Chapter 8 Chapter 6 The British Invasion

Haiding called from the rehabilitation center and asked the other party to pay, and I answered it. "I'm leaving tomorrow," he told me in that lilting British accent I've always missed. "Really? Where are you going and what are you doing?" There was silence on the other end of the phone. "Well, I don't really have a place to go, unless I go back to London; but I don't want to go back yet, so I thought..." He dropped his voice, "I wondered if I could come and live with you for a while, just for a while... ..." I interrupted him excitedly, "Of course, I'm so happy."

"real?" "Really! Come here right away, my place will definitely become a small rehabilitation home." In the end we agreed that he would come to my place at eight o'clock tomorrow night.After hanging up, I walked straight around the apartment, grinning like a madman.My place is not big, but certainly not smaller than a room in a rehabilitation home.Haiding can sleep on the couch like a pet. He can sleep with a soft toy I bought for him. At work the next day, we were informed that we had entered the final round of the Wixom beer commercial.This means that we beat seven other competitors to break into the top three.

"I felt really good this time," Greer said. "Faberge was really bad." I am relieved that our fragrance client has decided not to launch a new fragrance and the order has been withdrawn.I don't need to bother with that order any more, I just wish I could get as far away from those Faberge eggs as possible. "Got it, nagging ghost." I said sarcastically. Greer usually comes to work with a copy of Entertainment Weekly on his desk.I flipped through it at random, and the strange thing was that the celebrities in the magazine always reminded me of Foster.I was struck by an inexplicable pain!

"I don't like Meg Ryan," Greer announced. "why?" "I just can't understand her 'I'm at peace' argument, I think she is actually a very violent person." "Oh . "Oh, well, let her go," she said. Well, this is the Greer I know and love. When I looked down, I saw something protruding from my desk drawer, and I opened it suspiciously—the drawer was full of coloring pages torn from magazines. "What's this?" I said, pulling them out and opening them.It took me a while to realize that it was a collection of beer ads, and it seemed to be carefully collected. "What did you do?" I asked Greer.

"What?" she said, leaning over to look. I opened an ad to show her, "Here, did you stuff them in my drawer?" "Oh, that's strange," she said in a tone that convinced me of her innocence. "Who would do that?" I crumpled them up and threw them in the trash.I tried to reassure myself that it was just a nasty joke; but I still felt all over—someone spent a lot of time and effort gathering these ads for me? It's kind of like what I do when I'm hotheaded. Haiding's flight was six hours late, and he didn't arrive until two o'clock in the morning.We ate dinner at a twenty-four-hour shop in the East Village, and then sat until five o'clock, delirious and gleefully sketching out our sane, healthy future.It's a wonderful feeling to get drunk without drinking.

How long Haiding will stay has not yet been determined, at least two or three weeks, a month or the entire second half of my life would be even better.The only thing we've settled on is this: If he repeats his old habits, I'll ask him to leave.I can hardly imagine him doing it again, because he seems to have made up his mind; and I know I won't either.Once I make up my mind to do something, I will go to the end. I feel incredibly elated tonight, which I guess is the fabled pink cloud, the aura of God.Heading put his luggage next to the sofa.The sofa was made into a temporary bed by me, and the whole room suddenly became compact.I'm so glad I'm not alone anymore, I feel so safe.At about half past five, we each went to bed.

The alarm clock went off at nine o'clock, waking us both up. "Do you feel like you've had too much to drink?" I asked dazedly. "Seems." "I don't mean tired, I mean..." "I know what you mean," he interjected, "I feel like I drank a whole bottle of wine and feel guilty." "That's the one!" I said with relief, relieved to find that I wasn't the only one feeling uneasy about being too happy. I crawled out of bed, stretched my waist and twisted my legs. "I'm going to a group activity after get off work, so I won't be back until about 7:30. If you want, we can go to the Perry Street meeting at 8 o'clock."

