“Hey, guess who I bumped into on Friday.”

    I pour us both coffee and hand one mug to Molly.

    “Boxhead?” I ask with hope.

    Molly wrinkles her nose, “No, thank god. I saw Futter.”

    “Futter? Really? I haven’t seen him since he tried to get his musical version of Rosemary’s Baby made.”

    Molly laughs into her coffee, “Shit, I remember that!”

    “So what’s he doing now?”

    “He’s still hanging around pageants.”

     We go into my lounge and sit down. We sit in silence and Molly eyeballs me.

     “What?” I ask after a few moments.

    “I met a guy,” now she’s grinning from earring to earring.

    “Really?” I say, “and who is this…guuuuy?”

     “Well,” says Molly enthusiastically, “his name’s Randolph-”

     I choke on a mouthful of coffee and it dribbles down my chin. I put the cup on the table and try and catch it.  Molly shakes her head tiresomely.

     “Yes, his name is Randolph. Ho ho fucking ho. Get over it you big kid.”

     I’m too busy wiping coffee from my neck with my hand to get over it, “This is no good, I can feel it under my collar.”

      Molly pulls a wipe from her handbag and passes it to me. I slip it between two shirt buttons and clean up.

     “So where did you and Rudolph meet?”

     “Okay, you can quit the lame name gags.”

     “Okay, I’m sorry. Do tell.”

     Molly smiles again, “Well, we met at evening class, actually.”

     “Evening class? You? Since when?”

     “Since last Thursday.”

     “Evening class in what?”

     “Creative writing, dahling.”

     “Oh,” I say, returning to my coffee, “I was into that when we were at school.”

     “I remember,” says Molly. “Your stories were total crap.”

     “I know,” I say, “I could never come up with interesting characters or situations; all they ever did was sit around talking nonsense.”

      “So anyway,” says Molly, “at the end of the course a few of us went to the pub and Randolph and I started chatting and we stayed on for a few more drinks…and we discovered we had something in common.”

     “Is your middle name Randolph?”

     “Opera.”

     “Opera?”

     She grins, “That’s right.”

     “But you hate opera. You once described opera as four hours listening to a giant pair of tits feeling sorry for itself.”

     ”I know,” says Molly. “But I wasn’t about to let Randolph know that. Not with that gorgeous body and hairstyle. Anyway, we ended up going back to my place and it was fantastic.”

     I hold a hand up, “Please, this coffee is still quite warm. Don’t make me throw it over you.”

     “Don’t worry, I was going to save the intimate details for my sewing circle.”

    “I’m glad to hear it.”

    We drink our drinks for a moment.

    “So,” I say, “does this have a future. Is he boyfriend material?”

    “In almost every way, I think he could be.”

    “Almost? What does that mean?”

    “Well, it’s nothing really,” she says a little guiltily, “but you know how I have a thing for men’s eyes and how I’m totally into them?”

     “Randolph doesn’t have any eyes?” I say with shock, “That’s awful! No wonder you were able to seduce him so easily Molls.”

     “Sod off,” she says. “He has a squint.”

     “A squint?”

     “When we were facing eachother his right eye was looking over my left shoulder the whole time. I know, I’m being really shallow.”

     “That’s alright,” I say, “I once finished with a girl because she kept having too many delayed-reaction orgasms.”

     “That,” says Molly, “is sooo not true.”

    “So what’s the big deal about a squint?”

    “I know, it’s stupid. I’ll have to get over it. I mean it can’t be that big a deal seeing as I ended up having sex with him anyway.”

     “After he seduced you with that ‘come to bed’ eye of his.”

     “Do you want to meet him?”

     “Are you sure you want to risk it?” I say, “I might be repulsed by his hideous occular deformity and be sick in one of your Manolos.”

     Molly stands up and slings her handbag over her shoulder, “We’ll be in Mintzies on friday night. Don’t bring Murray.”

     I stand up too and walk her to the door, “Don’t worry, Murray’s going to be out of town on an office team building exercise in North Wales.”

    ”I bet he’ll love that.”

    “His boss thinks he’s been a little stressed at work,” I open the door.”He’s got himself all wound up because people keep urinating in the cubicles and not putting the seats up before they start.”

     “Eugh,” says Molly, stepping out into the corridor, “men are animals. I bet Randolph doesn’t do that.”

     “No,” I say, “with his freaky peepers he probably misses the toilet completely.”