Page 39 of Play Dirty

I decide to go home.

When I get to my house it’s ten minutes to six.

Ten minutes and I can forget all about this invitation.

Ten minutes and I can….

What? What will I do in ten minutes? Sit here and drink some Scotch? Sit here and order food? Sit here and think about my father?

What will I do in ten minutes?

Eight minutes later I’m standing in front of their building looking up. It’s a modern fifteen-story structure that looks like Frank Lloyd Wright’s version of a high-rise, if he’d made the Price Tower look like Falling Water instead of Price Tower.

In a word, nice.

I go inside, get in the elevator, take it up to the top floor, and exit into a small hallway with only one set of massive double doors.

At exactly six o’clock I press the doorbell. It chimes the deep, classic half-note ding-dong and sounds like church bells.

I hear footsteps approach and the door opens to reveal Alexander holding a snifter and the strong scent of a well-made cognac fills the air. He smiles at me. It’s a small smile, perhaps even a disappointed smile. Like he didn’t figure I’d show up. “Come in,” he says, opening the door wide.

I step in and look around. The ceilings are high, but not very high. This building is old. Probably built in the Thirties. Like maybe the designer was a contemporary of Wright and this was his stamp on the world of modern architecture at the time.

The ceilings are coffered, much like the ballroom ceilings in my own house, and the floors are a rich, dark hardwood that looks original. The view of the city is spectacular. Seen through an entire wall of windows, the Denver skyline is already lit up, a silhouette against the setting sun that hangs just over the top of the mountains.

“This is lovely,” I say, just as I notice Augustine over in the kitchen. Someone obviously renovated this apartment because it’s an open-concept layout. She’s wearing a white dress and a light blue apron. She has yellow oven mitts on her hands and she’s holding a baking dish. “And you look lovely as well.”

I don’t know why I say that except that it’s true. She looks… softer somehow. I’ve never seen her in domestic mode. I only remember the wild girl in cut-offs and tank tops.

She is someone else now. Someone I don’t know.

But I guess that’s true for anyone you lose contact with and reconnect with later.

Now I smell the food and my stomach grumbles. I never did eat that sandwich at lunch.

“Thank you,” she says, smiling at me.

“Want to take off your coat?” Alexander asks me. His hands are already on my shoulders, ready to help. I let him slip the suit coat down my arms and then he walks over to a closet near the front door and hangs it up.

“I hope you’re hungry. I made way too much. But I’m glad you came.” She pauses to laugh. “Because I made way too much.”

“I am, actually.” It’s all I can think of to say. I don’t know them anymore. This is clear. When we were last together it was something altogether different. They’ve been living as a couple for almost eight years now. Married, separated, back together. A lifetime apart is what this feels like.

“Sit down,” Alexander says, pointing to the dining room table. It’s small, which is surprising. And round. Seats maybe… four? But there’s only three chairs there now. I look around the room, trying to find the missing one. No one buys three chairs. But it’s… missing. If they have a fourth chair, it’s hidden and out of view.

“Do you want a drink?” Alexander asks.

“Sure. What you’re having is fine.” I say it as I watch Augustine place a rack of lamb onto a large white platter, take off her oven mitts, and then look up to find me staring. She smiles, reaching behind her back to untie her apron. She hangs it up on a hook inside the pantry and then picks up the platter and walks towards me. “Sit,” she says. Because I’m still standing.

I do. Taking one of the chairs just as Alexander returns with my snifter of cognac and she places the platter in the center of the table. She smiles at me one more time and then Alexander holds her chair out and pushes it in for her before taking his seat.

She’s on my left, he’s on my right.

They have thoroughly planned this evening, I decide.

“What did you do today?” Alexander asks.

I look over at him, thinking he’s talking to me, but he isn’t. He’s asking his wife.