this is entertainment – cabaret voltaire

Alison texted once or twice this afternoon, as if she was bored and needed entertainment.
I texted back, reminded her that I was about to be paroled and left it at that.
There was a flash of being at home already, like someone else’s memory getting in my head for a moment, before erasing itself. And when it was gone, it was as if it’d never been. Deja vu or something, I suppose.
There was an e-mail, a little later, from the Coatbridge papergirl. Very flirty, I remember thinking, again with no obvious strategy that I could see.
That said, she wants us to meet in a week or two. Public place – coffee and lots of witnesses around. Somewhere she’d feel safe enough to meet a stranger.
I really can’t figure this one out. On the one hand, she’s flirting away like mad, wants us to meet, things seem to be progressing. On the other, there’s a sort of reserve, a hanging back, whenever I try to move things forward.
It’s almost as if *she* has to make the running. As if any suggestions from me frighten her off.
Stella texted around five-thirty to see whether I was busy tonight and when I told her I wasn’t, she arrived maybe twenty minutes later.
She was wearing a long black leather coat, flat, no ornamentation and black boots with loops of leather hanging down, lines pyramid studs, rolling as she came towards me.
Her hair was down and she was wearing next-to-no make-up.
We greeted each other, ignored by the nurses and the young guy opposite. We inquired after the other one’s health and what they’d been up to. I shrugged.
“Hospital food,” I mumbled and Stella nodded.
“What’s it like?” She asked, leaning forward and laying a hand on the blankets over my groin area. She was a couple of feet away from me, her face looming close. I held her gaze until her face opened up into a wide smile.
“I’m very busy,” she told me. “But I have a few days off at the end if next month, if you’d like to show me what you’ve learned in the last twenty years, hmm?”
I nodded.
“Okay then.” She sat up straight. “That’s settled.” She delved into a pocket and pulled out a pink blackberry. “Give me your cell number and your e-mail.” She was immediately businesslike, back straight, shoulders high, clicking at the phone with both thumbnails. A flurry of little clicks and she stood up.
“I’ll be in touch.” She said, smiled and left.
I watched her back as she sauntered out past the nurses’ station and disappeared around the corner, without looking back.