Page 122 of Callan

His answer is vague and normally would trigger more questions, but we are far from talking about a normal setup here.

“It’s a nice place,” I say, my voice bland as I look around the space. There’s no one else besides us, which is not surprising.

Our drinks and desserts arrive, and we focus on them, chatting about them.

“I used to work in Manhattan,” I say, and soon after, I tell him about my previous life.

I doubt he finds it interesting, but I think he enjoys my soft-spoken words. No matter what I say, he looks at me with interest, which might not have anything to do with my story.

I finish and almost ask him…

‘What about you? What do you do for a living? How come you are single? Where is your family?’

Almost, since none of these questions grace my lips, and he certainly doesn’t volunteer this information.

I could fill in the blanks, but what good would that do to me?

He seems to make good money.

He has connections.

And people work for him.

Some of the things he does are questionable.

In terms of having a family?

Maybe he is in a feud with his family.

Or maybe there is no family left.

For sure, some stories from the past have their fingers on his complicated present.

Who knows?

The man was not exactly lonely when he met me.

“May I ask you something?” I say, putting my dessert spoon down and bringing the cup of tea to my lips.

“Uh-huh,” he murmurs, staring at his tea.

I take a sip and swallow hard.

“It’s about you and that woman, Carmen…”

He brings his eyes to me.

“Normally, I wouldn’t ask you about this, but… It was hard not to notice how noisy she was when you know… You two were…”

I stop, embarrassed.

And I use my hands to suggest what I have in mind.

“You two were…”

“Fucking?”

“Uh-huh.”

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