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.