-Medusa-

At my suggestion, we'd left the Unitarian Church basement after the first band said farewell, left behind over fifty sober and earnest young people wearing messenger bags and applachian-thrift store clothing. The plan - to find a bar and drink through most of the second band, and be back in time for the headline act.

We didn't have to go far. The Medusa Lounge was only two blocks away, and what a charming nook it was. Nine-thirty on a Wednesday, and no one in sight except a young couple and the substitute bartender, Pretty. Even so, the stool I tried to sit on was taken, they told me, and the only other stool on this side that was adjacent to my friend faced a pillar.

Just as I was suggesting a move to one of the many vacant tables, the stool occupier returned from the vomitorium. Brian was already deep into his cups, but not so deep to mistake my precarious seat as anything but a sign of weakness. Pretty gave me a look I interpreted as disgust, but I couldn't decide if it was for me or him.

We all exchanged obligatory SO WHAT DO YOU DOs. This is your first and best chance to fend off another suitor. I'd be telling my profession first, and I don't expect it to impress many people. I also refuse to exaggerate.

I'm a librarian, I said.
I think they paused half a beat before they moved on, but no longer.

A professional wolf would effortlessly switch his true profession (club promoter, aka gigolo) to something 'greater' than what I'd said, but would also exaggerate the importance and passion of what he does. Example: "I play bass for 'Vampire Syphilis.' VS is devoted to exploring cords A and B only, as all other cords are for wankers."

This said, he'll get her to talk about herself until he can twist her profession into the soulmate of his own. "Wow, you fire raku pottery, and every summer the other lifeguards and I build bonfires on the beach. We are both creatures of fire."

In this case, her field is dental hygiene.

Wow, said Pretty. Are you going to be a dentist? No? Still, very, very, important. Tell us about it?

Pretty, I thought, you're not helping.

Lucky for me, I suppose, Brian's efforts were clumsy. Trying to liken white teeth to the white belt of his gi isn't going to work on a smart girl. My stool stopped wobbling, and I relax a bit. No need to treat him like an enemy, now, and I can even applaud him silently for being honest about his rank.

He got sentimental in his defeat, and told us we make a great couple. Pretty and the other young couple agreed.

My friend smiled. Oh, she said, we're just friends.

Brian blinked one eye first, and then the other. Really? he said, you've never ever thought about it?

Just friends.

And you? he said to me.

Just friends.

My smile was intact, my face was cool. They were all fooled, except for Pretty, who watched me carefully. Bartenders, even substitutes, always know better.