‘It’s bloody freezing!’
Charles jumps and hits his pint glass, but Loris is close enough to catch it.
‘You’re early,’ he says with a warm smile, looking over Charles’ shoulder.
‘It’s okay, right? You’ve closed the place now? Or… almost?’
Charles swivels on his stool. A purple-haired young woman and a husky guy are staring at him from the middle of the room.
‘Yeah, almost.’
‘What about the Wicked Witch of the North?’ the guy asks in a strong Hispanic accent.
‘Gone.’
‘Fab!’
He takesa pack of beer out of his backpack and sets it down on the closest table. Charles looks back at Loris, who’s walked around the bar but stops next to him.
‘Are you allowed to do that?’
‘Hang out here? Sure. Patty doesn’t care as long as we don’t drink her stock. But they prefer when she’s not in the building. Some dumb urban legend about oven-roasted kids in the basement.’
‘There’s nothing dumb about this legend,’ Charles says confidently, even though he had no memory of it ten minutes ago.
‘Don’t encourage them! I’m sorry, our Pavel conversation is gonna have to wait. But feel free to stay.’
‘I should go. Early meeting tomorrow.’
Charles was ready to chat about Olwinski until dawn, so this is a half-baked excuse that puts a drastic dampener on his mood. As long as he had an inaccurate Loris-conclusion to be cross about, it was easy to keep the firm’s board meeting in a remote corner of Charland. The board meeting and the detailed feedback his father will demand at dinner time.
They’ve just sprung back to the forefront, holding megaphones.
‘Where do you work?’
Charles waves the question off and collects his pen. ‘How much do I owe you?’
‘Depends. Are you free on Tuesday? It’s my day off. I’ve got to work on a personal project, but I’m a great multitasker. And we wouldn’t be constantly interrupted at my place. If you bring beers, I’ll cover this one for you.’
‘Where’s your place?’
‘Across the street, above the acupuncture clinic. The green door on the right.’
Charles squints, trying to picture a frontage he’s probably seen a hundred times without seeing it. ‘I’m not sure I can…’
Tuesday rings a bell that sounds like Elsy. And the proposition is very high on Charles’ scale of unexpected. He can foresee a great deal of second-guessing whipsawing his brain over it.
‘If not, I’m here any other night. Let me know.’
Loris pushes himself above the counter to grab a pad and a handful of pens. The first two don’t work, but he manages to scribble his phone number with the third one.
‘Loris, with one L.’
Charles folds the leaf, edges aligned, and slides it into his pocket.
They cross the room together, passing by Loris’ friends who have remained silent and staring. Charles wishes them a good evening and gets a nod and a thousand-watt smile.
‘You too, man.’
