‘And?’
He looked away like he was about to have a needle stuck in him.
‘The most terrible thing. I told her the story and . . . she had no clue what I was on about. “Charles, I have no fucking clue what you’re on about,” she said.
‘Then some nasty little impulse took me. Five days I spent cooking that plot. I was miffed I’d wasted so much time. I came right out with it: “Abbey I find it suboptimal that you solicit my opinion while having nothing to say on matters yourself!”’
Charles’ voice quavered. A bead of sweat dripped from his forehead.
‘“I-I completely understand what you mean,” she said. “I am often too shy to proffer my opinion because I am “in awe” of the way you so clearly articulate your thought. I have grown up with an authoritarian parent who never wanted to hear the opinions of his beautiful daughter.”
‘I went crazy. I beat my breast. How ridiculous was the whole thing? I’d refused to parley with my little peanut and share my honest feeling. Ultimately, it was all my fault. All my fault because I am a coward!’
A tear dripped into Charles’ Guinness. He wailed and contorted.
‘You didn’t say that today, did you?’ said the bartender.
Charles nodded. He looked like he’d just sucked a lemon.
‘Yes, this was today—Valentine’s Day. “I’m far too crazy for you,” I said. “I’ve gone to cloud cuckoo land and haven’t come back.” I fled from her apartment, dragged myself around for a few hours. Then it started to get cold, so I came here.’
Charles hung his head. We sat in silence. The bartender poured us a drink and then stepped away to wipe a wine glass.
‘I must ask,’ he finally said. ‘What did you think of all this?’ His face was red and puffy, and his eyes wet.
I opened my mouth. I closed it. Charles’ tale danced around in my head. I stared at my knees as I tried to elaborate in a way I thought he’d appreciate.
‘I think you are very talkative and maybe that comes across in the wrong way. Maybe give her a bit more space? Ask a few questions and listen a little more?’
He erupted with a great grin.
‘Hah, hah, yes, you’re right! I appreciate your honesty. But next time make it a story, my boy, or I won’t listen. And yes, yes, what is it? “Go and make amends with Abbey, you idiot?” Of course, of course!
Charles leapt from his seat and flew out the bar.
I chatted with the bartender while I finished my drink.
What made me think about that night?
My wife and I lay in bed. She turned and said “Tell me a story.”
When I finished, her phone rang.
‘Hi,’ Carrie said. ‘Do you and Paul want to see this Owen Wilson film tonight?’
She gave me a probing look, knowing I could hear Carrie’s voice through the speaker.
I vehemently shook my head.
‘We’ll be there.’