Part 31
The Next Morning.
“It’s wine,” I say. I shuffle a few magazines and toss him a copy of SWIFT with Joshua Solomon’s wild-eyed face glaring out. “They don’t want to spit in our food, they want our money. What if we ended up dying from some untreatable disease their dishwasher hawks into my omelette? That’s bad business,” I say. “They expect us to show up late. They don’t have enough staff right now to handle two simultaneous customers. Extra help comes at twelve-thirty for the influx of college kids in the next fifteen minutes. They are more equipped to take care of us when there are fifty people than just the two of us.”
“That’s not true,” Nepotism says disinterestedly, not looking up from the magazine.
“It is true. I can’t go this morning.”
“Why not?”
I stop short. “I have somewhere I have to go.” I shouldn’t tell him. It’s hours more trouble if I tell him.
“Where.”
“I, uh, I have stuff I have to do.”
“Like what?”
“Stuff.”
“What kind of stuff.”
“Stuff stuff.”
“That’s not much of a definition.”
“It’s none of your damn business.”
“I have important news, that’s all.”
“What is it?”
“It’s long, I was going to tell you over breakfast.”
“Tell me now.”
“No, you have places to be.”
“You’re right, so hurry the fuck up,” I say impatiently, looking around for my boots.
“Does this have anything to with St. Eva?”
I look at him over my shoulder. “Why would it have anything to do with Eva?”
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