His girlfriend was a buoyant sociology student –
dyed red hair, the word boobs tattooed in neat, small
letters on her chest.
I took a dish of sweet potato dauphinoise,
added it to the heaving table – enormous
turkey at its centre.
So glad you came! He said and handed me a
whiskey cocktail the likes of which I’ve never tasted
since – sweet ambrosia, Ava – lethal nectar.
I chatted to the various couples,
ate a plate of food. The gravy was exquisite.
The city glowed around us.
We ate and talked and ate.
Full and sober now, I sat on the sofa, sipped my
drink. Looked out the window at the river glistening
down below.
Everyone else was standing in little groups,
politely talking.
The host’s girlfriend put some music on,
whooped, took off her top and bra and shimmied round
the room.
A few groups of people stopped their talking,
watched.
One guy said, Weyy!
Another nodded with appreciation
but no one joined her in her dance
or semi-nakedness.
She saw me sitting on the sofa on my own and laughed,
don’t be shy babe, come and dance, she said, I
shook my head,
she looked uncomfortably around, her boyfriend
wasn’t in the room, I’d seen him slip off with two women
early on.
Come on, she said again, more forceful.
I felt bad but smiled and shook my head again.
She tried that lasso move on me, I grimaced
apologetically, remained unmoved.
The room was a bit bright, I thought, for this,
and I was far too full to want to be observed.
She seemed more naked than she had before.
