Free Best Friends by Thomas Berger

medicine to me. I never developed an appetite till I started weight training.” In fact he had started to build himself up in conscious response to Sam’s advantage in size. What Roy had done, however, was not to be mistaken as competitive, and as for his friend, Sam cheered him on. It was inconvenient to be undersized, taking an array of compensatory measures: walking faster than the longer-legged, being assigned to the inside seat in diner booths. When they both learned to drive in a car owned by Roy’s father, who was six-one, the seat had to be moved forward to the limits of its forward travel with Roy behind the wheel, then run all the way back for Sam.
    â€œSpeaking of food,” Kristin said now, changing the subject to his relief. “I’m on my lunch break.” She squinted at him. “Would you want to go someplace and eat? Or just watch me? I’m hungry.” The girlish grin briefly deformed her lips, which Roy noted, for the first time, had been so perfect in repose, but it made him feel more comfortable.
    â€œI don’t really want to walk home by myself,” he said. Then, remembering, “I’ve got to get that case of Apollinaris over to Sam.”
    â€œWe’ll deal with that after lunch,” Kristin said decisively. She quickly put the car in motion, as if he might change his mind.
    Having turned one corner, they were back in urgent traffic. Kristin drove with an easy confidence that was a contrast to Sam’s demeanor behind the wheel. Driving a car evoked from Sam a display of emotions of which he was otherwise publicly innocent. When afoot it was he who apologized to those who collided with him or stepped on his foot, though such things were almost never his fault—despite being oversized he maneuvered gracefully through crowds. But at the controls of an automobile he trembled with resentment toward any other vehicle that shared the road. However circumspectly its driver performed at one moment, the situation could change for the worse in the next. If the car ahead of him obeyed an established stop sign, the habitually tailgating Sam was obliged to panic-brake. But when he was leader, any driver who followed him too closely (in his opinion they all did) was sure to be tormented with many pseudobrakings, quick touches of the pedal to flash the red lights. He usually drove too slowly, which practice showed more uncertainty than genuine prudence and might be downright dangerous in certain applications, such as penetrating a high-volumed thruway.
    To Sam, though, Roy, who never met a speed limit he could respect, was a reckless character, and he avoided riding with his friend; for many years now each drove his own car when they were to be companions at a restaurant or entertainment event.
    Roy remembered that he should get in touch with his office. Excusing himself, he brought out the cell phone and called his assistant. He found he had no taste to produce more than a superficial lie to the effect that he was staying home ill and letting the machine take all messages. He predicted a full recovery by the next day.
    â€œYou call her Mrs. Forsythe?” Kristin asked as he lowered the phone.
    â€œShe’s old enough—well, almost—to be my mother,” said Roy. “Damned if I want to call her Margaret.”
    â€œWhat does she call you?”
    He smirked. “Well, Roy.” He quickly went on. “She only works half a day but does more in that time than anybody I’ve ever hired.”
    â€œMinimum wage? No benefits?” Kristin glanced at him, smiling slyly. “That’s right, I’m prying.”
    â€œI’m flattered,” said Roy. “I do a little better for her than that, but she’s still a bargain.” He did not mention that of Mrs. Forsythe’s merits, perhaps the greatest for him was that she provided no sexual distraction. He would never have made an advance toward a female employee, but