Benevolence [H.S.]

Chapter Nine.

"So what are you going to do?" Allison swirled her pink tongue over the melting ice cream that matched it. "I mean, it's not like he's Hitler, Benny. If he was such a bad dude your brother wouldn't be hangin' around with him."

I dipped another fry in my malt.

"No no, I know. Logically, I know you're right. But something in me just screams out 'what if what if what if', you know? Like what if Duncan doesn't even know him? If he's just some guy who heard through the grapevine that some local kid was shipped off and left behind a single--not to mention disabled--mom. I mean, it's no small thing, paying someone's bills for months without any contract. Without any end date in sight! That's the kind of thing people use for leverage all the time."

"Name literally one time that's happened." She crushed the fries between fine-china teeth, right along with my argument.

"It's a wasted opportunity, if you ask me." She continues, "Never should have given it back in the first place. I mean, if anything you could have negotiated for more. Your rack is big enough, could've shook out a few hundred more, at least."

I snort at the crass comment and just about choke on french fry mush.

"Jesus, Allie-"

"What! I'm just saying..."

"Sorry I'm not the master extortionist you've believed me to be-"

"Please. If anyones an extortionist here it's me, all those years of ballet weren't for nothing."

It's silent a beat as I stare at her, completely uncomprehending until it clicks;
"That's contortionist, Allison..."
And we dissolve in another fit of laughter, both giggle-snorting like a couple of gremlins now.

"You read too much, Benny."
"Yeah well apparently I've gotta be the dictionary for both of us, so good fucking thing then."

As the chortles simmer into soft chuckles, she lights up a dainty Virginia Slim.

"Nah you're right. Don't think tits would do it, he barely batted an eye when I just about draped mine on his forehead." She sucks her cheeks so deeply, a grinning skull is brought to mind.
"Probably gay, anyway." Whatever fragments of laughter I'd been drizzling earlier fizzled on the spot.

"What do you mean?" Something about that comment causes me to bristle and cool immediately. I try to sound playful when I respond.

"Well, I mean come on, guy like him? Not like he could really do better than this could he? Any straight man would have been all over that!"

I love Allie, I do, but right now I have to acknowledge just how much time we've spent apart since. Up until recently, we hadn't seen one another since high school.

It's important to remember how much time we've already spent forming critical opinions, and the shapes we've taken based on those of others, as well. How much time we've spent moulding ourselves to align with--potentially conflicting--belief systems.

Up until now, our conversations have been light, convivial, and-as I'm now keenly aware-quite surface level.

"What, just because he didn't ask to phone you after nearly drowning in your pheromones?"

She laughs, I don't.

"Maybe he was just being respectful, Allie." Words I never thought I'd say about a man. Was that the ghost of feminism leaving my body just now, or are these fries not sitting well?

She guffaws loudly, throwing her head back. Apparently she hasn't caught onto the change in my posture OR tone, because when Allison answers she does so like we're just sharing a cute little slumber party secret.