TWENTY-FIVE.

    We went to lunch together the next day. It was important to me that he admire me - I felt like a little girl, dressing up and showing off, consciously performing in order to win some applause, a kiss on the cheek and a blush of warmth. At the same time I was slightly embarrassed with myself, my crisp green dress, black mascara and new high heels - did I appear too demanding? Should I ask him to marry me before the check comes? Should we run away to Paris together right at this moment and never look back on the City of Angels? Should I fall in love right now, across the street from a theatre showing a double feature of Cocteau's La Belle et La Bete and Orphee? I had to show some self-restraint, keep my lipstick neat, avoid flinging my hands out in dramatic gestures of astonishment. I prattled on and on, carrying the conversation like a pack animal, oblivious to the bustling of our waitress and my watercress sandwich on a pressed glass plate. We sat under a yawning yellow umbrella on the sidewalk at a bustling cafe on Beverly, sunning ourselves in the gaze of passersby. Jonathon sat tossing a small coin in the air; he was aloof, occupied with something else, only giving a small part of himself to the conversation. I began to feel uneasy.

    "Have you seen Blood of a Poet?" I asked Jonathon.

    He paused and set his coin tails-up on the table. "What?"

    "Oh, Cocteau. They're showing a double-feature at the cinema across the street. You probably can't see it because your back is facing the marquee... That film isn't playing, but it's my favorite. It's the most dreamlike, I think."

    "This is a dream," Jonathon said.

    "Aren't you the morbid one, now?" I said.

    "Look at these people," he said. "The animality of people is disturbing to me. I can't watch people eating, but it's so fascinating. Eating, drinking, gratifying physical desires. Limitless, bottomless, unavailable desires. I can't help thinking that this is a human zoo, a traveling circus, bodies transported in cars, moving in and out of windowless rooms. Why is it that women always date men who are less attractive than they are?"

    "Are you complimenting me?" I broke in.

    "Sometimes I can't help it." He paused, winked, sighed and then said, "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I'm elsewhere today - I wanted this to be more than something in between, but I'm preoccupied with the house. They're behind schedule. I want to get out of that pool house... It's a ridiculous situation, like living in a sitcom; I keep waiting for something funny to happen and the laugh track to come on."

    "Therese lived in her mother's backyard for awhile," I told him. "In a tent on top of a trampoline."

    "Well, that takes the cake," Jonathon replied. "It doesn't suit me. I suppose I haven't the charm for these awkward situations." He took up his coin and started flipping it again. Suddenly the coin vanished in midair.

    Aloud he said nothing, but looked at me intently and expectantly.

    Quailing a little, I said, "Where is your house?"

    Jonathon considered this, frowning.

    "You look a little lost."

    "If only I knew it would come out alright," he said.

    "Doesn't it usually?" I asked youthfully, after a pause.

    "I mean," he said as I looked at him inquiringly and expectantly,"there are so many things that can go wrong. I suppose I'm superstitious. Talking about it makes me nervous. Thinking about it makes me nervous. I'm in a sorry state."

    "You'll have to cross your fingers now, or take some other preventative measure," I giggled. Jonathon looked at me, my grey eyes, flouncing, curly hair, and the dimpled bow of my mouth.

    "You're awfully game, Pennie," he said.

    My heart swelled up a little, threatening to suffocate me. If only he always looked at me like that, with frank pleasure.

    "I wish you'd admire me a little more," I said.

    "Would I be doing you a favor?" he asked.

    "Not at all, and I'd resent it if you were. It just brings a nice sensation to me knees."

    "Your knees?"

    "Oh stop! You'll make my kneecaps blush, and that would be too pretty." Perhaps I was a fool.

    "You're not making sense!" he said.

    "Kiss the sense out of me!"

    "I'm not opposed," he said. "But I fear my tongue is broken down."

    "Are you stuttering?"

    "Over the address," Jonathon said. "This omission, I might explain, owes to the fact that the house has no history, and thus no geography. It doesn't exist yet in a tangible way. But I'll let you know when it does. I'll bring you there."

    "It's an amputated address?"

    "I'm waiting for the prosthetic to be complete."

    He was cool, frank and fluent when we parted; the warmth of his lips made an impression on my cheek.