Two Amys

I. Ben and Ven

Ben and Ven were headed in opposite directions. Ben, short for Benjamin, liked to hike in the mountains. Ven, short for Venisha, liked cocktails by the seaside. Ben wore sports chic, browns, blues, and off-whites. Ven’s colors were blood, black, and a touch of rainbows. If Ben was a bird, he’d be an ordinary house sparrow, one of many, in an oak. Ven would preen her multicolored parrot feathers in the presence of green and yellow finches in the Amazon rainforest.

Before they met, they would spend most of their time with like-minded people.

Ben tended to hang with guys that were so comfortably set in their ways at 25 that it would be hard to tell them apart from old men, except for the lack of wrinkles or gray hair. A pint at the pub on Friday, mostly to discuss sports. Wash the car on Saturday.

As noted, Ven’s entourage consisted of somewhat timid finches compared to her spectacular parrot self, so she tended to set the agenda for her group. Karaoke one week. Art-house film the next. Museum on alternate Thursdays.

As our story begins, it so happened that Ben and Ven were both dating women named Amy. Neither relationship was going anywhere. Both Ben and Ven were stringing their respective Amys along until someone better showed up. You could say this argues for better communication between couples, and I would agree. I’m all for not staying together any longer than necessary. However if these two relationships had cut the cord sooner, Ben wouldn’t have met Ven.

And Amy wouldn’t have met Amy.

Oh. Did you think this was about Ben and Ven?

Ben and Ven met in the “to go” line of the Absolute Café and Sandwich Shoppe. Both had come in to pick up the order placed by their Amys, who were waiting in cars outside. Each couple had a deal: Amy ordered, Ben (Ven) picked up.

The Absolute (as it was known to frequent clientele) was on a busy street in the Koreatown neighborhood of Los Angeles. Ven’s Amy was in the passenger seat of her car. Ven had double-parked next to Ben’s Amy, who was none too thrilled about being boxed in. We’ll get back to the two Amys in a minute.

“Amy,” the Café server called out.

Both Ben and Ven, seated on two ends of the long bench that was up against the window of the Absolute, stood up. Both walked up to the counter, each with a singleminded focus to grab their bag of sandwiches and leave. Both hands went toward the bag. The staffer, who was a first year college student new to the city, saw two determined and overconfident “older” people bearing down on him. He lost his nerve and dropped the bag on the floor before either could claim it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ben mumbled. He was dressed in his Saturday finery: a baseball cap and a pristine white baseball jacket, with his favorite team’s logo printed on both. He had close-cropped hair and well-trimmed stubble.

“Seriously?” Ven echoed. She had on showy black and white pinstripe flared pants with a matching jacket, on top of a fuchsia/orange blouse (it couldn’t decide). Her hair was thick, black, and wavy. A chopstick was holding part of it in an artful swirl. She had spent almost an hour that morning styling it.

Ben and Ven. Both well groomed. Both strikingly dressed in their own very distinct ways. They already looked like a perfect, flashy Hollywood power couple, right?

We shall see.

Ben bent to pick up the bag. Ven held out her hand expectantly, smiling in anticipation of the “gentlemanly” gesture. She was not well-disposed towards on-the-sleeve sports fans, but she also wasn’t above enjoying her feminine ability to stimulate a man’s desire to please.

Ben saw the outstretched right hand. He switched the bag into his left hand and reached to shake Ven’s. “Ben Baxter. Do we know each other?”

She laughed (the first and last time she would do so with well-intentioned humor in reference to this man) as their hands touched. “No, I was just taking the bag.”

“Taking the bag? Sorry, this is mine.”

“No, I’m sorry. I think you’ll find that my girlfriend’s name is on that.”

“Oh?” Ben did a double eyebrow raise at the mention of "girlfriend."

Ven hoped the interaction would end before she indulged her urge to use her chopstick hairpin on his eye.

“Let’s stick to the bag. My girlfriend’s name is Amy.”

“Amy. That’s my girlfriend’s name too. Are you sure that’s yours's name?”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure. Obviously we both know people named Amy. It has been known to happen. Why don’t you read the receipt to see if it’s your order or mine?”

Ben held the bag up to his face. A printed slip of paper stapled to the folded-over top had a list of the bag’s contents. He needed glasses but never wore them because it made him look like “a dork.”

“Chicken breast with garlic aioli, arugula, mustard,” he began. “That’s what Amy ordered.”

“That does sound like Amy’s sandwich,” Ven countered. Meaning her Amy. “Sourdough?”

“Yeah, so? That’s what she likes.”

“That is what she likes. You’re not telling me both our Amys like the exact same sandwich?”

“I guess so. I’ll fight you for it.” He held up two fists and grinned.

Ven gave an impatient sigh. “Sure, testosterone boy. Read the next sandwich.”

Just then the server called out the next to go order. “Amy.”

The young man quickly put it down on the counter and moved away as they both dove for it.

