Brazilian Lounge

nine.

Chapter nine.

After silently debating in my mind whether or not to take my Burberry coat, I decided not to. With my sandalwood scent and slightly V-necked black T-shirt, I made my way to the Lounge.

Whilst walking to the old place I tried to figure out which classic Aftonio pick-up line I would use that night. All my moves were proven to lead me into success, but I was always a man with a plan - although I would probably never admit to that, I want people to think I'm naturally smooth.

Preoccupied, I didn't realise that my phone had been vibrating for a while. I fished it out of my pocket and, without checking the caller ID, answered it.

"Aftonio speaking," I greeted, feeling a bit smug.

"Someone's feeling good about life, huh?" She giggled.

"I am, I am. I'm trying to go back to the old ways,"

"Not entirely aware of what's changed, but...hey, maybe you could fill me in tonight?"

"Maybe. What're you planning?" I slowed down, knowing I'd have to change my plans.

"Nothing, I'm just in New York for a few days. Work here tomorrow and 'overmorrow', thought about you. Maybe we could get, like, dinner or something. Nothing specific," her voice was calm and nonchalant.

"Sure. I'm keen to grab a bite, what d'ya feel like?"

"I think I'll treat you to some sushi,"

"No need for that, I'll treat you to sushi," I tried to sound firm and dominant. However, she chuckled a bit at my statement.

"Aftonio, I know you can and you want to, but let a girl treat you for once. Chill out,"

'Chill out'. I disliked it when she gave me instructions like that. Nevertheless, we (she, mostly) agreed on a cosy little Asian restaurant. She told me she'd be seated in a small booth secluded from the heart of the eating place.

I canceled my plans on going to the Lounge and hailed a cab to take me to my new destination.

***

Centimeters apart, I got a faint whiff of her somewhat sweet perfume. I thought about what the scent was, the brand, and what it reminded me of.

"Jean-Paul Gaultier?" I asked, sounding more like I stated. The corners of her mouth morphed into a slight smile. I tilted my head to the right and smirked as she nodded slowly. "You used to wear it all the time in high school,"

"And varsity. Your favourite, I believe,"

"Only because of you," my smirk became a full smile. She looked down at her recently placed menu and tried to hide her bright smile. She was probably blushing profusely too. After a few moments of deciding what we wanted, we chose to share a salmon platter for two.

A tiny-framed Japanese girl took our order. Usually, I would have checked the waitress out a bit more, but I respected Pia and our little 'date'.

"Are you ever going to shave your beard?" Her gaze burnt my skin.

"If there's ever a good enough reason to,"

"Good." I raised my eyebrow. She didn't say anything more, instead she let her eyes wander over my chest and shoulders. "Do you still swim?"

"Not as much as I used to," I shrugged. "What work do you have tomorrow? Show, magazine?" I closed the previous topic.

"A fashion shoot," her eyes fell onto the carefully folded napkin in front of her, next to her plate. Silence kept us company for a few seconds. I reached for her hand with mine. She didn't look up at me though. As I was about to say something, she did first, "I'm sorry. It's just so much pressure. Most of my 'friends' [she air-quoted] are mean Russian and Swiss lady bitch-models. I basically have no real friends, and I'm not sure what I did with you. You're my closest friend and I fucked you. I don't even know, Aftonio...right now I'm not even allowed to eat, but here I am because I'm fucking starving, I love sushi, and I think I love you," she rushed to say. I took a fair moment to process everything she's just said.

She cut me off before I could speak again, "Okay, that last part was a bit excessive. I don't love you. I just like you more than friends. I love you as a person though," she rolled her eyes at her own words.

Our platter was brought to our table, she yanked her hand out of my grip. "Do you know how to eat with chopsticks?" She gave me a knowing smirk.

Neither of us mentioned her semi-breakdown earlier, we were happy again. Laughing loudly at unamusing jokes, devouring the sushi, drinking girly cocktails and trying to pronounce the names of certain foods on the menu.

Afterwards, we walked to a jazz bar about two blocks away from the restaurant. The place wasn't packed, but it wasn't empty. Nobody was dancing.

"I know, it's sad," she spoke to me, ever-so-softly. It was like she could read my mind. "Let's dance," she turned to look at me. Before I could deny the offer she grabbed my arm and dragged me to the middle of the empty floor. "I know you remember," she stood next to me, on my right. She gestured to the other side of me, informing me that we start by going left. I remembered the routine, I knew exactly what she was talking about.

I nodded and she started counting until four. We began our slow sidesteps to the left, backs curved slightly and our arms bent like a pianist's when playing notes and chords. We danced the rest of the routine almost flawlessly, the way we were taught when I was in the senior year of high school.

That same night we went to my place. We had a sophisticated glass of expensive red wine each and listened to Beethoven on Marcos' old-fashioned newly bought record player.

"He has a girlfriend?" She laughed wholeheartedly. "Holy shit, this world must truly be upside down, huh?"

We spoke throughout the night. She didn't think about her shoot and how much trouble she'd get into, she poured out all her sorrows and told me about everything she possibly could have in one night, and I listened. I spoke in between her and at one point my hand was on her breast and our lips brushed, but that was all.

A charming 06:12 and we were fast asleep in each other's arms.

AUTHORS NOTE
Media used is an image of Pia (Cara Delevingne).