I tentatively agreed to hear her out. Somehow she’d twisted my arm and I hoped she wasn’t pulling my leg or I’d be out on one of my few unoccupied limbs.
She asked where we should rendezvous. I told her it was a bit soon for that sort of thing, but I’d be willing to meet her somewhere if she liked. There was a little Italian round the corner, but I didn’t want him overhearing our plans, so I told her I’d think about it and call her later. She jotted down a number on a scrap of paper, but I suggested it would be best if she gave me all the digits at the same time.
She wrote the rest down, and turned to leave. I sat back in my chair, absent-mindedly swivelling round and round, and began to smoke. Maybe it was the friction of the wooden legs on the wooden floor, I’m not sure. When the room cleared, the blond was still there, turned, like a carton of milk left on a sunny window ledge, but not left.
“Forgotten anything?” I asked.
She thought for a while. “The capital city of Peru and the events of a night last week when I had seventeen Black Russians.”
I couldn’t help her out. “That’s a lot of cocktails, miss.”
“I wasn’t drinking,” she replied.
And she flounced out, slamming the door behind her, a feat made all the more impressive given the office has revolving doors.
I collected my thoughts. Like a bridesmaid getting dressed for the wedding of a best friend who has appalling taste, I wasn’t sure I liked what I was getting into.