About Last Night

 by horn pixy. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.

Well,

she thought almost bitterly as she got dressed in sweatpants and a

plain black sweater that was soft and a little loose after her latest,

and to date most successful, weight-loss plan. She considered shoes, but

settled for her fluffy pink slippers instead. So much for her brilliant

theory. She had sat there for hours and hours on the most uncomfortable

stool ever, drinking glass after glass of whiskey because she didn’t

know what else to order and was too shy to ask. And nobody; not even one

man; had shown any interest in her. The only one who talked at her at

all was the hot bartender, who…

The bartender! Of course! That’s

why the man had looked familiar to her in her bathroom. His features had

been blurry without her glasses, of course, but she was reasonably sure

it was him. She was almost a hundred percent certain of it. The only

question was; what was he doing in her apartment?

“It’s a long

story,” he said when she asked him later, in her kitchen, her hair

wrapped up in a towel and perched on her head. His eyes followed her

movements around the kitchen as she got milk from the fridge for the

coffee and put bread in the toaster. The irony of the

morning-after-nothing-happened breakfast didn’t escape his notice.
“I have time,” she said carefully, closing the blinds to avoid all possible sources of light. “Give me the quick version.”

“Fine,”

he said with a sigh. “You were drunk, I helped you home. My keys are

locked in my car and I couldn’t get a cab to come get me. That’s it, in a

nutshell. And because I know you’re still wondering, I spent the night

on your couch, shivering a little. Ok, shivering a lot. It was damn

cold. Plus I have a crick in my neck now.”
She winced. “I’m sorry. I wish you’d waken me up, I would at least have helped you with a blanket.”
“I

could have used your hairdryer to build a nuclear bomb right next to

your bed and you wouldn’t have woken up. You were out cold.”
Another wince.
“I’m really sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never been that drunk before. I’m really not the type.”

“I know,” he said, not bothering to hide his grin. “You told me last night.”
She

chewed her bottom lip nervously. Brandon wanted to take that hot little

task over for her. He imagined nibbling on those petal soft lips and

cleared his throat a little.
“What else did I tell you?” she wanted to know apprehensively.
“Well, you work in a library, and you can’t lie even to telephone salespeople.”
“Is that all?”
“Not by a long shot. By the way, what does technically mean?”
She frowned and cocked her head in a ‘what do you mean?’ way. “Technically?”
“Yes. When is something technically and when is it; I don’t know, untechnically? Physically? Literally?”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” she said and smeared a thin strip of margarine over her dry toast.

He cupped his hands around the plain white cup filled to the brim with coffee and leaned forward.
“Tell

me,” he said conversationally, sadistically waiting for her to take a

bite of toast. “How does one remain a virgin, but only technically?”
She started choking as he’d expected, coughing and wheezing and grabbing her coffee to help the dry bread down the right pipe.
“What?”

“Apparently,

if you were speaking the truth last night which drunk people seem prone

to do for some reason, you are technically still a virgin, but not in a

physical sense. I was just wondering how that happens.”
“I told you that? Oh my; I’m so sorry!”
He laughed at the red flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks.
“Relax,” he said. “Its fine. I would just love to hear that story. Because there has to be a story.”
“Not really,” she muttered, and then, as an afterthought, “I’m never drinking again.”
“Wise words that has been spoken by many, many people over the years.”
“I mean it,” she insisted. “I honestly can’t believe I told you that.”
“Virginity is nothing to be ashamed of,” Brandon said, stroking one finger down her arm.
“It kind of is, when you’re twenty nine.”
He gaped. “You’re twenty nine and you’ve never had sex? How the hell had that happen?”
“I don’t know, it just; happened,” she muttered. “Or more to the point, it just never happened.”
“There must be a reason,” he prompted.

“There

isn’t one specific reason, it’s more like a series of non-sexual

incidents, strung together by everything from dating sites to

five-minute dating games and more blind dates than I can count.”
“I take it none of that worked for you?”
“I

met the most interesting people. Like Mike, who was seventy two at the

time, and told me he had a granddaughter fantasy he wanted to play out

with me.”
“He wanted you to pretend to be his granddaughter?”
She

shook her head. “If only. I’m not sure how this would have played out

since I didn’t stick around to find out, but I had to play the

grandfather. And he was one of the better options.”
Brandon sat back, stunned. “No way,” he said disbelievingly.

