Henry and Jane

I lit a cigarette and pulled my coat around me. The wind blew and snow swirled through the sky, slowly covering the cars on the street. Colder than a witch's tit, I thought. Where had I heard that expression? Probably in a Stephen King novel.

The door to the bar swung open.

"Have you got a light?" asked a man with a British accent.

"Yes!" I shouted.

"No need to shout," said the man. "I already know you're American."

"Is that supposed to be some kind of insult?" I whispered.

"Touche," said the man. He smiled and I noticed he had light blue eyes and a dimple on his left cheek. I passed him my lighter. He lit his cigarette and menthol wafted through the air.

"How can you smoke those things?" I said. "The smell is noxious. How are you not throwing up right now?"

"I don't know," said the man, taking a deep inhale and blowing a cloud of smoke into the winter air. "I've always found the scent invigorating."

I sighed. "I don't know how to tell you this, but those things smell like a home for the elderly."

The man laughed. "You're a funny American."

"Thanks," I said, stomping on the butt of my cigarette with my heel. "That's a real compliment coming from a limey."

"You're quite welcome," said the man with a twinkle in his eye. "Would you like to go back into the pub with me?"

"That depends," I shouted.

"On what?" said the man.

"Are you an asshole or a jackass?"

The man laughed. "What's the difference?"

I smiled. "An asshole is occasionally a pain to be around. A jackass is a constant pain to be around."

The man tossed his cigarette into the street.

"I am an asshole," he said, "and my name is Henry."

"Okay," I said, "I will go into the bar with you if you promise to only occasionally be an asshole. Also, we are going into a bar, not a pub."

Henry held up two fingers. "Scouts honor," he said. "I promise not to be a jackass, and only an asshole. May I ask what your name is, and whether or not you are an asshole?"

"You may," I said. "My name is Jane, and I am strictly an asshole. I prefer the term smart Alec, though."

Henry opened the door, and I followed him into the crowd. He motioned for the bartender.

"Two shots of tequila for two assholes," I said.

The bartender raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"I thought you preferred the term smart Alec?" said Henry.

"Not in this bar," I said. "Swearing always gets faster service."

"I see," said Henry. "I'll get the drinks and you get the table."

"Why not the other way around?" I said.

"Frankly, because you scare me, Jane," said Henry.

"In a good way?" I said, scanning the bar for an open table.

"Yes," said Henry, as he picked up the two shots and stared at me. "Let's hope so. Otherwise, you may be completely crazy."

I frowned. "How do I know you aren't nut-nuts?"

Henry winked. "You'll just have to trust me."

I found a table in the corner and Henry put the shots down carefully, as if he was afraid of spilling them. As we sat down, Henry watched me down my shot in one gulp.

"How do I know you aren't cray-cray?" he said.

"Everyone in New York is certifiable," I said.

My new friend surveyed the room. "I think you may be right."

I put my hair behind one ear. "I am always right."

"Is that so?" said Henry. "I thought I was the one who was always right."

I snorted.

"Did you know you sound like a horse?" said Henry.

"Yes," I said. "At least I don't sound like a British prick."

Henry laughed, and downed his tequila. "I think I like you."

"Thank you," I said. "I think I like you."

Henry tilted his head to one side. "Why?"

I thought for a moment. "You are easy on the eyes, but the real reason is that I'm a sucker for an English accent."

"Lucky me," grinned Henry, taking a swig from a bottle of water.

"You may get lucky if you play your cards right." I smiled and studied a menu.

Henry choked on his water.

"Are you alright?" I said.

"Fine," said Henry. "Should we order something to eat?"

"Yes," I said. "I'm famished. I think I'll get the cheeseburger."

"I could go for a cheeseburger," said Henry. "Waiter, two cheeseburgers."

The waiter sighed. "I do have a name, you know."

"What's your name?" I asked.

"George," said the waiter.

"Please excuse my British friend, George. Could we have two of your finest cheeseburgers, please?"

George beamed. "That's the first time, today, that someone's addressed me by name. I'll put your order in. Can't promise how quick you'll get your food, though. The cook's been nursing a hangover all day."

"It's 9 o' clock in the evening," said Henry. "What was he drinking?"

"Vodka," George whispered. "Two bottles."

"Wow!" I said. "Did he have to go to the hospital?"

"Americans," muttered Henry, under his breath.

"He threw up all over the kitchen," George said.

"What?" said Henry.

"Don't worry," said George. "We all pitched in to clean up. The floor is squeaky clean, but a little bit slippery."

"That's what she said," I added.

George didn't seem to hear what I said, and made his way to the back of the restaurant.

"What does that mean?" said Henry.

I rolled my eyes. "Don't you get it? The floor is squeaky clean but a little bit slippery?"

Henry shook his head.

"The floor is a woman's vagina," I said, just as the ambient music stopped playing, and the entire restaurant stopped what they were doing to stare at us.

I took a breath in. "Just explaining anatomy to this guy."

A few people laughed, and the rest of the customers went back to what they had been doing before--chatting, eating, and drinking.

Henry was staring at me.

"Do I have something on my face?" I asked.

Henry ran a hand through his hair. "Are there any more at home like you?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Nope, just me."

"I don't think I've ever met anyone like you."

I twisted a few strands of hair around my finger. "Why? Because I use the word 'vagina' in restaurants?"

"No," said Henry. "You seem to be utterly unafraid of what people think of you. In England, if we use the word 'vagina' in public, we have to leave the country." He smiled.

I laughed. "I don't think I've met anyone like you before. Most guys would have left the table if I used the word 'vagina'. It's like most men are allergic to hearing it."

"So I passed the test?" said Henry.

"You passed with flying colors." I took my cheeseburger from the waiter and took a huge bite. Henry did the same.

"Do you want to see something?" I said.

Henry hesitated. "Okay."

I stuck out my tongue and showed him the pickle on it.

"That's disgusting," he said. I noticed that the corner of his mouth went up the tiniest bit.

I smirked. "You thought that was funny. Admit it."

Henry smirked. "I will if you come back to my flat for some tea."

I pretended to survey the ceiling. "Make it a vanilla latte, and I might be interested in your apartment's decor.

"Done," said Henry. "But isn't that what basic women like to drink?"

I bit into my cheeseburger and chewed thoughtfully. "I am basic, but I'm also mysterious. Call me a hybrid. Aren't you a basic Englishman?"

"Yes, I suppose I am," said Henry. "Shall we get the check?"

"We're not finished eating."

"Well, Jane, we could get pudding at my flat."

I was confused. "Why would I want to eat pudding at your flat?"

Henry sighed. "Pudding is what Americans call dessert."

"Oh," I said. "I understand. Does this pudding involve whipped cream?"

Henry thought for a moment. "Yes, I believe this pudding does have whipped cream."

"Check please," we both said at the same moment.