Lipstick, Cigarettes and Wine

Harry had become uncomfortably familiar with the sluggishness of drinking. Senses generally dulled, sleepiness, the feeling of being apart from the world that had once hallmarked some Saturday nights now characterized most. Some weeknights too. They had had two bottles of wine between them tonight. He felt electric. Awake, alert, cold sober as he walked with Chris, holding her close.

He wanted to stop strangers on the street and introduce her to them. He wanted to get to a phone and call someone to tell them what was going on. He had friends near Brighton, in the south. He was in the same time zone, they had something like directory assistance here. Could he find Ian’s number? He smiled.

Then he didn’t.

Tell Ian what? I’ve been propositioned? I’m going to sleep with another woman tonight. Hey, that’s something a married man wants to broadcast.

Hi Ian, I’m gonna commit adultery in its purest sense?
Let’s tell someone shall we? Harry slid his arm back from Chris. She pulled away so he reached for her hand. No. Don’t go. This feels too good, but what is this feeling?

“You o.k.?” Chris asked.

“Yeah, fine, why?” ”Second thoughts?” ”Of what?” ”Going to bed with me. I don’t think Lou really let you get an answer out.” Harry feigned a chuckle. “Great timing. The man has great timing.” ”But I asked you.” ”What?” ”Are you having second thoughts? It’s all right. I was pretty straight forward with you.”

“Let’s walk a bit.” ”We just ate, huh?” ”Yeah.” Chris cocked her head at him, smiling. “If you’re tired or drunk, it might affect your performance, huh?” She squeezed his hand and her smile broadened.

“Well I wouldn’t say that but…” Harry caught himself before he launched into some chest-beating cliché of virility. Christ, do we all become eighteen when our performance is questioned? Fuck, what a regression! But after all that wine, maybe walking a little off wasn’t such a bad idea.

“Been awhile hasn’t it?” Chris asked.

“Yeah. You?” ”A long time.” ”Sorry.” ”We fuck all the time. At least, he does. He fucks me and gets off and gets his.” ”So what do you do?”

“I masturbate.”

“Alone? Sorry. That was a really stupid question. I didn’t say that.” Chris laughed. “We’re both on the road a lot. I’m out of town, he travels for his company. It used to be ok. We’d hook up on the weekends and catch up. Lately its just releasing pent up anger, Hatred we’ve stored up in hotels or bars or wherever the fuck he is or I am. He doesn’t trust me and I don’t blame him. Of course, not like he’s Mister Truthful but its different for him, isn’t it? So we circle each other like angry, tired boxers. We want to quit but he’s not ready and when we get close enough we start hitting each other. I drink and smoke and do shit he hates, he hits me when he gets pissed off enough and probably has something of his own going on the road.” ”He hits you?” ”Yeah and I know, I shouldn’t take it so don’t go there. I know what a restraining order is and I’ve called the cops once and I’ve spent a lot of nights in hotels. They suck. Don’t go there. Anyway, he hasn’t done anything in a long time. He’s down to slamming doors and kicking furniture and I can deal with that.” Harry said nothing. Twilight was gone. It was night and they walked from one pool of streetlight to another. They were heading back in the direction of the hotel, but like a drunk walking a straight line they were veering through side streets off of Thayer, slowing down from time to time to feign interest in a shop window.

“We don’t have to do this Harry. Not if you feel uncomfortable. We can go home and go to sleep and no hard feelings. You seem like a good guy and you seem lonely and you care. You almost sprinted through the museum to make sure I didn’t get bored. I like that and I wasn’t bored, but you cared. I like to be cared about. Just for a while. Its been a long time. But if you don’t want to, just say so.”

They had come to a small square; Manchester place. It was one small block with a little garden in the middle. Really just a large roundabout. There was a metal spike fence that surrounded the garden and a sidewalk outside the fence. The garden and sidewalk were dark, the were only streetlights being on the outside of the square, by the apartment fronts. The trees in the garden cast long, dark shadows. They paused in the shadows, still holding hands, Chris half turned to him,

“I just hope you don’t.” she said. ”Don’t?” ”Say no. Say you want to go to bed. Huh? Now? Huh?” Chris moved closer. Harry tilted his head but did not move it closer to Chris’s face. Something was bothering him. Something was racing through his mind. It got back to the feeling of elation when he first put his arm around Chris. The feeling of joy of the two of them walking up the street together. The feeling that he wanted to tell the world about her, that she was attracted to him, that she desired him that, she needed him, cared about him. He wanted to shout all these things to the world. Look what Harry can do, look at what you didn’t think was possible, where he couldn’t go. He wanted to call all his friends with the news. But not really his friends...

