Author's Note: Warning. Quite a few of these characters are not politically correct.
***
The Internet hadn't killed public libraries just yet. People still went to those places occasionally. This particular public library was very much alive, quiet, but alive. It was a grand, red brick building with white columns and white stoops.
Some people were using the free wifi. Some people were borrowing physical books, DVDs, audio books, and even Blu-rays. There was also an e-book borrowing service; a librarian was showing it off to someone. Important old newspapers, maps, genealogies, works of local authors living and dead, and many other things were available to history nerds.
And it smelled so good.
Soft old paperbacks, hardcovers that had their corners rounded over time, polished wooden shelves and desks, plush chairs and sofas, tables of varying sizes.
The classic library atmosphere could never be beaten.
And it was raining too, pattering on the building.
Tucked into a corner, Ana idly leafed through a large book of photographs of snakes. Then, she put that book away, sat back down, and read a magazine.
Her life consisted of only that for a long time, getting bored of something, putting it away, and picking out something else. In fact, the next time she looked at her cell phone, it was six-thirty pm. The place would close at eight. Maybe she should stop wasting time and go home.
But a soft yet sturdy voice made her brain flash and her lips smack.
"Oh, Alo."
Oh, Hello.
She closed her current book and looked up at the person.
Yep.
Vlad Dalca was there, smiling down at her, his hair tied over his shoulder, wearing a T-shirt with a V-neck.
Time to speak Romanian.
"Hello," Ana said. "How are you?"
A small book was in one of his great hands. It looked to be a novel. "I'm fine. I came here a short time ago." He shrugged and put his book on a table. "When I saw you, I wondered if you visit this place often."
"Not often at all, but only because I'm usually busy."
His mean looking cheeks rose very subtly. "Oh? Is that so? It seems very unfortunate."
"I can't agree with you." Ana got out of her seat, smoothed out her gray Capri pants, and picked up the book she'd been looking at. "I need to put this away. Excuse me."
But ... he followed her, giving her low words and a headache. His steps behind her sounded and felt like someone banging on a door. "My son was supposed to have dinner with me, but he's abandoned me for a new friend."
"That too bad." Ana said that in English as she slid the book back on a shelf, right in the same spot she'd found it, tightly squeezed between two other books.
"Would you mind joining me for dinner? I wanted to go to the Italian restaurant with the red roof."
From the shelf, her hand dropped, the fingers bending very painfully, clawing at the air.
But she looked at his eyes. She had to, otherwise, he might think she wasn't being honest. Her smile wasn't very honest, though. "I should go home, but I do appreciate your kind offer."
Light! A zipping, dash of light! Ana gasped. Was that lightning? Was a storm coming? That wasn't expected.
The man before her was nearly stone, immune to whatever astonishment a bit of lightning could bring. Yet, he still smiled ...
Was that smile ... about to tremble?
He inhaled.
Blinked.
Then exhaled.
"Ah, I must seem too aggressive. I'm sorry."
Great. Now she felt bad. Ana folded her arms. "No, it's fine. You didn't do anything wrong. I think men are generally more aggressive than women anyway. It's healthy for men be that way."
He perked up. His hair slid over his shoulder and against his back. "Do you think so? Weren't you uncomfortable?"
Brown eyes narrowing very slightly, fingertips dancing against her own arms, Ana said with a less sweet tone, "Does it matter? I'm not legally entitled to be comfortable all the time. I'm entitled to walk around without being assaulted, but that's not much of a problem. This is one of the safest places in the world."
Mr. Dalca's hands turned to fists and they went to his hips. "How can you say such a thing? Crime is very high in this country, and the amount of crazed mass shooters is shocking."
"Oh, that just depends on where you are. This town, for example, is very relaxing. You should be grateful that your son didn't go to Chicago ... or Baltimore ... or Stockton." Ana blinked at herself and wondered if she should just shut up. Once someone got her going, she could go on and on.
"Where's Stockton located?"
Funny enough, Ana unfolded her arms, clapped her hands together, and literally said with a solemn, dramatic voice, "Commie-fornia."
