Peril

ABE

He couldn’t believe he’d actually done it, drawn Mortimer’s gun from the desk and dropped it into his jacket pocket. He wasn’t even sure why he’d done it, save that something in Mortimer’s manner had alarmed him. Normally, he would have called the cops, but in this case, what would he have told them? Hey, fellas, there’s this woman I like and we’re going out to dinner tonight, so, would you mind sending a couple of guys in flak jackets and packing Uzis over to this little bistro on Bleecker?

The other option would have been to leave the gun in the desk, but at the fatal moment, as he’d stood thinking it all through, he’d suddenly seen Samantha, her eyes filled with terror, a guy coming toward her, and known absolutely that if he allowed her to be taken from him in such a way, two things would happen. First, he would never see her again. Second, he would never look at his own face in the mirror without disgust. It was one thing to live in fear of losing money or a friend, of losing your health or losing your youth. One way or another, you would lose all those things anyway. But while you lived, you could not fear yourself, fear that you were nothing.

He reached the restaurant and went inside. He’d picked the place carefully, a small French restaurant just off Grove Street. It had lace curtains on the windows, and the square tables were placed at sufficient distance from each other to encourage quiet talk. That was, in fact, exactly what the restaurant guide had said, that it was a place where a man and a woman could actually hear each other talk. The lighting was soft, with candles on each table that gave off such a sweet romantic glow that as he waited at the table in the back, Abe wondered if, perhaps, the room was too romantic. After a few moments of deliberation, he decided that it definitely was, but that it didn’t matter because he’d already signaled his state of mind by putting on crisp new trousers, a white shirt, tie, jacket, all of which made him feel not just dressed but costumed.

And so he stood up, stripped off his jacket, and hung it loosely over the back of his chair. Then he unknotted his tie and rolled it up and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. The final touch was rolling his sleeves up to the elbow. There, he thought, what you see is what you get.

A waiter approached. He was dressed in pressed black trousers and a short white jacket. “May I get you a drink, sir?”

“No,” Abe told him. “I’m waiting for someone.”

She arrived a few minutes later, wearing a black cocktail dress that looked new. She’d added a string of pearls, too, and black pumps. Her hair fell in a dark wave to her shoulders. As she moved toward him, shifting among the tables, he thought that in all likelihood he would never breathe again.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said as she swept up to him.

“You’re not late.”

She glanced about a little nervously, like a woman who hadn’t been alone with a man in a long time. “It’s very nice,” she said as she sat down. “Is it a favorite spot?”

“I picked it from a book.”

“Really? Why this place in particular?”

“The book said no bugs.”

She laughed, and her laughter loosened something in him, a little knot of jumpiness and self-doubt.

He hazarded a smile. “New dress?”

She smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle with a quick sweep of her hand. “I thought it would be good for tonight.”

“It looks great,” Abe told her.

“The pearls are fake,” Sara said.

“But the face is yours, right?”

She laughed again, and again something loosened slightly inside him.

The waiter appeared. “Cocktails?”

“What’ll you have?” Abe asked.

“Vodka gimlet,” she said.

“Okay, the lady’ll have a vodka gimlet,” Abe told the waiter. “I’ll have straight rye.”

They talked idly until the drinks came, and watching her, listening to her, Abe felt himself falling and falling and knew no way to break his fall.

He lifted the glass the waiter had just set down. “So, what do we drink to?” he asked.

She lifted the gimlet, and he expected her to toast the new job or New York or, worst of all, “our friendship,” but she said simply, “To happy endings,” and touched the rim of her glass to his.