He wanted to call Josette.

He wanted to, really wanted to call her. Now. Get her on the phone at four in the morning. Wake her up and tell her all about Chris. Tell her that he found another woman who didn’t give him the bullshit she gave him. Who didn’t care if he had another glass of wine, who tried to show interest in his passion for history or at least politely try. Who put up with walking arm in arm and didn’t pull away because it was uncomfortable or awkward or there was another store to go into. He wanted to rub her nose in it and he wanted to tell her because he had just realized something:

His marriage was over.

“Huh?” Chris asked. She had her one hand resting on his shoulder and her other arm around his waist, her hand running over his ass. “You o.k?”

He put his arms around her waist. His hands rested on the small of her back. He began to move tentatively lower.

“We going back? Huh? We going to bed?” she asked in a whisper.

“We’re…” and he was looking for the perfect thing to say, just the right thing, the heroic moment but there wasn’t any reason to talk. He pressed his mouth against hers and wrapped his arms around her and began to pull her blouse up. She clutched his ass and pressed herself against him. He pushed her back gently against the metal fence in the shadows around Manchester Place. They kissed. Fiercely, running their lips over each other’s, pushing, biting, pressing. Chris pushed her tongue into Harry’s mouth and he tasted the sum total of her that night: her lips, her lipstick, cigarettes and wine and he kissed her harder and she him.

They stopped for a moment. Chris smiled and looked up at him. “Second thoughts?” she grinned.

“No.” ”So now…”

He straightened the bit of blouse he had been pulling at and stepped back as far as he would allow himself from her. She pulled him back close, put her arm around his waist and holding each other they walked a block called Spanish Place back to the hotel on George street.

Dinner at the Nondescript

Harry was agonizingly fascinated. Imperial War was one of the most complete museums of military history in the world and Harry had promised himself a day without distraction to take in as much of it at his own pace as he could manage. Chris had now come along and was following Harry through every exhibit, reading the descriptions of Browning rifles used in Afghanistan and Exocet attacks in the Falklands. Harry bit the inside of his cheek and offered to cut short his visit several times and trotted out “If you’re bored” but she would not relent. She wasn’t interested, but she wouldn’t look bored either. Harry could see that much. She moved methodically from case to case. Harry jumped around, driven by his particular interest in a specific theatre. He stared at the wreckage of Hess’s ME 110 on the second floor for a full twenty minutes. Chris covered the Zulu wars in the same time.

Two and a half hours later, Harry felt he had hit the tipping point of her patience. He wasn’t sure, but insisted they leave anyway. Walking out by the double guns from RMS Hood, he turned to her: ”Still feel like dinner? Or should I just lock myself in my room tonight with a good book and let the real world play without me?” Harry regretted that the moment he said it. He was often sarcastic and he didn’t mean harm by it, but understood that anyone who didn’t know Harry Moss could be easily put off. Chris could be smart enough to catch his dry humor or she could pull back and smack him and hard. From what Harry had seen of her physical tone, that could hurt. He paused. She smiled and looked straight at him.

“I need a shower. But dinner’s still on.”

At the hotel, Lou had left word for Harry to call him. Craig was presumably upstairs, re-reading his notes on the Towards Better Health UK three, six and twelve month cash flow projections.

“Meet you down here at about seven thirty?” Harry asked Chris.

“What time is it now?”

”Almost six.”

”Seven thirty. See you.” And she pulled down on where her blue top had ridden up on her as she had hung to the tube strap.

“Is the elevator down that hall?”

”Just beyond the bathrooms. On your right.”

”Thanks. See you in a bit.”

”Seven thirty.”

”Yeah.”

Harry watched her walk down the short hallway. He held the house phone receiver in his hand but held a guilty stare at her butt, which, he felt, filled out her skirt in a magnificent way.

“Sir?” The desk clerk leaned over her counter.

“Umm?” ”Sir, you’re blocking the line please. Would you make your telephone call?”

”Sorry” Harry dialed Lou’s number.

“Fugazy.”

”Lou, Harry. What’s up?”

”Hey, what are you doing?”

”I was at the Imperial War Museum. I’m heading out to dinner in a while. Got to shave and shower first.”

