a change in character (for the most part)Posted: January 22, 2010
“You’re the only person I know that would find everything that’s wrong with sleeping with a beautiful lady.”
Robin backs up this statement with an accusatory point, a manicured finger directed squarely between Simon’s eyes accented by the sound of half a dozen thin, metal bracelets. Indian bangles, she had called them earlier, when they were waiting for a table. A lazy waiter carrying decaffeinated coffee asks if Simon wants a refill. “Is it regular?” He asks, ignoring Robin’s statements, for the time being. The waiter lies about the contents of his old tempered glass pot. Simon’s cup is refilled, and is promptly mixed with a packet of cane sugar. “And now, you. You’re the only person I know that would opt out of one of our patented discussions for some foreign dude.”
Robin scoffs. “Different circumstances, jackass.” She pauses for a beat, brushing an auburn lock of artificially curly hair from her eye. “Special circumstances, you know that.”
“This is, too.” He replies, after sipping a decaf coffee that is mistaken for a regular. The placebo effect in action. A rusted chime hits a glass door, reminding Simon of his surroundings. Him and Robin found themselves within the confines of a fifty year old building, a diner that had established itself as one that was pretty damn okay, by his standards. Simon was the one who was slowly overcoming his own neuroses, and Robin was the one who guided him through it all, slipping him the phone numbers of ‘nice girls who would dig the vibe you have going on’, as she always put. The hopeless romantic finally found himself some hope. Before long, there would be that significant-in-all-senses-of-the-word other amongst the stack of napkins and scrap sheets of paper.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Robin scoffs again. The waiter makes another pass, quietly checking the contents of the pair’s mugs. He fills Robin’s half-empty mug with whichever pot he brought along with him. He wasn’t bothered to check. She ignores him. “Seriously, Simon. So you took a girl to dinner, and you obviously got kinda far with the girl, otherwise you wouldn’t have that dumb grin on your face, and now it’s the next day–the next fucking day!–and you’re bitching to me about how selfish you are for doing that. Or, doing her, rather.”
Simon noticed the dumb grin he inadvertently plastered on his face, before grimacing.
“She could have been a genuinely interesting person, Robin! She was a genuinely interesting person, and I was selfish! Sure, I’m not the first to do this, hell, I’m next in a long line of jackasses who take girls out to dinner for the sole purpose of getting between the sheets, but shit, I feel kinda terrible about it. Maybe it’s because I’ve never been that guy, and now that I’m finally doing that sort of shit, the old me, who I’ve conveniently hidden in the back of my mind, pops up after the fact to scold the shit out of the rest of me.” The coffee had cooled down considerably. Simon took another sip. “Is this really what ‘staying casual’ is? Do you, Robin, really go around bedding random guys rather than engage in elaborate romantic trysts with them?” Robin snorted, and nodded. The fact that Simon said she was doing the bedding didn’t go unnoticed. “I seem to fall in love with every girl I meet. So, to do something like this, yeah, I feel kind of selfish.” Simon pauses, holding back a cough. “Shellfish, even!”
“Oh god, Simon, really?”