Like a Love Story(40)

When the two men sit down, I smile extra big at them, trying to compensate for anyone making them feel unwelcome or shut out. But even my smile probably bugs them. I’m still giving them special attention, treating them like they’re somehow different, singling them out, and I immediately feel bad about that. That’s when I feel something on my knee. Reza’s hand. I hook my fingers into his, and he clasps onto me under the table, giving my hand a squeeze. I don’t know what the squeeze means, but I think he knows what I was thinking when this man walked in. I turn toward Reza and smile, and that’s when he whispers, “You have some food in your teeth.”

“Oh God, gross.” I run my tongue around my teeth, then smile at him.

“Still there,” he says.

I put my napkin on the table. “I’ll be right back,” I say, trying hard to keep my mouth closed as I speak.

On my way to the bathroom, I smile at the man with AIDS again. Stop it, Judy. But then I realize it’s not just him I’m smiling at. I’m smiling at everybody. I smile at the woman speaking rapid French to her girlfriends. I smile at the man with the Tom Selleck mustache, who may actually be Tom Selleck, come to think of it. When I get to the bathroom, one of them is out of order. I turn the doorknob of the functional bathroom and it’s locked. A female voice from inside calls out, “Yeah, I’m in here.”

“Sorry,” I call out. And then, I add, “Um, take your time.”

As if that isn’t awkward enough, when I turn back, I run right into Saadi. “Personally, I think pooping in public bathrooms is rude,” he says, smirking.

“Um, you’re gross,” I say.

“What do you think people do in bathrooms?” he asks. “Design underwear?”

I don’t even respond to that. We stand against the hallway wall for a few seconds, and then he says, “Wow, that person is really taking their time. I hope they light a match when they’re done.”

“You know we don’t need to talk,” I say.

“So what’s the deal with you and the little prince?” he asks.

“Who’s the little prince?”

Why are you not ignoring him, Judy? Ignore him.

“My stepbrother,” he says. And then, with a smirk, he adds, “Your boy toy.”

“He’s the same age as you,” I say.

Saadi smiles, like I’ve set him up for a perfect response. “I know,” he says. “But he’s so small and cute.”

I just shake my head. I don’t want to talk to him. I just want to pick the food out of my teeth and go back to the table.

“So what’s with him and Madonna?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “What’s with you and your white hat?”

Stop engaging, Judy.

“I look cute in it,” he says, his overconfidence anything but cute. “Have you seen his room? There’s a new picture of Madonna every day. Two posters was weird enough. Now it’s like a shrine or something.”

“If you have a point, make it,” I say.

“I think you know my point,” he says with an arched brow.

Why is the person in the bathroom taking so long? Hurry up, lady. I’m about to go ballistic on this dude.

But she doesn’t hurry. And I can’t hold back any longer. “You know something, you’re an asshole,” I say. “And so unoriginal too. Guys like you are everywhere. In fact, you don’t even need to speak anymore, because I know everything you’re going to say next.”

“Fine,” he says, holding his hands up. “I’ll shut up now. I was just trying to save you.”

“Oh, please,” I say. “Save me from what?”

He doesn’t say it. He’s a jerk, but there’s only so far he’ll take it. I know what he’s thinking though, some version of “I’m trying to save you from getting AIDS from your gay boyfriend who loves Madonna so much.”

“Did you follow me to the bathroom to harass me?” I ask.

“You asked me not to speak,” he says. “Now you’re the one asking me questions.”

“Shut up,” I say.

“I did not follow you to the bathroom to harass you,” he says. “I came to the bathroom because I ate too much roughage.”

“You’re certifiably disgusting,” I say. “And by the way, I can tell you from experience that Reza isn’t gay, not that you said the word. You’re probably too afraid to say it. You probably think that speaking it means you’ll get the disease.”

“Oh yeah, are you sure?” he asks. “Does he get hard when you kiss him?”

“Get away from me,” I say. “That’s none of your business.”

“Which means he hasn’t gotten hard.” Saadi smirks.

“Of course he has,” I say, hoping the lie isn’t too obvious.

“Uh-huh.” It’s obvious Saadi doesn’t believe me. “In that case, I would bet his eyes are closed, and he’s thinking about Tom Cruise when he kisses you.”

The bathroom door opens. The skinny model emerges from inside, smiles sheepishly at us, and then returns to her table. I rush into the bathroom and close the door behind me.

I approach the mirror and smile big. There it is, a bright-orange piece of chicken stuck between my teeth. Disgusting. How long was it there? Will Reza’s mother forever think of me as the girl with food in her teeth? I pick at it with my nails, but it’s stubborn.