”Want company?”

”Uh. Well. Kind of have it already.”

”You and Craig are sneaking around behind my back again? I have feelings too!”

”I have no idea where Craig is. No. I’ve got a dinner date with a woman so I don’t care how close you shaved your legs, you can’t win me back.”

”We get over here and you start bringing Zevon songs to life? Who is she?”

“Another Yank on business. Got mis-connected to her room and had nothing to do tonight. It’s all innocent and OK. We just got to talking I guess.” Harry stopped the lie as soon as he could.

“And Josie thinks what of this?” Lou was teasing but it still hit home. He knew the problems Harry and Josette were having. He was trying to be a friend to Harry and not alienate Josette but he was not doing a good job of it. Josette and Maria were acquaintances, as was Susan; Craig’s wife, but the friends were the men. Josette went to her girlfriends to dump about Harry so Lou really only knew half the story.

“I’m having dinner, not fucking her.”

”Well, behave yourself. You’re in a big new town all alone…”

”You are being a first rate asshole again. Are you still pissed about flying in coach? Its starting to show.”

”Have a good dinner. I’m going to look for a place to run and then probably see if they have anything like basketball here.”

”They have football”
“It’s called soccer.”

”Maybe in Park Slope Fugazy. It’s football here.”

“Kickball for girls.”

”What time tomorrow?”

”Eight thirty. You, me and Craig meet for breakfast. Have a good dinner.”

”Thanks. Don’t get beaten up.”

”Harry,”

“What?”

“Be careful.” Harry hung up. He wasn’t sure why Lou had thrown that in and he tried to dismiss it. Not with much luck. He thought about calling Josette, Why? Guilty? He hadn’t done anything. He had met Chris and gone to a museum and now they were going out to dinner. Was social interaction against the law? Or a sin? Harry exhaled sharply, pursing his lips. Then he walked the stairs to his room.

***

“You’ve picked the perfect little candlelit bistro?” Chris asked with a sly, slight smile as she came down the stairs. She had changed into a loose beige top and dark slacks. She still wore flats and her hair was down from her head, flowing around her face with the occasional errant strand hovering near her eyes. She would periodically brush these away with the back of her hand.

“Yeah and I’ve paid off the strolling violin players and have the ring in my pocket.” ”Just sweep me off my feet, boy.” ”Don’t you think we’re rushing into it?” ”I’ve only got two fucking weeks here.” She said.

“You’re kind of a wiseass, aren’t you? We didn’t know each other ten hours ago.”

“That’s ok. We’ll make it up as we go along. Anyway, we’re practically neighbors. And our career paths have almost crossed, so just call me comfortable with you.” Harry smiled. He liked this woman in a way he didn’t understand. If he had passed her on the street, he would have glanced at her for a moment and then moved on. She was pretty, she wasn’t beautiful. She was not what Harry considered his “type” although truth be told neither was Josette. Harry had a real thing for Mediterranean types. He liked olive skin, dark hair, dark brown eyes. Petite women. Josette was petite and that was all. Despite her French name she was American. Born in Brooklyn about nine months after her parents came back from a Catholic retreat in Quebec. The less Harry asked about that, the better from his point of view.

Chris almost Scandinavian in appearance. Fair skinned, blonde, solid. Not petite but she had a great ass. Harry noted that as he held the hotel front door for her.

It was only dinner. Nothing wrong with that. They walked to Thayer street and turned south. Harry had asked at the front desk for a restaurant recommendation. The clerk had sniffed that the hotel restaurant was open and fine for dinner. It seemed stuffy to Harry and frankly, a little expensive. The concierge was more helpful. He had told Harry about a small cluster of restaurants on Barrett, about four blocks away. All price ranges. That sounded better. This was the first day in town and they were on a small retainer that didn’t cover first dates. Harry pressed a few pound coins into a handshake with the concierge and had waited for Chris.
“So what are you in the mood for?” Harry asked.

“Doesn’t really matter. I’m game for a lot. Place where I can get some wine though.” ”You always this accommodating?” ”I told you, I’m on vacation.”

“From Rob. You said that. Is it really that bad?”
”Its not good. If you like to be treated like a piece of shit or have your work made fun of or bend to his every wish, I guess it’s great. I don’t so it sucks.” ”Can I ask the obvious? Why don’t you leave?”

“He’s not ready to be left yet.”

”I don’t get it.”