II. Amy and Amy

Ven’s Amy, Amy Velasquez (Amy V), had gorgeous amber eyes, everybody told her. She wore a septum ring, had many carefully considered tattoos, short spiky dyed black hair. Today she wore black sweats.

Ben’s Amy, Amy McCormick (Amy M), was also wearing sweats, but powder blue. She had shoulder length red-brown hair and green eyes, both of which Amy V couldn’t stop staring at. So when Amy M rolled down her window to tell Amy V she was going to need to move, Amy V took longer than she should have to respond.

“Excuse me.” the red-haired beauty Amy M repeated. She was in the driver’s seat of her car and Amy V was in the passenger seat of Ven’s car, on her left.

Amy V rolled down her window and smiled expectantly. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

“Um, your car is blocking mine. I’m going to be leaving in a minute, so if you could park somewhere else?”

“Oh. Sorry. I love your hair. I’m going to be leaving soon too. My…friend is in the sandwich shop picking up our order.”

“Same here. I’m just saying, I kind of get claustrophobic and I don’t like to be fenced in.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry. Do you think if I moved the car it would be better?”

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

“Oh, okay.” Amy V took a deep breath, trying to suck in the scent of the girl’s perfume. She might have detected roses or berries. Then again, there was a flower shop next to The Absolute.

She slid over into the driver’s seat and realized, Ven had the keys.

“Hey,” she called.

“Hm?” Amy M answered.

“I don’t have the keys. My friend does. I guess you’re stuck with me til she comes out? It shouldn’t be too long.” She slid back into the passenger seat, perhaps a little too happy that the other woman would have to suffer claustrophobia.

Amy M swallowed. “Okay.” She looked queasy.

Amy V held out a hand. “Amy.”

You can imagine how that played out.

“How did you know?” Amy M took the hand.

“How did I know what?”

“My name.”

“I know your name?”

“You said it. Amy.”

“That’s my name,” Amy V said.

It was an uncomfortable feeling. A sense of Déjà vu and embarrassment all rolled together.

“Your name is Amy?” asked Amy M.

“Mm hm.“

“My name is Amy too. We have the same name.”

“That’s amazing,” Amy V said, a little too effusively. She was still holding the other Amy’s hand. And smiling. Being human and saying and doing the right thing at the right time was hard sometimes.

“Yes. What a coincidence. Nice to meet you, Amy.” Amy M gave Amy V’s hand a polite shake and tried to let go.

“Nice to meet you, Amy.” Amy V giggled and hand-shook back. She cringed a little. Not that she had any reason to, but she had always been embarrassed by the sound of her own laugh.

That extra push of self-consciousness allowed her to finally realize she should let go of the other Amy’s hand, before it got weird.

Amy M wasn’t acting like it was weird.

But she did say, “I wonder what’s keeping our friends.”

Did that mean she was getting tired of Amy V’s company? Or she was just tired of claustrophobia? Was Amy V making her claustrophobic?

“I’m sorry,” Amy V said.

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. And, hey, I would never have met another Amy.”

“We Amys have to stick together.” Yes! Great comeback.

“We do.” Amy M smiled. “You’re a musician?”

“Yes! How did you know?”

“Your tattoo.”

Amy V was proud of all her tattoos, but on her forearm, the classical guitar with the bell of a saxophone coming out of the sound hole was her favorite masterpiece.

“Do you play saxophone or guitar?”

“Guitar. But I love sax.” That didn’t come out right. “O phone,” she added, awkwardly. “I sometimes use effects to make my guitar sound like a saxophone.”

“That’s amazing. I’d love to hear that. My boyfriend thinks the Call of Duty soundtrack is the height of instrumental music.” She chewed “boyfriend” like it was slightly oversized and unappetizing.

Amy V laughed. “I don’t like to put down people who make a living composing for games, but I get what you’re saying. It’s not music to meditate on the meaning of life by.”

“Exactly.”

Amy M then seemed to chew on another thought in her head. She looked at the overcast sky. Her left arm lay on the open driver’s window and she picked at the space that the window goes down into.

“Hey,” she said finally. “Do you like jazz? I’ve got two tickets to this new jazz bar tonight. My boyfriend isn’t into it but I thought, two Amys. That might work in a jazz bar.”

Amy Vs eyes widened. “I love jazz!”

Just then, Ven yanked open the driver’s door, plopped into her seat, and slammed the door shut on Amy V’s time with Amy M.

Before more could be said, Ven started the engine and put the car into gear, Amy V looking back at Amy M. Her baseball-cap-wearing boyfriend was demanding that they “get the fuck out of here.”

Ven had dropped a bag in her lap. “Make sure it’s all there,” she said.

It was jarring, going from dreamy conversation with a beautiful angel to peeling away from The Absolute like they’d just committed a bank heist.

Ven and Ben had been kicked out of The Absolute for causing a scene. In the end, they never resolved which bag was whose and each wound up taking home the other’s. Amy V had gotten the sandwich she wanted of course. That it was the same as what Amy M ordered was proof in her mind that they were meant for each other, but she admitted it to nobody.

