Games People Play Read Online Free PDF Page B

hunks, and with a pop of a pitchfork that bubble burst. She tried to cheer herself up by imagining handsome cowboys and lewd acts in the back of straw-strewn flatbed trucks, but she was devastated at the loss of her very own American dream, and moaned about it all the way through the flight to Kansas City. I was none too happy about it either. We believed our exile to be a punishment for being the worst students, a cruel joke by our lecturers for being the ones who always handed in their essays late and who missed the most tutorials.
    I met Ivan the week after Corinna and I moved into our rented house: small, grey, clapboard, as all the houses were (we wondered for ages why nobody ever had firework or bonfire parties, until somebody pointed out that it’s not the wisest form of entertainment when the whole town is built of wood). It had a square, scrubby yard, and a noisy airconditioning unit which hung precariously out of the living room window. Kansas was in the grip of an Indian summer, and we found it hard to stay cool in our new home, especially after the climate-controlled halls of residence we’d stayed in when we first arrived. We ran the aircon day and night, until our ears rang with its constant watery roar.
    It was our remarkably inquisitive mail-carrier, Raylene, who occasioned the initial meeting between Ivan and myself. In the process of delivering our letters from back home, she noticed the British post-marks and thereby deemed us interesting enough to invite to Sunday brunch. It was how she’d met Ivan, too.
    Corinna and I were a little taken aback to be invited to lunch by our postwoman, but since we were woefully short of any better offers, we decided we’d go along. Corinna got all dolled up in her best gypsy top and glitter socks, and I put on my turquoise satin jacket, although neither of us held very high hopes of the gathering.
    Raylene’s house was not dissimilar in size and shape to our rented one, but whereas ours contained the bare minimum of rented furniture, every conceivable inch of surface space of Raylene’s was full of clutter: newspapers old and new; cassette tapes, LPs, posters. Piles and piles of letters and papers littered the floor, and cut-out articles and cartoons were sellotaped all over the walls. A small table was balanced perilously in the middle of the living room, covered with plates of strange-looking cold meats (which I later discovered included pastrami and salt beef); various salads, and baskets of bread, but none of the several guests present had touched any of it.
    ‘What a lot of magazines you must subscribe to,’ said Corinna politely as we came in. There was the inevitable chorus of, ‘Oh my gahhd, I LOVE your accent!’ but she ignored it – we were already getting used to the reaction.
    ‘Oh no,’ said Raylene gaily. ‘I don’t subscribe to any of them. I’m a mailwoman. I get them free.’
    Corinna and I exchanged glances. ‘How come?’
    ‘Well, you know how things can get "lost" in the mail,’ Raylene said, tapping the side of her nose. ‘Let me introduce you to some folks. This here’s Calvin, and Patty, Brandon and Sara, and a fellow European – Ivan.’ They all raised their plastic cups of beer and nodded or said hi, except Ivan. He barely even bothered to turn around from where he was kneeling (on a messy pile of Calvin and Hobbs cartoons clipped out of the New York Times , flipping through a stack of LPs.
    Calvin was a tall Rasta with bloodshot eyes and bedraggled dreadlocks, but he had a cute face, and Corinna immediately engaged him in conversation, then led him away into the kitchen. I felt annoyed and abandoned, but at that moment Ivan straightened up, holding out a Velvet Underground album. I took one look at his thick black hair, lanky, muscular body and arrogant eyes, and promptly fell madly in love, instantly forgetting about Corinna’s defection. It goes to show, doesn’t it? You should never trust love at first