The Best Side: Part 2

The Dame glanced around. “I’m not familiar with John Woo movies.”

“Have you ever leapt sideways in slow-motion while firing two pistols?”

“No. Would it help if I had?”

“Actually, yes.” I took a deep breath, which was a mistake as the air tasted like bad pizza. “John Woo movies are usually about two men on opposite sides of a struggle who earn each other’s respect and friendship. Oh, and they just happen to be absolute baddasses.” I nodded towards the kitchen, where the sound of doves pooping could be heard. “Slow motion doves are one of his trademarks.”

“I see.” The Dame fished around in her pocket and took out three screwdrivers, a socket wrench and a baggie of cubed ice, before finding a crushed pack of cigarettes.

“I thought you were quitting,” I asked, as she pulled one out.

“I am.” The cigarette trembled slightly as she raised it to her lips. She sighed. “Do you have a light?”

I pulled a rather nice desk lamp from my coat and set it on the table.

“Funny.”

“Not terribly,” I said, as I reached over and plucked the cigarette away. “Now,” I began, as I tossed the cigarette over my shoulder, not noticing that it stuck in the wall. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on.”

She looked away. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not your usual self. And,” I said, pausing for dramatic effect, “there’s this.” I slapped the note onto the table, inadvertently flipping a spoon across the room. I didn’t notice the looks the other patrons gave me, as the spoon clattered and rattled on the tile floor.

She leaned forward and looked at the note. “A parking lot receipt from 1989?”

“Turn it around.”

“Now it looks like a pirate knitting.”

I looked down and turned the note towards me. It did look like a pirate knitting. “Wrong note,” I said, this time checking before I slammed down a pink post-it note.

“That’s the note that was on your computer monitor.”

“And what’s wrong with it?”

The Dame shrugged. One of the men from behind us got up and walked past towards the buffet. He made no noise. Simultaneously, one of the men from the other group also rose and headed towards the buffet. He also made no sound.

“There’s no harlequin picture,” I said, leaning back with a smile. “This isn’t official clown business.”

Next: Part 3