Chapter Two

The early morning sun gleamed against the impressive glass doors of the Prime Investment Bank and Jim strolled up the steps, pushed his way through the huge revolving door and emerged in the spacious and opulent expanse of the lobby. His heels clicked against the marble floor, as, head down, he made his way past the reception desk to the elevator.

“Good Morning, Mr Fletcher.”

Jim tilted his head and nodded at Abigail, one of the junior clerks, whose eyes were wide open in disbelief at the sight of Jim wearing sunglasses in the office.

“Jimmy! There you are!”

Jim spun round and saw Kate Milton approaching him from the other side of the building. Damn! This was all he needed. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head in a neat bun with two loose tendrils dangling either side of her face. She made her way towards him in tiny steps, her pin-striped pencil skirt not allowing her to walk any faster.

“What’s with the shades?”

Jim reached up and lowered them slightly so they were perched on the end of his nose.

“Ouch. What happened?” she gasped, with genuine concern on her face.

“Just a little accident last night,” he said. “Nothing to worry about. I’m fine, really.”

“Hmm.” She eyed him up and down. “Well you still look fabulous,” she teased, and Jim smiled, squirming uncomfortably.“How are you fixed for this evening? It’s about time we got our heads together and talked business.” She looked into his eyes intently. “Perhaps we could have a little fun, too. Dinner?”

Jim’s response was immediate. “I’m sorry. I’ve got plans this evening,” he said. “I really can’t cancel. Perhaps another time?”

“Jim Fletcher, your excuses get worse by the day,” she huffed, turning away from him. “Anyway, I’m in a rush so I won’t argue now, but next time, I won’t accept another excuse.”

Jim watched, relieved, as she sashayed towards the exit, her stiletto heels clicking annoyingly on the floor.

“We’ll definitely do lunch soon!” he hollered across the foyer.

“DINNER!” she yelled back.

Upstairs in his office, Jim slipped off his charcoal grey jacket and hung it on one of the brass pegs behind his door. He’d only just laid his sunglasses on his desk and made a start with his mail when John strolled in.

“What the hell?” he said, glaring at Jim. “That eye doesn’t look too good.” He splayed his hands on the desk and leant forwards, studying it. “In fact, it looks more like an asshole to me.”

Jim glared at him. “Shut up and get me a coffee.”

John stood up and paced the office, ignoring him.

“I’m talking to you! Get me a coffee, John.”

“Say it nicely or get it yourself.” John stood there challenging him with his hands on his hips, his eyebrows raised in amusement.

Jim looked at him, exasperated. “Would you please get me a coffee, John?”

“Much better,” John smiled. “Remember, I’m your friend first and your assistant second."

“I never had any doubt about that. I’m not in the habit of getting myself punched in the face for saving an assistant’s ass.”

John stared at him open mouthed and then closed it again. He had a point.

“Touché,” he said. “I’ll get your coffee.”

Leaning back in his chair, Jim slid the first letter out of its envelope and began to read.

“GODDAMMIT! Jim, your eye looks like an…”

“Asshole.  I know. Don’t you start.” He looked up at Mark. “Why don’t you make an announcement over the tannoy? We could sell tickets on the door. I seem to be quite the talking point this morning.”

Mark chuckled and leant against the side of the desk. “I need a word, Jim.”

Jim put the paperwork back on the desk and looked at his boss. “Problem?”

“You’ve been working like a machine these last twelve months. It hasn’t gone unnoticed.”Jim eyed him curiously, wondering where this was going, as Mark continued, “And I do appreciate everything you’ve done for the bank.”

“I know that, Mark.”

"Regional Office has been in touch. They need a senior in Pittsburgh.”

“Well, have a good flight.”

“Your jokes don’t get any better, Fletcher.” He stood up to face him.“It’s a big investment deal, Jim. I can’t trust anyone else with it.

“And I suppose they need me right now?”

Mark nodded. “I’ll get Kate to cover you here.”He looked into Jim’s eyes. “I’d be very grateful.”

“Well, seeing as you asked so nicely…”

Mark slapped him on the back. “Good man. You’ll be there for three days, max. Take next week off.”

“Oh, I will,” Jim told him.“And the next three after that.  Or did that slip your mind?”

