Higher Education by Lisa Pliscou

weakly. “How about a greyhound.”
    â€œSure thing.” She winks at me and goes off.
    In her wake there is a brief silence. I press my lips together, wondering if I’ve recently applied lipstick, and if so, what shade it might possibly be. God, I hope it’s not that loud fire-engine red I pilfered from Jessica’s desk last week .
    â€œDid that girl just wink at you?”
    â€œDid she? Oh, it’s probably just a nervous tic.”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œIt’s a very high-pressure job here, you know.” I’m picturing the worn blue denim of his Levis against my own black trousers. Caught between a delicious sensation of clandestine exhilaration and doubt as to whether he’s even noticed, I’m afraid to move my body from the waist down. I slide the pretzel basket his way. “Pretzel?”
    â€œNo thanks.” He’s looking at me, his hazel eyes almost violet in the light, and my fingers stay curled around the basket. We remain like this for what feels like a long time. When somebody calls out my name I jump in my chair, and look around to see Pablo Esperanto coming toward us at full lope.
    â€œWell, hi!”
    Dean reaches for another cigarette, and I let go of the pretzels.
    â€œHey, hey.” Pablo waves as if we were in fact twenty paces apart. “What’s going on, kids?”
    â€œHey, Pabs.” I show my teeth in a barbed smile. “What’s up, dude?”
    â€œOh, just finished another silly rehearsal for a concert in Mem Hall I promised to do.” He sighs. “And the New York Philharmonic won’t stop pestering me.”
    â€œReally? Do you owe them money?”
    His lips thin. “They want me to join.”
    â€œAh.” He’s certainly got the physique for a concert pianist, I muse, with his tall slender body, fiery dark eyes, and long tapering fingers. Less attractive is his proclivity for describing in brain-numbing detail both his royal Castilian lineage and the contents of his parents’ loft on Spring Street. “Why?”
    â€œMaybe they think I’m good.”
    â€œAh.”
    â€œSo Deano. What’s new?” Smiling now, Pablo looks down at me. He knows I know he’s a good friend of Dean’s girlfriend Jennifer. “Tell me everything.”
    When Dean does not reply, I tilt back in my chair, gazing up into Pablo’s swarthy face. “Oh, we’ve just been sitting here criticizing the English department.” Once again I’m trying to figure out exactly why Jessica dated him for all of three weeks. “What else do English majors talk about?” It occurs to me he might look awfully good in tails.
    â€œGood question. You guys talk about grammar? Punctuation? Conjugating the verb?” He leers, revealing a set of large, rather yellow teeth.
    â€œI like to think we’re a little more highbrow than that.”
    Just then our waitress muscles her way to our table, and with a superbly aimed elbow forces Pablo to step back a pace.
    â€œHere we go. A greyhound and a Dewar’s water.” She smiles at me as Dean pulls out his wallet. “New haircut?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œOh.” She takes Dean’s five-dollar bill. “I mean, I like your haircut.”
    â€œKeep the change,” I say loudly.
    â€œThanks.” She plows off, dislodging Pablo by another good foot and a half in the process.
    â€œIs she a bulldozer or a cocktail waitress?” he complains, rubbing his arm.
    â€œWell, Pabs,” I say, before he can regain his balance, “it’s been fun. But if you’ll excuse us, we were right in the middle of a structural analysis of Moby Dick. ”
    â€œOh yeah?”
    â€œMelville. Herman Melville.”
    â€œThanks.” He flexes his hands a few times. “Well, I’ll leave you two to your little extrapolations. And Deano. If I see Jenny tonight, I’ll be sure and tell her you’re in