“The truth is, I'm not actually attracted to you.”
“I knew it. I could tell all along. It's my height.”
Jeez, the poor schnook really had a thing about his height. I mean, it wasn't as if he could help being born short or having a head like a bowling ball. I didn't want to compound his problem, but I didn't know what to say. And then I thought of Sally! “It's not your height,” I said. “It's me. I'm a lesbian.”
“You're shitting me!”
“No. Really.”
He looked me up and down. “Are you sure? Christ, what a waste! You don't look like a lesbian.”
I guess he thought lesbians had a big L burned into their foreheads, or something. Although, since I don't know any lesbians I'm not exactly an authority.
“You have a girlfriend?” he asked.
“Yeah, sure. She's . . . waiting in the car.”
“I want to see her.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't believe you. I think you're just trying to be nice to me.”
“Look, Bernie, I want some information on Nowicki.”
“Not until I see your girlfriend.”
This was ridiculous. “She's shy.”
“Okay, I'll go out there.”
“No! I'll go get her.” Jesus!
I jogged out to the parking lot and leaned in the window at Lula. “I'm in kind of a bind here. I need you to help me out. I need a lesbian girlfriend.”
“You want me to find you one? Or you want me to be one?” I explained the situation to her, and we hoofed it back to Bernie, who was rearranging his grapefruits.
“Hey, little dude,” Lula said. “What's the word?”
Bernie looked up from the grapefruits and almost jumped out of his shoes. “Whoa!”
Guess Bernie hadn't expect my girlfriend to be a two-?hundred-?pound black woman wearing pink spandex.
“Jeez!” Bernie said. “Jeez!”
“So Stephanie tells me you know old lady Nowicki.”
Bernie vigorously nodded his head. “Yeah.”
“You see her lately?”
Bernie just stared at Lula.
“Earth to Bernie,” Lula said.
“Unh?”
“You see old lady Nowicki lately?”