The Caller

Sixteen

‘So how long do you think you’ll be this time?’ Cassandra asked, as Mr. J finished his last piece of toast.

‘Not long. Two, three days at the most.’

‘That’s exactly what you said last time.’ Cassandra had a sip of some dark-green drink she’d just blended. ‘And yet, you were away for almost a week.’

‘Yes, and I’m sorry about that,’ Mr. J conceded. ‘But sometimes things get delayed, people get delayed, and business takes a little longer than expected.’ He used a fabric napkin to dab the corners of his mouth. ‘But I don’t think there will be any misfortunes this time. I’ll call you and let you know if anything changes. If not, I shall be back on Sunday at the latest.’ He looked at his wife and frowned. ‘Cass, what the hell are you drinking? It looks... revolting.’

‘Trust me,’ she replied, finishing the rest of her juice, ‘you don’t want to know. But it tastes a lot better than it looks.’

‘I sure hope so, because it looks like you just drank a glass of... baby’s diarrhea.’

‘You are so disgusting sometimes, do you know that?’

Mr. J laughed. ‘Me? I’m not the one drinking it. You look beautiful, by the way.’

Cassandra was charmingly dressed in a dark pencil skirt with a plum blouse and shiny black shoes. Her hair was loose, falling past her shoulders, but the sides were held back over her ears by a couple of dainty hair clips in the shape of butterflies. Her makeup, though she’d applied it herself, looked professionally done.

Mr. J checked his timepiece — 8:17 a.m. ‘OK. I’ve got to go.’ He got up, drank the rest of his coffee in one gulp, collected his plate and cutlery, and took everything to the sink.

‘You can leave it there,’ Cassandra said, before he had a chance to switch on the faucet. ‘I’ll wash it up later.’

‘Are you sure? I can quickly do it. It’s not a problem.’

‘No, it’s all right. I’ll do it later. You get going.’ She walked over to him and gave him a peck on the lips. ‘Where are you going again?’

‘Frisco,’ he lied.

‘Oh yeah, that’s right,’ she lied back. She didn’t really remember him telling her before. She placed her empty glass in the sink together with the rest of the dishes. ‘Well, drive carefully, and call me once you get there, OK?’

‘Yes, of course.’

Mr. J gave his wife another kiss and grabbed his suit jacket, which was resting on the back of his chair. His dummy briefcase, the one he had packed in front of Cassandra the night before and which contained a change of clothes and a small bag of toiletries, was waiting for him by the door. His real briefcase, the one which contained what he really needed, he would pick up on his way to his hotel, from a storage unit he had rented years ago under a different name.