I felt perplexed, again. I had never been in a situation like this before. “T—that’s why I’m here,” I stuttered. “You offered me one.”
“So I did. Wine? Beer? Coffee? Tea?” She threw the options at me.
“What are you having?” I finally asked.
“You,” she said with a smile.
What did she say? Women don’t say things like that in real life. I must have misheard her.
“And some wine, I think,” she added, walking into the kitchen.
I looked around for the hidden cameras, feeling like I was on an episode of To Catch a Predator—only I wasn’t the predatory one in this situation. I found no cameras, only clutter. Everywhere.
How can she live like this?
The neat freak in me was on the verge of a mild panic attack. The girl clearly lacked the ability to pick up after herself. Everywhere I looked I saw disorder: books haphazardly stacked on every surface, articles of clothing hanging over chairs, and a small desk covered in papers and still more books. The place wasn’t dirty, exactly, just disorganized, and I really didn’t like it. Everything seemed a little worn except her laptop and other electronic devices, which looked brand-new. She came out of the kitchen and handed me a glass of red wine, and I noticed that the glass she was holding didn’t match mine.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she placed her drink on the nightstand and started to remove her boots. I took a sip of wine and to my great surprise found it to be delicious.
“I helped make that, you know,” she said, pulling off a boot.
“Make what?”
“The wine.”
“Oh,” I said, not quite sure how to respond. “Up in Napa?”
“South of France, four years ago,” she said, removing the other boot. “I worked in a winery the summer after I graduated from high school.”
Her response was completely unexpected, like most things about her. It was unsettling.
“Why?” I asked.
“Why not?”
This was, without a doubt, the strangest conversation of my life. I took another sip of wine, silently praying that Ms. Wilde hadn’t had her feet in the grapes as was sometimes shown on film. I glanced at her naked feet and decided maybe that wouldn’t be so bad after all. They were small and delicate and looked well-groomed.
She gets pedicures but puts on her makeup with a spatula? It makes no sense.
“Do you like it?” she asked. “The wine, I mean.”
I nodded.
“Good, I’ll tell Etienne the next time I email him.”
She walked over to what looked like some sort of stereo, leaving her boots on the floor next to the bed.
“What would you like to listen to?” she asked, looking at me over her shoulder.
I didn’t know what to suggest. I was fairly certain she didn’t have any of the music that I listened to at home, considering I didn’t know any of the bands on her T-shirts.
“What are you listening to now?” I asked.
“The Smiths, but they don’t really set the right mood, you know?”
I had no idea who she was talking about, but nodded anyway.
She saw through my act. “They can be a little depressing sometimes. Suicide, nuclear bombs, getting hit by ten-ton trucks, and so on,” she said, handing me a small music player. “You choose something.”
I held the player, feeling a bit awkward as I pressed the tiny buttons, trying to get it to work.
“Like this,” she said, running her finger down the screen.
I mimicked her, watching the album titles. She had many to choose from and I was quite impressed with her eclectic tastes.
So far, I’ve found two things that I don’t dislike: her taste in wine and music.
I finally settled on an Otis Redding greatest hit and she inserted the device into the stereo, starting the music.
“Good choice,” she said approvingly, and looked up at me.
I hadn’t realized how much taller I was than her until now. She moved with so much determination and confidence that it was easy to overlook the fact that she was such a small woman—girl.
I wonder how old she is.
“I would have chosen that album too,” she said, taking a step closer to me. Then she smirked and her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Well, either that or Prince. He does have a way with words.” She stood up on her toes and sang some words in my ear.
For the first time in my adult life, I was actually tempted to throw out an expletive. I managed to resist and, instead, swallowed and took a step back. She was standing much too close for comfort and I was suddenly worried that she had spiked the wine because I felt more than a little lightheaded.
“Will you help me unzip my dress?” she asked, turning her back to me. “My friend Meg put me in it and I have no idea how to get out.”