In a dear little railroad apartment in the city on a street called Prince a couple was just waking up from a well deserved rest. He was an anthropology major who dropped out of Clemson University three months before graduation to work on an Indian reservation--monitoring slot machines at the casino.

She was a graduate of Vassar and her parents, who both attended Columbia and both held degrees in Clinical Psychology, lived in South Hampton two doors down from Kurt Vonnegut.

Her name was....oh, damn he didn’t remember. His name was ...Tracy ...Kelly ....something androgynous. She couldn’t remember.

They both were thinking about brunch but neither wanted to say anything to the other because they didn’t know what implications “having brunch” had for the other. They always saw couples at brunch and liked to watch them drink bloody marys. But those couples seemed much closer. They knew each other’s names at the very least.

” Will she think I’m clingy if I suggest we go have omelettes?”

“Would it be better if you based the relationship solely on sex? least for the time least until I figure out who the fuck this guy is...and where I am. I could be somewhere terrible like Astoria for all I know...”

Luckily she lived fairly close. About a ten minute walk. But she didn’t know that. The last thing she remembered she was six drinks under and howling “Not a Day Goes By” in a piano bar. Had she turned this guy? Had he turned her? How did she end up at a gay bar when she started out at an old man bar in mid- town?

This was becoming a routine for her. Her father had just talked her shrink into prescribing some sort of medication for her mood swings and that made it impossible for her to have an orgasm so the doctor prescribed another medication to counter act that-- and she was ravenous. This was the sixth one this week. But she was on the pill and always insisted that the men wear two spermicidally lubricated condoms and change to new ones between sets.

Him:Would you like something to drink?

Her: Mimosa?


Him: I’m out of champagne. (Does that mean she wants brunch?)

Her: Just a glass of water. (Oh my God. Did I say Mimosa?)

Him: I have orange juice.

Her: No really water’s fine.

A sudden surge of irritability  hit her. Medication. Purse. Medication IN purse.

Her: Where’s my purse? Have you seen my purse?

Him: Shit, No. Are you sure you had it after we left Two Boots?

Her: Yes, I’m sure! (Two Boots? When the hell was I at Two Boots?)

The purse was eventually found. It was in the refrigerator where she put it before she ate an entire jar of olives.

She took her medication and apologized profusely for being irritable and asked if she could borrow his toothbrush. He had an extra one handy for such occasions. She was impressed but felt suddenly like a statistic. He was still miffed that she made him wear two condoms. He was even more miffed that she fell asleep three minutes into it. They were both miffed that the other had made no mention of brunch. It was Sunday, after all. Didn’t most normal people go to brunch on Sunday? Each wondered how long they could hold out before they had to blurt out“BRUNCH”! at the expense of appearing to desire a long term relationship. To fill the time they had sex again. This time neither fell asleep. They both performed very well and he was very happy that she decided to brush her teeth.

As they lay in bed smoking cigarettes and drinking orange juice she finally broke down:

Her: Would you maybe want to go have brunch?


Him: What do you mean?

Her: I mean...are you hungry?

Him: You just want to get something to eat?

Her: Yeah.

Him: Then why’d you call it brunch?

Her: I don’t know.


Him: Yeah. I could eat something.

He got out of bed to go to the bathroom and Nancy Drew jumped to action. She darted for his wallet and opened it up.

Her: I appreciate your hospitality, Edwin.

Him: (After a very subtle spasm)  Edwin? Nobody calls me that.

Her: Oh, no? I thought that’s what you said your name was.

Him: No, Mitch.

Her: Oh. I wonder where I got Edwin from?

Him: My real name is Edwin but everybody’s always called me Mitch.

Her: Why?

Him: I don’t know. I guess I don’t like the name Edwin.

Him: I don’t either, Mitch.


Him: I have to confess something before we, you know, go to...brunch.

Her: Okay.

Him: I don’t remember your name.

She pretended to be offended for a few counts but then said her name was Eve and they had sex again.

Then they got dressed.