The Dark Stranger

1. A Strange Invitation

My best friend Daisy was unbelievable. Her life was a low-grade mess, she put minimal effort into her appearance, she was a self-confessed commitment-phobe, and she worked at the local supermarket with no ambition to do anything else. Yet, whatever she was doing—sipping her trademark double espresso, checking her phone, picking her teeth—all eyes would be on her. Jaws hit the floor wherever she went. She could—and did—take her pick of lovers anytime, anywhere. It helped, of course, that she was blond and willowy with a cheeky gleam in her eye and a smile that would charm the pants off a stone statue.

Meanwhile, I would stand by feeling dumpy and hopeless. True, I'd had my share of men, but they didn't come easily or very frequently, and some were of questionable quality. I wasn't asking for much. I didn't want a long-term thing. For now, I just wanted to have fun, experience life's pleasures, enjoy myself. So it would have been nice to have even a fraction of Daisy's charms to help things along. Instead I was obliged to watch her reel in one admirer after another, have her fun with him, and then move on to the next one while I struggled to even get a bite.

It always played out much the same way. She would get talking to a guy in a bar or on the street or anywhere really, and they would chat about mundane things, flirt a bit. He would drop little hints that he was interested, and she would do the same. One thing would rapidly lead to another—Daisy didn't like to mess about—and before long she would lead the lucky man back to our apartment for a night of fireworks. Being her best friend, I was usually there to witness the seduction unfold, and when it became clear what was going to happen, I would make my own way home and sit in the half-darkness of my room, thinking about watching some porn but guzzling ice cream instead. Now and then, I'd go all out, watching porn and guzzling ice cream. All the while, Daisy would be on the other side of the paper-thin wall, throwing her man around her lair and having all kinds of fun with him. Or her, if she felt so inclined. Daisy was into girls too.

Experiencing this on a regular basis made me feel paler, dumpier, and more hopeless than ever.

"I don't know how you do it," I told her as we walked to work one morning. This was a lie, of course. I knew exactly how she did it. I'd been studying her technique for years, even tried to mimic it (unsuccessfully, obviously). "You're like some kind of man magnet."

Daisy shrugged her slender shoulders. "I don't mean for it to happen, you know. It just does." This was also a lie. She absolutely meant for it to happen. She had a perfect understanding of her powers and knew how to use them to full advantage. "It won't last forever," she added reflectively. "Soon I'll lose my looks and my figure. Then what will I have? Nothing."

"If you're trying to make me feel better, it's not working."

"I only mean I'm not getting any younger."

"Neither am I. Anyway, you'll snag a good husband soon enough. He'll be a dreamboat, and you'll produce piles of stunning children."

"Ha. Then I'll definitely lose my figure!"

I laughed. "Still. I'd give anything for a day in your shoes."

"Careful what you wish for. These new sneakers are chafing like crazy."

That was the day a tall, fine-looking specimen of a man approached Daisy at her checkout. As he unloaded his cart, they started talking. I, occupying my lofty position as checkout supervisor, was summoned to approve his beer purchase, which meant I could listen in on their conversation. It was self-torture, sure, but if I couldn't have a stellar love life, I could at least experience it vicariously through my friend. When I arrived, they'd already progressed beyond how busy his day was and what the weather was like outside, and the conversation had turned to the inevitable.