Page 101 of The Confidant

People watch me like I’m part of some show. I ignore them despite the tension their focus causes.

This is for Addie. Something to warm her up after that family freezes her out. Just in case.

I’m not an overly optimistic person. I believe in being prepared for things to go badly. I’m trying not to let that kind of thinking drag my siren under with me. She needs a tiny piece of happiness to get back on her feet. I’m proud that I’m one of them.

The waiter stops and stares before sputtering out a request for my drink choice.

I order a bottle of red wine and every dessert on the menu. After raising his eyebrows, he returns with my choice.

When he pours a glass, I set it in front of Racer’s plate.

“Sir? Are you sure?” He looks at the display in dismay.

“Yes.” I snap a picture.

Once he’s gone, I fold up the menu to set aside and reposition the bottle and wine glass. Curling Racer’s paw around the stem. I sit on the other side to take more pictures as if we’re a couple on a date.

“Sir? May I charge you in advance for the wine? The bottle is rather expensive.”

I glance up at the new waiter, more like a manager with his fancier dress. They think I’m an oddity who’s about to dine and dash. He looks as if he’s ready to fight about it.

I pull out my wallet and hand him the card to spare myself the drama.

“Thank you, sir,” he gives me a smarmy smile and paces away.

A few minutes later, I catch the manager rushing to a table where a strawberry blonde sits with several other people. He whispers in her ear, and her eyes move to me.

I’ve never been removed from a restaurant before. I wonder if I can struggle enough to make the photos more dramatic for Addie. She would love it. I can also kick over one of the trash cans outside in victory.

The deserts appear before I’m ready for them. I tell the waiter not to move as I finish up. He starts visibly sweating as his hands shake.

“Will that be all, Mr. Richards?”

“I’d like my card back.” I reposition the dishes. A spoon in the chocolate mousse. A fork in the cake as a victory flag. A few cuts in the strawberries. I have to prop the stuffed animal on the edge of the table for the desperately hungry effect I’m trying for. I move the short floral centerpiece out of the way to snap more photos.

A throat clears behind me as I look through the pictures to see why the lighting seems off. I barely glance at whoever wants my attention.

The strawberry blonde in a tight yet tasteful dress holds out my credit card. A man in a suit with long black hair held back in a tail stands at her side. Behind them are what appear to be a massive bodyguard and a man dressed in scuffed boots with an unshaven chin.

“You’re really Poe Richards?” The woman asks with wide eyes.

“Yes,” I say, taking the card and putting it away. Why would the manager hand it over to a stranger?

“Thephotographer?” She leans forward with a hopeful smile. She points a finger at one of the walls, and my eyes follow. A cluster of some of my earlier landscape photos is on display. It’s a nice addition to the quiet ambiance the restaurant is striving for.

I look down at my phone, then at Racer’s obvious setup, back to her, and deadpan, “Yes.”

She gives the solemn man beside her a smug grin. “Toldyou. Five hundred bucks, Gabe.”

“Mr. Richards. I’ve been trying to reach you,” he ignores his sibling as he eyes Racer, enjoying its food. His confusion takes a lot of the almost-there threat out of his words.

I nod, lost in the pictures again. This lighting. Which angle is throwing it off?

I circle the table, taking pictures from every angle to see if I can find it.

“What is this for?” The woman asks with a light laugh.

“My wife,” I scroll through the photos again. I look up and find the culprit. I doubt asking for the light to be turned off in a busy restaurant will get me anywhere. I shift the table two inches to the right, rebalance Racer, and try again.

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