She

nodded. “I’m serious. After him was a series of serial losers; men who

couldn’t hold on to jobs and girls and had to borrow money from one loan

shark to pay off the next. The type of guys whose idea of cleaning out

the trailer means letting a stray dog in to lick the stains from the

floor and to put all the porn in one box.”
Oh, he was in deep shit,

Brandon thought as he roared with laughter. She had a sense of humor.

There was, to his mind, nothing sexier in a girl than a sense of humor.
“And after them?”

She

frowned. “I met this guy, his name is Stanley, online. We went on a few

dates and it didn’t go too bad, till his parole officer contacted me to

let me know he was back in jail for harassing little kids at a park.”

She winced. “It was messy. The police went through my house, looking for

signs of kiddie-porn. Apparently he was part of a child-prostitution

and trafficking ring. I had no idea. I got off with a warning, since

there was no evidence that I was involved, and he told them that I knew

nothing. I suspect they still monitor my internet history every once in a

while.”

Helpless laughter rocked through him. No wonder she was

still a virgin, if these were the kind of men she stumbled across during

her search.
“What about high school?” he asked. “And college?”
She

looked down at her hands. “I wasn’t exactly Miss Popular in school,”

she said simply. “I wasn’t even that shy girl that nobody talks to

except when they need help with math, because I sucked at math. Still

do, as a matter of fact. I didn’t fit in with any of the clicks. I

wasn't pretty and I wasn't clever, and I didn’t have any secret talents.

The only thing I was good at was reading, and I did a lot of that. But

nobody makes friends in the school library, right? Especially not if the

girl is chubby and have the fashion sense of a blind nun.”
“Now that

part I can help you with,” he said. “Why don’t I go shopping with you

and help you pick out a few outfits that will make the, uh, best of your

figure?”

She looked down at herself. True, she was wearing

sweatpants, but they were new and still neat. And her sweater might be a

bit too big after her diet, but it was of a good material and had been

expensive and it didn’t lose shape in the wash. But his words made her

feel downright dowdy.

“Do you remember what I told you last night?” he asked.
“I barely remember you, never mind anything you told me,” she said, stung.
He

frowned a little and gazed at her with an intent look on his face that

made her wonder if he could see more than what she revealed.
“You

expressed the wish to... how to put this delicately? find somebody to

enjoy yourself with, but you were concerned that you don’t have the

right look and personality to attract men. I merely offered my advice to

help you if you wanted an objective opinion.”

“Oh,” she said, pushing her plate away from her with one finger.
Actually,

what he’d promised was to help her learn to fake it, but Brandon was

strangely reluctant to hurt her feelings by telling her that. She was

female, after all, and would immediately conclude that he thought she

wasn’t good enough or pretty enough, or didn’t have what it takes to

attract men like ants to a syrup bottle.
And that was just bull.
Even if he had had almost those exact same thoughts not twelve hours ago.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked after a few semi-awkward moments of silence.
He shrugged. “Maybe I’m just a nice guy.”
“Men are never nice unless they have an agenda.”
He winced. “Ouch. True, but ouch.”
She gave him a small smile. “So what’s your agenda?”
Getting in your pants.
“Maybe I want library privileges.”
She snorted. “Like what?”
Showing you what the reference section should really be used for.
“Maybe I have a fine for a book that’s late. Think you can help me make it disappear?”
Her smile was like the sunrise.
“Are you trying to bribe me?”

He leaned forward with a grin. “Maybe I am. Are you corruptible?”
“Certainly

not. I’m a good girl, you know.” She was trying hard to look prim and

proper, and failing miserably. Her eyes; those bluer-than-the-sky eyes

of hers; were filled with laughter behind her pretty glasses, despite

the way she was pursing her lips and trying to look chastising.
“All

right. So I’ll have to pay the fine, then. How about this? There’s a

book I want to read, but it’s on a waiting list. I would love to be

moved to the top of the list.”
She pretended to think about it. “That depends,” she decided. “What book is it?”

He couldn’t help it, couldn’t resist the invitation their flirting was issuing.
“The Art of Pleasuring Women,” he said, wondering if she would accept the unvoiced challenge.
She

did, though her eyes widened slightly in scandalous provocation. “Well,

now,” she said, clearing her throat a little. “I guess I can be

convinced. Wouldn’t want your girlfriend to be dissatisfied by your

prowess. It would be sad for the poor girl if you didn’t know how to;

get things done. You might even say it’s my civic duty to let you have

the necessary instruction.”
His throat was a little dry and he lifted

his cup to his lips, surprised to realize there wasn’t another drop.