Mark raised his eyes to the ceiling.  Jim had booked the break months ago; some talk of Paris in the spring. “Of course I didn’t forget,” he lied.  “I’ll get the files ready. “Oh and Jim…” he said, walking towards the door, “…you might want to take those sunglasses with you.”

Jim looked at him curiously and then remembered the black eye. Knowing full well what Mark was implying he said, “Well, with all that sunshine, it’d be bloody stupid to forget them.”

“One coffee, Jim – black, just as you like it,” John grinned, placing it on the desk while Jim ignored him, picking up the phone.

“Abigail. Jim Fletcher. I need the next flight to Pittsburgh. Give me a couple of hours to get my things together. Yep…mail it over, thanks.”

“Been summoned again?” John said.

“Just for a few days, but don’t worry, you’ll have the delightful Kim to give you your orders.”

“At least she makes her own damn coffee.”

“I need a favour.” Jim opened the drawer to his desk and pulled out his spare set of house keys, handing them over. “Two walks a day, John. Long ones.”

“Do I get the master bedroom?”

“No.”

“Merc?”

“No.”

“Jag?”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“Well, if I’m staying at yours, I need to drive something.”

“Ok, you can use the Jag. But one scratch and you’re fired.”

-

“You sure you don’t want an alcoholic drink?” smiled Walt, watching Minnie suck on the straw of the strawberry milkshake in front of her on the Formica table of his favourite diner. “I mean, we could go to a bar if you like.”

Minnie dropped the straw from her lips, “You need to get drunk to be on a date with me?” she snapped back, in mock seriousness.

“Now, you know that’s not true! But didn’t I see you drinking Martinis that first night? Even though you’re barely old enough!” He raised one eyebrow and frowned with the other, a caricature of sternness.

“I am nineteen!” she gasped. “Legal, in this state! Just because I like milkshakes more than Martinis, doesn’t make me a child! And anyhow, tough guy – who drinks Cokes at a dance?”

“A driver, for one!”

“Sensible,” she nodded appreciatively, and took another mighty suck of the thick shake, her rosy cheeks hollowing with the strain of it, emphasising her delicate cheekbones, and the rosebud lips that Walter could hardly ever resist kissing. He smiled to himself, because for all her protestations, she did look like a child. A woman-child, though – a young, pretty, fresh-faced sexy doll. Like I’m an old man! he thought. I’m only twenty-one myself, but somehow she makes me feel protective over her. I want to take care of her. She’s gorgeous!

“Ah! Brain freeze!” Minnie winced and clapped her hand to her forehead. “Ooh! Ow! Ouch!” She looked at him with one eye screwed closed, adding, “But the good news is –this means I do have a brain!”

“Never did doubt it. Although it does work in mysterious ways.”

“So, genius…” she said, after swallowing the mouthful of hot coffee from the cup Walter had passed her to counteract her icy experience. “What do you want to do later?”

A smile played on Walter’s lips. “Marry you,” he said softly.

-

When the wheels hit the runway at Pittsburgh International, the sun was slowly sinking into the horizon. Carrying only hand luggage, Jim was hailing a cab within half an hour and relaxing in the sleek bar of the Regency Hotel by nine.

There was a scattering of people in the hotel lounge, mainly business types with their files and laptops spreading across the low, oak tables. Jim was glad he’d been able to leave his work upstairs in the executive suite Abigail had booked for him, and he sat back on the three-seater leather sofa and sipped his whisky. The flight had been relatively short but had given him the opportunity to read the brief Mark had given him before he’d left. He was more than confident of closing the deal and unlike his fellow hotel guests, he was able to put work to one side and forget about it, at least for a while.

A few months earlier, he’d seen the work of an up-and-coming artist from London who was having her first solo exhibition in Paris in ten days’ time and Jim had fully intended to be there. There was a self-portrait he was particularly interested in. Now, though, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to go. He’d initially imagined spending solitary evenings on the bank of The Seine, sipping fine French wine, watching the world go by, and perusing all the city had to offer by day. He’d particularly wanted to see La Défense and The Grand Arch, but now the thought of flying to Europe and spending a month alone filled him with dread. If he wanted Wilde’s picture so badly, he could make a simple call and buy it. And of course, he had Milo to think of too. What kind of man deserted his dog – especially one who was so loyal and obedient? No; he’d made up his mind. Paris could wait.