“He’s got a temper, and he’s violent and he’s not ready to deal with being walked out on. He’d come after me and I can’t get far enough away. At least not yet.”

”So you’re trapped.”

”So I’m trapped.”

”I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” They walked together, almost close to each other, for the next block. Harry saw that it was Barrett and motioned to her to turn into the small, pedestrian only street. It was a row of bright, gaudily colored storefronts, lit up to create the atmosphere of a carnival. More lights were strung from the trees in front of an Italian bistro. They gave a soft glow that gently overcame the now twilight sky and lit Chris’s face, softening her around her eyes and cheekbones. Harry noticed her lips. They seemed fuller, rounder and had lost the sharpness they had had in the pub this afternoon. She had put a light coat of gloss lipstick on and it picked up the points of light strung high in the trees. They stopped to read the menu that was posted outside.

“Lets see what else is around.” Chris said.

They checked out the seafood place, the contemporary cuisine joint that seemed a little too pretentious for Harry and the nondescript , indecisive place that wanted to be French, seafood and fusion all at the same time. It had an open front room that abutted the street and space heaters. Chris could smoke. Harry didn’t care. He was out on a date. A what? A date. That had hit him as they were walking up Thayer. He was out with a woman other than Josette for the first time in twelve years and, whatever the truth was, he could allow himself to pretend that he was dating Chris all he wanted. So he did. Nobody knew them. Nobody cared. There was nobody they knew to bump into that had to have things explained to them. It felt good to Harry. Really good and he wasn’t sure why. The nondescript place it was. The waiter seated them. Chris ordered a bottle of wine-ok with you? Harry nodded. She pulled out her cigarettes. Then they talked, sending the waiter away four times. Chris told Harry about her work. From photo researcher to photo editor to photo director to her own freelance business when photo director meant playing politics more than finding great work.

Harry told Chris about the aborted law career. LSAT scores good enough to get in to law school, but not the schools Harry wanted to get into. So off for an MBA he went and back into the business of publishing he had been in for ten years. Then Intaglio.

They talked about relationships. Old boy and girlfriends, travel, adventures a little of their current spouses. Harry the basic facts,, Chris only to proclaim that: ”You never can predict how some shit is going to wind up.” They drank wine. Chris ordered a Pinot and made a point of hating “Sideways” for how popular a pretty weak movie had made a good wine.

”I’ve always like Pinot. Now that fucking movie makes me look trendy. Fuck that.”

One bottle was emptied. Chris ordered another and it was soon down to one glass. The waiter had given up returning to the table every fifteen minutes. It was Sunday night. The place was relatively empty so he could sit at the bar smoking Gitannes until they would finally call him over.

Chris stubbed out her cigarette and emptied her wine glass. Harry moved to re fill it and she covered the top with her hand.

“I’ve had enough for now. I don’t want to get totally shitfaced.” Harry put the bottle back into the marble chiller.

“I just want to say something.” Chris continued, “This is going to sound, well, look, just take this for what it’s meant to be. We’re both here for a few weeks. We’re away from our, well you’re away from your wife and I’m away from Rob. I don’t know if you’ve ever done anything like this before. I haven’t and I don’t want you to think that I just, well. Look, let me just offer this: If you want to sleep together. Have sex. No commitments, no questions asked. I’m offering. No questions asked.” She looked at him and her eyes seemed to glow to Harry. She did not blink. She spoke clearly. She kept looking at him.

Harry stared back at her with his mouth just slightly open. He had been talking to Chris, listening to her but also stealing looks below her neckline when a passer-by distracted her. It was, or had been, innocent enough, or so Harry rationalized to himself. Now it all changed and it wasn’t because Harry had been caught with his eyes focused a little too low. Suddenly a Penthouse Forum letter was playing itself out in real time and he felt like a cold towel had been snapped across his face. He could not feel his feet. He replayed the last words out of Chris’s mouth back to himself to prove somehow they were real. Harry had first, this afternoon, found Chris pretty. Later he had found her pretty and interesting and tonight she was pretty and interesting and desirable. Now Chris had completed the equation by being pretty, interesting, desirable and HIS, if he so chose. And it seemed so easy. To choose, to collect. And yet Harry also, almost instinctively knew that if the first words out of his mouth after that offer were to be trivial or stupid, the offer was off. He was stunned. He collected his thoughts, smiled and opened his mouth to speak.

“So, buy me a drink?” Lou pulled back a chair and sat down across from them. ”Harry, would you introduce me?” Lou looked at Chris and smiled.

