“Kiss from a Rose.”
“Well, wouldn’t you rather seal the deal with me?”
J likes the sound of this.
“Well,” he says, “we’re never going to survive unless we get a little crazy. Is that what you’re saying?”
V cozies up to him and whispers in his ear. “I’m not just crazy...I’m Crazy in Love.”
“Oh!” he says, voice full of childish revelation. “The straitjacket and the heart-shaped glasses. Now I get it! Are we stopping the game now? Let’s keep going! Tell me all about your four, five, or six brothers and sisters. I have to say, I love all of them!”
“I don’t want to talk about them, not after they died in that tragic canning accident.”
J doesn’t know why this statement is making him feel so euphoric. He understands this definitely means the role-playing is over. But...someone inside is singing “Dancing Queen,” which makes him wonder...
“What does the beat of a tambourine really feel like?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry. Be my Dancing Queen.”
Because that’s what she is. Even in her straitjacket. The thought bubble forms over his head in its puffy, puffy cloud:She is my dancing queen.
“I have a better idea,” V says.
Six minutes later, they are making out furiously in the back of a cab. It is understandable, even admirable, to feel bad for the cab driver in this situation—but let’s focus on the back seat, where it’s getting hot in more ways than one.
“This feels so good,” J moans. “Your skin, it’s so...soft. Soft and...welcoming.”
“Yours too,” V says, although what she’s caressing is really a collapsed balloon, not his skin.
“So welcoming,” J coos. “Your skin is like...ABBA.”
V kisses him hard, grabbing the back of his neck with the one arm she has available. After a little back and forth in this respect, she pulls away.
“Your mouth is dry,” she observes. “And you’re sweating a lot.”
“I’d stop the world and sweat for you.”
“No, like even more than normal. Are you okay?”
“I’m great. Really, really great.” J nods, agreeing with himself. Then he sings, “Having the time of my liiiiiii-ife.”
“Right here,” V tells the cab driver.
“I’ve got it!” J says, reaching for his wallet. Then he pays the driver all the cash he has.
Once in J’s apartment, he and V tumble into the bedroom. J thinks:The game isn’t over! This is still the game! And it’s a fun game!
V stops kissing him and says, “Hang on—you’re really warm. Like, super warm.”
“The clothes—the clothes are the problem!” J says, pulling at his shirt without recognizing it would be wiser to remove the tie first. Then he looks at V. “Or shall I free you from your constraints?”
“Did you take something at the wedding?”
“Haha, yes. It tasted like hairspray.”
V seems amused. Although to J, the bed also seems amused. And the window. And his shoes.
