It was a cozy, dark little area; almost deathly quiet compared to downstairs. There were mostly couples (and some triples) on the couches and a few people standing and talking, but none of them were the person I was looking for. I made a sad face and turned around to go back down the stairs, and found Dark Hair standing right behind me.

If you were to ask her, she’d tell you that at this point I screamed like a little girl, tripped over my feet, and fell on my butt. I would like to set the record straight and make it clear that I was the picture of cool, and she’s just annoyed that her little “sneak-up-and-scare-the-living-crap-out-of-you” trick didn’t work. At all. Not even slightly.

No, in fact, I smiled my smoothest smile, casually brushed the hair out of my face, and introduced myself.

“Hi, I’m Mara.” See? Totally smooth.

“A pleasure.” she said with a little laugh, “You’re new around here?”

I nodded, quickly, then shook my head.

“Yea… well, not … you know, not really.” Dark Hair tilted her head like a confused puppy, “My parents live nearby, so I’ve been, um, in town before. You know, to visit them. But I haven’t been, you know, here … before.” This was the point were I decided my next life goal would be to throw myself off the nearest bridge. Dark Hair, however, seemed to enjoy talking with idiots.

“What do you think of the place?” she gestured to the walls.

“Oh, I love it!” I said, louder than I meant to, “I, er, I really like the way they decorated.” To show what I meant, I pointed over at the nearest wall decoration: a black and white photo of three naked women in a circle on the floor. I could feel my face turn red, as I quickly pointed, instead, to the opposite wall. There was a framed book cover: “Psychopathia Sexualis”. I admit it; I laughed.

“They wrote a book about my ex-girlfriend?”

Dark Hair looked at the book and laughed along.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve had more than a few of those.”

A love seat had opened up, and we quickly sat before anybody else could steal it. Our conversation went so easily that I didn’t even realize my only name for her was Dark Haired Girl. It went like a script. She’d say something, and whatever I said seemed like the only possible response, and I almost knew how she would answer next. It was like an old style dance, where everybody knows the steps. I told her about my family, sure, but I went into so much more than that. Not just what I’ve done, but what I’ve always wanted to do. Things I’ve never told anyone. Things I never told myself.

And she didn’t tell me a damn thing about her!

Of course, I was so under her spell (that’s the key word) that I didn’t even notice at the time. In fact, I’m sure it was magic, and not the fact that she was totally hot that made me act like such a doof. Never mind that she had beautiful dark skin and exotic features (especially compared to my pasty, white self). Never mind that she had short, dark hair (which I love) and eyes like emeralds (who goes for that kind of thing anyway?). Also never mind that her laugh was deep and wonderful, that her skin was soft and inviting, or that, while we were talking, she kept touching my arm, ever so lightly.

Yep, definitely magic. No other explanation.

It wasn’t until Dark Hair stood up that I realized we were all alone in the Libido (tee-hee). I checked the time on my phone: we’d been talking for three and a half hours! I’ve had entire relationships that didn’t last that long! Dark Hair smiled at me.

“Your friends are going to come and get you soon, but I’ve had a marvelous time. See you around.” she said, a wicked smile (that made me melt) dancing on her face. She was about halfway down the stairs before I was able to get a hold of myself.

“Wait, what’s your name?”

“Look beside you.” she called.

She’d left a card on the seat. I grabbed it before rushing to the stairs, almost bowling over my brother.

“Hey! Come on, you ready to go? They’re closing down.”

“Uh, yeah. Did you see …” I looked past him, but didn’t see Dark Hair anywhere. Just Judy.

“And what were you doing up here?” she asked, with a smile.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I teased. Jeff groaned.

“No, she really wouldn’t. Neither would I!”

“So, Mara, did you get lucky?” I ignored Jeff’s little scream, and looked at the card.

“I’m not sure…” I said, which made Jeff laugh (he’s such an ass).

“See, why would you want to be a lesbian if you don’t even know if you’re done?”

This was a bit more than I could stand.

“Oh, but Jeff, don’tcha know? With us, sex is never done.”

“Really?” asked Judy, “Tell me more.” She laughed as Jeff started rushing her toward the door.

“Come on, hon, let’s go warm up the car.”

“It’s July.” was the last thing I heard as Jeff pushed her out the door. I called over a “thank you” to the bartender and took a second to look at the card. It was very nice, professional looking, but didn’t say much:

Olivia Warren

Domus Rebellis

House of Rebels

That’s it? I thought, No address, no phone number, no e-mail? I flipped the card over and didn’t find a number there either. Just two words, hand written:

You’re Perfect.