Me And My Indian Girl Friend
I bent to whisper a rude comment to my friend while watching the couple. Then I heard a laugh. It wasn’t my friend. I looked down and she was standing next to me. I stared at her a moment. ‘I was thinking the same thing,’ she said with a wide smile. ‘Oh. I’m sorry. I thought I was talking to my friend, Miko,’ I stammered. ‘You’re Julia, right? I met you at Howard’s party.’ ‘Yes, I remember you.’ Again she smiled that smile. That smile. I felt something when I saw it. From that moment on we talked. We talked about everything. We talked about our kids. We talked about our friends. We talked about everything. It was almost like we couldn’t talk enough. After the art show, we went to Starbuck’s and sat and drank Latte’ and talked until they closed. The next night we met at a little Italian place, Luigi’s, for dinner. We drank red wine and talked and talked. We never got around to eating. Every night for weeks we met and talked. Every day I looked forward to our meeting. I suppose you. He had found himself slipping into French again,which always caused him to panic a little afterwards. Each time ithappened it felt like he was losing something of himself. It was as ifAntoinette were still inside him somewhere, fighting to take over.The marble flooring was cold to Sam's bare feet as he padded over to theprotective suit bags laid across the chair. He took the smaller of thetwo, guessing it was meant for him."Okay Rivers, time to find out what's in that perverse mind of yours..."Sam reluctantly unzipped the bag and gasped."I don't believe it!"* * * * * * * * * *"Something wrong?"Sam turned at the sound of Rivers' voice, watching as he emerged fromthe bathroom, a white towel wrapped around his middle. His naked upperbody still steamed from the hot shower."Mike! I... I can't believe you actually picked this!" Sam reached intothe suit bag and carefully pulled the clothing out. On a set of hangerswere a tasteful, crimson-red woman's blouse, along with a.
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