Chris smiled back. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Lou said. “Harry, another catatonic episode?” ”Chris. This is my friend and partner Lou Fugazy. Lou, this is Chris Adams. She’s a photo editor.”

“Very nice to meet you.” Lou said. “Mind if I join you for a drink?”

”No, please do.” Chris said.

”Ah. Lou. So, what did you follow us?” Harry asked.

“All the way from the hotel.”

”Really?”

”No.”

Harry smiled and exhaled slowly and wondered how much Lou had heard and hoped that he had been dull enough to collect his thoughts and say nothing for a moment or two. Maybe Lou had chanced upon Chris looking quietly at Harry while Harry sat there wide eyed and blank faced, trying to organize the riot of words in his head. to come out in the right order. Jesus, maybe Lou had just come across two people quietly drinking wine together.

“Checking out the restaurants?” Chris asked, lighting up another cigarette.

“I actually ate already.” Harry felt a shot of relief go through him. “Stopped at some kosher sandwich place on Baker street for, what do they call it here, take away?”

”Take away.” Chris acknowledged.

“Can I get you a menu, sir?” The waiter had returned.

“No, thank you. I just stopped to say hello to my friends.”

”Would you care to order?” He asked Chris, expecting to be sent away again.

”Ahhmm. Actually yes please.” Said Chris. “I’d like the sea bass. Oh, can we have another bottle of Pinot?”

”Certainly. Sir?”

”May I have the salmon please? Lou, you sure you don’t want anything?”

”If you don’t mind, can I get a bottle of Pellegrino.” Lou was not a drinker.

“Yes, sir.” Dinner came and Lou drank his water and while Harry and Chris ate, Lou made small talk about being in London and working for Owens Publishing and the weather and Syracuse basketball this year. Harry and Chris joined in between mouthfuls. Chris looked nonchalant. Harry was doubting his own sanity until Chris’s foot rested against his ankle and she looked at him with her blue green eyes. Harry had a question to answer and he wasn’t sure how.

Six years ago Harry had been working at Springer in the Flatiron Building in New York City. He was editing medical texts for an icy woman named Ruth who wore the same shade of deep crimson-brown lipstick every day. It never seemed to smudge, smear or appear anything other than perfect. It was a decent job, paid well and was in a relatively fun neighborhood. He and Josette had the co-op on eighty second street, were having sex every three weeks and Josette was doing volunteer work six nights a week with the mayor’s committee of something-or-other on homelessness. Harry came home nights to an empty apartment, fixed himself a drink or three and watched TV or listened to old Stones albums with his headphones blasting Let It Bleed. Josette usually got home around eleven. She and Harry compared notes of the day, what had to be done tomorrow and then went to bed while Josie got herself something to eat.

Ruth hired a woman, more of a girl actually, named Cheryl, as a copyeditor. Fresh out of UMass, Cheryl was from Canton and spoke with a heavy Massachusetts accent that made Harry think of the sea and fresh cod even though Canton was landlocked at the end of Interstate 95.

Cheryl was fair skinned and intensely strawberry blonde. She had a crooked smile and did not work hard at all. She made friends with Laurie the receptionist and spent two hours every morning talking to Laurie while she clutched her tea mug. Harry was not impressed with her professionally but lusted after her nonetheless. Cheryl liked to ski. Harry caught that much passing by Laurie’s desk and turned and talked about skiing Loon Mountain in New Hampshire. Cheryl talked about skiing Sunday River in Maine and Harry said he had never skied there but would like to try. Harry kept ski banter up with Cheryl from early November until January. He heard about the apartment she had moved into and the lighting fixtures she was trying to install. At night, watching TV, Harry fantasized about putting in lighting fixtures for Cheryl and once installed, he came down off the ladder and tripped on the last step and Cheryl grabbed him before he fell into the stove. They held each other, looked in each other’s eyes and kissed feverishly. It was a great fantasy. In January, Harry was hanging out at Cheryl’s desk. They were talking skiing and the good base that New England had and Harry said that they should take a road trip.

“Yeah,” said Cheryl, “If I don’t pay my rent for a few months, I could probably swing it.”

”That shouldn’t be an obstacle.” Harry said.

”Can’t afford it.”

”I could pick up the cost of your ticket.” Harry put the offer on the table and immediately began to wonder how to pull it off without Josette noticing.

