I'm draped over the couch, stunned and exhausted after having dropped Mr. X off back at the pier a few hours earlier. And after a night of very little sleep. The lingering kiss he gave me insinuates itself back into replay as I hold my breath, waiting for Carmen's reaction.
"Mr. X?," Carmen San Diego repeats slowly,"Wait, is this the guy who got fired from the Opera because of you? Who doesn't drive and lives an hour away? I thought you said the entire thing was impossible. Based on the logistics alone. You said." Oh, God, I think. I did say all that. How could I possibly articulate what just happened, I decide not to try and flatly blurt that out, "I don't know what to say."
"What happened? Are you ok? How do you feel?," she probes carefully, her Scorpionic Sonar quickly deploying after noting I was markedly less eloquent than usual.
Carmen San Diego draws a deep breath and attempts to organize me, "Whoa..Honey, honey, you're not making sense. Just tell Carmen what happened. Go slow. Breathe. Use chronology."
I thought I'd managed to escape the question, from a Scorpio of all people.
Clearly, it would be pointless to avoid so I rattle out as much of the truth as I can stand, "I feel..like he's a walking summary of every man I've ever loved and I didn't think I'd ever meet anyone I'd talk with like that again, you know, when it just all goes and it carries you away till time is nothing? It's horrendously frightening. We laughed so much in bed I had to shush him. It was just all this helpless spilling of words and..and..stupid happy things. I have a headache and butterflies."
Then feeling exposed added, "This can't be good. I think I'm going to be sick." I fold over to rest my head between my legs.
"He said something stupid and funny, like thanks for a good time or something," I muttered, "but as a joke you know. Maybe he wasn't kidding. Gawd, wot if he REALLY is a gigolo? Like an unusually tall one, you'd never tell a date if you were hawking your flesh, would you?" Thankfully, Carmen San Diego is nowhere near enough to slap me and as if reading my mind, tells me exactly that.
"And B?," she wonders, "What will you tell B?"
I hadn't thought that far but I hear myself saying I'd tell B the first chance I get, "I think I will anyway. Look, B's lovely. I love him for who he is..but the Lovely Libran sister was right, just last week she said he was lucky someone didn't come along and blow him out. And here we are. With B, it would never be this dangerous. He'd never look for my poems, he'd never ask all those questions. He's tender but if he thinks of me, I'd never be sure of it. Maybe I'm wrong, it's all too new with Mr. X. I mean, I may never hear from him again." Carmen dismisses my angst and is mid-rant when my phone beeps, I put her on speaker for a brief moment to check the message, and suddenly go, "Oh, oh."
"He says he's home, that he cycled the longer way back so it took him three hours instead of just two and that I ought to put THAT in the blog," I dutifully paraphrase back. Carmen San Diego lets out a low, sexy rumble of a laugh she's known for, "Oooh-hooo boy, I really like him for you, baby. What you think?"
I frown, immediately feisty. "WHY does he think he can tell me what to do, who does he think he is, he can't even read the damn thing and seriously, the nerve! I should've never told him I ever wrote about him because he's so disgustingly pleased as punch he's in it. I should be telling HIM what to do, not the other way around --", Carmen interrupts me before I could continue, "Wait, WAI-AIT, is that really what you think?". I could almost feel her Scorpy pincers holding me down.
I grit my teeth as I answer, "No. No. I think I'm in trouble."