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“And what did I tell you?” The Doctor set the straw of his boba soda between rouge-tinted lips. “Come nightfall I had that Dalek on its knees.” He slurped and smiled. “Metaphorically speaking, of course. Next time I ought to try my newfound wiles on a Cyberman. ‘You will be upgraded,’ they say.” He laughed a cold, acrid laugh. “Darling, what am I but the premier edition?”
Peri licked her lips between bites of a powdered donut. “You know who would get a kick out of you all dolled up?” The Doctor was intrigued. “The Cryons. I swear a few of them were trying to hit on me when we went to—hello.“ She quickly wiped her mouth on a paper napkin. “Tall drink of water behind you.”
The Doctor whipped towards Tony’s Pizzeria, his faux lashes nearly popping off. Goodness knows they were both as parched as the Jacondan soil. There were only so many two-headed insects, venomous aliens, and anthropomorphic robots a person could take. Cold-blooded cuddles from the Doctor were more than appreciated, but there were times when what Peri truly craved was a warm, humanoid body to join for a romp in the sack.
The man was carrying a small box of pizza and a soda. He sat at one of the tables outside the restaurant, facing them. He pulled a mobile device from his trouser pocket. A holographic screen glowed before his eyes as he imbibed in the mindless scrolls of the modern era. Amidst swarms of t-shirts and jeans, a sharp three-piece suit gave him the impression of a genteel, but highly out of place, executive; while his two-toned hair, set into a high top fade, brought a hip atmosphere that Peri liked in a man. The smattering of chest hair exposed through parted shirt plackets was worth a few extra credit points, as was the thin mustache that fit his old-world features.
The Doctor patted some air into his already buoyant curls. “He is rather attractive for being a solidified oxide of hydrogen,” he said, sotto. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think Langston Hughes had lindy-hopped his way into a time machine.”
Peri snapped her sugar-dusted fingers. “I knew he looked familiar!”
“Sensible, well-dressed, and a maestro with the pen. The perfect combination.” He swirled his tea. Black tapioca pearls floated in a cosmic ether. “Do you suppose he’s…?”
“Available?”
“Fond of 900 year old Time Lords who don’t subscribe to gender.”
“Who cares.” Peri cleansed her palate with water. “He’s mine and I ain’t sharing.”
“Langston” glanced up from his mobile. Peri snapped her eyes to the pavement. “Fuck, he looked at me.”
“I sincerely doubt that,” said the Doctor, “considering I am in his direct field of vision.” He adjusted his posture, fixing his legs towards the side of his chair so that half his face, as opposed to the back of his fitted gown, was clear to the stranger. It was times like this the Doctor mentioned when asked why he went through the trouble to draw on brows and squeeze into shapewear. He tapped his feet, shimmering in the heels that signaled a day off. Suddenly, the stranger rose. Peri felt her underarms slickening.
The Doctor smiled impishly at Peri. “My prince of poetry has arrived…”
“Hello, ladies.” His voice made molasses look congealed. “Caught you two making eyes.”
“Oh, was I?” said the Doctor. It was only when “dolled up”, as he called it, when such gendered terminology did not phase him. “There’s just so many fascinating sights out here in the city, as I’m sure you are keenly aware.” He flitted her lashes. The missing piece to the equation was the lack of his favorite brisé. “My companion, however, is more concerned with the birds and the bees—ahem, the flowers and the trees.”
Peri laughed, nervously. The Langston-lookalike was even more handsome up close. His suit was pinstriped and a set of thick-rimmed glasses peeked from his breast pocket. Dark curls graced the sliver of chest. “Only sometimes. I’m a botanist at heart.”
The man nodded attentively, but did not seem to hear. His gaze was firmly on the Doctor’s sparkled dress and faux ermine stole. “I see. I was just soaking in the sights myself.”
“Do you,” the Doctor brought her straw to her lips, “come here often?” A delicate sip.
“I live here.” He jutted back his thumb. “Not far from where we stand.”
“You’ve chosen a charming place to reside. I am but a humble pilgrim.”
Peri straightened her posture. The Doctor was not snatching her spotlight today. “Speaking of pilgrims,” she said, boldly, “I’m American! You know, Plymouth Rock? Mayflower?”
The man sideswiped her for the Doctor. “A beautiful woman like you doesn’t have to be a stranger. I could show you around, if you’re interested?”
“Well, with a messenger like you extending the offer, how could I refuse? And your name is?”
“Afolayan,” he said. “We do not have surnames where I am from.”
“What a lovely name,” she said, “and we have something in common. I, too, am known by a holophrastic: the Doctor.”
Afolayan extended his hand. The Doctor followed suit. A soft kiss was set upon the back of it that brought a touch of rogue to the Time Lord’s powdered cheeks. “What are you a doctor of, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Oh, a great many things. Life has blessed me with more than my fair share of extraordinary talents.”
He nodded. The corners of his lips had reached his eyes. “Enigmatic. That’s my style.” He offered the pizza box. “Would you care for a slice?”
"Although I’ll decline the pizza, if it’s all the same. Thank you.”
Great, now the man had dived head-first into the food-sharing phase. There was no way Peri was winning this battle. “I can tie a cherry stem with my tongue.” In the grimy dive bars back home men were always enthralled by women with this useless ability.
