It was all Java’s fault. We were finishing off the evening at Bareass Boulevard – the exhibition was so-so, some of the stuff quite intriguing, but nothing so mind-blowing that it halted either of us in our tracks to ponder on the content, or on the sheer beauty of it. So we met up with a few of the usual suspects near the far end of the bar and got into the usual thing with our brews and accouterments to get the heads into the right spaces. Java, who was already buzzing, meandered off and when I saw him next he was in animated conversation with some chick I had never seen before. Actually it was she that was doing the ‘animated’ part of it and I could see that Java was in pretty rapt attention mode – hanging onto her every word, as it were.

Next thing I knew Java was back – without the chick, who was now engaged in another bout of animated conversation – this time with The Man (the one with the plan). Apparently – according to Java – ‘She’ was visiting after a stint in the US and was looking for the right kind of company. Her ‘friends’, she told Java, had regressed into a bunch of banal, one-dimensional, morons who she found she had nothing in common with anymore. Her parents, she said, couldn’t ‘understand’ her change in attitude towards stuff that they found to be amusing and interesting before she headed off to the States. And what the shittiest bit for her was, the guy she had promised to ‘love forever’ before she took off had been sneaking around having ‘relationships’ with just about anything he could lay his hands on. She said that the worst part of that was not that she still loved him, but that she couldn’t figure out how stupid she could have been to have remained ‘faithful’ to him since they parted nearly a year ago. And now, she had told Java, She wanted to make up for lost time!

I glanced once more in her direction to kinda sus out what she really looked like – just in case – if you know what I mean! She had her back to us, so I couldn’t get what her face was like, but the rest of her looked pretty good. The butt was protruding just about right, the legs were shapely, she was of ‘average’ height and her hair was cut short. She was wearing a tightish skirt and her top was cut low at the back. Not too bad from behind.

Java thought that she was kinda interesting, but more than anything else, he felt ‘sorry’ for her. That’s something I have been trying to talk him out of – this ‘feeling sorry’ for folk, some of whom he doesn’t even care for. Must be some compassionate streak that lies under all those other more ‘selfish’ genetic traits he is endowed with. Anyway, there we were – Java on the verge of getting into something he had no idea about where it would lead, and yours truly, torn between loyalty to old Java and knowing very well that some things are much better left alone.

And then it happened. As we were trying to figure out what to do about the situation that Java had brought about, She turned and walked in our direction. The first thing I did was take a look at her face – just to see if it went with the rest of what we had observed from behind. And it did – in a manner of speaking. I mean it wasn’t a knockout visage or anything stupendous, but it did have more than an element of attraction to it. And her frontal contours were also up there matching the ones we observed from the rear, so now I could understand Java’s interest – up to a point.

She walked right up to where we were, glass of red wine in one nicely manicured hand with rather well-shaped fingers wrapped around the glass, but from what little I could see of her feet – as all but her toes were concealed by her style of shoes – it didn’t look promising. Anyway, there she was, up close and personal, and Java was, for a moment at least, at a loss for words. I guess I had to step in to save the situation before something messy developed, as who really knows what Java had suggested to her earlier on? I gave her some spiel about having to rush off with Mr. Z, who fortunately had the presence of mind not to contradict me in spite of being instantly attracted to the object of our dilemma. She tried to convince us to return, or at least meet up later at a club, so, in order to salvage the evening and also to leave Java with a chance of doing his good deed later, we said we would make contact, got her number and split.

It was much later that night, just as things were really swinging, that my phone started to ring and since I was absorbed in Bitch’s Brew Java answered. He must have given her the number, as it was her on the line.

But that’s another story altogether.

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