Mirror, Mirror

By E.P. Lande

 

I was speaking with my sister Rachel the other day. She told me that she had had dinner with her erstwhile partner, Guiseppe, the previous evening.
“He’s so egotistical,” Rachel said. “All he talks about is himself.”

Rachel’s problem is not that Guiseppe only talks about himself, but that she never can get in anything about herself—which is Rachel’s favorite topic of conversation.

My phone call with Rachel brought me back to thoughts about my own life.I had had a message from Leland.I was dating his best friend, Mervin, and the four of us—Leland was with my best friend, Betsy—hadhad dinnerat The Chelsea Grill in town. While dinner was a pleasant enough, I had to fend off Mervin when he brought me back to my apartment and he wanted ‘to come up’.

 

I’d been there before, and after a lousy meal and equally banal conversation—all about them—I wasn’t about to thrash around on my bed while Mervin got off without verbally wondering if I’d had an amazing orgasm. I allowed him to kiss me, —but that was it!
When I turned on the lights in my apartment, I walked over to the phone, to call Betsy, to ask how it went with Leland.

“Oh, you know Leland.” No, quite frankly, I didn’t—nor did I want to.

“He tried, but….” She didn’t finish what she, I think, was going to tell me, because I heard her take a drag on a joint, so I waited.

“…I’ve decided….” I wondered what, exactly, Betsy had decided, while I heard her taking another drag.

“It’s over; I’m through with guys.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, because what else was there?

“I want to be me,” she said.

“But you are you,” I explained.

“No, I mean….” And she took another drag. The joint must be just about used up at this point. I was getting impatient, waiting between drags.

“Oh, I don’t know what I mean. I think I’ll go on Instagram and see what’s going on out there.” I got it; she didn’t want to talk, just see what others have been doing.

Since I now had time before turning in, I turned on my computer, to see if I’d received any emails or other messages. By mistake—or was it on purpose? —I clicked on Betsy’s Instagram account.

“Hi, all….” She had photographed herself on her bed, in a loosely fitting dressing gown resembling a kimono, her boobs almost falling out, filing her nails.

“I just got home after the most boring evening.” I could hear Betsy stifle a yawn.

“The four of us, you know, my best friend, Louise, her date, Mervin, my date, Leland, and yours truly, all having the most pedestrian of food at the most expensive restaurant in town. You all know which restaurant.” And she showed a picture taken of the four of us, eating. “You can see I’m bored.” She’d finished filing her nails, and in the next photo she was now applying polish.

“I think—actually, I know—Leland wanted to, you know what, but I didn’t.” It was starting to sound pornographic. There are some things I don’t wish to be told,nor do I want to know, and someone’s last sexual orgasm—with anyone—is at the top of my list. There are times when I would like to say, ‘Keep it to yourself’.

“So, I didn’t—shit, I spilt polish on my bedspread. Now I’ll have to wash it.” This was getting to be too much. Does Betsy really believe anyone cares?
I decided I’d had enough of Betsy’s bullshit, so I clicked on Joanna’s Instagram. Funny, Joanna’s last entry was that morning. I wonder what she’s been doing all day?

“Good morning, all.”

There she was; Joanna, sitting at a table on the balcony of her condo in Miami, her hair in curlers.

“I’m sitting here enjoying the view from the balcony of my condo in South Beach. I wish you were all with me.” What’s she talking about? Her balcony can barely accommodate a chair and a small table. I bet she had to lean out to take the photo; her view is of Ocean Drive.

“I always sit here in the early morning….” Like hell you do, lady. I know you get out of bed at 10:00.

“…enjoying a cappuccino and the most delicious croissants baked for me daily by the most exquisite patisserie on the Left Bank in Paris.” You liar. I know for a fact that you have the doorman of your condo get them for you from the McDonald’s next door to your building.

“It’s so lovely, just relaxing and not have to worry about anything, really.” How can she sit there saying she’s relaxing when she’s fully aware that her husband is banging the woman down the hall?

I couldn’t read any more. It was getting late, but I knew my cousin, Norma, stayed up and usually posted her news, but rather than read all the crap she normally posts, I called her, FaceTime.

“Oh, Louise, I’m so glad you called.” I saw her sitting at her make-up table, in front of her mirror.

“I’ve had such a day.” Perhaps I should have clicked on her Instagram account; there might have been less drama.

“My assistant—you know, Anne—fucked up, again.This time it was lunch with somebody—I won’t mention her name—with whom I have never gotten along.” That could be any number of women; Norma made it a habit of not getting along with a lot of people, especially with women.

“I went and, of course, it was a total disaster.” Knowing my cousin, if it hadn’t been a total disaster, it wouldn’t have been interesting.

“She went on and on and on, all about herself.” It seemed Norma got a dose of her own medicine. I wonder who the woman was?

“She didn’t hold back.…” Sounds like Norma was talking about herself—again.

“…all about Ned, her husband….” Now she gave it away; I knew who the woman was.

“…what a bastard he was; then she started in on her children.” At this point, I regretted not clicking on her Instagram account; at least I could simply have clicked off.

“I didn’t have a chance to tell her about me.” I was beginning to like the woman.

“So, tell me, what have you been up to?”

I began to tell her about Mervin, and got to when he tried to push his way into my apartment, when she said, “Nice, now let me tell you about what happened to me.”

At this point, I’d just about had it. It was way past midnight and I had an early appointment with my trainer at the gym, so I simply told Norma, “Sorry, cous, gotta go,” and hung up.

I looked at the time. I still had a few minutes before I really had to go to bed, so I opened my Instagram account and began posting my news:

“Hi everyone out there. Well, you can’t imagine what an amazing date I had tonight. I won’t go into details...okay, just a few tidbits. It was with this simply gorgeous hunk...you know who I’m talking about. Yeah, Mervin. While we were sitting at the table having this absolutely divine meal—actually, he was almost on top of me, his hand between my legs—I could see it in his eyes. Yeah, that’s right. He wanted... but I played it demurely. I waited until we got back to my apartment. He almost bust down the door, he was so HOT for me. I won’t go into what happened next; you’ll have to imagine...but I can tell you, it was the most fantastic orgasm I’ve ever experienced...and you know, I’ve had a lot of orgasms. So, I’ll just say goodnight to everyone out there.”

 

E.P. Lande was born in Montreal, but has lived most of his life in the south of France and Vermont, where he now lives with his partner, writing and caring for more than 100 animals, many of which are rescues. Previously, he taught at l’Université d’Ottawa where he served as Vice-Dean of his faculty, and he has owned and managed country inns and free-standing restaurants. Since submitting less than two years ago, more than 50 of his stories have been accepted by publications in countries on five continents.