‘You dark horse,’ I accuse, turning to Charles. ‘That’s the guy on the twelfth floor, isn’t it? The one who had a problem with his air-conditioning last week.’
‘Oui,’ he replies airily. ‘It was so hot in his apartment we had to strip. And then I found I had to rub him down.’
‘Vigorously, no doubt!’
‘But I thought you were still living with Phillipe?’ Fee asks as our dirty sniggering laughter dies away.
‘Phillipe is moving out,’ he says, eyes glittering angrily. ‘For that fils de pute lifeguard.’
‘I’m so sorry, Charlie.’
‘I am not,’ he declares immediately. ‘There are many extra seamen in the ocean.’
‘Sure, though I’m not sure that’s the right metaphor.’ I pat his arms consolingly. ‘See any seamen you’d like here tonight?’
‘I think I am otherwise engaged this evening.’
‘Oh? What makes you say that?’
‘J’ai du nez,’ he replies, tapping his nose knowingly.
‘Fine. You be all mysterious, then. See if I care.’
‘How do you say . . . someone is giving me the eye already. Non, don’t look!’ He reaches for my arm, his expression a mixture of alarm and delight. ‘Oh! He’s coming this way. Act normal. Quick, someone say something!’
‘What’s long, hard, and full of seamen?’ Fee’s words are accompanied by a wince as, like a manic, Charles throws his head back and laughs unreservedly.
‘I thought you said act normal,’ I utter from behind my champagne. ‘She hasn’t even gotten to the punchline.’
‘Was that too much?’
‘It was about as natural as a three-legged man.’
‘My favourite kind of man,’ he answers gleefully, his eyes sliding away.
‘You don’t want a three-legged man. You want one with a foot-long, you slutty little man,’ I say with a snigger, my gaze following his. It’s hard to tell who he’s looking at because so many people are milling about. Drinking. Swaying. Having a good time. My heart feels light, and it’s not the wine or the champagne. It’s been so long since I’ve had a night out on the town, even if Shimmiez is so different from my previous experiences. I have friends, a gorgeous place to live, a man who treats me well. Pinch me now—tell me this is all real.
‘Bah! He has stopped to talk to someone.’ Charles then glances my way. ‘Why would I want a man with another foot? Especially a long one?’
Oh, Lord. I find myself shaking my head. ‘I can’t . . . you know what? You stick with your tripod.’
‘And you.’ Charles slips his hand along the sofa, curling his fingers around Fee’s shoulder. ‘I did not know you were such a dirty girl.’
‘It was a joke,’ she protests, turning red, or rather a deeper shade of pink under the rosy lighting.
‘Non. Long, ’ard, and full of semen sounds like ’ow his ass makes me feel.’ We both follow his attention to where a man stands chatting to the group seated at a nearby pod, his back to us. How can we tell who’s caught his attention this time? The guy is bending over.
‘You said to say something,’ Fee demurs. ‘And I said the first thing that came into my head.’
‘What’s long, hard, and full of semen?’ I recount. ‘So, what’s the punchline?’
‘A submarine,’ she answers with a weak smile. ‘Terrible, right?’
‘It reminds me of the time I was hit on with the gold standard line of: Damn, girl, did you start a Navy? Because you’re about to be full of semen.’
‘Please tell me it didn’t work,’ she says with a grimace.
‘My reply went a little like this. My.’ I bring my fingers to the middle of my chest and flutter my lashes a little. ‘You must be a sailor. Because I do declare your eyes are as blue as the ocean I just dumped my last boyfriend’s lifeless body in.’
‘That was a little less Scarlet O’Hara and a little more Scarlett O’Savage,’ Fee replies with a giggle.
‘That’s what I was aiming for. I want smart and sincere, not smart-ass. But riddle me this,’ I say, turning to Charles. ‘How come there isn’t one average-looking woman here tonight? Note I don’t include the men. Hot butt aside, there are lots of average-looking men here. And there are lots of men who should be tucked up in bed with a cup of cocoa. So also, I guess, what’s up with that?’
‘Rich men are their own attraction,’ Fee asserts with a careless shrug.
‘Really?’ My head swings her way, the motion unintentionally exposing my disgust.
‘Well . . . yes. There have been studies, haven’t there? All this,’ she says, gesturing