“The very existence of flamethrowers proves that sometime, somewhere, someone said to themselves, ‘You know, I want to set those people over there on fire, but I’m just not close enough to get the job done.’”
– GEORGE CARLIN
After an hour, curiosity drove me out of the shower and into a pair of linen trousers and a silk shirt. I needed a little intel on the situation and figured I’d get it where most people did-from a bartender. I know, you thought it was more cloak-and-dagger than that, didn’t you? It may be hard to believe, but bartenders have been my most important sources for years. I remember this one time in Ireland when I was being stalked by these IRA operatives. I’d be dead right now if a bartender named Paddy hadn’t let me know I was about to leave the bar with the service unit director’s girlfriend.
Back in Miami, the bar was called FIVE, and the bartender was called Arturo. It was pretty crowded, and I could tell that the “accident” had caused a lot of problems for the hotel. Sorry about that.
Arturo opened up easily when I waved the hundreddollar tip in his face. All he knew was that the manager said some VIP had fallen from the balcony and the place was crawling with State Department flunkies. I decided to stay put for a while. Besides, they had an excellent scotch selection and I had a front-row seat to the madness.
“Twenty dollars for a Chablis?” I heard the blonde next to me complain. “Are you serious?”
I knew that voice immediately. I slid the money to Arturo and he took the hint and handed the lady a Chablis.
“What? I didn’t order this!”
I hoped Arturo wouldn’t rat me out.
“The gentleman did,” I heard him say. Thanks.
“Well.” The woman turned around to face me. “No, thank you.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Please, Ms. Gale. I never could resist a damsel in distress.”
Veronica Gale froze before me. “How did you know my name?” She clutched her purse, eyeing me nervously. She looked good. Really good. This little academic drone cleaned up nicely in a revealing, yet plain little black dress and three-inch heels.
I held out my right hand. “Allow me to reintroduce myself. Coney Bombay.” I watched with amusement as recognition fought with logic across that cute face of hers.
“You…you’re that carney…” Veronica stuttered. It amused me that she was so flustered. “How did you…? What are you…?” She seemed to be completely incapable of ending a sentence.
“Tell you what,” I started as I pushed the glass of wine back at her. “Take a deep breath and I’ll explain it over dinner.”
Ronnie-Veronica just begged for a nickname-picked up her glass and drained it in one swallow. I’d never seen a woman do that before-in fact, I was pretty sure she’d never done that before. And I found it somewhat arousing.
“I can’t afford a drink here. What makes you think I can afford dinner?”
I signaled Arturo, who picked up the phone to make the reservation immediately.
“It doesn’t really matter, does it? After all, I’m buying.” I stood and guided her by the elbow to the elevator that would take us to the Parisian-the exclusive rotating restaurant at the top of the hotel. Veronica never said a word. She just stared at me as though she was still trying to work out what a guy like me was doing in a five-star hotel. I kind of liked that.
“What are the odds we would run into each other again?” I asked once we were seated in the plush chocolate-velvet booth.
“I’d say one million to one.” She attempted a smile. It was hard to tell whether she was happy to see me or not.
“And yet here we are.” I placed the white linen napkin across my lap and ordered a bottle of white wine. In French. Yes, I wanted to impress her. I had no idea why.
“Yes. Here we are.” Veronica looked around, and I wondered if she had changed her mind about having dinner with me.
“Well, thank you for accepting my invitation. I’d be willing to bet seeing me was something of a shock.”
The sommelier arrived and opened the wine. He poured a small amount and I tasted it. After I nodded my approval, he poured for both of us.
After a few sips, Veronica hiccuped (rather charmingly, I might add). “This is a lot different from the drink we shared last year.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“So why are you here?”
“Sick friend. A carney. You’d like him.”
“Why’s that?” she asked.
“He doesn’t have any teeth.”
Veronica sighed. “I guess I deserved that. I’m sorry I was so rude last year. I shouldn’t put labels on people.”
“Apology accepted. So why are you here?” I volleyed.
She squirmed uneasily in her chair. “Conference. I’m presenting my thesis.”
“I’d like to see that.”
“I already gave it this morning.”
The waiter arrived and took our orders. We sized each other up for a moment.
“I should apologize also,” I said. “I was a bit rough on you.”
She nodded. “Yes, you were. I like what I’m doing. I love school.” She flung her arms up. “Why does everyone find that upsetting?”
“Who is everyone?”
“My family, my friends, the faculty. They all think I need to take some time off and go somewhere. See stuff. Do things.”
“I would agree with that.”
“Why?”