Finishing his drink, he headed out to the foyer. The pretty girl at the desk smiled at him and nodded politely as he passed. As perfectly presented as she was, she looked no different from the hundreds of girls he’d dealt with at hotel reception desks for most of his working life. He wondered briefly if there was a ‘reception school’, where girls were taught to leave their natural gestures and characteristics behind and adopt a universal conformity. Their lack of personality bored him.

Out on the street it was humid, the sky fading from grey to black. Jim took a much needed lungful of air and dialled his home number.

“Jim Fletcher.”

“One: you are not, and will never be Jim Fletcher. Two: don’t ever answer my house phone. Three: what are you doing in my bedroom?”

“How do you know I’m in your bedroom?” John said, totally dumbfounded.

“Because the phone in the hallway is unplugged and the one in the study needs a new battery.”

John laughed. “I’m trying to get your stupid dog off the bed. Does he always sleep with his head on your pillow?”

“No. Yes. Well, mostly. Anyway, that’s none of your business. Did you walk him?”

“Like I said I would, boss. We went for pizza. He loved it.”

“Don’t feed my dog pizza, John. That’s an order.”

“He likes it, Jim. That’s what the crusts are for.”

“John, listen to me. Milo with pizza is like you with women.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“He thinks he’s enjoying it at the time but then he’s violently ill in the morning. No pizza, ok?”

John thought about it. “Right. Got it. No pizza.”

Jim smiled, happy to hear his friend’s voice. He’d entrusted John with Milo and the house many times over the years and there wasn’t another person who he’d think of calling in an emergency. There was Frankie, of course, but that‘d be a long shot.

“So how’s Pittsburgh?”

“Dull, John. I just thought I’d give you a call before I got my head down for the night.

“It’s not even ten! What’s the matter with you? Live a little…go and have some fun, buddy.”

“Night, John. Sweet dreams,” he said, and hung up the phone.

The three days passed in a blur and Jim, with the contract in the bag, touched down at La Guardia feeling rather exhausted but with a smile on his face. It was good to be home.

“You’d make a great househusband,” he told John, who’d not only tidied the kitchen but had stocked up on some essentials. He’d even stripped the bed and put the sheets in the laundry basket.

“Fancy a beer later?” John asked, as he was leaving.“A couple at the Opal?”

“Much as I’d love to, I’ve got a busy schedule. Full day of meetings tomorrow and a charity event on Friday. I need to get the speech written.”

“What’s it about?”

“Supporting the reduction of international poverty.”

“Oh. Simple stuff, then.”

Jim sighed. “The problem is, there’s too much to say and not enough time to say it. Building up communities, feeding the poor, providing shelter, clothing, education… the list is endless.”

“Well, good luck with that, pal. How much is the bank coughing up?”

“Nothing. This one’s a personal project.”

John raised his eyebrows. He always thought Jim’s involvement with charities was just a part of his job. “I suppose I’d do the same if I was in your financial position,” he said.

Jim laughed. “I started off with a ten dollar donation when I was eighteen, way before I was wealthy. I’ve been involved with them ever since. You don’t need to be rich to make a difference, John.”

John nodded. “Of course not,” he said, suddenly feeling awkward. “Perhaps you could tell me all about it one of these days.”

“Love to,” Jim said.  “Now…get the hell off my property – I’ve got work to do.”

He stood in the doorway with Milo, watching as John made his way across the forecourt and down the drive, before heading back into the house.

“So Milo,” Jim said, getting on his hands and knees to say hello properly. “Did you miss me, buddy?”

For early on a Friday night, The Opal was busy and at least three quarters of the tables were taken. It had been a long week and Jim, sitting in the corner with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his elbows on the table, was glad it was over.

John took a swig of his beer, “I’d be happy to be flying across the country every coupla days.”

“It’s different for you,” Jim retorted. You’re more spontaneous.”

“Don’t blame me for your rigidity,” John said, swigging his beer.

“Jim? Rigid?” Frankie cut in, laughing, “When did Jim last get a hard-on for anything but work?”