Cheryl’s voice went flat, dead. “I won’t do that.”

”What?”

”I won’t go out with a married man.”

Before that, and ever since, it was the closest Harry had gotten to cheating.

Dinner was over and the table was cleared. Lou had finished his mineral water and asked Harry and Chris how much he owed. “Expense it.” Harry said with a little too much bravado. “Buy a round tomorrow.” Chris said evenly. Lou got up, said his good-byes, kissed Chris’s hand and left. Harry was struggling with a tip in pounds even though the laws of percentages had not changed. His mind was focused on other questions. Harry signed the charge slip, tucked his copy in his wallet, sat back and looked at Chris.

She was sitting back too. Smiling at him. Her eyes were lit up and reflected the lights of the boutique across the way. She looked peaceful for the first time today. There was also mischief in her smile. Harry smiled back.

“Let’s take a walk.” He said.

“Lets.” They got up, Harry held the door for her and then followed her out. They said nothing. They walked down Barrett to the corner of Gee’s Court. Harry touched the back of Chris’s hand with his. She reached around and held his hand, wrapping her fingers around his in individual embraces. He looked at her and she smiled back at him with a lock of blonde almost covering one eye. She moved her other hand to brush it away and Harry reached to hold that hand with his. She dropped the hand and Harry gently brushed her hair aside. They stood looking at each other for the moment and then Harry slowly turned and they began to walk again.

Five paces and Harry gently pulled his hand away from Chris’s and wrapped his arm around her. She tilted her head towards him and put her arm around his waist and they circled back around Gee’s Court to Barrett and past the restaurant to return to the hotel.

The Bad End

The sky was a heavy gray, but not uniform. There were darker patches than others, it looked like an expanse of cigarette ash. It was cold too, at least to Harry it was. With temperatures, he guessed, in the low sixties it was a far cry from the early June heat wave they were having at home.

Harry had been characteristically early to the airport. To kill a few minutes, Harry had sat in his car listening to a college alternative rock station and reading McCullough’s 1776. He wasn’t sure what kind of remarks reading that book in London would draw so he wasn’t concerned about finishing and picking up another title en route. Newark terminal was enough of a sound circus to Harry that he couldn’t concentrate on reading anything more than a Starbucks’ sign so he dealt with the heat and caught a few last quiet minutes in the car. Sitting still with the windows open he was marginally comfortable. That margin faded when sweat dripped off his face onto the pages. No, it’s hot. Hunker down, go inside, put up with the ‘special’ security announcements every three minutes.

The intensity of the heat wave had also ensured that Harry had nothing even remotely warm to wear in London. He figured that if it was the tropics at home, Europe would at least be comfortable. Wrong. He was a tall, tan, shivering man in a shirt and no jacket. So much for not standing out.

Chris though, looked quite comfortable in her blue wool top and wool skirt. Her blonde hair was in a new barette. Her face was lightly tanned and a little ruddy. Almost as if she were blushing. She had broad shoulders. There was something hard and firm about her body. Toned. The woman was an athlete. She could have been heavy if she didn’t pay attention, fat if she stopped trying altogether, but she didn’t. She was fit. Harry held the door for her. She smiled and her eyes flashed. Blue, then green, then blue again.

“Thanks for waking me up.”

“You either slept in those or you’re the fastest woman dresser I know.”

She smiled again. Flash. Blue, green, blue.

“This way?” he asked.

“Good as any.”

“What do you feel like eating?” ”Don’t really care. Just hungry. Ate on the plane but that was hours ago.” ”Plus it was plane food.”

”It wasn’t bad. Continental puts on a good spread in business class.” ”Ah. U.S. Airways. Spent the night making love to my knees.” They walked down George Street, she a little ahead. At Baker, they crossed and kept going straight. There were some commercial storefronts that looked promising, at least more promising than the neighborhood rows of flats that were tucked in the side roads. Harry was getting hungry too and if Chris was anything like his wife, she would soon be ravenous and irrational. Harry looked ahead for any sign of food. Chris kept walking. They passed an exotic car dealer. There was a Lamborghini in the showroom, parked on a slab of black polished rock.

“That’s bitching.” She said.

“Waste of power in this town.”

“Most towns.” ”Like Lambos?”

“What?” ”Lamboghinis. That’s the car you’re looking at.” ”It just looks bitching. I like the lines. They’re bold, tough, almost sexy.” Harry looked at the car. The lines were that. “You’ve got an eye for finer things.” ”This doesn’t look promising.” Chris said, looking at some of the shops around the car dealer. “We should probably turn around.”

