Free Tales of a Drama Queen by Lee Nichols Page B

résumé a cursory read: “For the job?” he says. “No. We’re looking for someone, um, qualified.”
    I tell him I’m a fast learner. I ask him to please give me a chance.
    He agrees to interview me, and flips through my paperwork more carefully. “Well, I see you haven’t had a pelvic exam in three years?”
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    I call Maya as soon as I get home. “There’s good news and there’s bad news.”
    â€œYou got the job?” she asks, incredulous.
    â€œYou have to promise not to tell PB.”
    She refuses.
    I consider hanging up, but then I’d just have to call back. Besides, even if she promised, she’d still tell him.
    â€œFine,” I sigh. I explain how the receptionist mistook me for a patient, the nurse was an Albanian Cruella De Vil and that the doctor rejected me very kindly.
    â€œSo what’s the good news?”
    â€œWell, the doctor read my file.”
    â€œAnd…”
    â€œAnd it’d been three years since my last exam.”
    â€œSo you’re saying—”
    â€œI had my annual GYN checkup while he interviewed me.”
    There is an incredulous pause. “How do you do it?”
    â€œIt’s a gift.”
    â€œAt least the interview must’ve been memorable. How’d it go?”
    I grunt. “It’s a little hard to appear competent and charming when you’ve got a speculum stuck up your—”
    â€œPap smear?”
    â€œHe said I looked normal. He’ll call me if there are any problems with the results.”
    â€œWell, that’s good.”
    I brighten. “Yeah. And you know that kid whose been tormenting me? I stuffed my bag with condoms from the free condom basket, on my way out the door. I’m gonna fill ’em with water and peg the little bastard.”
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    Telephones can turn hot, just like slot machines. I hang up with Maya, and the phone rings immediately. I offer a distracted “hello,” still trying to figure out exactly what Maya meant by “Oh, that’s how you do it.”
    â€œIs this Elle?” For a sublime moment, I think it’s the mysterious Carlos, but the accent is all wrong.
    â€œThis is she,” I say.
    â€œOh, hi. It’s Louis. We—”
    â€œLouis!” I hiss like an angry cat. “I don’t want to talk to you. Not now, not ever.”
    â€œWhat? What did I do?”
    â€œFuck you! I heard about Venice. I know all about Venice.”
    â€œVenice? I think you have me mistaken for… We met at Shika? You served me a Chicago?”
    My stomach drops. The architect Louis. “Oh! Oh. Oh. Merrick. ” I cannot bring myself to call him Louis. “I’vebeen getting…crank calls. I think it’s the kid next door. Sorry.”
    â€œUh-huh.” He sounds like he regrets having phoned. “Maybe this is a bad time?”
    â€œNo—no. I’m happy you called.” That sounds too eager. “Long as it’s not a crank call, right?” Stupid, stupid, stupid. I press my fingers to my temple.
    â€œRight.”
    There’s a long awkward silence, and I feel bad for the guy. He’s just being nice, he doesn’t expect to be dragged into my emotional morass. On the other hand, why is he being so nice? As far as he knows, I’m just a desperate bar-wench who can’t mix a drink. And now he’s trying to figure how to avoid asking her on a date. I should put him out of his misery. “Listen, I have to go,” I say.
    For some reason, he laughs. “Go where?”
    â€œUmm…out?”
    â€œDo you want to have coffee with me? Maybe tomorrow?”
    â€œCoffee?”
    â€œTomorrow morning. Is ten all right?”
    â€œTen? Tomorrow morning?” Must stop repeating everything he says.
    â€œThere’s a place called Bread and Water, down on Haley.”
    I manage not to say “Bread and Water?” I say: “Sure. Bread and