Without looking round she noticed glances sliding up and down her body. She turns round. Sitting at one of the tables in the cafe in the midst of a group of women with shimmering violet-blue- rinsed perms is a man. She looks him directly in the eyes. Then she goes over and sits next to him at his table.

Orlando: Black, silk, A 70.

Man: Will you have a coffee?

Orlando: Yes.

Man: White?

Orlando: No.

He signals to the waiter and points to the coffee service on his table.

The man turns back to Orlando.

Man: I know you.

Orlando: Do you know how often I've heard that line?

Man: I'm sure I know you. Only I can't quite remember where.

Orlando: I seem to look like half of the human race.

Man: Maybe you do.

Orlando: Maybe you just happen to be mistaken.

Man: I know you.

Orlando: I know.

 

The waiter brings Orlando's coffee.

She picks up the cup, reaches across the table for the jug of milk on the man's tray, and adds a generous portion of milk.

The man looks at her in surprise.

Man: Why are you doing that?

Orlando: Why not?

Man: Who are you?

Orlando: Habits make people predictable and vulnerable. I am one of those people who permit themselves no weakness.

Man: Is there anybody you trust?

Orlando: Why do you ask?

Man: Nobody is alone?

Orlando: Are you looking for a woman?

Man: I know that I know you.

 

Orlando gets up. She hasn't touched her coffee.

Orlando: It was five years ago. One of those bars. You started talking to me. Like today. You remember the rest. Man: One of those bars. I knew I knew you. He looks up at Orlando. She has vanished.