Jim glared at him. “What the hell has this got to do with my sex life?”

“When was the last time you got any?” Frankie asked, and suddenly both men were looking at him, eager for his answer.

“I don’t know,” Jim snapped. “And to be honest, it’s none of your business.”

“Kate,” John said, with a satisfied grin on his face.

“What?”

“Kate Milton. She’s been in and out of your office more times than…”

“I have NOT slept with Kate Milton.” The mere thought of it made him shudder.

“Well, I don’t believe you.” John sat back in his chair, challenging him. “She’s a hot little number, Jim. Don’t tell me you turned her down.”

“Did you turn her down?” Jim hit back, “She’s been using my office for the last week, ordering your ass around. She must have made a play for you.”

 John chuckled. “I think she’s waiting for you, bud.”

Jim sighed. He’d known these guys since high school and they were supposed to be his best friends, but it seemed they knew nothing at all.

“Kate has never interested me,” he said. “Yes…before you start…I know she’s attractive. I know she’s interested. But she’s just too…” he paused, wondering exactly what he was trying to say. “She’s too laborious. Too… oh, I don’t know… prickly.”

Frankie snorted and almost spat his beer on the table.

“What’s so funny?” Jim said, glaring at him.

“High school. The wonderful Rachel. Remember her?”

How could he forget? Jim put his head in his hands. “Not now, Frankie. I’m really not in the mood.”

“I’m all ears,” John said, leaning into the table. “It was so long ago, I’ve forgotten exactly what happened. But I know it was a good story.”

“There was a girl in our class, remember? Rachel…what was it? Brainwave! That’s it.” Frankie said.

“Braithwaite,” Jim corrected him, closing his eyes in defeat.

“She really liked Jim. Anyway, one day she invited him to her place to…umm…”

“Study,” Jim butted in, staring at the table.

“Yes, to study. Only when he gets there, it seems she’s in the mood for a little…luu-urve.”

John laughed, “Yeah?”

“She starts to take off Jim’s pants and he freaks out, grabbing them and trying to pull them back up.”

Jim sat there mortified, unable to comprehend why, of all the people he could have chosen to be his two best friends, he got landed with these idiots.

“So…while he’s trying to pull his pants on, she pushes him on the bed, straddles him, and tells him to be quiet. That’s when it happens.”

“What happens?” John said, his eyes, bright and wide in anticipation.

“Her father walks in the room and wants to kill him.”

“Like any father would,” John said, laughing.

“Most fathers wouldn’t go to fetch their gun, John.”

Jim stood up. “Drinks?” he said, not wanting to hear the end of his story. Without looking, they both nodded at him and he trundled off to the bar.

“Go on,” John pleaded.

“Jim didn’t know what the hell to do and he ended up jumping out of the window,” Frankie snorted, recalling the scene. “He landed on a cactus in the front yard and ran all the way home with spikes sticking out of his ass.”

They both doubled over with laughter.

“Have you two finished yet?” Jim said, standing a foot away from the table with three fresh beers. “Because I’m sure as hell not sitting down till you have.”

“Finished,” they said in unison, completely straight-faced.

Jim put the beers on the table, pulled out his chair and sat down.

“Look, you’ve got money, a nice house, God knows how many cars, and I suppose you’re not that bad looking,” Frankie said.

“Your point is?”

“You can get any girl you want, Jim. You’ve got four weeks of freedom. A few nice ladies…a little fun…”

“Thanks for the suggestion,” Jim said, “but no thanks. You know it’s not my scene.”

“You need to loosen up.”

“And you need to concentrate on your own messed-up life, Frankie.”

Frankie raised his hands in the air. “Whoa, Jim…that’s a bit harsh. What the hell’s eating you lately?”

“I said exactly the same thing yesterday, Frank,” John piped up.

Jim looked at his friends. And yes – they were his friends – they were the two people who’d been with him for most of his life, through school and college and all the ups and downs over the past twenty years.  But he felt snappy, touchy, and he didn’t know why. The guys were only having some fun. What the hell was getting him so wound up?

“Tori,” Jim suddenly said.

They both turned to look at him, confused.

“The last woman I slept with.”

“Man, that was over two years ago.” Frankie sat up straight and for the first time all evening had a serious look on his face. “She really got to you, huh?”

