To Mary, it felt like one of those movie scenes where everything and everyone stood completely still, while the main character kept on moving.
The man, who until then she knew only as Thomas, had kept his tone of voice as quiet as he possibly could, but it was a small restaurant, and the couple two tables to their right, despite not being able to hear what was actually being said, had clearly picked up that they were having some sort of argument.
Mary hooked her handbag over her right shoulder before looking back at the man. Though he’d tried to sound as angry as her, there was something awkward… a soft edge, perhaps, in the way that he’d delivered the sentence – ‘I’ll tell you who the fuck I really am, if you tell me who the fuckyoureally are…’ The cursing sounded off when coming from him. As if he wasn’t at all used to it. As if he’d just used it then to try to sound tough.
He seemed to sense her hesitation, and continued before she had a chance to walk away.
‘Maybe I’m wrong… maybe your name really is Mary, or maybe it isn’t. I don’t really care to be honest. I’ll call you whatever you want me to call you. A name is just a name, but whoever you are, you’re certainly running away from something… or someone – a boyfriend, a husband, a partner, a lover, family – I don’t know. Or maybe it’s something a lot more serious. Maybeyou’re running away from the police or even the FBI.’ He pressed his lips together, as his head angled slightly to one side, signaling doubt. ‘But you don’t really look like a hardened criminal to me. So, I’d say that option two – running away from the law – is out. That’s not who you’re hiding from, is it?’
Mary glared at him.
He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. ‘Thereisa reason why I kept my real name from you, Mary, but it has absolutely nothing to do with who you really are… who you’re running away from… or even why you’re on the run.’
Mary was trying hard to leave, but that disarming magnetism that she had sensed about Thomas – or whatever his name really was – was still there, stronger than ever, and it was somehow holding her in place.
‘This…’ His index finger went back and forth between them a few times. ‘What’s happening right now is pretty much a repetition of what happened earlier at The Legion. It’s just a sad misunderstanding. One that you, once again, jumped to conclusions before you’ve allowed me to explain.’
Mary stood where she was.
‘And before you ask,’ he continued, ‘or jump to some more hasty conclusions, the reason why I know that you’re running from something or someone, is exactly the same as the first time – reading between the lines, listening to what’s not actually being said, but is still there for people to hear.’ He lifted a hand at Mary. ‘Your reaction back at the Legion,’ he explained. ‘Like I told you – I could see real fear all over you – and all that fear was instigated by the simple fact that I deducted that you weren’t from San Francisco. That was it. Nothing else.’ He paused for a second, as if to allow time for what he’d just said to sink in. ‘The most logical conclusion from your evasive reaction would be that that fear was based on you assuming that I was someone who had been tracking you down and had finally found you. Why else would you run away, in a panic, like that?’
The man saw Mary’s left hand close into a fist, but not a tight, anger fist. The movement was more like a pacifier than an anger gesture – she was pondering over what he’d just said.
‘And just seconds ago,’ he carried on. ‘Once you read my real name on my credit card, that same fear came flying back to you, but this time with an added feature – anger – but not just at me for using a false name… anger at yourself.’ He paused to observe Mary’s reaction.
She stood completely still, except for her jaw, which had tensed – a strong indication that she was getting upset, angry, fearful, or any combination of those three emotions. She clearly didn’t like being read like that. And he wasn’t done yet.
‘You’re blaming yourself for not walking away earlier, back at the Legion, right? You’re probably also blaming yourself for not realizing that I wasn’t being truthful about who I really am, but like I’ve said before, Mary – the reason for that has absolutely nothing to do with you. That I can promise you.’
The anger that showed at Mary’s tense jaw seeped considerably into her tone of voice. ‘And like I’ve said before – fuck you, and stay the fuck away from me, you hear?’ She finally turned to walk away.
‘I give you my word that I will,’ the man said, his tone controlled. ‘But before you go, wouldn’t you at least like to know who I really am?’
Forty-One
Despite having clearly heard Mary say – ‘fuck you, and stay the fuck away from me…’ – the couple sitting on the table to her right were trying hard not to look. Instead, they stared at each other in complete silence, their eyes wide, their lips pressed into thin lines, their bodies awkwardly stiff.
Mary had already turned her back on the man sitting at the table and taken two steps towards the exit, when he threw his trump question at her.
Still facing away from him, Mary paused mid-step. This time, her jaw didn’t tense, but the tip of her tongue lightly touched her top lip, as she closed her eyes for an instant.
Fuck!Mary thought. What she really wanted to do was to keep on walking, but she knew that curiosity would practically kill her later because what if he was telling the truth? What if the reason he lied about his name had nothing to do with Nelson or who she was? He did have a very good explanation the first time around.
Mary reopened her eyes. There was no harm in listening… was there?
She turned to face him once again. They held each other’s stare for a couple of silent seconds before Mary finally spoke.
‘You’ve got one minute, not a second more.’ Her eyebrows arched at him.
The man slid his credit card, which was still on the table afterMary had flicked it back at him, towards where she’d been sitting. ‘Would you please take a seat,’ he said, indicating the chair across the table from him. His eyes moved slightly right then left, signaling that the tables around them had picked up on their argument.
Mary didn’t seem to care. She didn’t sit down either. ‘Fifty seconds.’ Her voice was crisp with annoyance.
‘OK,’ the man nodded before once again reaching for his wallet. From it, he retrieved a couple more credit cards and placed them all in a row – all three of them facing Mary. ‘This is so that you can see that I’m not keeping the truth from you anymore.’
Mary noticed that since she’d read his real name on his credit card moments earlier, this was the third time that the man that she knew only as Thomas had mentioned lying about his name, but he never actually used the word ‘lying’. He always referred to his action as ‘keeping the truth from her’ – another very powerful, psychological, subliminal trick.
Her eyes moved down to the credit cards.
