interested in one
of the local ladies they didn’t seem to be interested in me.
 So I headed back out on my bike (I came back to the States in better shape
than I’d been since High School track.) I rode and rode and rode,
the serene settings juxtaposed against the storm raging inside.
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Femme
Fatale by Lou Reed
is particularly poignant at this moment of my life:
Here she comes, you better watch your step
She's going to break your heart in two, it's true
It's not hard to realize
Just look into her false colored eyes
She builds you up to just put you down, what a clown
'Cause everybody knows
She's a femme fatale
The things she does to please
She's a femme fatale
She's just a little tease
She's a femme fatale
See the way she walks
Hear the way she talks
You're written in her book
You're number 37, have a look
She's going to smile to make you frown, what a clown
Little boy, she's from the street
Before you start you're already beat
She's gonna play you for a fool, yes it's true
'Cause everybody knows
She's a femme fatale
The things she does to please
She's a femme fatale
She's just a little tease
She's a femme fatale
See the way she walks
Hear the way she talks
'Cause everybody knows
She's a femme fatale
The things she does to please
She's a femme fatale
She's just a little tease
She's a femme fatale
She's a femme fatale
Unfortunately for us, it applied
to me and her newfound friend.
Heather and I talked about it the next day. She had a nice date with a
guy that knew all the right places to show a wide-eyed American girl.
It was fun. He walked away without so much as a kiss, but she had agreed
to a second date.
Heather asked, “So does it make you jealous?”
“Yes.” I said in a sniggering “How on earth could it
not?”
tone of voice.
I was about to add, “but I don’t want you to cancel your date
because of that,” but before I could get it out she interrupted my
roller coaster of thought.
“Well then I’ll call and cancel.”
“Huh? Why?” I asked while part of my brain screamed “Shut
up, you fool!”
“Because we’re friends and I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”
Not the answer I would have preferred, “Friends?!?”
I thought.
But
the “Shut up, you fool!” thoughts drowned out any objection.
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