Charles’ face lit up with delight.
‘There she was, standing there. Beautiful. Her beautiful red hair and pale skin. Glowing almost. I put my bread through and then my heart stopped. She’s standing maybe four or three metres away. “Abbey” (her name was written on her name badge). “Abbey, you’re beautiful and I love you. You’ve got a wonderful soul. I only just met you and I know.”
‘She was naturally flattered.
‘“Abbey, will you come out to dinner with me tomorrow? I want to take you out to dinner.”
‘Just like that, we’re on. She’s perfect, funny, good in the book department – she works in a book department. Everything is golden until a while later, maybe a few weeks. Something . . . happens.’
Charles became timorous like a kitten. The bartender returned from the back and resumed listening.
‘We’re sitting at this restaurant. Thai food. No—Raoul’s Mexicana. Nice place but the sauce is too hot. We’re sitting there and I’m looking at my food and I’m saying, “Abbey, isn’t the sauce too hot here?” I look at her and she’s staring at her food, assaulting guacamole with a fork. Suddenly it hits. This awful, dreadful thought! God, it’s too much to bear. I can’t bear it!’
Charles paused.
The bartender and I held our breaths in anticipation.
‘A-And this thought, it lingers. I can’t rid myself of it. It’s there and it sticks. We continue to eat and there it is; it’s sitting there with us.’
‘So?’ I asked, thinking he would reproach me, but instead, he looked down at his beer, aghast.
‘Well?’ said the bartender.
‘She doesn’t say much!’
‘Eh?’
‘She doesn’t talk enough.’
The bartender and I stared at him blankly. He sensed he needed to elaborate.
‘For example. Not long ago, we saw an Owen Wilson film. Normally, I don’t see his films because he’s a, you know’—he made a strange hand gesture I didn’t know how to interpret—‘But anyway, it’s good, not a bad film, actually. Very nuanced performance of a man who doesn’t distinguish between right and left and the associated struggles of this disposition.’
‘As we’re leaving, she says, “What did you think?” “About Owen Wilson?” “Yeah.” Now, this was a very specific question and so I gave a very specific answer. “Darling, I thought it was a very nuanced performance of a man who doesn’t distinguish between right and left and the associated struggles of this disposition. The scene where he’s in the car and the sign says No Right Turn and he doesn’t know what to do. . . Tragic … Or when the man with the terrier says “You take two lefts and then a right” and he misses his grandfather’s funeral. Lachrymose.”’
‘“What about you darling? What did you think?” Do you know what she says?’
‘“It was good.”
I gave Charles a blank look, not knowing how I was supposed to react. He quickly averted his gaze and faced forward, silent. He took an anguished sip of beer.