My ex wife, Lucy, sent me an instant message.
To say this was unexpected would be an understatement. I would be less surprised if Amelia Earhart flew by my window with Jimmy Hoffa waving from the passenger seat.
Lucy: Hi Jefferson!
Jefferson: Hey! How’s tricks?
Lucy: Fine. Just about to make dinner for the kids. Ugh.
Jefferson: I share your pain. What’s on?
Lucy: Egg noodles and creamed spinach.
Jefferson: Ah, the “special dinner.”
Lucy: That’s right!
Well, this was pleasant enough.
I waited for the other shoe to drop. Surely she had some agenda, or else she wouldn’t be writing.
Lucy: The kids are outside playing.
Jefferson: Sounds ideal.
Lucy: Pretty much. And here I sit, with no one asking me for anything.
Lucy: Unusual, that’s for sure. Well, I should go make dinner.
Jefferson: Okay, nice talking with you.
Well, what do you know? There was no other shoe.
Lucy was just in a mood to chat, and so we exchanged pleasantries.
I honestly couldn’t remember the last time she spoke to me when it was not absolutely necessary. If she addressed me at all, it was purely to convey directions or corrections, always with the same tone of exasperated annoyance.
Perhaps this was a break through.
A little while later, I received an instant message from an unfamiliar screen name.
Scooter: Hey Jefferson.
Scooter: Just wanted to say, I had a great time at the party the other night. It was great to meet you.
Jefferson: Thanks. Likewise—glad you enjoyed.
Scooter: It was hot the way you got the party going. Very sexy . . . ;)
Now, who could this be? Oh, of course: Consuela! My partner in jumpstarting the sex.
Jefferson: That was very much my pleasure. I’m glad you enjoyed it too.
Scooter: Yeah, that was smoking.
Jefferson: Just doing my job; happy to oblige.
Scooter: You are too much!
Jefferson: So they say. Hey, I wanted to tell you, I also host a bi party. I think you’d enjoy it.
Jefferson: Yeah, it’s bi women and bi men. A very nice group.
Scooter: I don’t know if I’d fit in . . .
Jefferson: You might be surprised. It’s very easy going and welcoming.
Scooter: Yeah, but I’m not bi. I don’t want to mislead anyone.
Jefferson: You’re not bi? Pity, you must break some hearts, you sexy thing.
Scooter: Thanks! ;)
Jefferson: Well, think about it. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do at the party, of course—everyone respects limits.
Scooter: Yeah, I don’t think it’s for me.
Jefferson: Okay. Well, I look forward to seeing you at the Nubian parties, at least.
Scooter: Absolutely! I’ll be back for sure, and we can hang out . . . :)
Jefferson: Cool! Contact me anytime you like. I thought you were great fun. I’d certainly be game to meet one on one . . .
Scooter: You mean, just you and me?
Scooter: Eh, I don’t think so.
Scooter: No, I wouldn’t be up for that.
Jefferson: Oh . . .
Scooter: But maybe we could hook up with my girlfriend. She liked you, and she’s very hot.
This did not compute.
Why was Conseula so cool to the notion of seeing me unless another woman joined us—especially if she wasn't bi?
And wait, what girlfriend?
Jefferson: That’s nice to hear, but who was your girlfriend?
Scooter: Jen, man. Remember fooling around with her when you were fucking Maria?
D’oph. I wasn’t flirting with Consuela; I was flirting with Luis, a straight boy.
It’s no secret I’m bi, and he didn’t seem to connect that I thought he was someone else, so I let it go and pressed forward.
Jefferson: Oh sure, Jen. Yes, she’s great—you can count me in.
Scooter: Great! We’ll have to set that up.
Jefferson: Super, just let me know. Thanks for the invite.
Scooter: Absolutely. Hey, gotta run. TTYL, sweetheart!
Wait a minute . . .