“Yeah,” he said. “Education is important. Speaking of education, I think

it’s time for lesson one.”
“Lesson one in what?”
He grinned. “Making you irresistible.”

Emily

twisted her hair into a clip with a practiced movement. Brandon had

given her couple of hours while he got a cab to take him home and get

his spare keys, promising to be back for her first lesson. She felt

awkward when he left, sure it would be the last time she saw him. She

knew he thought her plain and uninteresting– he’d basically said it

himself in so many words; and he had absolutely no reason to waste his

Saturday on her. She was surprised at the desolation she had felt when

she stood at her window, watching his cab pull off. He was the first man

in a long time to be nice to her. Not many guys would go to the trouble

he’d gone too to get her home safely. He’d looked after her as if they

were friends, and this morning he’d joked with her and put her at ease,

making her forget about the humiliation of her alcohol-loosened tongue

of the previous evening. For goodness’ sake, she had told him she was

still a virgin. Why on earth had she felt the need to share that with

him? Now he would always remember her as that crazy girl who couldn’t

handle a few drinks and had no taste in clothes. He was nice, and

talking to him had been very nice and seeing him again would be even

nicer, but she was not naïve enough to believe he would be back. Still,

she couldn’t help taking extra care when she dried her hair and did her

make-up. The result was less than satisfactory, to her own eyes. No

matter what she did, she would be plain. Nothing could change that. She

had never been pretty, nor would she ever be.

“And you’d best

make peace with it,” she muttered to her slightly depressed image in the

mirror. She threw open her closet and looked at the piles of clothes

that had been arranged with military precision, according to color and

styles.
It was a bit sad, watching her cupboard. Most of what she

owned was either white or beige or cream, or any variation of that.

There were blacks and navy blues, and a few browns and greys. Some dowdy

shades of maroon and a mourning, drab purple, but that was it.

Was

this really what her life had whittled down to? Her job was going

nowhere, fast, she had no relationships outside her head, and her closet

looked like she let her grandmother do her shopping. Why on earth had

she bought that grey and brown coat hanging in the back? It was

horrible. It was hideous, even if it was made of the finest wool she’d

ever touched.

Emily pulled it off the hanger and dumped it on the

bed unceremoniously. She grabbed another jacket, a few skirts she was

ashamed to say she’d worn more than twice. The heap on her bed piled

high as she emptied her closet almost completely. She was feeling

slightly frantic by the time she was done with the coats and jackets and

started on slacks and trousers. Had she been blind her entire life, to

wear this?
“What are you doing?” a voice suddenly said, disturbing

her. Emily dropped a faded charcoal blouse on the floor in surprise. Her

sort-of friend and downstairs neighbor was staring at the bed, which

was covered with clothes, with an expression of revulsion. She must have

used the spare key Emily had left with her, because Emily had locked

the door behind Brandon. Usually Judith knocked, but Emily hadn’t heard

anything.
“You!” said Emily accusingly, bending down to pick up the shirt and holding it out in front of her. “I blame you!”
“For what?” Judith asked, clearly not sure what to expect.
“This

is partly your fault,” Emily scolded, shaking and accusing finger at

Judith. “How could you let me wear this crap? In public?”

Judith stared at the bed, her mouth working a little as she processed the situation.
“I thought you liked it.”
“You should have told me I look about ninety! What sort of friend are you?”
“Em, you always look neat. I thought…”
“Neat! I looked neat. And how many guys want to have sex with neatness, I ask you?”
“Uhm…” Judith cleared her throat. “Clearly, not as many as you’d like.”
Emily

threw another armful of blouses; a mustardy floral, a khaki-with-frills

and a navy box neck that looked like the wrong end of the fifties; on

the bed.
“None, that’s how many,” she said grimly. “How am I supposed

to get somebody to marry if I can’t even find a man to have sex with

me? What’s wrong with me?”
“There is not a thing wrong with you,”

Judith said immediately and loyally. “You just; appeal to a different

demographic than the men you meet.”
“Yeah,” Emily muttered. “The men

at the senior citizen really enjoy chatting to me on Library Tuesday.

They show up by the busloads to come see me.”

Judith stifled a laugh. “Why are you taking all of your clothes out of your closet?”
Emily sank down on her bead and glanced at the pile of ugly materials and styles.
“I’m

getting rid of it,” she said darkly. “All of it. And I’m going to buy

new things. Pretty things. Color, Judith, I need color. Pink and green

and yellow. Red! I don’t even have a red dress. Why don’t I have a hot

red dress?”