They re-crossed Baker and walked back towards the hotel. Chris turned down a side street and Harry almost didn’t notice she had, he was still scanning ahead for a restaurant. He followed her. They walked in relative silence. Harry thought that unusual for two people who had just met but he was not a big talker so he was comfortable for the moment. He didn’t like to converse unless there was a point. Here, the point was to find food and they had pretty much hashed that out. They kept walking for a few blocks, straight on the sidewalk until some construction forced them off and on a detour immediately against the side of a building. They passed by the usual English signs apologizing for construction and listing the completion date for the project as two months ago. The building was made with reddish stone with brushed chrome window frames. The dirt from the construction had covered the glass and the windows were almost completely opaque. There were lights on inside and people, very few, were sitting around. Harry looked in.

“Hey, this is a pub.” Chris stopped and looked. There was a door about twenty feet ahead under a London Pride ESB sign also announcing the name of the pub: The Bad End. She pointed.

“Wanna try?” Harry asked.

“Sure, nothing else looks open and this isn’t the most interesting neighborhood.” Harry held the door and they went in. The place was almost empty. They picked a small table just to the right of the bar, under the chalkboard menus. Service was nowhere to be seen so Harry craned his neck and began to read the menus above them.

“You want me to read the specials?” ”No, that’s ok.” Harry read quietly and settled on a sandwich. Smithfield ham, swiss cheese. He looked around the place. It looked like it had been re-decorated in 1964 and not touched since. There was a lot of formica and plastic and bad carpet that had been worn threadbare. The bar at least was wood and looked like it had been saved from the original bar. Nothing else though. It all felt like a government movie for “Forward Looking, Modern Britain” that had stopped looking anywhere and was just surviving frozen in time. A heavy set older woman in a long apron came out from the kitchen and saw them. ”Hello. What can I get you?” ”Chris?” ”Can I get a beer?” ”What kind, Miss?” ”Don’t really care.” ”Bitter?” ”Sure.” ”You sir?” ”Porter, its cold out.” ”Yes sir. Pint or half?” ”Half.” It was not yet two o’clock and Harry felt funny about drinking this early. Plus he hadn’t eaten since early this morning and he didn’t want to get foggy on this woman he had yet to share two complete sentences with.

“Miss?” ”Pint.” ”I’ll have a pint as well.” Harry said. “Cold out.” And he smiled at Chris.

They ordered the same sandwich.

She opened her purse and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Lights. “You mind?” Harry was an ex-smoker and now a runner. It was less that he minded and more that he hated to be close to the things. He still missed smoking after nine years and knew it wouldn’t take much for him to go back. Running was great, but you can’t run in a pub with a beer in your hand. “No, go ahead.” Chris had already lit the match and touched the cigarette when he was almost finished his response.

“My husband hates me smoking. I can get away with it here.” Harry had noticed the diamond engagement ring and wedding ring. It was a detail he usually didn’t miss. Not that it made a difference, he was married. But marriage was the first open page of someone’s story and the easiest to read. You had to turn pages for the rest.

“How long?” he pointed at her hand. ”Married? Eight years.” ”Twelve.” ”Yeah, well Rob’s a fucker and I’d just as soon it were over.” ”That’s an interesting conversation starter. I was sort of expecting ‘where are you from?’”

“New Jersey.” ”Pennsylvania. Where in Jersey?” ”Clinton, little town-“ ”Right off 78. About forty five minutes from me.” ”Where are you?” ”Just across the border.” ”Small world. No ring?”
“Just not wearing it.” ”Because?” ”Because, well. I don’t know. I haven’t worn it in a while.”

“Issues?” She asked.

Harry didn’t answer right away. There are times, this was one and he knew it, when you were tired enough to say anything. Finally, he measured his words out: “There are issues. Things aren’t so great right now, but we’re working on them.” ”Yeah. So are we.”

“Problems?” He asked. ”You could say. There are trust issues.” How tired was Chris? Harry thought. ”There usually are.” ”Yeah well things suck sometimes. Doesn’t change that fact that our counselor keeps suggesting we’d be better off separated.” ”What do you think?” ”I think he’s right.” ”So?” ”So Rob basically reacted by storming out and we haven’t been back since.” ”Are you leaving him?” ”It’s not that easy.” ”Kids?” ”No, thank Christ. But it’s still not that easy. Is it? Or is there another reason you’re not wearing a ring?”

