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Nancy

“Do you dream about me?” she asked him. “All the time” he answered. She had been in control of their conversation from the moment they sat down in the emerald leather booth, playing with a silver charm bracelet dangling from her right wrist as she slowly and skilfully coaxed his life story out of him. He liked this and he liked her. Their waitress placed two cups of coffee on the formica table and a slice of apple pie with two forks “for you to share, it’s on the house” she said to them smiling. The forks looked too tiny and fragile to cut through such an enormous slice he thought to himself.

Later they shared an umbrella as they walked together in the rain, her moving the umbrella towards him, worried the rain would ruin his leather jacket, him manoeuvring her away from puddles so they wouldn’t spoil her boots. They walked past the restaurant where they first met two weeks ago, her working the bar where he was sitting alone, nursing an Old Fashioned minus the cocktail cherry, seeking respite from his obnoxious work mates in the private dining room above. Two doors down they entered her favourite wine shop where they bought a bottle of Shiraz and where, on another rainy day in two months time, they would have their first argument.

As they approached her apartment building they heard a faint rumble in the distance, a sign the thunder-storm the meteorologists had forecast was finally on its way. Inside her apartment he poured the wine they had purchased together into two glasses with “Alphabet Street Wine Bar” printed on them, “a souvenir from a recent night out with a very bad friend” she told him. She sat down on her sofa where they would make love that evening and unzipped her boots, sliding them off her feet and placing them down gently on the floor next to her coffee table covered with European travel guides and Vogue magazines. “I like your boots, they remind me of something Nancy Sinatra would wear” he told her. “That’s funny, my Mother is a big fan of Nancy. I’m named after her you know” she told him.

She took a sip of wine and laughed at how absurd it was to be named after someone she had never met.

Image: Mansur Gavriel Italian glitter blush ankle boot. Visit: mansurgavriel.com

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