voice on the phone. Offering to split the rent. Joking about having a secretary. Then later, the same voice in disguise, asking for Johnny at one in the morning. A voice I’d presumed belonged to Ralph Emerson.
But if it hadn’t been Ralph Emerson, T or otherwise, then who the hell had been sharing my office for the past six months?
I was deep in thought when my cell phone’s chiming broke the silence. Bruno’s name flashed onscreen, and I could guess what he was calling about. Chloe hadn’t wasted any time.
I could’ve easily let voicemail handle the call, but after the news about Ralph, I really needed to hear a friendly voice. CC would’ve just begun her shift, and beyond her and Bruno, I was short on options.
“Holy fuck!” Bruno exclaimed when I picked up. “I was sure you were gonna blank me.”
“It had crossed my mind.”
“Too late now, I’m holding you to your word. We’ve got a table booked in Chinatown.”
“You’ve checked the…”
“–I’ve checked the lighting, don’t worry. You can leave your sunglasses at home. This is gonna be fun , Sam. Maxine can’t wait to meet you.”
“Great, so Chloe’s been talking me up. She happen to mention my scars, and my eye condition?”
“Yes to both. Maxine doesn’t care. I keep telling you – chicks don’t care about that stuff.”
I sighed. “Alright, what the hell. I said I’d go, so I’ll go. But I need a favor first.”
“Name it.”
“Meet me for a drink tonight? I’m still having problems at work, and I could use a sounding board.”
“Right. Ah, did I mention the dinner booking is tonight?”
“Shit, really?” I closed my eyes, imagining an evening of awkward conversation. “No way, Bruno. It’s not a good time.”
“But that’s the beauty of it. I’m saving you from weeks of worry and stress. We’re booked in for eight-thirty at the Red Drum. It’s a cool place – you can look it up online. Don’t let me down, bud.”
My first instinct was to invent another excuse, but I held back, thinking of the long night ahead. For once, I didn’t feel like being alone. “Okay, you win,” I said. “I’ll see you at eight-thirty.”
“Hallelujah!” Bruno exclaimed. “And pigs do fly! I’m hanging up now before you change your mind.”
“Wait, can we still grab a drink afterwards?”
He’d already gone – no doubt rushing to tell Chloe the good news.
I checked my watch, grimacing at the time. In less than an hour, I'd be making small talk with a stranger – deflecting questions about my past, ignoring the sneak peaks at my scars, and pretending to be a normal guy. I had a hard time being social at the best of times, let alone when my mind was preoccupied.
I stared again at the empty desk. I was still struggling to explain what was going on, and how it related to my past. But even though the questions were mounting, one fact seemed terrifyingly certain.
I'd been sharing my office with a murderer.
8. “Why don’t you take off your sweater?”
Our affair began at a two star chain motel in West Sacramento. It had been Lucy’s idea to drive out of the city. She was paranoid about bumping into one of her husband’s friends, and I had to admit, Sacramento was that sort of place. Neither of us knew anyone in the new-growth suburbs across the river, so that’s where we headed – nodding along to my carefully chosen Bryan Ferry CD, keeping our emotions under wraps until we reached our destination.
The bareness of the second-story motel room was matched by the stark landscape outside. But we weren’t interested in the view, or the quality of the furnishings. We didn’t even pause to draw the curtains, reaching for each other as soon as I kicked the door shut.
I kissed her hard, scrunching my fingers through the back of her hair. She moaned and rubbed herself against me, her bare arms looping around my neck. During the car ride, I’d coached myself to take my time, to slowly savor and delight in
But if it hadn’t been Ralph Emerson, T or otherwise, then who the hell had been sharing my office for the past six months?
I was deep in thought when my cell phone’s chiming broke the silence. Bruno’s name flashed onscreen, and I could guess what he was calling about. Chloe hadn’t wasted any time.
I could’ve easily let voicemail handle the call, but after the news about Ralph, I really needed to hear a friendly voice. CC would’ve just begun her shift, and beyond her and Bruno, I was short on options.
“Holy fuck!” Bruno exclaimed when I picked up. “I was sure you were gonna blank me.”
“It had crossed my mind.”
“Too late now, I’m holding you to your word. We’ve got a table booked in Chinatown.”
“You’ve checked the…”
“–I’ve checked the lighting, don’t worry. You can leave your sunglasses at home. This is gonna be fun , Sam. Maxine can’t wait to meet you.”
“Great, so Chloe’s been talking me up. She happen to mention my scars, and my eye condition?”
“Yes to both. Maxine doesn’t care. I keep telling you – chicks don’t care about that stuff.”
I sighed. “Alright, what the hell. I said I’d go, so I’ll go. But I need a favor first.”
“Name it.”
“Meet me for a drink tonight? I’m still having problems at work, and I could use a sounding board.”
“Right. Ah, did I mention the dinner booking is tonight?”
“Shit, really?” I closed my eyes, imagining an evening of awkward conversation. “No way, Bruno. It’s not a good time.”
“But that’s the beauty of it. I’m saving you from weeks of worry and stress. We’re booked in for eight-thirty at the Red Drum. It’s a cool place – you can look it up online. Don’t let me down, bud.”
My first instinct was to invent another excuse, but I held back, thinking of the long night ahead. For once, I didn’t feel like being alone. “Okay, you win,” I said. “I’ll see you at eight-thirty.”
“Hallelujah!” Bruno exclaimed. “And pigs do fly! I’m hanging up now before you change your mind.”
“Wait, can we still grab a drink afterwards?”
He’d already gone – no doubt rushing to tell Chloe the good news.
I checked my watch, grimacing at the time. In less than an hour, I'd be making small talk with a stranger – deflecting questions about my past, ignoring the sneak peaks at my scars, and pretending to be a normal guy. I had a hard time being social at the best of times, let alone when my mind was preoccupied.
I stared again at the empty desk. I was still struggling to explain what was going on, and how it related to my past. But even though the questions were mounting, one fact seemed terrifyingly certain.
I'd been sharing my office with a murderer.
8. “Why don’t you take off your sweater?”
Our affair began at a two star chain motel in West Sacramento. It had been Lucy’s idea to drive out of the city. She was paranoid about bumping into one of her husband’s friends, and I had to admit, Sacramento was that sort of place. Neither of us knew anyone in the new-growth suburbs across the river, so that’s where we headed – nodding along to my carefully chosen Bryan Ferry CD, keeping our emotions under wraps until we reached our destination.
The bareness of the second-story motel room was matched by the stark landscape outside. But we weren’t interested in the view, or the quality of the furnishings. We didn’t even pause to draw the curtains, reaching for each other as soon as I kicked the door shut.
I kissed her hard, scrunching my fingers through the back of her hair. She moaned and rubbed herself against me, her bare arms looping around my neck. During the car ride, I’d coached myself to take my time, to slowly savor and delight in
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