"Great." "What are your plans for today?" I asked. He smirked. "Oh, I don't know, maybe a relapse." He laughed. "Actually I'm going to see a guy from Carl Fisher about my freelance music editor job for them." I asked him what kind of company Carl Fisher was. He said it was a well-known classical music publisher, and he had worked with them before.I almost forgot that Heading wasn't just a drug addict, he was also a classical music editor.I immediately thought, don't even look at my CD collection: Mine is full of Madonna, Julian Verhan... and a well-hidden Betty Midler.

At work, I have nothing to do but wait for news from the brewer.So Greer and I made the most of the time flipping through magazines, making long-distance calls, and judging people. "Is he cute?" she asked when she learned that Heddin had moved in with me. I took a pencil and threw it at the ceiling like a flying dart, and plunged in. "No, it's not what you think, we don't have chemistry at all, we just hit it off in some ways." Then I told her what I had heard at the alcoholics conference the night before, the glass of water. “Man, that was insightful,” she said, picking up a file folder and sprinting around like a pony on top of the stapler. “You must be so grateful for what you have and what you are facing right now,” she said. Staring out the window, "I have to be more vigilant, I seem to lose control too easily, and the books I read say that anger is harmful to the body."

In addition to being keen on collecting Hermes, a French fashion brand.Crocodile leather handbags and Manolo Manolo Blahnik, a legend in the fashion industry, is known as the world's greatest shoemaker.In addition to her slingbacks, Greer is a fan of inspirational books. "I wish I drank too much. I mean, you've got such good therapy and such great insight in those meetings." It made me a little smug when she said that, but then I felt a little self-pitying. "You might be drinking too," I said. "No," she sighed, "I can't be a qualified alcoholic, but I might be a good wife for an alcoholic. I'm more good at cooperation, which is why we have always gotten along well." She looked at Me, "I'm glad you're an alcoholic," she added, "I mean, I'm glad you're getting these treatments, as if I'm indirectly getting them from you."

I smiled at her, you idiot. "No, I mean, I've been to one of your 'let it go' parties too, and I feel like I'm bothered a lot less. Now that you've reminded me of that, I even have a sticker on my fridge with a 'let it go' note." Her words made me realize what was happening: Greer was transforming; she was transforming herself, more or less, to fit the newly transformed me. During group activities, I talked about work.I talked about how I was overwhelmed with work, and then I told everyone how Haiding moved in with me, and I talked about how we met in rehab.All agreed it would be a good experience as long as he and I were careful to keep our boundaries. Foster spoke aggressively of how he planned to get his Englishman gone, and he seemed determined to win. Everyone encouraged him, "Yeah, you should." It sounded like he'd been trying to get the guy out of here six months, and he'd been in and out of rehab four times. Three times I caught him staring at me and then avoiding it, and I felt a strange invisible connection with him.I wondered if it was just my personal fantasy, and I wondered if there was something special about the long-sleeved denim he wore last week and the tight white T-shirt today. After the event, I headed down Park Avenue in time to meet Heading on Perry Street. Foster suddenly appeared. "Hey Auggie, wait a minute." He handed me a piece of paper, which I saw had a phone number written on it. "I just wanted to give you my phone number, you know, in case you want someone to talk to..." He seemed to wink at me, or was it just the usual facial twitch? Alcoholics always like to exchange phone numbers.In rehab I knew it was