“NO!” Jim took a deep breath and blew out through his mouth in one long stream. “She didn’t get to me at all,” he said. “That’s the point.”

“Man, you were with her forever,” Frankie said. “And you were all sorts of messed up when she left you.”

Jim looked at his friend. “I was the one who left her. And my messed up-ness had nothing to do with anything – other than knowing she wasn’t right for me.”

He was getting tired of trying to explain himself. Yes, his relationship with Tori was wonderful for the first few months and things were great. Until they weren’t.

Jim took a swig of his beer, relieved that John was standing up to go to the bathroom. He really didn’t want to talk about this.

Frankie sat back, scanning the room. “She looks nice,” he said, changing the subject and peering over Jim’s shoulder, nodding towards someone.

“I told you Frankie, I’m not interested.”

“Just turn around and have a look! She’s got a great pair of legs.”

Jim didn’t flinch, determined not to turn around. Was this guy ever going to give up?

Someone else had caught Frankie’s eye. “Well, what about her?” He looked the person up and down, his face quizzical. ”No…”he said, “…maybe not. Too boring; bet she’d be hopeless in bed.”

Jim couldn’t help but laugh and turned his head to glance at the woman Frankie was talking about. She was standing alone at the bar, waiting to be served. Jim gazed at her, a frown beginning to wrinkle his brow.

“Or her!” Frankie went on, his eyes flitting across to the other side of the bar with his mouth hanging open. “Now, she’s hot!”

“Frankie, if she’s so hot, why don’t you make a move?”

“Because she’s way out of my league, my man.”

“So, what have I missed?” John said, returning from the bathroom.

“I’m trying to get Jim laid, but he isn’t playing the game.”

“Can we just drop this?” Jim sighed. He lifted his head, gazing at the ceiling, and then glanced through the half-darkness towards the bar counter. The girl was still there, still alone, talking to the bartender. There was something about her, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“To be fair, Frank,” John said, “this isn’t really the type of place to find Jim a woman, is it?”

“Library?” Frankie offered.

Jim laughed.

“Or…the pet store!” John added.

-

“I still can’t believe you kept it from me all this time!” Darlene shook her head, hurrying along the street beside Minnie, as they made their way to their dress fitting.

“I didn’t know! I keep telling you!”

“You knew for at least a couple of weeks!” Darlene’s voice rose into a squeak.

Sometimes Darlene could be infuriating! “But you’re going out with Tony now anyway, Darlene. What’s the problem?”

“I coulda had at least two weeks extra with him – at the start! That’s two weeks that you and Walt deprived me of… two weeks you owe me!”

Minnie’s head snapped around sharply, wondering just how seriously she meant this, but she saw Darlene’s sly, mocking smile and shook her head in despair. The joke was wearing thin. Even though Minnie knew that Darlene’s mild frustration at the small deception had given rise to outrage and mock-outrage, and had more recently transformed into teasing, it was beginning to nag at her, nibbling away at their closeness.

Minnie inadvertently vented her own frustration on the entrance door of the dressmaker’s store, pushing it so hard that swung back on its hinges and rattled the glass. She clapped her hand to her mouth in shock and embarrassment.

“Oh, so sorry!” Minnie said apologetically to the assistant behind the desk.

“She’s so pumped – so desperate to get married,” explained Darlene, “that she breaks down the door!”

Minnie cast a disparaging glance and explained to the girl behind the desk that they had a fitting, while Darlene picked through the gowns hanging from the racks.

“Hey, this one’s great!” she cried, pulling out the sparkling tulle skirt of one gown.

“Darlene – it’s no good still browsing now. I’ve made my choice.”

“Hmmm… you talking about husbands… or gowns?” Darlene grinned, and gave a lecherous wink. “Oh, but Min – you could still make some changes to your gown – it’s so simple! It’s your big day, so why not make the most of it? What about these sequins or some beading across the bodice – or a bigger skirt?”

