Chapter 16: A Tuesday

I didn't file on Monday.

I told myself it was because I was busy.

Saturday we'd done the pop-up in Kenilworth for thirty guests in the grey stone house.

Edmund's ex-wife laughed so hard at the second act she had to leave the room.

Eight thousand dollars. Thirty-nine in the bank.

Tuesday afternoon there was a card under the club's front door.

Small square handwriting. No character. No first line.

YOU. ME. A TUESDAY. 9 P.M. I'LL PICK YOU UP.

Zelda read it over my shoulder and screamed into a cushion.

"It's not a scene," I said. "There's no scene."

"Babe. That's the scene."

[A DATE]

[the fridge is asking her on a DATE]

[as HIMSELF. no costume. I'm going to be sick]

I changed my blouse four times.

Zelda vetoed the trench coat.

"He's seen the trench coat. Wear the red one. The one that makes the twins say 'oh no.'"

"That's a show blouse."

"Every blouse you own is a show blouse."

He picked me up at nine in his own car, not the company one.

He had no tie on.

I'd seen him without a tie maybe six times in two years, and every time he looked like a man who'd lost his keys.

"Where are we going?"

"A diner."

"You don't go to diners."

"I went to this one every night in college. I've never taken anyone."

It was on Lincoln, open all night, with a counter and red stools.

The waitress was in her sixties, and she looked at Benedict and said, "Well, look who got old."

"Hello," he said.

"You want the usual, hon?"

"Please."

"And your lady?"

"The usual too," I said. "I want to know what it is."

The usual was a grilled cheese, a chocolate malt, and a side of pickles.

I stared at it.

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