“What, is it that obvious Monroe’s been getting laid?” Roxanne asks when DeeDee slumps onto a barstool beside her.
The huge sunglasses get whipped off in seconds, revealing hungover but feverishly curious eyes. “I was singing that becauseIgot laid.Alors, tu as fait un petit peu du crac crac boum boum, hein?”
She wags her eyebrows at me. I grimace.
“Please do not call sex ‘crac crac boum boum.’”
It’s the equivalent of ‘hanky panky.’
“Boum boum crac crac, then. Did you do it?”
I sigh again. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
She holds her hand up for a fist bump, and I oblige. Ihavedone my fair share ofcrac crac boum boumthis week. I went back to Julien’s place on Thursday night and got to know his couch as well as I now know his kitchen island.
“Wait, wait, wait,” DeeDee urges. “Who did you sleep with? WAS IT RED WINE GUY?”
Red Wine Guy. Frenchie. Beard Guy. He already has a variety of nicknames among my friends.
“Let me finish my damn spreadsheet,” I reply as DeeDee starts bouncing up and down on her stool. “We’re supposed to be discussing this over brunch.”
By the time we actually get to the restaurant and order, DeeDee and Roxanne are already up to speed on all the details about Julien and I’s unorthodox arrangement.
“So you’re going to convince him not to buy Taverne Toulouse and to pack up shop with his wine gig by using the mystical powers of your vagina?” Roxanne inaccurately summarizes.
“No,” I correct, “my vagina is not supposed to be the main source of influence here. I just...I know it sounds crazy, but the more I’ve been thinking, the more it seems possible I might actually change his mind about Taverne Toulouse, and I’ve realized that I really...want to. Not just for the bar.”
I can feel both their eyes on me as I fiddle with my napkin.
“I like him. I really do, and I want to help him. He doesn’t seem like somebody who lets people in very often. He hardly sees people outside of work. Even his apartment has next to nothing in it. He’s so alone, so isolated by this...this obsession he has with pushing himself to achieve things, and he needs—”
“Monroe.” Roxanne cuts me off as gently as she can. I look up to find concern painted across her and DeeDee’s faces. “It’s not just about whatheneeds.”
“I know,” I try to assure them. “I know that. He’s also...He’s the only person I’ve ever been with who makes me just forget about everything, to stop worrying and wondering if everyone has what they need. It sounds selfish, but—”
“It’s not,” Roxanne interrupts again, “and I’m glad to hear that.” She smiles her sincerity at me.
“Sound like he canbouffe la chatte très bien,” DeeDee adds, and I’m glad there are no kids in the place to hear her talking about ‘munching the pussy real good.’
Never a dull moment with the pink-haired princess around.
“He is...adequate,” I reply with a cryptic grin.
Our food arrives, and we continue the conversation over bites of waffles and eggs Benedict.
“I really think I can make him understand about Taverne Toulouse,” I tell them. “He acts like this super efficient businessman with no time to mix profits with sentiment, but there’s more to him than that. I know it.”
“You really do like him, don’t you?” Roxanne observes me over the top of her coffee mug. I don’t know how she’s not constantly bouncing off the walls with the amount of caffeine she downs. After all the years she spent running a cafe, she must be immune to the effects by now.
“Probably too much.” I groan, realizing how pathetic I sound.
DeeDee pats me on the shoulder. “When am I meeting this bearded stud cookie?”
“Muffin,” I correct with a laugh. “The phrase is ‘stud muffin.’”
She shrugs. “Whatever. I like cookies better.”
“You should invite him to the slam!” Roxanne exclaims.