“No. We’ll work through the problems.” ”What kind of problems?”

“Support, companionship, being there for each other.” Harry’s control slipped.

“Yeah?” “Yeah, well, we don’t have any of that. We’re not there for each other. At least that’s what we accuse each other of, under so many subterfuges.” ”Are you there for her?”

“I try to be. Do the best I can.” “Really?”

Harry thought about it for a moment. “No, not really.”

“So I guess things have just gotten old and boring after twelve years? No more excitement, no more thrills?” Harry noted and tried to ignore the lilt of sarcasm in her voice.

“Maybe. Maybe we’ve just grown apart.”
“Affairs?”

“No. She’s never home but she’s not having an affair. I know that sounds naïve but, well, its just going to have to keep sounding naïve. I am at home. She tells me I’m there drinking too much so she stays away so I stay at home. Great little cycle we’ve invented.”

“Do you?” Harry knew she didn’t mean stay at home.

“From time to time.”
“It helps take the sharp edge off of being alone doesn’t it?” Chris asked, the lilt gone from her voice.

“It does.” “Got it under control?”

“I think so.”

The barmaid brought the pints. Harry sprinkled a little salt on the coaster. Chris stubbed her cigarette out and laughed: “Yeah, isn’t that the lie we all tell each other then?”
”Uh huh. Cheers.” Harry mockingly raised his glass. Chris clinked hers to his. They each had a sip and then put the glasses down quietly. They sat. Both stared out the filmy window into the street, the dead end across the road. Probably the cul de sac the pub was named in honor of. Chris lit a new cigarette. Lunch was brought out. She kept smoking. Harry waited to start eating until she was done. Then they both began at their sandwiches.

“So what do you do?” Harry asked, washing a mouthful of the surprisingly salty ham down with his Porter.

“Photo researcher and editor.” ”Print.” ”Yep.” ”Who for?” ”Freelance. Conde Nast, Hachette Fillipaci, whoever needs me.” ”Convenient location, Clinton.” ”Country living. About an hour into the city and I don’t have to put up with the bullshit. I lived in Manhattan for a year while I worked at Doubleday and couldn’t stand it. When I married Rob, I made him promise me a big house in the country. That’s the one promise he’s kept.”

“Doubleday? When were you there?” ”Early nineties.” ”Did you know Mike Carney?” She put her food down. She looked at him and smiled. Flash. Blue, green, blue. “Mike Carney? I love him! What a sarcastic son of a bitch. Used to call me ‘Kingsley’, that was my maiden name. ‘Kingsley, what the fuck is this?’ What a character. How do you know Mike?” ”Used to work with him. I was at Doubleday in the mid-eighties. I remember Mike had that sign on his desk…” ”Assume Nothing.” ”That was it. He copyedited books I worked on. I remember he kept a bottle of real rotgut shit in his desk drawer. One afternoon, I was passing by. ‘Get in here Moss’ he says and starts pouring. Turns out the guy in the next office over had swallowed a gun the night before. Mike was self medicating. So he and I got piss drunk that afternoon reminiscing about Alan.” ”Assume nothing. He was a fucking character.”
“Still is if the shitty scotch hasn’t killed him.You know, if you and I walked in on him, together, he’d probably shit himself.” Chris smiled and took another bite. They ate quietly for a few more minutes.

“So you’re still in publishing?” She asked Harry.

“Consulting. We’re a consulting group that looks at properties. Mostly for publishers. Right now we’re working for Owen Media Group.” ”I have a friend there. Evan. He’s one of their book editors.” ”Don’t know him. We’re dealing with the magazine financial guys. You ever do any photo work with them?” ”Not yet, but its only a matter of time.” Lunch was almost done. Harry was afraid of sitting in the pub for the rest of the afternoon. It was becoming much too pleasant an idea. “Got any plans for today?”

“No. Thought I’d see what happens.” ”I was going to go to the Imperial War Museum. That’s probably a little boring-“

“I wouldn’t mind.” ”You sure?” ”I’ll let you know if I’m about to keel over. You can catch me.” Harry laughed. “I’ll do better than that, let me buy you dinner tonight?” ”Sure.”

“Are you always this accommodating?” ”I’m on vacation.” ”Oh. Sorry. I thought you were here on business. ” ”No, I’m working. I’m on vacation from Rob.”