The Sex, Love, and Romance expo had been Miranda’s idea.
She and Henry were driving home from breakfast one Saturday morning, the radio playing between them. And while Miranda had been jerking closed the zipper on her purse, a short commercial for the event came on air, promising everything you’d ever want or not want to know about sex, love, and romance in a space no bigger than the local racing grounds. Finally closing her bag, Miranda exclaimed “we should totally do that.” And Henry had been intrigued, but nervous, his response mixed with both interest and apprehension. “What it is exactly?” He’d asked. “I don’t really know too much about it” Miranda had replied. She was trying to be more open minded, more out there, to let Henry know that if he was feelingadventurous, they could be adventurous.
“What if we see people there that we know?”
“So what?” Miranda smiled.
“Would we dive behind a table or something?”
“No!” she’d answered. “We’d say, ‘Hey! You guys have sex too?!’” Henry laughed. “You’re not going to see anyone there that you know.” Miranda finished.
“How do you know?” he’d asked, “What if I run in to someone from work there?”
“You won’t” she’d said. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to, I just thought it might be fun.”
When they arrived home, they checked out the event’s internet site, and clicked on the media caption. A montage of short video clips followed; a birds eye view of a space swelling with people, sauntering slowly along narrow aisles between stalls and tables configured with unidentifiable contents of vibrant colors. Interspersed between these different angled shots were ones of women in slips and lingerie, crawling around the tops of pool tables in poorly lit bars and basements it seemed, for in one particular shot Miranda could see the tail end of a water heater sneak into the corner of the screen as if screaming, ‘this isn’t what it looks like! This isn’t what it seems! This is a basement!' The add didn’t offer much more information than the radio one had. Just instead of words floating through space from a far away speaker, online they cursively flaunted themselves across the screen, the ends of of most curling in to vines split with blossoming animated flowers that would leap as if shrugged from their perch and scatter pedals beneath them: “Sex…”,”Love…”,”Romance…”. Henrys interest lay more naturally with the pool table broads. “Oh yeah!” he said slowly, smiling. Miranda watched the women, clad in mostly rich colors, deep purples and pink, interrupted only by the occasional and obligatory patch of lace or a fallen strap. They sat, reclining on their elbows on the tabletops, starring in to the camera, almost challengingly, stretching one stiletto covered foot in the air after the other, before vanishing in the sites switch to the next birds eyes view. One girl, a purple covered one with dark hair and dark skin knelt on the surface on a pool table, and slowly slid her tongue along her top lip while carefully lengthening her body into a prone position. The girls breasts, Miranda figured, were likely supposed to be heaving, but had ended up squashed beneath her, probably flattened but safely concealed by the hair flowing over her shoulders and gathering in little auburn puddles at her elbows. When the final shot of a girl came on, she was in blue, sitting with her back to the camera, her chin meeting the notch of her shoulder as she glanced behind her, then looked away as the index finger from her right hand thread itself through her strands and slid the hair away from her back and over a shoulder, exposing the bare olive skin not covered by the flimsy nightgown. Miranda didn’t really get the pool table thing. Why would anyone want to do it on a pool table?, she wondered, imagining the way the pool tables green fibers would burn like wool rubbed against bare skin. She’d heard that some people were into pain during sex, but how could strict irritation be a turn on to anyone?, she wondered. She didn’t find the women particularly attractive either, the way they remained almost expressionless while sliding their tongues along their lips, or slipping their hair out of the way, or making sure not to break eye contact with the camera. Is that what guys think is sexy? The women’s empty eyes as they moved their limbs reminded Miranda of going through the motions of lifting weights at the gym, just to get from one side of the workout to the next. Miranda couldn’t imagine any of these women being turned on and ready for sex. Is that all it takes for a guy to think that a girl is in to it?
After Henry and Miranda agreed to check out the expo on Saturday night, Henry returned to his work on the computer, while Miranda cleaned up in the bathroom, watching herself drag the tip of her tongue across her upper lip as she pressed toothpaste on to her brush.