best to ask someone for some numbers in case you wanted someone to talk to.I had saved up ten strangers' calls on Perry Street, and got six the first night I was there. "If you want to talk, just call me." It's always said that alcoholics make friends easily. "Okay, thanks," I said, stuffing the note into the front pocket of my jeans. "Thank you." I tried to be as natural as I could, and I acted like I used to get calls from other people. "See you next week, then," said Foster, smiling and waving as he walked down the street.A taxi stopped immediately as if it had been waiting for a long time. When I walked into the Perry Street meeting, I still thought about the note in my trouser pocket, as if it contained a heat source. Haiding was waiting outside with two large cups of coffee, and he handed me one. "What happened?" he said, smiling as he waited for my answer. "What do you mean?" I asked, opening the lid of the cup and blowing on the cooling air. "I don't know," he said. "You look happy." I looked up and laughed, "Really?" The coffee spilled out onto my hand. "I don't know, I guess I stepped on that powder cloud again. Do you want to go in?" "Okay! Oh, by the way," he said casually, as if talking to me about seats or something, "I never thought you were a Stevie Nicks, the famous British blues rock band The female lead singer of the Fleetwood Mac band (FleetwoodMac); the voice is full of grassroots nature and enthusiasm, and has an unexplainable magnetic force, so it is called "like magic". Here refers to Augustine's mysterious speech .fan." I glared at him angrily. During meetings I was so distracted that I didn't hear what everyone was saying.I've been racking my brains throughout for an excuse to call Foster. After the meeting, we spotted a ping pong table on the corner of the street not far from my apartment, and we ran to play.We gradually found a rhythm, and usually we can hold each other for about five minutes at a time. Ping: Haiding probably can find some work from Karl Fisher. Pang: I went to work very slowly today. Ping: Haiding went to the library to find some books. Pong: I think I'm really obsessed with that addict in our group. Pop, pop, the ball bounced off the table and fell to the ground. "What are you talking about, what junkie?" I think it's better to look natural. "It's nothing," I said, bending over to pick up the ball. "You know, it's just a feeling, and it'll pass soon." He looked at me suspiciously, "It's not as simple as you said." His British accent added some dignity to his words. "I know I know," I said, "it's just weird that nothing's going to happen. He's a mess, there's no way I'd get involved with him; and there's no way he'd be crazy about me, he's just friendly That's all." We left and went straight home. "I'll watch you," he warned. I hid the note in my wallet while Haiding took a shower.The thought of it being there gave me a little tingle. I have a message on my phone. "It's me, Greer. Listen, since tomorrow is Friday and we don't have much to do, let's take a day off and make it our mental health day. Call me if you'd like." Heading and I spent our evenings reading.He reads poetry, "My God, I wonder if I should be reading Anne Sexton, the famous American feminist poetess, depression patient, in our early sobriety." He commented road. I'm reading a paperback novel.I have to read every page twice because I can't concentrate at all.At ten o'clock, we turned off the lights and went to bed.But I kept my eyes open for at least an hour, replaying in my mind the moment Foster handed me his number. Suddenly I had a flash of inspiration, and I remembered that I had never seen him write that number during the group activity, so he must have written it before the activity.It means he misses me at least once outside of the event; it means that, whether consciously or subconsciously, it can influence what he chooses to wear; it means that the tight white T-shirt is made for me.Sometimes people compare gay men to teenage girls, and they're right.I think the reason is that gay men don't express that kind of weirdness in middle school.We keep repressing ourselves until we are adults and learn to think and analyze who wears what white T-shirt and for whom...   "Are you asleep?" Haiding asked softly. I grunted and pretended to be almost asleep.It's best to keep these myths to yourself, and besides, nobody said there was anything wrong with having fantasies in rehab. "I don't know, I'm just upset." I spoke to Pighead on the phone.I called to see what he would like to do now that I had a day off. "You have a fever?" He started hiccupping. "No, it's just a little..." He hiccupped again. "I can't help the hiccups all the time," he then admitted. "I've got a little fever and a little dizziness." A quarter of an hour later I was already at his house.He looked terrible, pale, sweating and hiccupping. "You need to call your doctor." "I've called," he said. "She's out of town. Her message center is trying to find her and get her to call me back." Virgil ran from room to room, panting, as if a storm were approaching. "Can you take Virgil for a walk? I haven't taken him today." It's almost noon.Pighead usually took him out at seven o'clock before work, even when he was on vacation. I took Virgil out.As soon as his foot landed on the curb, he raised his leg to pee, and he did it for almost twenty minutes.I walked him around the block.I suddenly realized that I was a little scared, and then I realized it was because I saw something in Pighead's eyes that I had never seen before: fear. Back at the apartment, Pighead swore he was fine and he just needed to rest.He told me that I don't need to stay and take care of him anymore, he can call himself if he needs anything.I left, but a feeling of unease came over me all the way home, and I couldn't get it out. Haiding was pouring boiling water into the cup when I got home, "Back so soon?! How is your friend? Have some tea?" I lean against the sink. "I don't know. It's strange that Pighead never gets sick." "But you said he had AIDS." "No, he's just HIV positive, he's not really AIDS. I mean, he's been asymptomatic in years, not even a cold." "Well, it might just be a cold; but you can't deny that it could be..." he said in a circle, "it could mean more..." His words hit the floor so hard and so loudly that we fell silent.I would never allow myself to even imagine that possibility. Finally, I said, "Now we have a new HIV treatment, not like before, now we have a solution." As I said this, I found that there was a kind of ad in my voice that I was recommending to clients that they didn't even want The tone of the moment—I'm selling. Haiding smiled and blew on his tea. "Too hot?" I said. He nodded. "Oh, by the way, your funeral director friend called you." "Jim? When?" "When you were at Pighead's. Sorry, forgot to tell you." "It's okay, I'll call him later." "He said he must talk to you." A certain longing flashed through.In the past, I might have said I wanted a drink, but now I just want to distract myself from Pighead and his hiccups.I called Jim back: "What's up?" "I met someone," he said.He always met someone, and his one usually lasted a week, or until the day he finally admitted what he was doing, and sooner or later that day would come. "Oh yeah, how is she?" I asked. "She's great," Jim said, "a computer programmer, and she's got a hot body." They met in a dark and moody gothic pub called The Raven in the East Country.It's the kind of bar that attracts night owls who are only used to nighttime activities. "You two going out..." I thought about going out during the day too, but instead said, "Dinner or something?" "Yeah, we've managed to go on three dates. Guess what?" he said excitedly. "She knows what I do for work." "Jim, are you sure she knows what you do?" "Yes," he said angrily, "I'm sure." Immediately, a scene came to