Going Together

I take lunch breaks at a book store within walking of my job. I can relax there and browse a magazine, eat a blueberry scone, and drink coffee before returning to the Computer Store. After my six hour shift, I work out at a gym called “24 Hour Fitness.” Hotties favor big guns, pecs, six-packs, and stamina. I get bonus credit for brains when I let them know I’m a “Computer Technician.”

Today, I was carrying a book Cynthia gave me, so when the super-cute barista decanted my Café’ Americano and handed me the scone my trip to the table was a balancing act.

Cynthia and I had slept together, so we were ‘going together,’ and the gift book represented some sort of girlfriend status, I supposed.

The big night happened after our second date, which was not really a date/date but a coffee shop date right here, about a week ago. I’m not sure if I was her first, but Cynthia is very (how shall I say it?) “Innocent?” and I’m sure she thinks she’s in love: all women think like that. You’ve slept together, so you’re “going together.” If “going together” is what it takes to keep the sexual sleaze factor out of the female mind, I won’t argue, but I don’t want to feel smothered, either. I left her place early because I can only imagine how awkward a girl like her would feel waking up with an almost strange man in her bed on Saturday morning.

Cynthia says her friends call her Cindy, but I’m keeping that back door open by not getting overly entangled with too much familiarity. She works at Bank of America, only one block from the Computer Store, so I see her all the time. It’s not like I can just disappear – not that I’d want to – not right away. With a girl like her, you want to be lovable, pretending that you plan to get to know each other more. If it takes a little pretense to solve the sex-on-regular-basis problem, so be it, if you get my drift, so we were “going together” but I stilled call her Cynthia. 

I didn’t want to hurt this naïve, inexperienced girl’s feelings, or have her remember her first time as a crushing, humiliating episode when I hit the road, so I sent flowers to the bank and bought her a not-too-expensive-but-nice necklace, so she’d have something sweet to remember when we unavoidably crash and burn.

The book she gave me turned out to be a Leonard Cohen love song illustrated with pictures by Matisse – too romantic for words. I took a quick thumb through so at least I could comment and then set it aside, turning to the Sports Illustrated Bathing Suit Issue that some prior customer had left on the table.

That’s when the two hot thangs took seats at one of the tables near mine.

They modulated their voices so I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their devious smiles told me it was something juicy. That’s where being a techie at the Computer Store came in handy. I took out a set of ear buds and connected them to my iPhone, as though I was listening to music. In reality, I was eavesdropping with a special app that makes the iPhone into a directional microphone. The one nearest had her back to me, so I couldn’t see her, except that she had long, blonde hair. The one across the table, facing in my direction, had short brown hair and blue eyes. She was wearing a business suit and a bright, multi-colored scarf; scarves pass as replacements for power ties worn by “suits.” I get it. They talked; I pretended to be listening to music. The brunette facing me spoke as I clicked on the mic.

“Cyndi has some fragile guy hanging all over her, and she’s stringing him along until she can let him down easy, because she’s afraid she’ll hurt his feelings.”

The blonde answered,” Whoa, I know the feeling. These assholes think just because you spread your legs a couple of times you’re going together, or worse yet, they fall madly in love, with the jealousy, the pouting and the sweet talk bullshit, that goes along with that, when all you really want is to get your ashes hauled by some stud.”

“Yeah. Cyndi says that’s where it is with this guy. He sent flowers to the bank, which will probably get her a negative notation in her Human Resources Evaluation File. Then he remembered their ‘anniversary’ with some piece of shit bling – a necklace you wouldn’t wear to county fair goat roping. Fucking typical. Ha, ha.”

“How’d Cyndi get mixed up with such a loser? 

“I don’t know. It’s strange. She told me he’s a gym rat, and you know Cyndy. Ha! When she finally got him up to her place, it took her forever to get him going, and then they did it on the couch – once. He left right afterward, giving her a favorite niece kiss on the forehead. She had to use the handle of her hair dryer for a vibrator, just so she could get off and get some sleep.

“She says a good body is an upside and she hopes she can get a few good times out of him before they crash and burn. She gave him that Leonard Cohen book with the hint, hint lyrics, and she hopes to hell he takes the hint without getting scared off.”

 When I looked up and saw a familiar face approaching, I yanked out the ear buds and said, “Oh, hi Cynthia.”

She said, “Ray! I didn’t expect to see you. Do you know my friends, Allie and Sharon?”

I say, “You mean these two very attractive ladies? No, we have never met.

Sharon says, “You must be Ray. Cyndi’s been all-gaga telling us about you. Glad to finally meet.”

Allie said, “Oh, hi Ray. Cyndi showed us the necklace. Very nice.”