The Chosen and the Beautiful

by Nghi Vo

I described it to him, and watched with fascination as a cloud of confusion, fear, and longing came across his face. It settled into a kind of stony wariness, and he sat back from me, shaking his head. “I don’t know why—I’m not like that.” I tilted my head to one side, examining him with a careful eye. We were having a nightcap at my place just past four in the morning. He was getting used to late nights, and making himself presentable in other people’s bathrooms, but now he looked more nervous than he had in a few weeks. “You’re not?” I asked, and he shook his head hard. “No. Absolutely not. I don’t go to that kind of place.” “I am, and I do,” I offered, and Nick gave me a little smile that understood more than he let on. “I know you are and that you do. You’re different. It’s different for women.” “Not at the Cendrillon,” I said, but he took my hand, not looking at me. “I’m not like that,” he said, his voice shaking just a little. “Please?” “I’m not the one who decides that,” I said as gently as I knew how. I cupped my hand over the back of his head, ruffling his hair slightly with my fingertips. I kissed him on the ear. “All right. Never mind. But that’s where I’m going on Saturday.”