“Do you even listen to the shit coming out of your mouth?” Billy asks.
“Billy!” A guy that looks like he stepped out of a sixties gangsters’ film greets Billy while walking our way. His thin hair is oiled back. He’s sporting a retro bowling shirt and a towel draped over his shoulder.
“Josèphe!” Billy mirrors the warm greeting.
They do the hug-pat on the shoulder thing before Billy introduces us.
“Mario, Lorenzo,” Josèphe calls in the direction of the backroom while shaking our hands. Not a beat later, two Josèphe look-alikes materialize, with the matching shirts, towels over shoulders, only these two carry weapons. Two very sharp looking straight-edge blades. This place. I swear, I wouldn’t be surprised if Tony Soprano himself stepped in to collect an envelope from Josèphe.
“Shit looks sharp,” Freddie whispers through the side of his mouth, his eyes like mine zoomed in on the glinting straight-edge blades.
“If Francis’s brave enough to let that touch his precious face, I think we’ll be okay,” I say.
Freddie chuckles.
We go on mocking the thing till warm towels are wrapped around our faces. Then we shut up. Because . . . damn this feels amazing.
“You can thank me later, assholes,” Billy says in a semi-sedated voice to our immediate silence.
“Sure thing, Francis,” I counter, making Freddie snort a chuckle.
Towels are removed from our faces, only for soft foaming cream to be applied in circles with chubby shaving brushes. I can totally get used to this.
“Hey Brody, I swear I don’t know what’s going on with you anymore. Luckily, Freddie lets me know you’re among the living from time to time,” Billy says to me with his eyes closed, head tilted backward while Josèphe smooths a blade down his temple.
“Yeah, I know, it’s been crazy. The past two weeks kicked my ass. Long shifts at the hospital and long hours studying, half of the time I didn’t even know what day it was.” It’s been insanity. But not all of it. Some of it was great. In the last week or so the thing with Anna took momentum, from a couple of emails a day, we moved on to writing each other much more frequently. There were days we had one long email conversation going on throughout the day. I’d write to her on my breaks while she answered between classes. I feel like I know her now. Know and like. And with Anna in mind, I say to the room with closed eyes, “I sort of met someone.”
“Sort of?” Freddie asks. “Since when does Mister I-don’t-have-a-life make time to meet someone?”
“It was through this weird email mix-up. We’ve been emailing for over three weeks now and she’s intelligent and fucking sweet and cool, and I swear I’m ready to propose.”
“Whoa, what?” It’s Billy.
I can just imagine his face, happy to keep my eyes closed.
“Hold up, go back,” Freddie says. “Emailing? Like just online? Have you met her, you know, IRL – in real life?”
“No.” I don’t elaborate.
“Whoa.” It’s Billy again. “Wait a minute, tell me that she at least sent you a photo or you looked her up online.”
“No and no.”
“She refused to send you a photo? Why the fuck didn’t you Google her? You know her name, right?” Freddie’s turn.
The Josèphe who’s working on my face wipes it with a towel, only to drape a warm one on next. “She didn’t refuse, I didn’t ask for one. Her name’s Anna Nielsen, and no I didn’t look her up.”
“What are you now, a sapiosexual?” Bill asks in a tone I’m not sure is a genuine inquiry or one that throws shade.
“The fuck’s that?” Yeah, that’s Freddie.
Billy clears his throat. “Someone’s who’s attracted to intelligence before appearance.” He then resumes with further intellectual logic. “If she hasn’t met you in person and didn’t send you a photo, I’m betting my left nut she’s a medusa.”
I chuckle at the idiocy. “Dude,” I shoot Billy’s way, then chuckle once more over the elated snort coming from Freddie. “Medusa? Seriously Francis?” I add. “At this point, honestly, I don’t really care how she looks.”
Freddie lets out another sarcastic scoff. “The hell you would when you find out she’s a dog. No hot chick will chat you up for long without wanting you to see she’s hot.”
I internally shake my head. Better not make any sudden movements with that sharp blade in Other Josèphe’s hand. “She could easily think the same about me – that I’m some loser.”
“She knows you’re a surgeon?” Billy asks.
“Yeah?” I answer, not sure what that has got to do with anything.
They hum in unison like two conspiring old ladies as if it explains anything.
“What? What am I missing?” I ask.
Billy is the one to elaborate. “You kidding me? Women barely hear the word doctor and they spontaneously combust.”
I inwardly shake my head again. “That’s such – oh, c’mon.”
“Liam Brody, don’t play dumb. We’ve both been long enough in this profession to know the effect it has.”
“Billy Francis Smith you’ve just subjected an entire gender to this bullshit. That’s just wrong. While some like the idea, many wouldn’t give a damn.” I wince when aftershave is patted onto my freshly shaved face. The conversation pauses as we thank the Josèphes and head to the register for Josèphe to ring us up.
As we leave the place, Billy grins at us expectantly. “Well, assholes?”
We nod in unison.
“It was unexpectedly awesome,” I say.
“Besides the fact that we got treatments while talking about Liam’s feelings like three pussies, yeah, it was good,” Freddie says, and adds, “Talking about pussies, when are you meeting this new one?”
“Say it again and I’ll deck you.” I eyeball Freddie.
Grinning like the legitimate asshole that he is, Freddie spreads his arms in surrender. “Whoa, chill, lover boy.”
“Okay, idiots, let’s go grab something to eat and then hit Poison?” Billy suggests. Getting our agreements in the form of unified nods, he says to me, “Did you talk about meeting in person?”
I shrug. “We never talked about it. I don’t even know where she lives.”
Freddie’s expression turns serious when he asks, “Don’t you want to?”
I look at him pensively. I’m more than curious, but what good will it do? What if she’s just as great in real life? I don’t have the time for a relationship, and I have a hunch she’s not casual hookup material. Not to mention I might be going away for a while, very soon.
Billy opens the door to the Falafel place. Looking at me from over his shoulder he says, “Ask her, dumbass. And please, maybe just before actually proposing, maybe, I don’t know, propose coffee.”
I Don’t Usually Molest Bananas
Earlier this morning.
Anna to CHICKENS: I’m getting nuts, fruits, and cheese. Any special requests?