MEANING … WHAT? Episode 1: “Chekhov’s Gun”

He is 43. But on clean-shaven, hair-geled, bespoke-suited days like today, especially in this purple-hued hotel lounge and bar, he could be mistaken for a late millennial.

She is 40-something as well. Sitting gently on a padded barstool. Back straight proper. Elongated. Well steadied by her pilates etched core.

She is no millennial. She is too mature, too self-confident, to be mistaken for anything but the near golden statuesque she is.

We are en medias res.

How about we not do the thing where we tell each other where we're from nor the job we hate?

I don't know. I think I'm falling in love with my new job. I mean it has brought me here.

And it has bought you your drink.

And it has bought you your drink.

Mabuhay, he says as he extends his glass.

She touches his and translates, Long life.

She notices the rub of his wedding ring, despite its subtle movement.

So tell me again, why don't you want to know where I'm from?

I dunno. It’s not a big deal. I just want to try it. Hotel bar. Meeting a stranger. I just wanna … let's try not to have the typical chit-chat.

You mean you don’t want to hear about my daughter's dating life.

Out of bounds. He smiles as he continues, As out of bounds as my wife's dating life.

Her face turns into a question mark.

Excuse me?

I'm kidding. She's lovely. My wife … I love my wife. This conversation, us … I’m not trying to … you know … any of that kind of fooling around. What I am serious about is wanting tonight to be selfish.

She starts writing on a napkin that is next to her hotel key.

Lets just talk about us … like we used to when we first started on our journeys. Not about the stuff that wears us all down. I don’t want to talk about leaky water heaters, helicopter parents, or the price of education these days or even kids these days. You know what I mean? I’d just love to talk about stuff that …

He rubs his ring again, trailing off as he awaits her reaction in this follow up moment of uncomfortable silence.

After a few more beats, she finally responds with, We'll need a safe word.

Excuse me?

Or something that signals that the question or topic on the table is "out of bounds" like you say. She smiles as she continues, Or we are being too personal.

She thinks of rubbing her own ring this time, but decides it best not to. She finishes her drink instead.

A little surprised he was trailing her, he finishes his and raises his hand towards the bartender, trying his best not to show his excitement.

Two more please, he requests the bartender.

The bartender looks to her for approval.

She politely corrects, Can you make mine a Black Barrel?

The bartender nods knowingly. Neat?

She nods back.

He looks over her napkin.

Is that Checkov's Gun? Did you just write Anton Chekhov's Gun?

I’m glad you know the reference.

So if any of us ask an improper backstory question -

- or ask something too personal ...

... or ask anything too personal, we say, "Chekhov's Gun"?

She politely corrects him as she picks up her hotel key. This is Checkov's Gun.

She waves it at him.

Think of it as a flag.

He thinks of telling her that he does not have a physical key. That he has a loyalty club bar code connected with his hotel app. But he stops himself.

Their drinks arrive. They raise their glasses. Their eyes connect as they take their sips.

She is the first to disconnect. For a second, she hovers her glass over her napkin, over her meanderings written before he unexpectedly sat beside her.

She then places her glass down, placed perfectly over their safe word.

So where do we begin?