Tipsy from the wine they walked along the river bank, arms round each other, Sylvia’s head resting on Alice’s shoulder. They half fell onto a bench and sat looking as the brightly lit city roared at them from across the river. They sat in silence until Sylvia flicked the tip of her tongue into Alice’s ear and then kissed her full on the lips.
Jumping up she grabbed Alice by the hand and said, in a stage whisper, ‘Come on. Let’s go. It’ll soon be time for our three in a bed romp!’
Passing heads turned in a mixture of astonished amusement and disapproval.
The café was buzzing when they arrived back, with all the tables apparently occupied. A waiter looked up and smiled at them as they approached.
‘You must be Alice,’ he said. ‘Marguerite says- “will you wait for her”. She has reserved a table for you.’
They followed him to the same table, by the bougainvillea, and ordered espressos and cognacs while they waited for their friend. She arrived about fifteen minutes later, wearing a black dress which showed her trim little figure off to perfection. Her high heels gave her height and flattered her legs. She sat down and whispered:
‘I’m not sure I should be doing this. I am not a lesbian.’
‘Nor are we, Alice is really a man,’ Sylvia whispered and waited for the reaction.
Marguerite giggled.
‘You’re making fun of me.’
‘No. It’s true. She’s a transsexual.’
‘Shh. Not so loud, don’t tell everyone... It is true,’ Alice whispered. She grinned mischievously. ‘I’m your original chick with a dick.’
Marguerite smiled, with a quizzical expression, and looked long and hard at her, as if searching her face and eyes for a hint of masculinity.
‘Okay then. But you’ll have to prove it.’
They fell into an animated conversation about many things, laughing and giggling, until they had finished their drinks. Then they made their way through the tables, into the café, and trooped off upstairs to a chorus of, ‘bonne nuit,’ from customers and waiters.
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