Debbie Doesn't Do It Anymore (9780385538398) by Mosley Walter

Author:Mosley, Walter [Mosley, Walter]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi, pdf
ISBN: 9780385538398
Publisher: Random House Digital
Published: 2014-05-13T04:00:00+00:00

The laughter made me hungry. I ordered veal with escarole and saffron rice. I had a glass of dark red wine that the waiter gave me without naming a vintage. He just said, “I have something I think you’ll like,” and I nodded.

For some time I ate without looking at Rash Vineland. There was a smile on my face and a new world somewhere in the recesses of my mind. The substance around me felt malleable. It wasn’t that I felt comfortable or secure. My dense pubic hair was growing in and I’d crossed a big director in the industry; my husband was dead and I had been pushed past broke into serious debt. But the veal was excellent and I could bring joy into people’s lives without spreading my ass for their inspection and titillation.

“Salad, madam?” the waiter asked while clearing away the dinner dishes.

“Please.”

I turned my attention to Rash and crooked a finger. He got right up and strode the six paces to my table.

“Was that your husband?” he asked while pulling out the chair that Jude had vacated.

“And how are you this evening, Rash?” I replied.

“Uh, okay, fine. How are you?”

I smiled and the waiter brought my salad.

“I like this dress,” he said.

I was wearing a white sundress that didn’t crowd my tits or ass. It accented my figure simply because it fit and I liked the way it made me look—somewhat older and a few pounds over the limit.

“Thank you.”

Rash wanted to speak but didn’t know what to say. His discomfort tickled me. He was shy but not because of the size of my nipples or the sighs I lied with on the screen. He wanted to make conversation, to carve out a place where he and I could communicate—one way or another. His wants were commonplace and predictable, like the plot of children’s cartoons on PBS. The story was safe, nonviolent, and fully dressed.

“The man I was sitting with is a friend of the family,” I said. “My husband died a few days ago and Jude was offering his condolences.”

“Oh.”

“It was terrible,” I said, agreeing with Rash’s unspoken sympathy. “A terrible accident. I’ve been a little thrown off and Jude, who was a good friend of Theon’s, was offering his help.”

“Theon was your husband’s name?”

I nodded.

“I’m really sorry. I can leave you alone if you want.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t want to be alone. I mean I can be if necessary but you’re nice. You know how to have a conversation.”

“You wouldn’t know it by the way my foot’s in my mouth right now.”

“That’s my fault. I’m a little tricky when it comes to talking to men. I like to keep ’em a little off balance. Otherwise most guys want to walk all over you.”

I stared directly into the café au lait–colored young man’s eyes. It was all he could do not to avert his gaze.

“I hardly know what to say when somebody experiences a loss like yours,” he said with barely a stutter. “Nobody close to me has ever died.

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