mind: a pale woman with long black hair and black nails, dressed in black lace, tremblingly delivering herself to a mourner; then a black hearse on a lonely highway Tin cans whizzed past the car, and a sign in shaving cream on the rear window: WE ARE MARRIED! "Sounds good," I said. "We're going to drink at that bar tonight. I wonder if you'd like to come so you can see her too." My first reaction was fear.I think about what Ray told me in my recovery home: If you go into a barber shop, sooner or later you're going to get your hair cut.So don't go to the bar, don't even think about it! "Jim, I really want to meet her, but I really shouldn't go to the bar anymore." Haiding looked up from his book. "Oh, it's not actually a bar, it's actually a restaurant. They have a bar, but it's basically a restaurant." Haiding stared at me, his eyes said, what's wrong? I thought about how unworthy I would be if I didn't go; and as soon as I realized what I was doing, I knew I'd be fine. "What time?" I asked. Haiding opened his mouth wide and stared at me incredulously. "Eight o'clock." "Okay, tell me the address." "Are you crazy?" Haiding asked after I hung up. "That's not a bar, it's a restaurant." "It's a restaurant with a bar," he argued. "Listen, I'm going to be fine. I'm just going to walk in, meet the goth girl, have a glass of mineral water, and leave." Haiding showed a distrustful parental look.He didn't have to talk, just let me feel it with his expression. The restaurant is on Worcester Street.It was easy to spot because of its distinctive, eye-catching exterior that stands out from the crowd from a block away.Its two huge French doors opened to the sidewalk, and long, heavy red velvet curtains hung from each door, flapping in the warm summer evening breeze.The restaurant was so dark that it took my eyes a long time to adjust, and I stood there in the unknown void.Gradually, it revealed itself to me: an expensive bar unfurled from the front door into the darkness that seemed miles away; low Moroccan tables scattered around the converted loft space the only light came from candles in blue glass balls on the tables and on the bar; behind the bar were colorful wine bottles arranged neatly from top to bottom, looking like fine art. They are breathtakingly beautiful.Watching them fills me with longing.This is no ordinary longing, it's a romantic longing.Because I don't just drink the wine in it, I really love those bottles.I turned resolutely away from them. Two women leaned against the table with their legs crossed, sitting on a brocade cushion next to them, each with a glass of exotic blue wine in front of them, and the smoke from their cigarettes in their ashtrays curled up like a cobra; in the corner A tall man in a suit was whispering to a young woman; four huge heavy-bladed ceiling fans hobbled and turned above my head, and I realized that ceiling fans were more popular in Manhattan this year.I stood there as if I were in a bar for spies in Madagascar in 1943. Jim was standing at the bar with his back to me, talking animatedly to a woman.Relieved, I carefully avoided the cushions, low tables, or other things I didn't see, and walked slowly towards them.This is heaven, and I'm just here for a small visit.I'll be sitting on the floor, not on a cloud. "Hey, man," Jim exclaimed cheerfully as soon as he saw me, "damn, you look good again." He sipped his vodka, eyes wide.I haven't seen him in over a month, I've never seen him while sober.He reminded me now of a train wreck in the light of this hundred-plus-watt sober bulb. He directed me to the tall, attractive blonde next to him: "Augustine, Astrid—Astrid, Augustine." We shook hands.Her hands were cold and wet, not from her veins, but from the glass of wine she was holding. "Damn it," Jim said, looking me up and down again, "I gotta say you look really—now I'd never want to kick you out of my bed." Reid blinked; the latter laughed too, and took a swig of