Her Name Was Lola

23 Freying Now?

March 1997. Ring, ring. With the smell of Lula Mae still in his nostrils and the taste of her in his mouth Max picks up the phone and says hello.

‘Hi,’ says Lola. ‘It’s me.’

‘Hi,’ says Max. That voice of hers! Always that clear stream in a dappled wood.

‘I’m taking a day off,’ says Lola. ‘This Friday is the vernal equinox.’

‘Yes,’ says Max, ‘the same thing happened last year.’

‘And Friday, of course, is Freya’s day,’ says Lola, ‘very auspicious for what I have in mind.’

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s a mystery drive to a picnic at a special place. Can I pick you up around ten?’

‘I’ll be ready.’ After they ring off he says to himself, ‘This isn’t right, I must wind things up with Lula Mae.’

‘And not before time,’ says his mind.

‘I know,’ says Max. ‘At first I thought she was someone I could walk away from and no harm done on either side but it’s not that simple.’

‘Surprise, surprise.’

‘It’s a funny thing,’ says Max, ‘she could have any man she wanted. But I have the feeling that she’s always wanted a kind of man she’s never had.’

‘And you’re it?’

‘Well, yes. I’m nothing much to look at and I’m not a great lover but it might be that I appreciate her in a way no other man has.’

‘I’d have to have a heart of stone not to fall about laughing at that,’ says his mind.

‘You may scoff.’

‘I just did.’

‘I’ll see her one last time,’ says Max, ‘and I’ll tell her it’s over.’

‘That’s the way to do it,’ says his mind.