Nearly Departed by Max Schlienger (read novels website .TXT) 📗

be careful. I trusted you when you said this game of yours wasn’t illegal.”

“It isn’t.” He sounded more sure than he felt. “Actually, I need to make a call tonight at about seven.”

“More lonely women with dead boyfriends?” Alena teased. Dennis laughed along with her, but a slight uneasiness crept into him.

“Don’t worry,” he said, trying to shake off the feeling. “I don’t think this is going to be anything like last night. She actually sounded…” he scratched his chin. “I don’t know. Intelligent, I guess. Of course, it might have just been the accent.”

“She was English?”

“Yeah,” Dennis answered, surprised. “How did you know?”

Alena shrugged. “Americans always think that English accents sound intelligent. I mean, why do you talk with a German accent when you’re playing Doctor September?”

“It’s a Swiss accent, actually, and it’s supposed to sound mysterious.” He grinned sheepishly. “Anyway, you’re just as American as I am.”

“So clearly I know what I’m talking about. What time is it?” she asked suddenly.

Dennis looked pointedly at the clock on the wall, then down at his watch. “It’s almost two,” he said. Alena nodded and wiped at her lips with a paper napkin.

“Alright, you’d better get going. My next class starts soon.” She carefully re-wrapped the remainder of her sandwich and replaced the lid on the soup. Dennis struggled to remove himself from the grip of the couch, and finally had to accept a hand from Alena when his efforts proved futile. He had only just gained his footing when the office’s door swung open, nearly smacking Dennis in the face and sending him stumbling back.

“Hello?” A face with tanned skin and deep brown eyes peered around the door frame, smiling expectantly.

“Antonio!” squealed Alena happily “What are you doing here?”

Dennis recovered enough to watch his wife’s partner pirouette into the room. He wondered, as he always did, if the term “impeccably tousled” could somehow be applied to the man’s dark hair, as no other description seemed to fit.

“Well, I do work here, don’t I?” Antonio pouted jokingly. He looked down at Dennis, still struggling with the couch’s grasp, and flashed a bright smile. “Hi, Dennis! Look, I brought food!” He held a brown paper bag out in front of him.

“Oh, thanks, Antonio, but Dennis already brought me lunch.” Alena gestured to the leftovers from her meal and shrugged apologetically. “Really, though, shouldn’t you be at the studio?”

“I am at the studio!” protested Antonio. The indignation of his statement was betrayed somewhat by the unyielding giddiness of his smile, and even more so by the playful laughter that followed. “Oh, you mean the movie studio. They gave me three hours off.”

“So, naturally, you came to work,” Dennis murmured skeptically. “That’s exactly what I’d do.”

“Oh, do you have a job now, Dennis?” Antonio giggled and waved his hands. “I’m kidding, sweetie. I know you’re a big-shot author.” He sat down next to Dennis, causing the couch to sag even more and eliminating any hope that Dennis might have had of extricating himself from the cushions without assistance. “Here, have some food,” Antonio added, dropping the bag into Dennis’ lap.

“Dennis hates tofu,” Alena said.

“I hate... Yes, what she said.”

Antonio looked from Dennis to Alena, a look of exaggerated confusion on his face. “Oh, come on, am I that predictable?”

“Yes,” answered Dennis. “Next you’ll tell us that you went to a wonderful restaurant and just had to share whatever it was that you ordered, so you saved some.”

Antonio let out an exaggerated gasp. “I am that predictable!”

“It’s why we love you,” replied Alena.

“Not my pleasant nature or my –” he struck a pose from the couch, “– stellar physique?”

It was a stellar physique that kept Dennis from answering, as Alena chose that moment to rise and remove her sweatshirt, revealing the form-fitting leotard she wore beneath it. Dennis stared in spite of himself, admiring his wife’s slender form. Antonio continued to preen, his voice increasing in volume.

“Of course, now that I’m a movie star, I guess everyone will love me.” Alena’s head was caught in the recesses of her sweatshirt, and Dennis was too distracted to respond. “Hey!” Antonio nudged Dennis in the ribs. “Should I get out of here and give you two some alone time?”

“Ow,” muttered Dennis. “I mean, no. She has to work and I have to...” he left the sentence unfinished, remembering both his conversation with Elspeth Palin and the sight of the man with the camera.

“You both have to get going before my next class gets here!” Alena said. She glanced at Antonio, who had reclaimed his paper bag and was pulling bits of unidentifiable food from within it. “Unless you think you can hang around and help?”

“Sure, I’ll stay!”

“I’m going to head to Thoreau’s for a bit,” Dennis said. He struggled against the couch’s grasp, ultimately needing to accept help from both Alena and Antonio before he managed to break free. To his slight irritation, both dancers seemed incredibly amused by his plight, and Antonio made a show of popping upright unassisted.

“Okay,” replied Alena, planting a kiss on Dennis’ lips. “I’ll see you tonight.” They quickly embraced, and Dennis left the studio, intentionally turning a cold shoulder to the mirror as he passed.

If there was one thing in the city that Dennis could count on as being forever unchanged, it was Thoreau’s Tavern. The exterior of the dark brick building gave little indication as to what lay inside, although the neon signs in the shape of various beer logos provided a helpful hint. Stepping through the door, however, was often a bit of a gentle surprise to newcomers. Although the interior had much the same aged and weather-beaten feeling as the building that housed it, the atmosphere and furnishings were considerably more in keeping with an antiques shop than a dive bar. The tinted and shuttered windows kept all but the most tenacious rays of sunlight out, and the muted glow from the hanging lamps did little more than cast shadows on the mismatched assortment