Agatha’s Thoughts

Previous Chapter: The Salty Blonde

A half year or so later, I’m in southern Europe again and need a special tool. I haven’t seen Agatha in a while; this is a perfect excuse. When she meets me at the door, I get a chaste kiss on the cheek. Must be a new boyfriend somewhere. Uncharacteristically, I’m not disappointed. I used to look forward to visiting with her when she was between boyfriends. Now that’s reversed. I’ll have to remember to ask her what she thinks about that.

After I evaluate the tool and make arrangements for payment, she offers dinner. She introduces me to her current man, Bill, though he seems a bit resentful of our past. Agatha is quite open about her sexuality; it wouldn’t surprise me if she told Bill that she and I have been lovers over the years. Though Bill isn’t impolite or anything, his body language and cleverly worded comments that make it clear he’s uncomfortable. Agatha looks on with benevolent amusement. I guess she’s still in the tolerant stage.

After we enjoy dinner, Bill takes the hint that we want to be alone to talk business. He isn’t entirely gracious about it, but is still polite. Perhaps he’ll last a while longer than some of the others. Agatha and I sit on one of her porches, the one that allows us to see the Mediterranean.

“OK, the decks are cleared. What’s going on?”

“Remember how I told you I was thinking Isabel ‘ruined me’ for other women?”

She nods.

“It turns out that ruining is specific. I met Tessa a few months ago; she’s the blonde that was working with Isabel the last time we got together. We like to discuss movies, so met to watch and talk, then wound up making love. She’s also pretty damn good in the sack. What’s most interesting is how I only thought about Isabel once or twice and it was purely intellectual. I didn’t once feel like anything was missing and never once compared Tessa with Isabel.”

“I guess you compartment your blondes different than your brunettes,” she smiles.

I smile as well, “I did think about that, but what I settled on was when I was looking for someone who reminded me of Isabel, there was inevitably comparison. Since I didn’t seek out Tessa, perhaps that allowed my mind to free sex from association with Isabel. Tessa could be judged on her own merits.”

“Hmm, that sounds like a pretty good explanation. What about the smell?”

“That did come up once, but it was because I’d intellectually questioned why I wasn’t emotionally questioning the lack.”

“Did you sleep with her as well?”

“Yes.”

“And...”

“Unlike my other experiments, where I felt diminished by the experience, as with Isabel, I didn’t mind being awakened several times during the night.”

“Of course,” Agatha said, “there is one big difference between these two women and all the others.”

I look at her with a blank expression. I haven’t given any thought along these lines.

“They’re both spies, silly!”

Hmm. I think she has something there. At least overtly, there was no hint of danger with any of those other women. I guess one could have been a spy or assassin looking for the same thing I was looking for, but, exactly like I do, she would have kept it all compartmented. Agatha watches me with a twinkle in her eye as I think about this. 

“I’ve interacted with other women spies in the past, though.”

“In bed or just professionally?”

I think about it for a while.

“Just professionally. Could it be that simple?”

“Probably not, but it amuses me that you haven’t thought about that aspect.”

She patiently waits as I think about this for a few minutes. Then I get onto another subject I’ve been wanting to discuss.

I ask, “Are you friends with anyone?”

This time she’s the one who does the thinking.

“You know, you’re probably the closest thing to a friend. Yet until right now I don’t think I would’ve called you one.”

I reply, “I don’t know that I’ve ever had anyone who I would consider a friend, at least as an adult. However, particularly since Tessa and I spent that week together, I’ve wondered.”

Agatha gets up and goes inside, motioning for me to stay. A minute or so later she comes back with a book. A dictionary. Hmm. She leafs through it, then looks at me.

“The definition of friendship.”

Then reads the following:

“Characteristics of friendship include affection, sympathy, empathy, honesty, altruism, mutual understanding and compassion, enjoyment of each other's company, trust, and the ability to be oneself, express one's feelings, and make mistakes without fear of judgment from the friend.

“It’s strange to have to look that up, but I guess we’re all sociopaths or psychopaths or whatever.”

I nod, “I’ve thought about this over the years. Like the sociopath, I don’t form close connections with very many people. Or really any, besides my parents. I think I’ve spent enough time with Tessa now to feel what might be friendship, more so than with Isabel since she and I have had a largely lust-focused relationship. I’ve a lot of casual acquaintances, but they’re almost universally work related, such as you. Even as a kid, we moved around so much that I had to break and make friends all the time.”

“OK,” she says, “let’s break it down: fear of judgment.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever feared anyone’s judgment, so I’m sure that’s not an issue.”

“Expressing your feelings?”

“I guess I’m OK with expressing my feelings with her. Certainly my physical interest is expressed openly. I’m not totally sure what is meant by ‘expressing feelings.’ ”

“I suppose it would mean expressing love and affection.”

“I guess that one goes down as a maybe. It seems to me what I express is physical love and affection. I don’t know if there’s an emotional component.”

“Next: can you be yourself?”

“Hmm. I routinely disguise myself and put on persona for my job and maintaining that front is fairly easy to me. Let me think if I have, intentionally or otherwise, created a persona for her...”

After scratching some divots in my noggin and thinking back to our interactions, I feel fairly sure I was “being myself.”

“I don’t think I’ve been acting or in any other way not being myself, though I guess this is a case of proving a negative. I guess we can call this one a ‘yes.’ ”

“What about trust? Do you trust her?”

“Certainly!”

That gives me pause, it just leapt right out of my mouth.

“That ‘certainly’ looks a lot less certain all the sudden.”

“It was a reflex to say that, yet I don’t think I’ve really given that any thought at all. That I can sleep soundly with Isabel and Tessa must mean that I trust them, so logically I think my knee-jerk statement stands, but clearly I’ll need to think some more about this.”

“Obviously you enjoy her company, so we can skip that one. What about compassion?”

I think for a while, but am not making much headway.

“How do you define compassion?”

I almost smile; she’s as confused as I am. She leafs through the dictionary again and comes up with this:

“Sympathetic pity and concern for the sufferings or misfortunes of others.”

She looks at me and shrugs.

“Well, if Tessa was suffering I’m sure I’d do something about it. Does that count?”

“I guess. This is an interesting experiment.”

We run through the rest of the list of “friend” attributes and they all seem to jive. It seems settled: Tessa and I are friends. It seems rather absurd to run through a checklist to know if I’m forming friendships, but I don’t have any personal frame of reference to know without going through this process. It’s amusing to me that we didn’t discuss how we feel about each other. I certainly enjoy her company, but I almost never think about her unless it’s work related. It might be uncomfortable to find out she feels the same way. Ignorance is bliss.