his cocktail on his back. Jim forgot that two years ago he never kicked me out of his bed at all.I remember we were hanging out until four in the morning until the bar closed and we ended up at his apartment.We woke up the next morning to find ourselves naked in bed.We were all terrified by the scene at the time, so no one said anything about it in the future.At this moment, I wanted to remind him deliberately, but I held back. The waiter came gliding quickly, as if he had silent jets on his heels, pushing him over. "What would you like to drink?" He only raised one corner of his mouth and asked.I'm sure he must have stood in front of the mirror for hours, rehearsing that line with the corner of his mouth.If you asked him if that was the case, I bet he would describe himself with a cool left corner of his mouth. I really want to say a KetelOne martini with dried olive leaves. "Well, a glass of lime water." I still held back.I could also ask for a cup of hot tap water, but I don't think that's too cool.I realize with dismay how miserable and oppressive alcoholics are at this time, like those praying men in the basement.It really makes me feel ashamed. "Where are you two?" the waiter asked, pointing to Jim and Astrid's drinks. "We'll have two more of the same," Jim said, casting a sidelong glance at Astrid.It seemed to say that he now had a female drinking partner. "Good," said the waiter in an affected tone. Jim turned to me: "I was just talking to Astrid about the family I have to deal with now at work." Thank goodness!A good bereavement story would help divert my attention. "Oh, what happened?" I asked. Jim reached for his glass, found it empty, and looked at the waiter.I know what he's thinking, he's thinking, pretty boy, can you make your drink quicker? "Well, I've told Astrid that I'm doing the funeral for a disgusting rich man on Park Avenue for her daughter." He paused as the waiter put the drink on the bar.Immediately, he and Astrid eagerly and eagerly took a sip. "Well," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "the mother said to me, 'She'll be safe with you?' No, it's dangerous. I'll put her in fishnet stockings and slit pants and put her in my van and drive her to the side of the road to flirt with some ruthless bums.'” Astrid laughed triumphantly, grabbed Jim's arm, and spilled both of their drinks. I smiled stiffly and politely.One word immediately popped into my head: social lubricant.Yes, that's what I want right now, I want a cocktail to set the mood for me and them.My mouth was dry and I took a sip of mineral water. "I don't understand what they mean," he said, shaking his head. "They're going to bury her in a cemetery that used to be a dump. Are they worried about her safety in that cemetery?" His features twisted. Together, do nausea. "I mean, in two days the girl is going to be buried six feet under a stinky smell, covered in dead batteries and used condoms. Are they worried about that?" That's when I realized for the first time that he and I got together mainly because of the work we did that made us drink and get together. Jim turned to Astrid: "Hey baby, why are you so quiet?" he said, putting his hand on her back. I later found out that Astrid was 29 years old, a Danish national, and she once had a relationship with Connie Chung, a famous American TV hostess, who was the first Chinese-American to become famous in American TV news circles.Men who have slept with have dated. Jim kissed her on the cheek, then ordered another drink. Then a strong suggestion came to my mind: Go, Augustine, go. "I have to go, I have work to do." I turned to Astrid again, "Nice to meet you." She looked at me as if she had just noticed me.Jim was taken aback: "Hey, are you leaving now?" "Yeah, I just came to say hello." I put my glass of mineral water on the bar. I must leave this place now. "Okay, thank you for coming, I'll call you next week." After speaking, he immediately turned