Ian and I found each other at a bar in Hollywood called Ye Olde Rustic Inn. It wasn’t like a 1940s movie where our eyes met and held and we fell in love. It was more a floundering lunge together out of sheer necessity. Most of the other patrons were die-hard drinkers, decades older than the two of us (some older than the two of us put together).

Ian and I gravitated to each other as if pulled by a magnetic force. In the dimly lit bar, we moved from the counter to a booth in the back, and we got to know each other over a few unhurried shots of hard liquor.

He was trying to obliterate a pretty waitress named April from his memory. I was trying to erase the fact that a handsome truck driver named Miles even existed. Together, we sat in the deep, dark vinyl booths and drank Wild Turkey and talked about the very love affairs we were doing our best to forget. We covered reasons for the breakups, and we discussed what it was about our mutual exes that we missed the most.

On that first night together, I took one of his hands in mine and turned it face up.

“Are you a palm reader?” he asked.

“An amateur.”

“What do you see in my future?”

“It’s cloudy,” I said, “But I can see your past. Lonely nights. Lots of them. Trying to forget—”

“Her smile,” Ian would say some evenings. “Her smell,” he’d say on others.

“The way she looked at me when we weren’t talking, you know, just sitting at some café. She’d look at me like she loved me.”

“She did.”

“And then I ruined it.”

By having a fling with her sister, so there truly was no going back.

     When it was my turn to share, I’d feel slightly less poetic than Ian. Mainly, I missed Miles’ cock. And although I had been the one to officially end the relationship, it had been his mean streak that had instigated the breakup.

At some point, Ian and I realized we were talking less about our exes and more about each other. We realized we were sitting closer together in the booth, that our legs just happened to bump and our thighs rub as if our bodies had wills of their own. Weeks after our first meeting, I took his hand in mine again.
“What do you see this time?” he asked. “Still only my past?”

I shook my head. “There’s a tigerish redhead in your future,” I told him, and that led him to finally ask me back to his apartment at closing time. We walked the few blocks in silence, a strange occurrence for us. We were drinking buddies and talking buddies. Silence was new, startling, and difficult to deal with.

At his place, he ushered me in ahead of him and turned on the light. It was a small apartment, immaculate, with very few personal objects. Once inside, he took me to the sofa and then got a bottle and two glasses. Just because we’d left the bar didn’t mean we were done drinking for the night. I was happy to have a glass in my hand again. It made me feel secure.

Ian settled himself on the other end of the couch and looked at me. I could suddenly relate to the way he’d said April had looked at him. He was staring, as if mesmerized, and I had to ask, “What?” smoothing my hair, wondering if I looked worse to him out of the dim light of the bar.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, as if awed. “You’re spectacular.” I relaxed and regarded him. Ian has blond curly hair and green eyes, a strong jaw, a lopsided grin. He nudged me with his foot and I settled back into the sofa, still staring at him. We’d never had a difficult time with words, not until now, and I wondered how we were going to get over our shyness.

Ian seemed to be wondering the same thing, or focusing on the same problem, because he stood and got his cordless phone, then came back to the sofa.

“I’ve gotten sort of addicted to 976 numbers since the breakup,” he said, something he hadn’t told me before. “I’ve been thinking of blocking them from my phone, it’s that bad.”

I tilted my head at him, curious. “I’ve never called one before.”

“They’re sort of fun,” he said, placing the phone at his side, reaching for my hand. I felt a charge when he began playing with my fingertips, tickling them with his. “I don’t talk to the same girl, or anything. But I always get off, listening.”

I felt myself growing aroused, unsure at the exact reason for the wetness in my panties. I thought for a moment, then said, “I’d like to listen while you talked on one. That is, if you wouldn’t mind?”

His eyes glowed. I think he’d had the same idea. I asked next, “Do you have a separate line I could listen in on?” His studio was so small that I doubted he’d need two phones, but he surprised me by handing me the one at his side and returning with a second.

“I have one in the bedroom and one in the kitchen.” He was dialing while he spoke. I lifted my receiver but he said, “I’ll tell you when.” Then, after a few moments, he nodded and I pressed the red button on my handset.

The woman’s voice was low and husky, exactly how I would talk if I were working a sex line. I knew her goal was to keep Ian on as long as possible, and she did a good job, starting slow, asking him his name, describing herself for him, then asking his fantasy.

“Two women,” he said, immediately.

“Oh,” she purred. “Me and a friend of mine? Or do you have someone in mind?”

“I have someone,” he said, and he moved closer to me on the sofa. He was gripping the phone with one hand, but he stroked his fingers up and down my thighs with the other.

“What’s her name?”

“Miranda.”

“Pretty name. Is she a pretty girl?”

“Spectacular,” he said, his mouth was away from the phone, his lips against my ear as he spoke.

“What do you see us doing?” she asked.

“Why don’t you tell me,” Ian suggested, now being more forward, cradling the phone against his shoulder and sliding both hands under my skirt. I trembled as his fingertips met my naked thighs, swallowed hard as he dragged his thumb down the sopping wet seam of my panties.

“I see us in a tub,” she said, “a bubble bath. Do you like that?”

“Mmm hmmm,” Ian murmured, to keep her going.

“The three of us soaping each other all over,” she was getting a little louder as she spoke, as if she were really turning herself on.

“I like that,” Ian said, then looked at me and mouthed the words, “Do you like it?” and I nodded.

His fingers were probing further, up to the top of my panties and he was sliding those down my thighs and off. The woman was still talking but I could hardly concentrate on what she was saying. Ian went on his knees on the carpet, between my thighs, and he set the phone down while he moved forward to taste me. I spread my legs wide and tried to stifle the moans I so wanted to let loose.

She was still describing the scene for us. “Your girlfriend is sitting on the edge of the tub, Ian. Her pussy needs to be shaved. Do you wanna shave it or should I?”

I tapped Ian’s shoulder, wanting him to pick up the phone and talk, but he shook his head, the movement spiraling me into bliss as his whiskers tickled my outerlips. “You do it,” he murmured against my skin. “You talk.”

“This is Miranda,” I said into the phone, startling the sex lady from her monologue. “Could you shave me? Ian’s a bit busy....” The girl was good. She didn’t falter. “Of course, darling. What color fur do you have down there?”

“Red,” I said, sighing as Ian stroked it with his fingers, tugged gently on my curls. “Dark red.”

“Pretty,” she said, “But I’m gonna shave it all away and make you nice and clean for your man and me. I’m dying to taste you, and I want you bare before I give you my tongue. Would you like to be all nice and clean and pretty for me?”

I mumbled something, and she kept talking. Now I was having a hard time concentrating, between Ian and his magic tongue between my legs and this phone sex lady and her hypnotic voice I felt transported. As I neared orgasm, I handed the phone to Ian, insisted he take it from me, and he said, “Ginger? It’s been a pleasure. We’ll call you again.”

And as he hung up the phone, I said, “Next time you’ll listen while I work you.” He smiled and let me know that would please him just fine.

I think we’re both going to mend our broken hearts without a problem. I foresee a long and powerful love filled with sexual heat and fire in our future. I may be an amateur soothsayer, but I’ve got a real good feeling on this one.