Back at Ven’s apartment, Ven, who was already in a horrible state from interacting with “testosterone boy,” was even more furious at having to eat his disgusting pastrami and melted orange-colored cheese on un-toasted dry white bread. She took a few bites and then threw it out.

Amy V started packing her things into her army surplus duffle bag. Perhaps it wasn’t a good time, but she didn’t feel like staying with Ven.

“What are you doing?” Ven asked.

“I’m heading back to my apartment.”

“What? You just got here.”

“I’ve been here since last Saturday, Ven. A whole week. We talked about not getting too serious. Actually you talked about it.”

“And you didn’t like the idea.”

“Well, now I do. You convinced me.” Amy V stuffed the last item, her electric toothbrush that Ven said would make a good vibrator, into the bag.

“Is there someone else?” Ven wasn’t going to let her off the hook.

“No! ”

“Is it maybe the other …Amy?” Ven said the syllables Ay Mee like two different words.

“What? No! I don’t even know how to get in touch with her anyway.”

“Oh, but you’d like to get in touch with her? I know how. She’s a Club customer at the Absolute. Her number is on the receipt.”

“Seriously?”

“You want it?”

Amy hesitated for a second, then shouted, “Yes!”

“You have to do something for me, in exchange.”

“Anything!”

“One, you have to get her to break up with testosterone boy. And two, we have to still be friends for Christ’s sake! Actually, really just ‘two.’ But if you can pull off ‘one’ I’ll love you forever and agree to be the Best Woman at your wedding.”

III. Purely Platonic

Amy M is not falling for Amy V. She walks from her parking spot to Abe’s, the new jazz spot in West Hollywood.

This is purely platonic. And yet. Why does it feel so sneaky leaving Ben to fend for himself with Ven’s crispy tofu with kale, guacamole, and jalapeños on focaccia?

Not my problem. Not his mother. Tonight is going to be a refreshing girl’s night, she tells herself. Spent with someone who loves jazz. A musician.

Someone who also happens to be lovable (the way Amy V held the handshake too long was endearing), brave (she had the guts to text Amy M), and has a nice laugh. From a purely platonic perspective.

Arriving at Abe’s, Amy M sees Amy V leaning against the wall. She looks amazing. Black collared shirt. Waistcoat. Fitted pants. And holding a red rose. No one-foot-in-the-grave jeans or oversized hockey jerseys. What a relief.

“Hi,” says Amy V.

“Hi,” says Amy M.

“For you.” Amy V holds out the rose, grinning with all her beautiful teeth.

“Thank you. You shouldn’t have.” She smells it. “But I love it. Shall we go in?”

The club is crowded. A little dark. The music is great. The beer is great. They manage to get a tiny table against a wall.

They talk. It’s enjoyable. Effortless. Supportive. They laugh at Ven’s nickname for Ben.

Amy V has a degree in fine arts and is trying to make it as a gigging musician. Amy M talks about her dream to own a classic bed and breakfast in a small seaside town and write science fiction.

“You write? I love that! Writers face the darkness in the human soul and come out the other side.”

“I never really thought about it that way. But you’re right. When I’m writing about something horrible, I feel horrible. But once I’m done, it’s out of me and I feel…like sun after rain.”

“Poetically spoken, Ms. M,” says Ms. V. “Hey, why is that guy staring at you? Actually, he’s kind of glaring. Is that…?”

Amy M turns around. It’s Ben. He’s standing by the bar holding a shot of whiskey in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. Giving her a “Did I say you could have a good time with another person?” look.

“I’m so sorry. Give me a minute.”

He’s wearing his glasses, to see them better. They don’t make him look dorky. They make him look like a sensitive, thoughtful person. Which he isn’t.

She goes over to him. “What are you doing here? Stalking me?”

“You better watch out for her,” he says, nodding toward Amy V.

“You need to leave now. “

“She might try to ‘convert’ you.”

“You are a disgusting pig and I don’t know what I see…saw in you.”

“What, are you breaking up with me? The ‘lezzy’ already got to you?”

“Yes, I’m breaking up with you. You better leave now before you get kicked out of a second place in one day.”

He laughs. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. I’ll give you one more chance to come home. Right now.”

She notices the bouncer watching them. She comes close to Ben like she’s about to kiss him. He grins and puckers up. She abruptly turns and stomps the heel of her leather boot onto his toes with as much force as she can muster.

“Ow! Bitch!”

He lifts his hand to take a swing at her, but never gets the chance because the bouncer does his job.

Back at the table, Amy V smiles appreciatively. “That was smooth! WOW. Are you okay? Should I take you home?”

Amy M takes a deep breath. Brings her face close to Amy V’s. Adrenaline and beer is making her tipsy. No way does she want to go home. The night is just getting started. Maybe her life is just getting started.

“No, but I’d like us to kiss now.”

And they do.

Purely platonically.

(Wasn’t Plato gay?)