Minnie said nothing. She knew what they could afford, and with her dad disabled and her mother working two jobs, they still insisted that they wanted to pay for the wedding, as tradition suggested. Minnie had been very careful with the budget she wanted to spend, and as it was, she was having to sneak in a contribution herself from her pay cheque as a secretary. She’d discreetly asked Madame Flora, the dressmaker, to charge her in two separate bills. Two thirds for her parents, and one-third to Minnie. Walt had generously offered to contribute, too, but she’d asked him if he and his folks could slip in a little something towards the catering. She knew her family had their pride, and she wasn’t greedy for herself, but she also didn’t want anyone to sneer at the frugality of their wedding. Every little helped. But the secrecy, the worry of deceiving her parents, and the conflict between Darlene’s big ideas and her own anxiety about cost was putting a strain on her relationships.

“Aha! Ladies! Welcome!” Madame Flora swept aside the curtain which divided the storefront from her inner sanctum behind the desk. “Come through! Come through!”

Greetings and niceties over, behind the changing screen, Minnie slipped into her new plain white sheath dress, and, struggling with the back zipper, came tentatively out from behind the screen, saying, “Can anyone give me a hand?”

Madame Flora tugged up the zipper, frowning, “Hmmm… maybe I should let it out a fraction.”

“Getting fatter, Minnie? Maybe you need to cut out comfort eating those jelly doughnuts! Or…” Darlene sniggered, “don’t say you’re…” she laughed aloud. “You’re not…!”

“NO!” yelled Minnie crossly, her face burning with humiliation, as the dressmaker eyed her suspiciously.

Darlene exaggerated a shocked look for comic effect, “Only, you shouldn’t be wearing white if…”

“Shut up, Darlene,” Minnie snapped. She was beginning to get a headache, and despite this being supposedly the happiest time of her life, it was becoming a nightmare. Much as she wanted to marry Walt, the wedding preparations were stressing her. She wasn’t even sure she saw the need for a wedding ceremony itself. God knew she loved Walt, without this grand display!  She wished she could just go off with Walt someplace, get married quietly by themselves, dressed in their jeans, sign a wedding certificate and get it over with.

“Hmm,” Darlene said appraisingly, looking Minnie’s gown up and down. “Not exactly Jackie Kennedy.”

“Onassis, now,” corrected Minnie. “And anyway, she’s twice my age. And about a million times richer.”

“Yeah, but… maybe a bit of lace wouldn’t go amiss. That sorta looks like a dress lining as it is now. How would it be to have a long lace kinda dress over that? Could you do that, Madam Flora?”

“Yes, of…”

“NO!” Minnie yelled, and felt herself actually stamp her foot. Darlene was looking to increase the cost by double: probably more. “It’s MY wedding!”

“And don’t we know it!” Darlene muttered under her breath, picking up a magazine and leafing through the pages, seeing nothing.

Minnie turned to Madame Flora, breathing heavily, trying to control her anger, “It’s fine, really. I like it…” she twirled in front of the mirror, a bitter taste of disappointment in her mouth. “It’s what I want. I… I love it.”

“Good,” Madam Flora said tartly, and before the dressmaker went on to discuss the veil and headpiece, Minnie didn’t miss Darlene’s eyes sarcastically rolling upwards, above the magazine she flicked at irritably.

When it was her turn to come out in the maid of honour’s dress, baby blue in the same simple style, Darlene stomped out sulkily, and saying nothing. When Madam Flora took a pin to the waist, stating that it needed to be cinched in a little more, Darlene gave a beam of triumph, and broke her silence to exclaim, “Oh, wow! Am I too slim for it?”

“It’s all the exercise you get, now that you’ve actually got a boyfriend!” Minnie sniped.

“And aren’t you just so bitterly jealous!” Darlene’s eyes flashed dangerously. “With Walt being such a square and all!”

“At least he’s honest – and… honourable!” Minnie defended.

“Oh, yeah – what am I thinking? That’s such a turn on!”

“Ladies!” Madam Flora broke in, fearing for the safety of her stock and all her hard work if a physical cat-fight broke out. “May I show you some hair adornments and lace gloves that might just interest you?”

Darlene and Minnie, scowling at one another, followed Madam Flora to the display case on top of the chest of drawers, where they outwardly cooed with restrained enthusiasm over the silk and plastic hair decorations, whilst both seething with anger within.

