Fauxmance (Showmance #2)(2)

Speak of the devil, a few minutes after Elodie and Suze departed, in walked David. He wore his usual faded jeans and jumper combo, ever-present black-rimmed spectacles in place. Sometimes he wore a suit and contact lenses, but only if he was going somewhere fancy. David was attractive in that ‘grey at the temples, retired male model’ sort of way. You could tell he was once stunning, but now his looks were more distinguished.

“Thought I’d find you here. Do they put crack in the lattes or something?”

“If you must know, I come for the ambiance.”

“The ambiance or the entertainment?” David asked, glancing around. He was aware of my obsession with Elodie and Suze, but none of Elodie’s stories seemed to shock him. That was probably because he’d experienced so many outrageous hijinks in the eighties. He was too jaded to be shocked.

“Both.”

He pulled out a chair and sat down, calling to the barista that he’d take a cappuccino. “So, what was this week’s escapade? Did she fly to Amsterdam and take in a live sex show? Perhaps hire a stripper to give her a private dance?”

I shook my head. “She had a one-night stand with a kinky pilot who made sex noises like a lady.”

David chuckled. “Oh, really.”

“I think she’s fabulous. If only the rest of the world were so free with their sexuality.”

“Yes, if only. We’d all be walking around with chlamydia. What a wonderful world it would be.”

“Don’t be such a pessimist. It’s quite possible to have an active and varied love life free of STDs so long as you’re careful. I can attest to that.”

“Hmmm,” David mused just as the barista came and set his drink in front of him. “Can you remind me, what does Elodie look like again?”

I shot him a narrow-eyed glance. “You know what she looks like. I’ve told you numerous times.”

“Ah right. Now I remember, scarlet hair, eyes like emeralds. Who does that remind me of?”

“Don’t be smug, David dear, it doesn’t become you.”

“All I’m saying is, she does bear a striking resemblance to a certain Hollywood starlet. One Alicia Davidson, the only woman who ever came close to stealing that closely guarded heart of yours.”

“All right,” I allowed. “I’ll admit she does look a little like Alicia, but that’s where the similarities end.” My tryst with the American actress was brief and intense. I was prepared to give her everything and she cast me aside. It hurt at the time, but that was two years ago. I was over it now.

“She’s also a sexpot. I rest my case,” David continued.

I rolled my eyes. “Your case is far from rested.”

“Why don’t you give her a call? I read in the tabloids just last week that she’s still single.”

Now I pursed my lips. “She made herself very clear she wasn’t interested. A call would be pointless. Besides, I barely think about Alicia these days. I’ve moved on.”

“To a lookalike.”

“Don’t start.”

“One you haven’t even spoken to yet.”

“I’ll introduce myself when the time is right.”

“The time was right weeks ago. You’re practically stalking the poor woman.”

“I’m not stalking her. I’ve never tried to follow her home. I only ever see her here.”

“It’s still a second cousin to stalking. Soon you’ll go all Robert John Bardo on me. I can see it happening. Before we know it, you’ll be slapped with a restraining order. Better to introduce yourself now before things get out of hand,” he chided teasingly.

I folded my arms. “I’ll introduce myself when I’m good and ready. And I do not appreciate being compared with a murderer, thank you very much.”

David grinned. “Thought you might be too young for that reference.”

“I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

He chuckled and shook his head before lifting his cup for a sip. After a moment, his expression grew earnest. He studied me in that close way of his, checking for cracks.

“How have you been?” He clasped his hands together.

Just recently, I’d expressed to him my feelings of weariness. How I was growing tired of my routine, how something deep inside of me yearned for a change. I just didn’t know what it was yet.

“I’ve been fine,” I answered.

“Are you still feeling restless?”

“It comes and goes. I’m just in a bit of a slump. I’ll get out of it eventually. I always do.”

David was quiet a moment, then said, “I wonder if you’ve developed this Elodie fixation to distract yourself.”

I lifted a shoulder. “I don’t think so. Elodie reminds me of myself. That’s why I find her so interesting.”

“That may be the first sign of narcissism,” David arched a speculative eyebrow. “And I think Elodie reminds you of a past version of yourself. A version, as you’ve said, you’re growing weary of. I think your fixation is you refusing to move on.”

I stiffened, not too keen on his assessment, probably because a part of me knew it echoed certain truths. And moving on was not an easy feat. “Somebody’s been watching too much Dr. Phil.”