caresses, recluse, blond, and off-white

In the morning, Simone’s caresses meant half as much as they had the night before, and half of nothing is not a recollection. Rather, it’s wearing on the soul. Her off-white teeth spoke of all the licorice she chomped on. I’d tasted it on her breath. I thought of the luck of the recluse and how his social skills would never be called into question.
“Were you blond as a child?” I asked as she sat waiting for me to make the coffee.
“What makes you think I was ever a child?”
“Oh, c’mon. Don’t be obtuse,” I said, “The tentativeness in your responses to my lovemaking, the small noises you make in the dark…I could go on.”
“Have you got any anisette to add to the coffee?” she asked.
“Do you think this is a bistro? I have regular coffee, good, strong black coffee,” I said, “like grown-ups drink.”
“I used to have brown hair,” she said, “but I wanted to be Elke Sommer.”
“Have a cup of this,” I said, “It will wake you up.”