science —was enough to rouse his enthusiasm.
I decided to pick up on our last discussion: wormholes, little tears in the fabric of reality, what Paul called “rabbit holes” in the space/ time continuum. “So … how does one find a rabbit hole?” I said, smiling as engagingly as I could manage.
He shrugged with barely concealed disinterest. “You don’t. It finds you.”
I made several attempts to revive our previous conversation, but it wasn’t easy, considering how often Paul now had to excuse himself for the bathroom. Eventually, I said something wrong and Paul’s expression dimmed. He shrugged, took a sip of his beer, and glanced about the room again. “As usual, you missed the whole point.”
“How so?”
“Ain’t telling,” Paul replied.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Susan rise from her stool. What’s-his-name helped her with her coat. I caught her gaze again, and she shrugged me off. When her new boyfriend slapped several bills on the table and wandered to the bathroom beyond the pool table, she strolled over to us.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, buttoning up her pink sweater. “And you’re both wrong.”
“This one’s true love?” Paul slurred.
She winked at him. “Yep. You’re going to have to find me another nickname.”
“How well do you know this guy?” I asked, but she never had a chance to respond, because the latest answer to her deepest romantic desires was emerging from the bathroom. Susan introduced him as simply “Brian,” and he grunted his way through the introductions. Just before they left, Susan leaned over and whispered into my ear, “I’m through with this dump, Stephen. I’m getting out. But I’ll send you a wedding invitation.”
She stood up, reconsidered, then leaned over again, whispering so softly I could barely hear her. “By the way, Paul’s had more ’n enough.”
I nodded in agreement.
Later, as he and I watched the sports scores on the television screen and suffered through the explosive laughter of a now-crowded bar, Paul asked me what she’d said.
“ ‘I’ll see you in a few days, once this bozo dumps me,’ ” I replied.
“No, seriously,” Paul persisted.
“Ain’t telling.”
A moment of silence passed.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” Paul said. “I’m just touchy tonight. I’m also sorry that I’m so much smarter than you, but I’m mostly sorry that you overpaid for my camera.”
“Could have stopped with ‘touchy.’ ”
“I was on a roll,” Paul garbled out. “Couldn’t help myself.”
When I finally told him her first comment, he only chuckled.
“Yeah. Me too.” Then he leaned back, his head lobbing toward Susan’s now-empty stool, and he almost lost his balance, nearly tipping his chair over backward.
“Why doesn’t she ever learn?” he said when he’d recovered.
I ignored the irony and heard my name from behind me, near the door. I turned and noticed Larry walking briskly to our table. I was surprised to see him. In the darkened room, his kaleidoscope tie glowed like a neon sign in a field of pinstripe.
Larry towered over the two of us and glared at me. “I’ve been calling your cell phone for an hour.”
“It’s in my car,” I replied, gesturing toward the end of the table. “Pull up a chair. Order a Coke or something.”
“What are you doing here?” Larry persisted. “We were waiting for you.”
A small sliver of panic edged into my gut. Larry glanced at Paul for the first time, and they exchanged obligatory nods, still unable, after all these years, to disguise their mutual disregard. Paul’s eyes flickered at Larry’s tie, and I could tell he was losing the battle. Even sober, Paul had difficulty curbing his acerbic tongue.
“Nice tie,” he finally gave in, whispering it under his breath, then forcing a delicious smirk underground. Larry probably noticed it but wouldn’t have given Paul the satisfaction of retorting.
In the meantime, I’d just put it