How to Disappear Completely
‘That boy has no game,’ I’m saying to Dr Merteuil about Dr Pasteur. ‘You want to see his idea of game?’
As a radiologist friend—a cute blonde—walks by, I grab her hand.
‘Play a game with me,’ I tell her, ‘Pretend I’m Pasteur for a sec.’
She smiles and shows some teeth.
‘Hi,’ I say in my Dr Pasteur voice, ‘what’s your name?’
‘You know my name,’ she says, still holding my hand and giving it a little squeeze.
‘No,’ I say, back in my own voice, ‘Pretend I’m Pasteur and you don’t know me.’
She looks at Merteuil and then agrees.
‘Hi,’ I say in my Dr Pasteur voice, ‘what’s your name?’
‘Sara.’
‘Sara,’ I say, still in my Dr Pasteur voice, ‘can I have your phone number?’
The three of us laugh and Sara yanks her hand out of mine dramatically. She walks away shaking her head as Merteuil and I continue to laugh.
‘I’ve seen him try that shit fifteen times,’ I say. ‘Not in bars either—with other doctors.’
‘You know that blonde Ob/Gyn,’ she asks, laughing. I nod. ‘She agreed to go out with him. So he takes her to Outback Steakhouse.’ She starts laughing so much she stops talking for a moment. ‘He tells her he chose the restaurant because he knows she’s Australian.’
I’m laughing too, but I’m confused.
‘She’s not Australian,’ I say. ‘She’s South African.’
‘I know,’ she says, laughing so hard she’s crying.
I’m laughing, but glance out the window when I think I see Pasteur coming in from the patio entrance, but it’s just a reflection and a trick of the light.
1 Comments:
3/14/2006
Chuckles writes:
Awesome. That was awesome. I knew there was someone out there who made me look better than Clooney and you, sir, work with him.
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