“So when am I going to meet this amazing guy?”

   Molly fishes in her soup with her spoon.

   “I don’t know,” she says idly. “I’m not sure he’s ready to meet anyone yet.”

   “What does that mean?” I ask, realising just a little too late that my coffee is still way too hot. I hold the cup up and scrutinize it.

   “What are you doing?” asks Molly as she scoops out a cruton.

   “Looking for the thermostat.” I put the coffee cup back on the table. “So what’s wrong with this guy?”

   “Why does there have to be something wrong with him?”

   “Okay, what’s his name?”

   “Dean.”

   “Dean?”

   “Yes, Dean. I suppose you have some problem with that?”

   “Not at all. He’s one of the few people in the world who have their very own forest.”

   “Whatever,” says Molly. “Honestly, you’re such a bloody snob.”

   “At least it’s better than Rudolph.”

   “RANDOLPH.”

   “Right. So what’s Dean’s second name?”

   Molly clears her throat and has a mouthful of soup.

   “I knew it,” I say, clicking my fingers.

   “Knew what?”

   “His second name. It’s something really embarassing like Nancy or Colon, isn’t it?”

   “No.”

   “Is his second name Dean?”

   “Oh, don’t be so bloody stupid,” groans Molly as she drops her spoon in the bowl. “Dean Dean?”

   “Stranger names have happened.”

   “If you must know,” says Molly, “he doesn’t have a last name.”

   “Come on…”

   “I’m serious. He had one – which, incidentally, he hasn’t disclosed- but now he doesn’t.”

   “Aaaah…” I say, giving the coffee another try which makes me wince. “So, he changed his name by deed poll…”

   “Yes.”

   “…to Dean.”

   “Almost.”

   “How almost?”

   Molly sighs and spreads her fingers out on the table. She really doesn’t seem to want to talk about this but I must know. I must!

   “He changed his name to Virtual Dean.”

   I cough up some scalding coffee and put my hand to my mouth.

   “Virtual Dean? That’s not a name.”

   Molly shrugs, “Something to do with virtual reality or something. He told me that’s what his friends used to call him. One of his favourite films was ‘The Flymo Kid’.”

   “I think you mean ‘The Lawnmower Man’.”

   “Whatever. Anyway, I personally think he just started calling himself that to give himself a point of interest.”

   “Yeh,” I say, “Deans can be like that sometimes.” I take another mouthful of coffee. “I can’t drink this, it’s too low grade. I should have had orange juice.”

   “Anyway,” says Molly, “he’s nervous about meeting people I know.”

   “I’m not surprised,” I say, picking up the beverage menu, “with a name like Virtual Dean.”

   “I want to break him in gently.”

   Molly’s phone vibrates.

   “Speaking of which, that’s him texting me. I’ve got to go. Finished with your coffee?”

   “Virtually.”

   “I’ll call you later.”

   Molly gets up just as Murray enters the cafe.

   “Hey people,” says Murray, slapping the table with his rolled-up newspaper.

   “I’m just going,” says Molly.

   “Something I said?” chuckles Murray.

   “Not yet,” says Molly as she puts on her coat. She waves her hand and leaves as Murray sits down in her place. He looks at the remains of her soup.

   “Molly’s got a new fella,” I say, deciding to stick it out with the coffee.

   “Really? Anyone we know?”

   “His name is Virtual Dean.”

   Murray gives me a blank look, followed by a thousand yard stare, “Don’t think I know him.”

   “Well, at least you tried.”

   “Did you hear from Ruth?” he asks as he dips a finger in the soup.

   “She’s in Sydney visiting an old flatmate,” I say. “Did you hear about the funeral?”

   “Coy Johnson’s funeral? What happened?”

   “Apparently they gave him a big porn star send off in the U.S. They had him boxed up in a penis-shaped coffin.”

   Murray gives another thousand yard stare, “Penis-shaped…I wonder what they would have used to represent the throbbing veins…Strands of purple licquorice maybe…?”

   “They wanted to fire him into the furnace hatch…”

   “…Rhubarb strips…?”

   “…But there was a malfunction and he shot the other way straight down the aisle…”

   “…Stick-on purple felt…?”

   “…So instead of coming he went.”

   “Would you be able to find out for me?”

   I spin my coffee cup around between my fingers, “Anyway, Ruth didn’t go. She’s wiped the slate clean.”

   “Good for her,” says Murray.

   “That’s what I said.”

   “So when do we meet him?” asks Murray as he sniffs a fingerfull of soup.

   “Who?”

   “This Virtual Dean guy.”

   “You want to meet him?”

   “Yeh, why not?”

   “You actually want to meet a guy who calls himself Virtual Dean?”

   “With a name like Virtual Dean,” says Murray as he wipes his finger on the table, “it would be criminal not to.”

   I hold my nose and take a sip of the black stuff.

   “I wish this coffee was virtual.”