Page 49 of Caleb
Me:I know exactly what you mean.
Red:Aaron’s a more convenient sidekick. I miss him.
Me:I don’t.
Shit. Ok, maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but fuck it. It’s the truth. Aaron’s my brother, but I’ve enjoyed having Red all to myself these past few days. And I would like her to know this, even if it’s unprofessional behavior. Still, I feel like there are many things I could say to her today, and I’m not going to, so at least I know I’m not being as inappropriate as I could potentially be.
I mentally pat myself on the back for it.
A couple of minutes later of me staring at my screen, she replies.
Red:Are you being mean, Agent Cohen?
Me:Nah. Aaron’s the mean one.
Me:I’m the short-tempered one. It’s important to be precise.
Red:You? Short-tempered? LOL! I’m sure that man at the gelato place we went to two days ago wished he’d never been born.
Me:In my defense, that perv was staring at you and your friends in a way that if I didn’t say anything to make him stop and your father were there to witness it, I would’ve been fired for incompetence.
A muffled laugh is heard behind Red’s door, making my jaw ache from smiling too much. The need to knock on her door and carry on with this conversation face-to-face pulses heavily through my veins. It’s real. Too real that I know it’s best to ignore it.
Red:Did you just say the F word?!
Me:I did. So let me do my job in peace if you want me to stick around. You know you can’t live without me.
Red:I would probably panic if you left.
Me:No panicking here. You’re stuck with me and my short-tempered ways for good.
We’re joking, but it’s hard for me to talk about leaving someday because Ambassador Murphy’s time in Paris is almost ending, and that’s a conversation Red and I haven’t had. Likewise, Aaron and I haven’t been briefed about Ambassador Murphy’s next move and if we’re included in such plans. So yeah,Iwould probably panic if I was asked to leave after his term in Paris is over.
It’s best not to think about this right now. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.
Red:Cecile said you’re a perv exterminator.
Red:And I say you’re a short-tempered perv exterminator. It’s important to be precise.
It’s my turn to laugh. And as I breathe out a sigh to recompose myself, Scott steps out of the elevator rolling our suitcases and is fast approaching me.
Me:That sounds about right.
Me:Party pooper’s back. I’ll let you get settled. We’ll be right across the hall if you need anything.
Red:Thank you. See you in a bit.
In A Chokehold
September 5, 2008
WE JUST RETURNED FROM EXPLORINGthe town a few minutes ago. Red wanted to take pictures, of course. She said how the architecture of Deauville reminds her of her time in Bern. So naturally, she felt inspired to photograph the town. We even walked along the ocean boardwalk’s bathing cabins commemorating celebrities by putting their names on the barriers separating each room.
She could only recognize a few famous names from the many showcased there—most of them from popular movies from the late 90s. I wasn’t surprised, though, with her being immersed in her books and not being allowed to go to the movies—another nonsensical move by her father. But at least she’ll get to watch a film today, so that must be exciting for her. I know she’s looking forward to it.
Red’s in her room resting before the American Film Festival’s inauguration event that starts in a few hours, and I’m currently standing outside her door. Scott and I are taking turns so we can eat. Ambassador Murphy wants us to keep watch outside her room 24/7. That’s how his exacerbated paranoia behaves when we’re away from the fortress that is the Residence back in Paris.
The elevator pings in the distance, and Annette steps out of it with a young man who’s rolling a small black suitcase behind him. He’s got shoulder-length bleached blond hair and thick tortoise acetate glasses. They’re both walking our way while they chat.
