Junkfood Sexlife. Jessamyn Violet
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am,” he said seriously. “Sex and contracts do not go well together.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“What about you?” he asked. “When’s the last time you fell in love?”
“Last weekend,” Cassandra answered, flicking her cigarette to the curb. “But it happens. No big deal. I seem to fall in love all the time, especially with the improbable. I’ve fallen in love probably six or seven times in the last two years.”
“That’s not love, then,” he responded quietly, taking a drag off his cigarette. “That’s temporary infatuation.”
“I disagree,” she said cheerfully. “I know you’re a well-degreed psychologist, but no offense, who are you to define what love is? I think everyone is entitled to their own version of the most singular, puzzling part of human nature, don’t you?”
“I suppose,” he said after a long moment.
“So, what’s your big technical definition?”
“I consider falling in love a feeling of infinity you find in someone.”
She couldn’t help but scoff. “What, did you read that off a tea bag tag? And besides, can you not find the feeling of infinity with a relative stranger as easily as you can with someone who you’ve known for months or years? Even more easily, arguably, because with a stranger you can color in all the details as you want them to be from a distance. Feelings are feelings, and shouldn’t be discounted by circumstance or longevity. Obviously feelings of infinity are as mysteriously fleeting as everything else. That doesn’t mean the love wasn’t love.”
Philip paused. “Well. That’s certainly a brain-full of an opinion. Where did you come from?”
“Ventura County,” she said proudly, then smiled. “My mom’s a poet. Let’s get back to our drinks.”
Inside, the crowd had turned into a pulsing, somewhat sweaty blob. Getting to the bar proved difficult. They decided to go somewhere else for another drink. Walking down Abbot Kinney, it seemed like everyone had a friendly nod or smile for Cassandra. She found it very amusing to see so many people she knew while out on a first date. Hell, even a movie couldn’t have gotten away with staging that much recognition for a character who wasn’t “famous” by LA standards. Gio seemed a little uncomfortable with it. She was amused by his general rigidity that he seemed to perpetually be trying to hide, but she supposed if she sat around listening to people’s problems all day, she wouldn’t be all that easygoing, either.
“Aren’t you the popular one,” he said after they’d managed to secure a patio table at Gjelina since Cassandra was friends with the manager.
“Oh, it’s just the perks of being friendly and in the music circuit.”
After dinner they walked along the canals, a super moon hanging low and bright in the sky. It was nice of him to walk her home, but she wasn’t sure she wanted him to come inside. When they reached her house, she glanced up to see if the current tenant in the front room, Gerard, was up. The light was on and she heard soft electronic music playing.
Gio paused out front, obviously uncertain as to his next move.
“Thanks so much for walking me home,” Cassandra said, giving him a very final-feeling hug and a kiss on the cheek. She also thanked him for his book recommendations that she’d probably never get around to reading. Her profile quote had made him think she was some kind of bookworm. She wasn’t about to break it to him that she’d found it on Google when she’d searched “quotes about life.”
“I want to hear your band,” he said.
“Oh, yeah! We have a Saturday night residency at the Speakeasy starting back up again next month.”
“OK,” he said, still awkwardly lingering. “I’ll come check you guys out.”
Cassandra laughed at the image of Gio in a sweater cardigan, clutching an old fashioned and watching them play to a bunch of sweaty rascals down in the low-ceilinged underground bar.
“You’re so full of laughter,” he said, staring at her. “It’s refreshing.”
“Well, thanks.”
“Would you like to go out again?”
“Maybe,” she answered truthfully.
Gio looked determinedly at her for another moment and then leaned in to kiss her. Cassandra let him, though his kiss was tight-lipped and too reserved for her taste. She pulled away.
“OK, goodnight!” she said.
He waited for her to go inside, which she would have found more creepy than chivalrous if it weren’t for the fact that he was clearly an old-school kind of guy. She currently had two guys staying with her in the extra rooms and a college girl on the couch in the back study. Gerard Vice, a handsome B-list actor who bounced back and forth from New York to LA, had just arrived last weekend for pilot season and he’d already started giving Cassandra the butterfly tornados in her tummy. She’d even been half-thinking about Gerard’s goodnight kiss on the cheek the night before all throughout the date with Gio. Now that was unmistakable sexual tension. And also a definite reason not to invite Gio inside, although after that awkward kiss, she was pretty glad to have pre-made up her mind about that.
The house was quiet, aside from the soft electronic music coming from Gerard’s room. She went into the kitchen and made tea, which took long enough to ensure that Gio had gotten along on his way home. Then she went out through the side door down to the Dell bridge over the canal.
Cassandra ducked under the bridge, tucking herself away enough to not be seen from the sidewalks.
-Bobobo, she thought. Bobobo, are you around?
She waited, still and silent, for his trademark tinkling as he’d swim to her and emerge from the canal water, slithering up into the shadows of the bridge to join her. He’d told her that the tinkling was because his skeleton was made of wind chimes.
Bobobo was a master of funny explanations.
-I’m coming, my land princess, she heard him echo in her mind. Give me a moment.
-Of course, take your time!
Less than a minute later, Bobobo produced his slimy, jingling self. He wriggled up the rocky banks like a fat, dark eel, his cute little face smiling at her from the front of his amorphous body.
-Bobobo, I’m so glad to see you!
-And I, you, darling. What troubles you tonight?
He always could sense her mood which was comforting to her.
-You are so cute. Did you have a nice day?
-Nice enough. The canal creature let out a little sigh that sounded like a low whistle. The misses was giving me grief. You know, it’s getting to be mating season again. The worst time of year for Bobobo.
Bobobo was deeply devoted to a female duck, and she was unfortunately not faithful to him, as she couldn’t resist having offspring each year. It drove him wild but he still stayed by her side – or usually in the murky water under her.
-You poor thing. I wish I could help.
-You do help. You let me vent. You give me sympathy. Bobobo’s voice echoed earnest and gentle.
-I’m happy to do that for you.
-So, my dear, what troubles you this evening?
-How do you do that?
-Do what?
-Sense when I’m troubled?
-I sense everything. I’m a sensing machine.
Bobobo shivered and his body rippled and chimed beautifully in the supermoonlight. She laughed and gathered her thoughts.
-I met someone