-

A few days before, he’d been sitting in the sleek, understated bar of The Regency, relaxing to the sounds of Chopin and barely able to hear the discreet conversations of the other guests.  The atmosphere around him now couldn’t have been more different. People were almost shouting over the music – some awful club mix - and therefore, Jim could hear almost any conversation he chose to tune into. Not that he bothered to. The ambience, too, was very different. The Regency’s muted tones had been replaced by gaudy splashes of colour and glitter, and everyone around him looked either tawdry or flamboyant. He could almost have been sitting in a circus.

He glanced back at the bar. She was still there, talking to the bartender. Jim could see now why she stood out; she wasn’t dressed like the rest of the women. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and although she was wearing a dress, it was simple and elegant; a long way removed from the tight, glitzy and overly-revealing fashion statements surrounding him. Was she wearing make-up at all? If so, it was so subtle, he wasn’t sure. She was fresh-faced and pretty. But she looked sad; troubled. Jim sat back in his chair, studying her. She seemed almost familiar.

“Nice.”

“Sorry?” Jim turned back to look at John, smiling at him.

“I said she looks nice. Maybe not girlfriend material, but definitely wife material. Depends what it is you want!”

Jim sipped his drink. “I’m not looking for a girlfriend or a wife, John.”

“But she looks really gloomy,” Frankie said, and Jim had to agree. She did seem a bit lost; distracted even.

They all watched as she handed something to the bartender, shook his hand, then weaved her way through the crowds and headed for the door. Within seconds she’d gone.

John turned to Jim, raising an eyebrow. “Well, that has to be a first. I can’t remember the last time I saw you interested in someone.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Frankie,” John said. “You know that bartender. Go ask him what she was doing in here. She obviously didn’t come in for a drink.”

“There’s no point,” Jim butted in. “Even if I was interested – which I’m not – she’s gone now.”

“Well, I’m curious, even if you’re not. Go on, Frankie…get to work!”

Frankie tutted, reluctantly stood up and headed across the room. Within a couple of minutes he was back with a satisfied look on his face and a piece of paper in his hand.“She was looking for a job. Pretty desperate for one, apparently.”

Jim was puzzled. He couldn’t quite imagine her serving drinks behind a bar.

“So what’s that?” John asked, pointing to the piece of paper in Frankie’s hand.

“This,” Frankie said, grinning, “is her resume.”

John snatched it out of his hand and started to read. “Hey, this could be your lucky night, Jim. Her name’s Eva. We have an address…a phone number…”

“Look,” Jim said sternly. “I really don’t think you should be looking at someone’s personal details. Frankie, go and give it back to him.”

Frankie didn’t move. “He doesn’t want it. I saved it from the garbage; he was about to throw it away, but I told him I could maybe get her a job at my place.”

Jim tried to envisage her working with Frankie at Starbucks, but even that didn’t seem right for her.

“Where is this place?” John piped up, tracing his finger under a line on the sheet of paper. “Gina’s Flowers in Bushwick Street. Have you heard of it?”

Both men shook their heads.

“Looks like she quit college,” John went on. “Studied for three years, then left. That’s weird. If you’re gonna quit at all, it’s usually well before that.”

Jim grabbed the resume. “Come on, leave it now.” He put it face down on the table. “I don’t think we should be reading this. It’s not our business.”

“Don’t you want to find out about your girl?”

“She’s not my girl, Frankie. When I’m ready for a relationship, I’m quite capable of sorting it out for myself.”

“Are you sure? Look at all these ladies!” Frankie turned to Jim. “You should get yourself some fun!”

Jim finished his beer and stood up. “Milo’s fun,” he said. “You two are fun…sometimes.  And so is playing golf. I’ve got all the fun I need.” He slipped on his jacket. “Are you guys ready? I thought we were going for Chinese?”

They both finished their beers and stood up. As soon as his friends were making their way to the door, Jim looked at the resume on the table. In a split second decision he picked it up, folded it into a square and slipped it into his pocket.

Frankie glanced over his shoulder and saw Jim’s hand emerging from his jacket. Looking down at the table, he saw that the resume had gone. Smiling, Frankie made his way to the door. “I guess you made your mind up anyway,” he said, when Jim had caught up, patting him gently on the back.

Jim shook his head, laughing, and they headed out into the night.