“Because I was like you. I stayed in college for eight years. I did some traveling here and there”-mainly to kill people, but no need to mention that-“but I always returned to my ivory tower.”
Her eyes changed. No, the look in her eyes changed. She had a faint recognition within those green depths.
“Why did you leave the university?”
Was she really interested?
“Because the minute I got my Ph.D., they offered me a teaching post. It scared the hell out of me. In that moment I saw my body aging while standing in the same place over the years. I saw the same people around me, the same city, saw myself teaching the same kind of students over and over. And I didn’t like it.”
Veronica shook her head. “I don’t understand. It sounds wonderful to me.”
Our food arrived. The sommelier wisely brought another bottle of wine and poured. Veronica watched with hungry eyes. I’d forgotten that she was a student. Most likely a dead-broke one. I wondered how she could even afford the hotel…unless the university was footing the bill.
“So you became a carney? And now you can afford all this? I don’t get it.”
I smiled and tucked into my steak. It was amazing-medium-rare. Just the way I like it.
She giggled without waiting for my reply. “I shouldn’t drink this much. I rarely drink at home.” And then she guzzled another glass of wine.
“Well, enjoy it. I want you to.”
We didn’t speak while we attacked our food as genteelly as possible. I was starving. The fight with Vic had taken a lot out of me, and I hadn’t had the heart to devour Sartre’s fruit-and-veggie cache.
After half an hour, Veronica sat back and sighed. “That was the best dinner I’ve had in a long, long time.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I grinned. I love to see women eat. It is so boring to see girls nibble at salads all the time.
“It was delicious. And the wine was excellent.” She leaned across the table. “Would you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“I’m all yours,” I said, a little more truthfully than she probably imagined.
“How can you afford this hotel? This dinner?” She was blunt. It was adorable.
“I manage.”
“You must have really done something with your plans as a Kissinger impersonator.” She grinned.
I laughed. “And I get dental too.”
“But seriously…” Veronica wasn’t letting me off the hook. It must be that Midwestern say-what-you-think mentality. It reminded me of Australians and Dad.
“I inherited some money.” And that was all I was going to say about that.
“Must be nice,” she responded with a smile. Pushing her plate away, she looked up at me. “I’m done. What should we do now?”
I leaned in. “What about the fund-raiser? Isn’t there somewhere you have to be?”
“No, tonight’s banquet was called off. Somebody died here or something. I guess he was supposed to speak.”
“How awful.” I didn’t really mean it. I felt like a hero for saving her from a boring speech and a rubberchicken dinner. Killing this vic saved my lady fair.
“Yeah. Some diplomat’s kid.”
I divided the remaining wine into our two glasses and tried to ask as nonchalantly as possible, “How did he die?”
“No one has said, but the consensus is that he had an accident.”
My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, as if on cue. I took it out and checked the screen.
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, Veronica, I have to take this.” I left the table before she had the opportunity to ask me what kind of calls a carney would get that would interrupt dinner.
I found a nice, quiet corner and answered. “Hello, Mum.”
“Squidgy!” Mom shouted with enthusiasm. “Nice work!”
“Tell him it’s all over the news!” I heard my dad shout in the background.
Mom mumbled something at him, then returned to me. “Anyway, well-done. And word is you helped Paris and Dak with their assignment. You’re such a good boy.” I could actually feel her fingers closing on my cheeks.
“Thanks, Mum. Anything else?”
“No, why?” she asked, as if anything was important enough to tear her little boy away from her.
“I’m on a date.”
Mom promptly exploded. “You are? Oh, Squidgy! How wonderful!” I heard her mumble something to Dad about grandchildren.
“Mum, I’ve got to get back.” I didn’t want Veronica to run off.
“Okay! Have fun!” I thought I heard her say, “Get married,” but that might have been my imagination.
I returned to the table and joined Veronica. “Sorry about that. Now, where were we?”
“Who was it?” Ronnie asked. I found her complete lack of tact refreshing. I really did.
“My sick friend. He’s rallied. He says hello.”
“Hmmm.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll bet he did.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Of course not.” She wobbled indignantly. “I’m just a little buzzed. That’s all.”
Veronica stood. Then she toppled back into her chair, giggling. “Oops.” She giggled again.
I liked it. But I was concerned that she’d had a bit too much to drink. And for some reason, I was pretty sure that Veronica Gale wasn’t much of a drinker.
I motioned for the check, and within a few minutes I was leading one tipsy anthropologist back to where she thought her room might be. All I had wanted to do was loosen her up. But if this woman got any looser I was afraid her head would come off.