Double Date
The second installment of Ancel’s shenanigans
Ancel didn’t bother to text Berenger after the date. If you could call it that. Ancel only vaguely remembered the night after they were seated, he had somehow drunk wine like shots and the result was pure memory loss. He preferred it that way. He remembered Berenger talking about his pet fish. The man kept fish. In an aquarium. He called it a hobby. Ancel couldn’t remember what else they’d talked about, he’d tuned Berenger out after he said reading was his favorite pastime.
Ancel read. Well, he read romances. Well, he listened to audiobooks of romances, while he was getting ready to stream.
Ancel pushed aside the sheets and cursed as his head throbbed. At least Berenger had gotten him home. Or maybe Erasmus had. He shuffled to the shower and just stood under the spray until his head hurt more than he wanted to stay in the steamy shower. Pulling off the shower cap he slipped into his favorite robe - a jade satin robe that brushed his ankles - and stomped to the kitchen.
Erasmus sat at the table, teacups and teapot spread out on the table as he buttered a toasty English muffin.
“I thought you might want something, so I made peppermint tea.”
“What are we, in a Jane Austen novel?” Ancel snapped. Erasmus blushed, looking at the muffin as though it would provide him moral support. Why did he have to be so damn considerate?
Ancel frowned, slinking into the chair across from him and trying to sound polite, “Thank you. Tea sounds nice.”
Erasmus’ smile returned very slightly, filling the cup he had brought out for Ancel. The tea set was an heirloom from his grandmother and using it always made Ancel edgy.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Erasmus refilled his cup before asking, “You had fun last night.”
Ancel squinted his eyes, “Not really. Why? What makes you say that? Did I tell you I had fun?”
Erasmus’ head tilted, “Oh. Well you, ah… tried to give Berenger a lapdance in the parking lot.”
“Hm.” That wasn’t so bad.
“When he paid for dinner, you tried to steal his credit card and sponsor a penguin in Antarctica. And then you called him racist when he said he didn’t think you could do that.”
“Oh.”
Erasmus continued, his voice faltering, “You asked him how big his dick was, and demanded he and Torveld compare sizes. They asked us to leave the restaurant after that.”
“Why didn’t you stop me?” Ancel cried and Erasmus jumped, “Fuck, he must think I’m a lunatic. Not that I care about him, but… fuck!”
Erasmus looked at him with wide eyes, “You also gave him your personal phone number, home address, and streaming information,” he paused, shrugging gently through Ancel’s aghast silence, “I thought you really liked him. You tried to give him your social security number, but he interrupted you.”
“Well, I’m never going to see him again. You need to break up with Torveld too, just to be safe. God, what if I become an anecdote at their work parties or something?” Ancel rolled his head back and winced as it pounded.
“I’m not going to do that…”
Ancel tossed back the last of his tea and slammed the cup down too hard, “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t care what he thinks of me.”
Ancel stood and swept around the kitchen. He needed coffee. Not just tea. This was a coffee situation. Erasmus lifted the empty cup hopefully, checking the bottom.
“What about you and Torveld? Any luck there?” he was going to scream if Erasmus had more luck than him.
Erasmus blushed, immediately confirming the worst, “He’s very nice. He called me to make sure I’d gotten home all right, and…”
Ancel’s phone chimed, and he glanced at it, throwing it back on the counter before registering the text.
“Who is Gerry?” He exclaimed, cutting off Erasmus, “And why is there a blueberry beside his name.”
Erasmus blinked at him. Ancel was sure he was just imagining the tiny smirk, “You called him Gerry. Gerry the Berry. After you said his name had too many syllables.”
Ancel opened the text.
Gerry: You seemed interested in my fish.
Attached was a photo of a pristine, floor-to-ceiling fish tank filled with brightly colored coral and eye-catching fish.
Ancel glared at his phone.
“Is it him?” Erasmus asked, his tone rising.
“No,” Ancel lied distractedly, “If you’re not supposed to eat the aquarium pebbles, why do they make it look like pop rocks?”
“Don’t eat the aquarium pebbles, Ancel.”
“Why is he texting me about his fish? I don’t care about fish. They’re… fish!”
Erasmus took a serene sip of tea, “You said you wanted to name all of them. You cried when he said they didn’t have names.”
“Why would he think I cared from that?” Ancel shook his head, thumbing a reply.
Ancel: I’m not. I hate fish. Unless they’re served with butter and lemon.
Ancel paused before he hit send, tuning back into Erasmus’ words, “What did you say?”
Erasmus had that look on his face, like a puppy trying to communicate in human language, “I said, he seemed to like you, Ancel. Even when you barfed on his shoes, he just… sort of laughed.”
It was Ancel’s turn to blush, and he hated it. His cheeks burned, muttering, “God, if he’s pathetic enough to be texting me after all that…”
He looked back at his phone. The text bar blinked at him. If this Gerry guy was that desperate for company, that desperate for someone to fawn over his fish, maybe he would be worth something after all. Ancel could put up with a lot, for the right price. He deleted the text.
Ancel: The large blue one is called Timothee.
Ancel nodded, satisfied. Flirty, cute, good for opening a conversation. Conversation Berenger would soon be paying for the honor of having with him.
Ancel poured the coffee into his largest mug, diluting it with an appropriate amount of milk and sugar, and flounced back towards his room. His head felt much better.
“Bye, babe,” he called absently back at Erasmus’ distant farewell.
It was time to do his hair.