And yet he kept waving. “Hello! Hello? I asked you a question!”
Finally, she looked up and pulled the headphones away from one of her ears.
“Iasked,” Pork Pie said, now stroking his goatee, “where you were headed.”
She frowned atwhy on earth he’d think she’d answer that question, and then she shook her head. “I’m just busy here,” she said, holding up her phone to indicate where “here” was.
A reasonable decline, I thought.
But Pork Pie disagreed, and so did his face, which seemed to be getting pinker. “What’s your deal? Did your mom tell you not to talk to strangers?”
At that, she frowned, pressed the headphone back against her ear, and turned back to her phone.
Was she friendly? No. Was she afraid of strangers? Possibly—who knew? Did she have any interest in talking to that dude? Absolutely not.
All of this had to be clear, right? It’s hard to imagine anyone could have people skills low enough tonotread these signs. Her signals were clear as glass.
And yet, he couldn’t let it go.
I watched it all, aghast. I would never want to talk to a person who had no interest in talking to me. Conversations aren’t fun unless they’re mutual, right? Like everything else in life?
But Pork Pie? The more disinterested the woman was in talking to him, the more he needed to make her do it. Maybe he was embarrassed to be so flatly rejected. Maybe he liked a challenge. Maybe he had the tragically misplaced overconfidence to genuinely think he could charm her, if she’d just give him a chance.
Or maybe he really thought that the choice wasn’t hers.
Whatever it was, he kept at it so long that I felt like somebody had to do something. I glanced at the cruise dudes, who were scuffling around on the sidewalk, trying to wedgie each other.
I sighed.
When he tried to grab her phone, I had to act. “Hey,” I called to Pork Pie. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
At that, he turned and saw me. Still wearing Ashley’s morning-after dress, I’ll add. The one I’d slept in.
As he turned to confront me, the cruise dudes looked up and noticed. “Hey,” Beer Me called out, waving like we were old friends. “It’s Short-Shorts.”
I gestured toward Pork Pie likeWhat the hell?and then said to Beer Me, “Are you just going to let him harass her like that?”
Beer Me looked nervous. “Isn’t he just… flirting?”
“That is not flirting,” I said. I looked over. “Right, Beer O’Clock?”
Beer O’Clock shrugged uncomfortably.
“Flirting,” I explained, “is enjoyed by both parties.”
The cruise dudes nodded, like they hadn’t thought of it like that.
But Pork Pie wasn’t in a personal growth mood. He took a few menacing steps toward me. “Why are you butting in?”
“Because she doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“How do you know what she wants?”
“Everyone at this taxi stand knows what she wants—except for you.”
He tilted his head to crack his neck, and I heard it. “It’s not your business, though, is it?”
“It’s the business of the Sisterhood,” I heard myself say, as if it were some real organization I might report him to.
