“Hi, I’m here to use your bedroom,” said Meri as she stood in the doorway to my house.
I was well aware of the plan. Despite that, she seemed hangdog about showing up on my stoop and having to ring the bell to be let in by me in order to engage in a tryst. It was all the more awkward because the tryst was not with me, but with the two young brothers from across the street. Her curt sentence — to the point, devoid of pleasantries — told me all I needed to know. She was not proud of her choice. She was driven to do this by some internal compulsion. She wanted as little interaction with me as possible. She was hoping that I wouldn’t even acknowledge that I know her.
I know who she is. I know what she was there for. I know her secret.
I decided to play to her weakness. It wasn’t kind of me and I’m not proud of it either.
“Oh, hi Meri!” I said, loudly and genially. She almost shuttered at the sound of her name and I detected a darting sideways glance to see if anyone was around to hear me say it.
She stepped in hastily, almost landing on my toes.
“Hi,” she said, reluctantly.
Her red hair brought out the blush of her cheek. She was embarrassed. She was wearing tight jeans and a black V-neck t-shirt. Her oversized, dark sunglasses — the kind movie stars wear…