His thoughts then veered back to the previous evening. Sitting here in this spot. Sending his favorite artist fleeing into the night.
He reviewed their too-brief conversation and decided he had done nothing wrong. She had asked; he had answered honestly. If honesty was a reason to run off, well, so be it.
Just the same, Ian wished things had turned out differently.
He asked to see the menu and ordered the lamb. The restaurant was lively but far from full. When his meal was ready, the bartender, a lady with dark, dancing eyes, offered him a table. Ian replied that he was happy where he was. She offered a flirtatious smile and said, “That makes two of us.”
As he was finishing, Arthur walked in. “Mind some company?”
“Not at all. Is this a coincidence?”
“Hardly.” Arthur grimaced as Sylvie emerged from the kitchen and kissed his cheek. He asked, “Where’s our lad?”
“Driving the nanny back. She wasn’t feeling well.” To Ian, she said, “Our boys spend the morning at home. Most evenings they’re shifted into the apartment upstairs. I like to be the one who tucks them in at night. When we close, Connor and I swoop them up, and they wake up in their own beds.”
The bartender offered, “They’ll either be great travelers or seriously schizoid.”
Arthur said, “That’s actually not a proper term, Marcela.”
“Of course it is. You’ll find it in the dictionary, right afterseriously grouchy.” Marcela smiled at the old man. “Hi, Arthur.”
He grimaced. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to kiss the old wattled cheek.”
“Been waiting for this moment all day.”
Sylvie asked Ian, “How was the meal?”
“Great. Better than that.”
“What we like to hear.”
Danny Byrd entered the restaurant, accompanied by his fiancée, the attorney Megan Pierce. Connor arrived back two minutes later. As the greetings and laughter grew, Ian had the sense of being drawn into a clannish community. Old friends who gladly made room for him. He found himself wishing Kari were still there, that it was the two of them together being welcomed into this group.
Which was when Arthur said, “I suppose we’d best tell the man of the hour what’s going on here.”
“Not just yet.” Sylvie said to Marcela, “Open a bottle of that stuff we couldn’t unload last New Year’s Eve.”
“On it.” Marcela went through a professional’s process of icing seven glasses, setting them out on little starched napkins, then uncorked the champagne with a flourish. They watched in happy silence as she filled the glasses, picked up the last one for herself, and asked, “What do we toast?”
“I’ve always been partial to Winston Churchill’s comment,” Arthur replied. “ ‘Champagne should always be cold, dry, and free.’”
“I’m not toasting another old grouch,” Marcela said. “Especially one who’s dead.”
“Here’s to friends, old and new,” Sylvie said.
Connor lost his smile. “And dreams long dead.”
Sylvie used her free arm to embrace her husband. “Not dead. Never dead. Just dormant.”
“No longer,” Danny said. “Right, Ian?”
“Absolutely,” Ian said, feeling vaguely ashamed over how he missed a woman he did not actually know.
They drank; then Megan nudged her fiancé. “Go on, then. Say your say.”
Danny said to Ian, “I’ve had a word with the powers that be.”
“He means the folks running Amazon Prime,” Arthur said. “And it was more than one word. Several hours’ worth. First, they talked. Then Danny showed them a revised rough cut of the film, now including some of your musical bridges. Then they talked again.”