Finally, Afolayan’s ears had picked up on more than an ersatz British accent. “Cherry? What is that?”
Fuck. So much for that. “Like, the little red fruits. Sweet. Grows on trees.”
The Doctor sighed. “There she goes again with the trees. Peri, dear, he wouldn’t be interested.”
“How do you—“ Just leave it, Peri. “Okay, yeah, maybe you’re right.” Well, if one thing was certain, she was glad Afolayan didn’t ask to see her try. Despite her best attempts in high school, that was one skill she could never learn. She drove her knuckles into her cheeks and chomped into her second donut. Who needed men? Sometimes the best pick-me-ups lay in the cream filling of an otherwise ordinary glazed dessert.
“As you can see she is in desperate need of a handler else she’d go scampering off in search of Asteraceaes.” The Doctor uncrossed his legs, but kept them delicately fused. “Leaves little time for glamour, but I make the most of what I am able to carve.”
“I understand,” said Afolayan. “She is like your child.”
Peri’s “hey!” was drowned out by her friend’s sparkle-coated confidence. “Very much so, I’m afraid.” He handed her a tissue. “You know what they say about a mother’s work.”
Afolayan pulled up a seat and the two budding lovebirds chatted for a short time more. Afolayan tickled the Doctor’s fancy by proclaiming his passion for history and literature, thereby issuing another hard blow for the equally history-and-book-loving Peri. They planned to meet again to watch an opera that had come to town. This was one of Afolayan’s favorites as it was sung in his native tongue. When he spoke a few words, his ancestry flowed sweet as honey. It wasn’t fair. Surely Afolayan would be added to the Doctor’s scroll of suitors: men with whom he toyed like a cat to a mouse. Everyone wanted a piece of that six-foot disco ball, but for him half the thrill was in the chase. It appealed to him being dreamed about in quiet, desperate hours, leaving them wanting until he said “jump”. At least one man had been sworn to a rainbow-plated chastity cage. While her friend was playing dominatrix, all Peri requested was for a few sacred hours.
“Have you a star phone?” asked Afolayan.
“A star phone? Goodness me, could you imagine? My dear fellow, I’m a very popular woman; that blasted thing would be ringing off the hook.”
Afolayan laughed and pulled out a pen. He turned to Peri for the first time since he’d graced their presence. “Sorry, would you have a piece of scrap paper?”
Peri retrieved a crumpled receipt from her pocket. Rejection had her unable to look him in the eyes. “This is all I’ve got.”
“Thanks.” He uncapped the pen—sharp-tipped—and jotted down his contact. Conversation resumed, flowed, and carried on and on like a self-replenishing waterfall—or a landslide. It wasn’t until another kiss was bestowed on the Doctor’s hand and their overlapping voices faded into foot traffic and the hum of solar vehicles when Peri awoke from her stupor.
The Doctor slipped the paper into his crossbody. The kohl rimmed around her waterline enhanced the romantic glint in his eyes. “I do love a man who knows his way around a symphony.” He flashed a cunning grin at Peri. “He’s yours, is he?”
She crumpled the dusty donut wrappers in her unloved fists. “Big whoop. You won that round, but I’m taking the next one, you watch.”
“If you insist.”
“What’s even the point of roping in these guys when you string them along most of the time?”
“String them along? String them along?” He clutched the tiny pearls looping his neck. “How dare you. I do no such thing. If you must know, those men are specifically in the market for women who play hard to get. It pleases them, somehow.” He whet her palate. Her equally red-tinted nails would have made a Black Widow blush. “Don’t prod me about the hows and the whys, but I am more than happy to be their accommodation.”
Peri sighed. There was something to be said about a Time Lord with a queue to his dick. He must sling it and throw it back like nobody's business. In the brief moment between her looking across the parkway and the signal turning from red to green, she wished she was a man. “Let me guess, you’re gonna do the same to him?”
“Him? Put some respect on his name. And no, never. I think I’m rather fond of Mister Afolayan. He’s a handsome young man.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.”
“Well-read, a patron of the arts, and a fellow caviler of the ballpoint pen. He’s my perfect companion. Well, after you.”
Peri sucked her teeth and fell back in her seat. “Right. Don’t slide into the flattery bit when you’ve just cockblocked me. Again.” She folded her arms. “They waltz up and practically eat out the palms of your hands. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was being emotionally tortured in some reality simulation.”
One of the Doctor’s eyeliner brows peaked into a small Himalaya. He set a stack of napkins beneath his condensing soda cup. “Is that a little green eyed monster I see festering behind you? I can’t help that I’m what they want, Peri. Perhaps if you dressed a little more modestly?”
“Says the one who just stepped off a Bob Mackie runway. Just call me Sonny.”
He shook his head a trifle, excising the barbs from his nigh-impenetrable armor. “I think I’ll ring him tomorrow,” he said. “Whenever we choose to meet, you are to stay in the TARDIS, do you hear me?”
Peri rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom.”
“Don’t be facetious. When I’m through I expect to find that ship precisely where I left her.” Then, with raking eyes, “Not on some varsity player’s front stoop.”
Peri tossed the rubbish wad into the garbage can across from them. It bounced off the rim and plummeted into ornamental flowers.