"Philip?" she said shyly, teasing his penis with the tip of her nail. In the next second, he was on top of her again. Lola opened her legs, and after he'd come and was lying on top of her, exhausted, she whispered, "I think I love you."
When I got to "she whispered", I immediately knew what Lola was going to say. I found myself yelling aloud "NO! DON'T SAY IT! DON'T EVEN... NO, LOLA, DON'T." Then I read the words "I think I love you". I released an exasperating sigh, called Lola stupid, and found myself - at least for a split second - hating the concept of love. It led to an overwhelming feeling of compulsion/repulsion of love - I wanted nothing to do with it, good or bad. As fast at it came, it disappeared. I think I will always be a romantic at heart, hoping and wishing for "happy endings".
I've been trying to dissect my emotions, but... What is the concept of love? Being "in love", I thought I would immediately know the answer. Alas, I don't think I'm the least bit worldly enough to answer such a question.
Lola didn't get the answer that she wanted.
His head jerked up and he looked at her with surprise. Smiling and kissing the tip of her nose, he said, "'love' is a strong word, Lola."
But she did get bagels instead.
- EXCERPT FROM 'ONE FIFTH AVENUE' BY CANDACE BUSHNELL
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