His head tilted. His black eyelashes flicked. "What's Commie-fornia?"
For a moment, her hand covered her eyes. "Uh ... California."
He laughed then, and the sound nearly made her hop in place. She imagined that when he was a kid and his balls dropped, they went to the floor. Hopefully, they wouldn't be kicked out of the place. "Oh," Mr. Dalca said when he was finally calm again, "that's where Hollywood is. I don't want to go there."
"Well, not all of California's bad," Ana said with her hand close to her heart. "But I still prefer other places." She looked at her cell phone. "I'd love to chat, but it's getting late, and this isn't the best place for me to complain to you about everything that bothers me."
Mr. Dalca's face became slightly less mean. His cheeks pinkened. His smile was warm. His eyes were at ease. "If you have dinner with me, I'll listen to every complaint you have."
Negatively, but also mildly, Ana's hand flipped up and waved a bit. "I'm riled up, and I'd love to pour my feelings out, but I could always go home and talk to a mirror."
He held out his hand, palm up. His fingernails were well groomed but his flesh looked reasonably tough. "If you go home, you won't have a man to buy your food and pretend you're interesting."
An aching snort, a palm flying up to her mouth, wildly amused eyes, and a curling back. Ana wanted to laugh, almost needed it. She squeezed her other hand into her belly. Soon, she was able to take a breath, and she asked, "Will I have to pretend you're interesting too?"
He shook his head. "No, you're a woman. That's not your role. Your role is to be the one who complains and looks beautiful as you do it." His eyebrows wiggled.
Ana almost choked on her own saliva. "No, no. That's a feminist woman's role. I'm an egalitarian."
"If that's a feminist's role, then many of them have failed miserably." That ... stupid ... clever ... annoying ... cheeky ... devilish grin ...
At that moment, Ana didn't know how to categorize the man.
She tried to put her body into a confident posture. "I'm not interested in you, by the way."
"I'm aware of that." There wasn't even a flake of disappointment in him.
"And I'm paying for my food, okay?" Ana started walking. He followed.
"Who am I to deny a woman anything she wants?"
"A reasonable person who knows that womanhood isn't inherently special?" She looked back at him with prepared eyes, waiting to see what absurd comeback he'd throw at her.
"Oh, I'm not reasonable. I'm a bulangiu that will take you out of your watermelons."
He was either calling himself a jerk or a homosexual man, particularly the sort who does the "receiving." Ana assumed he was going with the former. He was also saying that he was the sort who would annoy someone, basically drive one up a wall.
It wasn't very clever, but it did surprise her, which was funny all on its own, or at least she thought it was funny.
The rain was gone when they exited the library. The sky was several colors at once, blue, pink, orange, and purple. Ana noticed that the car Mr. Dalca got into wasn't a red car. It was a dark taupe color. Was it an Aston Martin of some kind?
Oh well. They had a restaurant to hang out at.
When they were seated and waiting on food, Ana unleashed all her spleen, well ... as much as she could without being rude to the other customers. No yelling, no fist shaking, no table punching. Just intense word usage and unfiltered opinions.
He didn't look at his phone.
He didn't say things pointless things like "uh huh" and "sure."
He kept his eyes to hers and occasionally said something like, "I agree," or, "I disagree" or even, "Here's my opinion."
But mostly, he let her say whatever she wanted, vent any spleen she had in her throat.
Everything has an end, however, and her voice was one of those things.
Ana thanked him for his time and put her share of the bill on the table. Then she said goodbye and walked away.
But ... even though she didn't want to be warm ... she felt warm ... and she turned back to look at him, standing for a moment, her fingers tangling with themselves.
He was looking at her too. His smile was tranquil. His eyes were content. It was as if he was the one who had been allowed to vent the spleen.
Everything was so warm, even her ears.
But it was late and she needed to go home.
Ana nodded once and turned away.
***
Morning.
A phone call from Mr. Williamson. She didn't want to answer, but she did anyway.
"Hello?"
"Ana! How are you?"
Ana sat down on her living room couch and sighed. "I'm fine. Thanks. Do you need something?"
"I'm having a birthday party in a week!"
