Ménage à Trois

Arms crossed, Alba walked through dense foot traffic tightly sandwiched between two men who stood a head higher than her, one in a ball cap, the other wearing blue and red 3D glasses.

“Smile,” the ball cap said, as the crowd began to thin.

“Really?”

“Yeah, you’d be cute if you smiled.”

“The most important thing, of course.”

“I’m just saying–”

“That what I look like is the most important thing about me. I could be a Fulbright scholar, Nobel winner, the next Mother Theresa–totally irrelevant.”

She turned the corner down an empty narrow street, both men followed. Ball cap reached for her shoulder. She pulled away.

“Hey, baby, don’t be like that.”

“Like what, toots? Someone who’s having a bad day? Who just got fired? Whose mother died? No, I should really just smile whatever’s going on, just to humor dicks like you. You know, maybe I’m among the one-in-four rape survivors and you’re scaring the bejesus out of me by following me around.”

“I don’t think much of anything scares you, sweetie. In fact, I think you and I ought to go find a place.”

“I don’t think my twin would appreciate that.”

“You have a twin?”

She looked at the man in 3D glasses who put his arm around the man. “Be honest. Did you just imagine a ménage à trois with me? Because, I am so there. Ground rules: Clearly you’re into kink. Good. Rope, zip ties, or duct tape? Any preference? Do you like a little pain with your sex? Do we need a safe word? Hey, where you going? This was just getting good.”

“Thanks, Teddy,” Alba said and went on walking.

“For future reference, if you’d like to humor the dick that’s usually hanging around you, just break his arm next time–oh, crap.” Theodore said, staring up at street art that had just come into view. It was a massive piece taking up a third of one of the largest glass skyscrapers in New York with red-toned geometric shapes and few blue shadows.

“Maybe it’s not for us,” Alba said, fishing in her bag for her 3D glasses as Theodore closed one eye to look at it.

“Oh, yeah. It’s us,” he said.

Alba put her glasses on and closed her eye on the blue side. The red lens drowned out the red, turning the blue shadows more prominent, which made for wonky twisted numbers and a few letters not unlike a computer form bot test: hard to miss, once you’re looking. The first three numbers jumped out at her: 20-14-1.

“Oh, yeah. It’s for us.”

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