around and talked to Astrid. "Okay." I patted him on the shoulder.As I was leaving, I noticed that the waiter was talking to an Asian model at the bar who seemed to have just returned from an interview.This is really like skim milk, popular all over the world. But in any case, I can't go with them like this.I am a worthy individual. "I really wanted to drink, but I held back. The vibe...was overwhelming! This is the first time since I've been back that I've felt the power of the alcohol terror so strongly." It's Monday and I'm Sitting in Wendy's office, confessing.Half of me felt guilty, like I was a traitor, and half of me didn't want to admit that I wanted to drink with Jim and the others. "I don't think you should go to a bar, but I'm glad you were honest and not hiding it." Then she asked, "Did you go to alcoholic conferences after that?" I told her I didn't and I went straight home and talked to Haiding until midnight. "The next time something like this happens, you better force yourself to go to a meeting." These will be hail marias for drunkards.Inside you can confess as much as you like to any crime you committed while insane. "I cut his penis off and fried it in rosemary butter." "But did you go to the meeting afterwards?" "went." "Then I don't worry about it." Wendy asked me how Haiding and I were getting along, and I told her it was great to have him around, he was so determined to change his mind, and we encouraged and supported each other.We spent the weekend in meetings, watching movies, and playing ping-pong. She asked me how the group activities last week were, and I said the group activities were very helpful; she said I was doing very well, and I was moving towards sobriety, and I nodded in agreement. As I stood in the hallway, waiting for the elevator to come down, I heard a voice behind me, "Auggie?" I turned around and saw Foster walking towards me. "What are you doing here?" "One-on-one therapy with Wendy," I said, wishing I could answer longer, preferably forty-five minutes, in private with him. "I just finished my treatment with Rose, what a coincidence." He shifted his weight on one leg, looked at me and smiled. "Yeah, that's interesting," I say, my heart pounding in my chest. The elevator is here, let's go in.Foster first broke the law of elevator silence and spoke: "So, oh, what are you going to do now?" I looked at the number that flashed as the elevator descended, "Oh, I don't know, maybe go to the gym." The elevator stopped on the fourth floor, but no one came in.Foster stuck his head out to look around, shrugged, and pressed the close button. We both looked ahead and said nothing until we got to the lobby."Would you like some coffee?" Foster said as we emerged from the lobby. "I mean, if you're not in a hurry to get to the gym," he added. "Okay, no problem." I said in the calmest tone I could.I suppressed my excitement and didn't jump up and down like a six year old, okay?May I?May I? We went to the "French Bake" on Sixth and Eleventh Avenues together.We sat down on the patio and ordered cappuccinos.There was a gentle breeze, as if it had been fed expressly from a hotel in a tourist resort to cheer up the moment. "Auggie," he said in his low, thick, languid voice, "tell me about you." He leaned back in his chair, as if to settle himself, ready to enjoy my wonderful story. I like summer because the days are long.The golden sun is almost shining on us from the horizon.I noticed his chest hair glistening from the V-neck of his T-shirt.His eyes are so pure and blue, it makes me think of countless beautiful words. I laughed, sure that the edge light would accentuate the twisted seam in my jaw. He also laughed, tilting his head slightly to the right, revealing a beautiful dimple around his mouth. I look away and look back. Our cappuccinos were delivered. He was surprised to learn that my parents divorced when I was very young.My mother sent me to her psychiatrist when