Narcissist Seeks Narcissist by Giselle Renarde

 
     
     
    Narcissist Seeks Narcissist
     
     
     
    Chapter 1
     
     
    “ W hat’s that you’re scribbling, darling? It’s about me, isn’t it?” Szuszu reached across the table, nearly knocking over her backup scotch and soda. “Hand it over, Babs. Let’s have a look.”
    Babette pressed the cocktail napkin flush to her chest, setting down her slim gold pen. “It’s nothing, Szusz. Just my shopping list.” She shook her head, eyes wide, guilty as sin. “Just my groceries.”
    “Shopping!” Szuszu cackled, knocked back the scotch in her hand, then slammed the glass down on the table. “Darling, you haven’t done the shopping since you shacked up with that dairy cow you call a wife. You don’t need to shop -- just bend the old hausfrau over a bucket and you’ve got your milk for free.”
    “Leave Matilda out of this.” Babette shoved the cocktail napkin in her jacket pocket.
    “Ah!” Gazing across the table through the amplifying lens of an empty scotch glass, Szuszu pointed to Babette’s chest. “There! I see what you’ve written. It’s all smeared across your tits, darling.” Squinting, she tried to make out the loopy handwriting smudged on Babette’s skin. “noitaroda… lautum… rof… What is that, darling, Latin? Or have you had a stroke?”
    Babette glanced down at the writing on her chest, wetting another serviette with Szuszu’s next scotch and rubbing it over the pen marks. “It’s backwards, darling. It’s an imprint, you know.” After setting the wet serviette down on the table, she pulled the dry one from her pocket. “Fine, then. Fine, if you’re so curious. Here it is. That’s what I wrote.”
    Squinting at the flimsy square of paper, Szuszu held it up close and then away from herself, but the words still wouldn’t come into focus.
    “I think you need to get yourself a good pair of specs, Szusz.”
    Szuszu’s eyes twitched at the blasphemy. “Nobody wears glasses, darling, except librarians and Elton John. I was a model, you know.”
    “Yes, I know, Szusz. Everybody knows.” Babette rolled her eyes like a teenager. “You do realize you’ve gone up to every person in this bloody lounge to tell them I was a model ?”
    “Well, I was on the cover of all the magazines in my day.”
    “In your day, right, you were. Headlines read: W ar is over. Szuszu greets sailors at port .”
    An overwhelming desire came over Szuszu to kick her dearest friend in the shins, but when she let loose, her snakeskin boot met the cylinder of metal holding up the table. “Oh, for Christ sake,” she moaned, rubbing her toe. “If I wasn’t legless, I bet that would smart.” Defeated, she handed the napkin back across the table. “Here, read this for me, Babs. I can’t see straight.”
    “Can’t even think straight,” Babette mumbled. “All right then, you want to know what I wrote while you were babbling on about your glory days? I wrote up a personal ad, darling: Narcissist seeks narcissist for mutual adoration. Turn-ons include mirrors, soup spoons, darkened windows, and other reflective surfaces. Must enjoy photo albums, the sound of her own voice, and endlessly reliving days of cover girl glory. Doppelgangers will receive preferential treatment—see attached photo. Looks trump substance. Models preferred. Serious enquiries only.”
    When Babette had finished reading from the serviette, Szuszu offered weak applause. “So you’re going to dump the dairy cow after all these years. Good show, darling. It’s about time.”
    Babette’s ears turned bright red and she shook her head. “I am not dumping anybody. This ad isn’t for me--it’s for you. You’re the narcissist, darling. You’re the one unlucky in love.”
    “Luck has nothing to do with it, Babs.” Szuszu polished off the last of her scotch and held up her glass for more. “I’m not like you, darling. I don’t buy into your little cult of Noah’s Ark, everyone in neat little pairings.”
    “It’s hardly