Douglas stood for a moment, feeling uncertain as he watched her retreating back. What the hell was that? But then who cares. There was no telling what this woman would do next. He was loving it. He stood in indecision for a moment, wondering if she had expected him to follow. But then if she had, she could have given an invitation. She had not. She seemed to have simply copped a feel and then dismissed him. He walked out of the little hallway where the phone and washrooms stood, cleared his bill and left. There was always tomorrow, and it would do her some good to think about just what it was that she felt today. He knew he was nothing to cough at. He had also made most of the moves, shit she had started by being very rude to him, a stranger, since after all she didn't know that he had been listening to her calls at the time. She had also accused him of rudely gawking at her luscious body, and then there she was helping herself to his! No, he would wait and see what she would do next. One thing he knew for sure though. Somehow or other, she was gong to end up in his bed, and it was going to be her idea. By then he had arrived at his work live studio on Carlaw Avenue off of Queen street east. As he was letting himself in, a thought came to him for a new song. She has eyes of a cat/and she knows what she's after/ she has sophistication/ yet she's as wild as a tiger/what she wants/she helps herself to/today she just happened to help herself to you. The words were a little rough, but the melody itself was clear as a bell. He set to work.
After a few hours of jamming and writing, he fixed himself a coffee, Double cream, double sugar, organic gourmet coffee. Going to drink that poison might as well do it right, he thought, as he rummaged through his cluttered kitchen table for a spoon that would no doubt need washing, looking forward to his first sip. Found one, wiped it off, stirred and sipped. Mmm. He walked lazily over to his studio space and sat on a stool beside which leaned his guitar. Douglas thought again about Fanguella. Couldn't help himself. He was not going to make it easy for her. He knew her type. She was looking for a plaything, and he had no problem with that, but he intended to play as well. He wanted to have her begging for more from him and not simply helping herself as the need arises. He planned to be helping himself as well. She was too sure of herself. She didn't seem to give a shit. But then she did have this dude that she leaves those messages to. Who the hell was this lucky bastard? Suddenly he felt an overwhelming obsession to know. If this is her boyfriend, just what kind of relationship do they have, anyhow? Is it one of those open ones where each of them can date whomever they please with their partner's blessing? Had they broken up and she was trying to coax him back into the relationship? Good technique he thought. Maybe she made lots of um, friends and helps herself to other men as well as to me. Shit. He didn't like that last one. He didn't like the idea that she would be one up on him in this experience since he had never done that kind of thing before. That is, helped himself to a stranger in the middle of the afternoon. Maybe he should help himself?