“So what are you going to do with me?” she asked, crushing her smoke into the overflowing ashtray.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, you’re writing about me right? Who will I be?” she said, as if it were so obvious.
“Well, I, eh…”
“I think I should be the getaway driver for a bank robbery.”
“Is that so?” I laughed a little. She was so weird.
“Yeah. You’d have just robbed a bank. Bank of America. You had a pair of my tights over your head. There would be a little hole for your mouth. You’d ripped them trying to take them off while we had sex in the back seat. Before you went in. I thought that you wouldn’t make it out alive. I was scared. But I wanted you to go in. This money would pay my debts and we would move to Rishikesh.”
“Why did you have debts?”
She put her hand back into her long hair and rubbed her head a little. I saw a tiny explosion in her eyes as she snapped her fingers and pointed at me. She moved into the middle of the table. I found myself moving in closer to her.
“I was a call girl. I didn’t want to be, but I had to be. I needed to pay for my coke habit. But it got out of control and you had to pay off my pimp.”
“Do you take a lot of coke?” I asked her. I’m not sure why but it seemed like a stupid question.
“No. I’ve never tried it. I’ve always wanted to. Doctor says I can’t.”
“He said it’d fuck my head up” she said, laughing, as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. I smiled at her. Our eyes locked for a moment.
“Right. So then what happens?” I pulled a cigarette from my packet. She held a flame in front of my face.
“Well, let’s see,” she started, moving things around the table. I could see little sparks in those dark, black brown eyes of hers. She tapped her phone on the table, “this is the getaway car. You’re in here.” She pointed at the carton of Marlboro Reds. “This is the bank. They’re poisonous you see. This is you,” she held up her sweeteners, “because you seem pretty sweet.”
I burst out laughing. People were looking over at us. I didn’t care. And she obviously cared less than I did.
She picked up her lighter and sat it on her phone. “And this is me. Inside the car.”
“Why are you a lighter?”
“Because I’m potentially dangerous.” She winked at me. “So you come running out with a bag full of money, your shotgun still smoking from where you killed you the bank manager.” She pulled a cigarette out of the packet, popped it in her mouth, pushed her head across the table and closed her eyes. I just looked at this bizarre little world she was creating in front of me. I looked up at her. Her lips were pouted around the cigarette. She had one eye open, looking straight at me. I snapped out of her performance and lit the cigarette for her. She took one big drag. She picked up the sweeteners and held them and the cigarette between her fingers.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“This is you and your smoking shotgun. Obviously. Come on!” she said, slapping me on the arm with the back of her hand. “You’re the writer here! Where’s your imagination at?”
“Of course, sorry” I said, looking back at the scene, holding back my giggles. I looked up. She was just staring at me. She looked angry.
“Keep up will you. Jesus.”
“I’ll try” I said.