The thing with stories about myself is that I enter the picture only at the very end. And this is not even all the time. Which sucks. Big time. Often, I am supposed to just clean up the mess. But sometimes I hit the jackpot. Like this time Victor dated this poor guy. Let’s call him Paul. Because that’s his real name.
Some dyke friend of his struck up the deal and Victor was supposed to meet Paul at this coffee shop. It was a Saturday, I think. More than a year ago. Victor was late as usual and had to ask the embarrassing question “What are you wearing?” Through a text message. Having to do stuff like that can fuck him up real bad.
Paul turned out to be stinking cool. He was lanky and the type of skinny that fits snugly in a hug. Looked very middle class in his neatly pressed golf shirt and khakis. Except for his left eyebrow, which was pierced with a shard of something metal.
And then Paul made his first mistake. He opened the conversation by mentioning some bar that Victor knew nothing about. He pratted on and on about partying and going to the gym and the pain of heavy traffic on Monday rush hour. By the time his hands started going for Victor’s cold, bored knees, I knew that the guy would be all mine.
What damned Paul was what happened after.
“I am getting something to eat. This hexagon torte cake I like. You want anything?” Paul only got rewarded by a shake of the head.
I waited until he was at the counter, then I asked Victor, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You being picky, Mr Bachelor? Who were you expecting, a gorgeous Proust scholar?”
Victor of course, at first, did not say anything. He needs only my help, never my opinion. And then he did say something: “It’s the cake. Everything hangs on the cake. You’ll see. Here he comes.”
Paul beamed a toothy smile as he placed his cake and mug of coffee on the table. Victor took a look at Paul’s cake and said, “I thought you said hexagonal.”
“Your cake. You said it was hexagonal. It’s actually triangular in shape.”
“Oh. What does it matter.” Then Paul beamed the toothy smile again that would melt the ice of any heart except Victor’s. He then went on and talked about his life at the office.
When the poor guy finally realized he was speaking to a rock and excused himself to the rest room, I confronted Victor again. “So what now, huh?”
“He is undeniably, uh, nice. But I cannot continue to be with someone who does not know basic shapes. You can take it from here.”
And so I did. The second Victor was out, I undid the first two buttons of my shirt and pulled my chair closer to Paul’s. When he came back, he no longer beamed the the toothy smile, but it was my turn to do the moves. I did not give a damn if he doesn’t know basic shapes as long as he knew his vowels.
In less than ten minutes, he asked me if I wanted to see a movie. I don’t know how long it is before Victor gets bored and takes over again, so I said yes, why not.
On our way to his car outside the cafe, I stole a quick glance at the pastry counter and saw Paul’s cake at once. It was one big whole cake and a single slice was missing. And it was, in fact, hexagonal.
“See that, loser?” I whispered at the back of my screwed-up mind, grinning.
*photo is from Fight Club again. Hehe.