After a few bites, I was ready to resume the negotiations. “Tell me, Tammy . . . are you fascinated by my erotic interest in Ellen, or are you fascinated by Ellen herself?”
“Who says I have to choose?”
“Yes, I suppose the two possibilities aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“That’s what I just said.”
“Are you bisexual?”
“Duh.”
I nourished myself with another mouthful of pancake before proceeding. “All right. If you must know, Ellen and I only dated a couple of times. We didn’t click that well, and we broke it off before anything much developed.”
“You did at least grab that ass of hers once or twice on the dance floor, right? Don’t be disappointing me now, professor.”
I studied my shoes, embarrassed but strangely flattered. “I did. That was about the extent of it . . . but, well, I’m not knocking it.”
“Good man. That’s the spirit I like to see in my guy.”
I laughed. “Since when am I your guy?”
“Since you started eating my pancakes.”
I was attracted by her logic—such as it was—and yet I felt compelled to challenge it, if only on principle. “A lot of people must come in here and eat your pancakes.”
“I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about you. Mind your own business. Anyway, I didn’t say it was cause and effect. You asked ‘since when?’ and I was trying to give you a time frame.”
Before I could consider this, the bell over the door jingled.
“Now you’re in trouble,” said Tammy.
I spun around.
“We were just talking about you,” Tammy volunteered matter-of-factly, as Ellen Sanderson walked in.
“Tammy!” I sputtered.
Ellen was scrutinizing her. “Do I know you?”
“It’s no use,” I averred. “I tried that.”
Ellen managed to recover enough to smile at me, which I thought quite admirable, under the circumstances. “How the hell are you, Elliot?”
This was turning into a strange—no, a stranger—dream.
“I’m home for the week,” Ellen explained, “and as usual I’m stuck running errands for the folks. But I wound up over here too early, so I thought I’d treat myself to breakfast.”
In addition to the peach shorts, she was wearing a ribbed, off-white halter top that hugged her nipples, a hand-strung bead necklace, and a chic, wide-brimmed hat that flattened her auburn locks down around her elegant ears.
We made small talk while she waited for the egg and muffin that Tammy was cooking her, both of us ignoring the elephant in the room—namely, that I had noticed her walking by a few minutes earlier, and had been discussing her with Tammy. Ellen was gracious, and she pretended nothing had happened. I rattled off my recent academic triumphs, nodded with interest at hers, and temporarily suppressed my simmering thoughts about her warm, moist panties and her squeezable buttocks.
At last, Tammy handed over Ellen’s breakfast.
“Elliot, it was great running into you,” Ellen said with decisive finality. She looked out the window, then back at me. “I’m going to sit outside with this, I guess.” I wasn’t invited, and I took no offense: as I’d told Tammy, Ellen and I had never really clicked that well.
After leaving me with another reserved smile and Tammy with a sidelong glance, Ellen walked her gorgeous derriere out the door and made herself comfortable at the eatery’s only café table—which put her in easy view of anyone inside. Soon she was absorbed in her breakfast and her paperback.
“Come here.”