“Red’s really not your color,” Judith said. “Or

yellow, to be honest. You need to stay away from red and yellow, and

definitely no orange.”
“See? Why haven’t you told me this before? Look at me, Judith, I’m a mess.”
Judith

sat down next to her. “I guess you always seem so content, so at peace

with your life. I used to envy you that. I’m the most unstable person I

know, and you just never cared what people thought about you. I had no

idea you were dissatisfied. I’m sorry I let you wear ugly clothes.”
Emily

gave a small laugh and glanced at the empty hangers in the closet.

There were two coats that had passed her test; a truly timeless black

cashmere and a really warm, snowy white one she’d bought on sale but

hadn’t worn yet because it would get dirty the second she ventured out

of her bedroom.
“It’s ok. It’s not your fault. I should have realized I need help long before now.”
“What

brought this on?” Judith asked, picking up the mustard shirt looking at

it shrewdly. “This would make an excellent floor rag, by the way.”

Emily

laughed slightly. “Nothing brought it on. I’m just; I’m tired of being

part of the scenery in my own life, you know? When is it my turn to have

some fun? I’ve been waiting so patiently for my life to begin, and look

where it’s brought me. I’m twenty nine, I’ve never had sex, and I’m too

scared to venture outside this comfort zone I’ve been digging for

myself with serviceable clothing and comfortable shoes and not enough

friends.”
“Your shoes are really ugly,” Judith said, honestly. “And I

promise I’ll tell you from now on if you wear something that doesn’t

work.”
Emily looked at her nearly empty cupboard. “Thanks,” she said.

“I guess I’ll take this stuff to the Salvation Army, if they want it.”

“Let

me help with that,” Judith said. “I have a car, so it’ll be much easier

for me. I know a great homeless shelter that needs donations

desperately.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Emily said. “Why did you come here today? Did they drop my mail off in your box again?”
“No,

I wanted to ask about that really hot guy I saw coming out of your

apartment a while ago. Was he the cable repair man or something?”

“No,”

Emily said, blushing a little. “He; actually, he spent the night here.

On my couch,” she added quickly. “Nothing happened. I was so drunk he

had to bring me home from the bar.”
Judith’s eyes widened. “But you never drink,” she said.
“I did last night.”
“Never mind that, then. Oh my word, Emily, you let a stranger sleep over at your house? And you didn’t jump him?”

“He wasn’t interested in being jumped,” Emily said. “He’s just; a nice guy I’m never going to see again.”
Judith chewed the inside of her lip. “Leave this stuff,” she said, “and bring your credit card. We’re going to go shopping.”

Brandon

paced the hallway outside Emily’s apartment. He’d been there for an

hour and she still wasn't opening the door. She was either avoiding him

on purpose, or incapable of answering the damn bell, or, most probably,

not home.
Which just plain pissed him off. Hadn’t he told her he would be back? She had no business being out when he wanted to see her!

He

kept walking, following the generic grey carpeting with the navy

pattern with his eyes. This was ridiculous. He should be at home,

watching sport or having an afternoon nap. He should not be pacing

around, waiting for Emily to show up. What was he, a horny teenager who

mistakes lust for love?

He forced himself to leave after another

half hour. No girl was worth waiting for like this. It was pathetic and

sad and told him, more than anything else, how much he needed to get

laid. These; feelings he seemed to have caught, were like a disease. Or a

virus. And the best cure for unwanted feelings is a good old-fashioned

boink fest. He knew plenty of girls who would be more than happy to

oblige. It was just such a pity he wasn't interested in anybody except

Emily.
Brandon scowled.

“Are you sure about the dress?” Emily

asked for the third time, loading the last of the shopping bags into

Judith’s car. They’d spent almost five hours straight in the shops, with

Judith dragging her from the one shop to the next, picking out clothes

and smelling discounts from miles away. Her arms were sore from carrying

the bags around, and her credit card had given up screaming in pain ten

purchases ago. Instead, she imagined it making small little whimpers as

it lay in her wallet, trying to curl itself up against the agony and

torture she’d put it through.

But oh, she loved the clothes! The

colors; Emily had never thought there were so many shades of pink, or

that she could look so good in pastel and bright colors alike. For the

first time in years, she didn’t feel dowdy. She felt pretty, since

Judith had made her go to a bathroom and change from frumpy and dumpy to

smart and sexy.