I was twelve.So I lived with that crazy doctor, never went to school again, and got involved with a pedophile who lived in the barn behind my house. I was also surprised to learn that less than two months earlier, he had been in a drug hotel with a broken bottle glass on his neck.He knew well that he was not worthy of love; and he dared not throw the Englishman out, for he was afraid he would kill himself. "But in the group, you also said that he kept beating you and getting angry at you." I said, "From your tone, he is scary." "He's horrible, but I'm his only support. If I kick him out, he'll be homeless." "That's his problem, he has to be responsible for himself, it has nothing to do with you." I said. "No, he's my responsibility in a way, he's not even broke." Foster scratched his collarbone, exposing his big mango-like biceps. "Do you love him?" I said casually. "No, I don't love him, never. We're just two bastards who got together." He smiled bitterly. "I'm the big bastard." He took a sip of his coffee and asked, "What about you? Your relationship How about it?" "I'm not dating anyone," I said. "But... I think I heard that you lived with a man named Hector." "It's Heiding," I corrected. "We're not that related. I met him in the rehabilitation home, and he just stayed with me for a while before going back to London." Foster smirked. "Are you sure it's all right?" He wiped the foam off his upper lip and licked his fingers. "Don't I know it myself?" I said. he laughed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't mind your business." He stretched his neck to the right, clicked, and then clicked again, and stretched his neck to the left.Then he looked at me: "So, you're single?" "Yeah, I'm not like you." There was a bewildered hostility in my voice.I immediately regretted it - it betrayed me. He scratched his chin, grinning imperceptibly. At this moment the waiter came up with a box of matches and lit the candles on our table.In the midst of my boundless self-panic, I laid out to him every detail of my life: my crazy mother; my mean, drunken father; my advertising career;如何用我手机的叫醒服务来提醒我出门和朋友去离奇古怪的餐馆吃饭；我什么时候换的手机；我吃的法式面包的尺寸…… 他幽蓝的眼睛忽明忽暗。“那么你觉得什么样的男人比较吸引人？”他一边说一边把胳膊搭到他旁边的椅子上。 我像一只狗盯着熏肉一样盯着他。我结结巴巴地说：“哦，你知道，这没法说。” “可以给我点提示。”他说。 “我讨厌这个问题——好吧——我认为他应该比较有内涵，幽默，聪明，爱读书，疯狂但是又能把握分寸。”我又补充道：“这听上去好像是一个很差劲的个人广告嘛。” he laughed. “那么身体上呢？你喜欢什么样的？” 我伸手够我的咖啡杯，发现里面已经空了。福思特注意到了，他端起他的杯子，把他的倒了些给我。 "So?" “这太令人尴尬了。”我说，“我比较……浅薄……我喜欢毛多的胳膊。”我吞吞吐吐地说。 他又大笑起来，他笑的样子使我想起一大瓶馥郁芬芳的红葡萄酒，他笑得豪爽而富感染力。He nodded.我一下感觉我像个和帕米拉•安德森PamelaAnderson，美国著名艳星，以巨乳闻名。约会的直愣愣的毛头小子，而之前我刚告诉她我喜欢大奶头。 他一边大笑，一边很自然地解开他袖口的纽扣，卷起袖子，把他毛绒绒的胳膊放到我面前。“我不是在笑你，”他说，“我笑是因为我也喜欢这样的胳膊。”他邪邪地露齿而笑。 "what is that?" 一阵微风拂过我的脖颈，我飘飘欲仙，就像吸了大麻。 “我听说……男人的上嘴唇上有卡布其诺泡沫……”他眨眨眼，或者又只是抽搐了一下。 我仍然目不转睛地盯着他的胳膊，一边拿食指擦擦我的嘴唇，然后低头一看，卡布其诺泡沫。“你是说这个？”我说，脸估计已经通红了——我在他的注视下迷醉了。 “对。”他依然用他懒洋洋的性感的腔调说。 “你们还要点别的吗？”服务员过来问。 “不，不要了。”我说，然后我像电影里演的那样装作看手表，“我想我得回家了。” “好吧。”他用一种在我看来混合着希望、悲伤和失望的情绪的声音说，这让我觉得他会在这里待上一夜。 我伸手去拿账单，但他把它抢了过去。他看了一眼，然后手伸进牛仔裤兜里。他拉出一张皱巴巴的二十元的票子，塞到蜡烛底下，以防被风吹走。 我们起身，走到街角。我们一直站着看着彼此。“明天小组见。”他最后说。 我渴望他能再说些什么，就像我喝马提尼时，总渴望多来几轮一样。“明天见！再见！” 但是我们都不挪脚，等对方先走。他先迈出了脚，但是立刻又停住了，回头看我。我被一种自皮格海德以来第一次的眩晕击中了——一种我永远都不想失去的眩晕，而且又是因为这种小小的细节而被击中，真是妙不可言。 我们背道而驰。他回到他那个有英国酒鬼男朋友的家。我回有英国酒鬼兼瘾君子的室友的家。我一边走，一边喃喃自语，这种感觉是因为福思特，是吗？不是因为皮格海德，是吗？我回答自己说，是因为福思特。我想是的，我几乎百分之百地坚信不移。 我已经多年没有对皮格海德怀有爱意了。以我们最一开始的交往，你可能会把我们看作一对为所欲为、狼狈为奸的人。我们勾搭在一起，使我们的朋友都疏离了我门。我整日迷恋于他的西装，他的气息，他振振有词像打排球一样说话的方式……皮格海德，这个投资银行家，总能自圆其说，能把你辩得相信任何事。 我们总是去“它”餐馆吃饭，在“它”喝酒；我们去俊男靓女出没的酒吧跳舞；我们做爱，然后各自回家，然后再在电话里做爱。 但我似乎总也抓不住皮格海德的心，这反而总是激我跃跃欲试。但是，慢慢地，我累了。接着他生病了，然后突然间他说：“好吧，你现在可以得到我了。”但我已经不再想要他了，为了摆脱他，我已经付出了太多的努力，我不想功亏一篑。 所以后来，我扮演了他的普通朋友的角色。我所做的就是在火焰岛的沙滩上给他拍拍照。他穿着鲜艳的桔色泳裤，兴致勃勃地和一个跳舞的男人搭讪；而我则在后面，给他遛狗，看着他在灌木从里撒尿。“到底有什么问题啊？”他对我说，“我们又没结婚，我们早就说的很清楚了。我爱你，但是我不想被束缚住。” 所以，很自然地，我花了数月，慢慢将他从我脑中抹去了。 接着他发病了；然后突然间，一个新皮格海德出现了。这个新皮格海德总是信誓旦旦，慷慨许诺。他总是说，让我们一起共创生活；而我回答道：“你说我晚上跟别人的初次约会是该穿黑夹克还是灰色的呢？” 星期二上班时，我正站在小便池边小便，我听到男厕所的门被打开了，然后听到格瑞尔一句叫嚷：“奥古斯丁，你在里面吗？” “在，什么事？”真讨厌，她。 “你得快点。皮格海德在电话线上。他是从医院打来的。”